The soft swishing of his cape was the only sound Erik allowed as he walked down the narrow side corridor known only to him. The noise surrounded him like a swirling wind, putting him in mind of a freedom beyond the Opera House's walls.

No footsteps resounded on the floor. No harsh breaths escaped his mouth. No part of him brushed against the walls and grated with noise. Even his porcelain mask didn't rub against his face.

Just then the flickering silence was broken by footsteps and chattering voices. Erik hurried his pace, not wanting to have to listen to idle prattle.

Then the singing started.

The pure, sweet voice filled the small corridor like music straight from heaven. Erik froze where he was, captivated. He moved to the side of the adjoining passage he was in and pressed his hands to the wall. He wanted desperately to know what could be making that beautiful sound - most music in the Opera House was barely passable.

But this music seemed to be inside him, stopping his breath and filling his heart with lightness. The music was everything.

Then the song died away, and was replaced by a soft laugh and excited voices.

Erik fixed his eyes through the gaps in the wall on the two girls walking through the corridor. The taller one had brown hair and grey eyes, but he hardly noticed her. His gaze was full of the girl who had been singing. She was small and delicate, and carried herself as though she was about to sprout wings and take to the air. Hair like molten shadows tumbled down her back, curling into the folds of her deep green cloak. Her porcelain-doll face was captured in a smile of the same elation Erik always felt with music. Her eyes were as brightly blue as sapphires; they seemed to shine like a pair of beautiful beacons, beckoning him forwards.

The girls continued down the corridor, walking inches away from where he was standing, and he followed as though in trance.

Erik's mind was spinning. He could still hear that gorgeous voice in his head. Nothing else seemed to matter. All he wanted was to hear that sound again, to be part of it, to be closer to it, to be closer to her...

Christine tugged on Celeste's elbow, pulling her friend along. "Come on," she urged. "Rehearsal ended late today and we don't want to be wandering around in the dark."

Celeste sighed but quickened her pace. "Sorry, I'm coming."

Christine noticed the sad edge to her voice, stopped and turned. "Are you alright going to the graves? I know it's been a long day."

Celeste's raised her eyes to meet Christine's and shook her head. "Of course." A gentle smile lifted her lips. "I'm fine. Besides, a trip to Father might improve my day."

Christine sighed but didn't argue, and the two girls moved off again.

"Anyway," Celeste continued, "It was only Carlotta. She can only say so much."

"True, but she was pretty vicious today." Christine looked pityingly at her friend.

"It's not important." Celeste said quietly.

They passed through the writhing iron gates and into the graveyard, not noticing the shadow that followed them.

Celeste walked a short way away as Christine reached her father's grave. She knew it was better to reminisce alone.

Arriving at the gravestone that was her own destination, Celeste knelt. She blinked back the familiar prick of tears as her eyes traced the etched lines of her father's name.

"I really wished you were here today, Papa." she whispered. "Carlotta was throwing around her insults again, and I know I shouldn't let it get to me, but it still hurts. She manages to say the terrible things I keep thinking, and then I can't get her out of my head."

Celeste sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Talking to her father's grave was always therapeutic, but it didn't change anything, and she still knew that she was only talking to a piece of rock.

"I wish you were here." she repeated quietly. "I feel so alone sometimes.l

She looked out to the distance, watching the sun as it slowly began to set. When she heard Christine's footsteps she raised her head again, hurriedly brushing the tears from her cheeks that she hadn't noticed falling.

Without a word, Christine held out a hand and helped the other girl to her feet. "I know what you need, Celeste." She said softly. Blue eyes met grey. "An angel."

Celeste smiled, to her own surprise. "I think we could all do with one of those."

"You need an Angel of Music, like Little Lotte in the stories my father told." Christine continued, mirroring Celeste's smile. "That would make you feel better."

A shake of the head was the reply Celeste gave. Christine was undeterred. "An angel to teach you, to sing in your sleep, to have music constantly playing in your head."

"That sounds lovely, but angels aren't real. And if they were, they ought to go to you, not me."

Christine looked back in the direction of her father's grave. "Celeste, my father said he'd send an angel from heaven. I believe him.. And, if you can hear me Father," she raised her voice slightly with another glance over her shoulder. "Send the angel to Celeste. She needs it."

With a small laugh, Celeste linked her arm through Christine's, pulling her gently back towards the gates. "Come on, let's go home."

"Okay. But I'm dropping you off tonight."

"You really don't need to -"

Christine raised a hand to stop her protest. "Your head's been in the clouds all day; you'd probably walk halfway across Paris before you noticed you'd taken a wrong turning."

Celeste laughed. "Alright then."

"And anyway," Christine said, beginning to lead them both out of the graveyard, "The Angel of Music might come and snatch you up if you were on your own, and then you'd leave me completely."

Celeste smiled and glanced back over her shoulder. "Goodbye, Papa." she whispered softly, her quiet words drifting back to settle on the dark tombstone.

Erik raised his head to watch the pair disappear into the darkness. His head was whirring with unfolding plans and the girls' fleeting words.

This was his way to her. She needed an angel? He would give her one. Music had always been his most beloved strength, and it had been music that had drawn him to her. It would be their connection.

Surely, even a demon like him could be an angel for something as heavenly as her.