"Alright Christine, it's time for bed." M. Daaé picked up Christine and carried her to her bed.
"But Papa I'm not sleepy yet! Tell me a story!"
"Alright," he said tucking her into the sheets. "How about one about the Angel of Music?" Christine shook her head. "Okay, how about the one about the beautiful princess who gets rescued by the handsome prince from the horrible monster. You like that one." Christine shook her head again. "Which one do you want then?"
"I want the story about the violinist."
"Alright. There once was a violinist from Sweden. He was good, but nothing all that special, until one day he was visited by the Angel of Music. After years under the Angel's guidance, he became one of the most talented violinists in all of Sweden. He eventually left Sweden and found himself in Paris, now working for the orchestra at the Paris Opera. While he was there, he met and fell in love with a beautiful young singer named Charlotte, whom everyone called Lottie for short. She was the most beautiful thing you could ever imagine; she was his Angel of Music. It took a while, but soon the violinist and Lottie were madly in love with each other and they eventually got married. One day Lottie then gave birth to a beautiful little girl named Christine, but her father liked to call her Little Lottie since she looked just like her mother. Unfortunately the Angel of Music came to Lottie one night and told her that he needed her in Heaven with him, taking her away from her family. But I know that deep down she is never truly gone, she is still here with us; just like the Angel we can't see her."
M. Daaé looked down at Christine who was out like a light. He leaned over and kissed her forehead before getting up to leave, carrying the gas lamp with him. Just before he exited the room, he turned around to face the sleeping child. "Good night, Little Lottie." With that he closed the door.
It was too early for him to retire for the night, so he decided to work on his opera. He had started working on it when he arrived in Paris, hoping that it would mark his transition from the orchestra pit to the stage. He had barely started writing it when he met Lottie, so he wrote the female lead just for her, hoping that they would play the leads together. But ever since her failed battle with tuberculoses, he decided to keep writing the role for Christine, hoping that she could play the part once she's old enough.
As he worked at the piano, his cat Marie appeared beside him. She was always close to him, especially whenever he would be doing something music related. Of course there were times when he would be trying to work, and she would jump up on the piano demanding to be petted. As annoyed as he was whenever she did this, he could never help but give in and pet her.
M. Daaé was too involved with his work to notice what was going on around him after Marie had jumped off the piano. Marie was especially restless tonight, jumping on and leaping off every piece of furniture she could find. Of course unaware of what was going on around him, she jumped off a table, knocking over the gas lamp. It wasn't until he felt the heat that he noticed something was wrong. The room was catching fire! He didn't even bother trying to rescue everything around him, even his score, as he tried to escape, but the flames were multiplying by the minute.
Meanwhile upstairs Christine was awakened by the smell of smoke. She opened the door and looked downstairs to find the fiery inferno below her. "Papa!" she called, running downstairs.
"Christine!" She couldn't see her father due to him being trapped on the other side of the flames. "Get out now!"
"No Papa I won't leave you!"
"GO NOW! GO NOW AND LEAVE ME!"
Luckily the fire hadn't taken up the entire first floor and Christine managed to escape through the front door. She was black with soot, but luckily she remained unharmed, minus a small burn mark on her foot. As soon as she was outside, she looked up, watching her house consumed by fire, her father inside.
Firefighters eventually arrived to help but the fire out, but it was too late. All that remained of Christine's house was a burnt outline of what was there merely an hour ago. And lying underneath the piles of ash and dust was the body of M. Daaé.