AN: I just wanted to state that this story mostly follows the movie. I've read the book once, and I've used a couple ideas from that, but… yeah, the movie. I still haven't seen the live show, so the movie will do. For fun, I almost thought of calling Erik "the Phantom" throughout this story. But I figured since it was his point of view, he needed a name (as little as I care for it). So… yeah. Remember guys, Movie.
"When I'm in heaven, child, I will send the Angel of Music to you."
It was her first night away from home. Her first night without her father. Christine couldn't sleep. Tears formed in her eyes as the memories swam through her mind.
He had died just this morning, and Madame Giry brought her to stay at the Paris Opera House. "You like to dance, Christine, don't you? You can come live with me and study ballet." The other ballet girls welcomed her with good spirits, but she could see the disdain in their eyes. The only one who ever tried to comfort her was Meg, Madame Giry's daughter.
"My father died too, when I was very young. That's what my mother told me. A few of the other girls here are orphans, too. We already have something in common! Oh Christine, I hope we can be friends!" She leapt onto Christine and hugged her tightly. "Thank you Meg," Christine responded. She knew Meg just wanted acceptance; she could tell that the other girls detested her. Perhaps they would be friends.
The other girls stayed up for a while chatting amongst themselves. Christine, whose bed was at the end of the row by the wall, lie with her back to everyone else. The chatter slowly died as the girls drifted off to sleep one by one. Eventually the room was silent.
Sometimes Father would sing her to sleep at night. On most nights he would just play his violin, but he also enjoyed singing. Sometimes he'd sing arias from famous and not-so-famous operas, sometimes a Gregorian chant. He knew songs in so many different styles and tongues. Christine's favorite songs, however, were French folk songs. She absolutely loved living in Paris; she loved singing songs and playing in the streets with the Parisian children. She often asked him to sing one of those songs. His soothing voice would warm her and send her off to sleep with happy thoughts.
It was all she could do to keep from sobbing at these memories. She had just buried her face in her pillow when she heard something. It was faint, as if it were far away… A voice, a man's voice… softer than a whisper… and it was singing a French folk song. Can it be? She thought to herself. Father had told her stories of the Angel of Music. He wouldn't break the promise he made, the promise to send the Angel to Christine. There was no other explanation for a little girl whose father just passed away.
The voice was so comforting that she smiled. The familiar sleepiness overcame her as she hummed the melody to herself. She managed to whisper, "Thank you," before her eyelids gave in to the weight.
Erik could tell that today was going to be an interesting day. He witnessed Madame Giry leaving late the night before. She was very distraught. He wondered where she was off to in such a hurry, and he hoped she would be back soon. She had his salary from Monsieur Lefevre.
He took the quickest route to Madame Giry's boudoir, moving through the underbelly of the opera house. She wasn't there, but she had obviously returned; the envelope with the money was sitting on a table near the door. Erik left a short shopping list for her, because, although he wouldn't admit it to himself or anyone, he was afraid to leave the opera house. Out there, he wasn't safe from their cruel behavior and vicious words. Here, in this building, he was master.
Master of a domain that, he just noticed, was quite talkative this evening. Every chorus girl was whispering to every stagehand about a new arrival. It was nothing new for aspiring ballerinas to come, but this was a different case. They said that Madame Giry brought the girl herself. If anything, Madame Giry would scare girls away. What was the special occasion? Everyone was speculating. It even sparked Erik's interest.
Perhaps the girl was a child prodigy, destined for greatness here at the Opera Populaire. It already sounded like the other young girls didn't like her. By now they had spiteful nicknames, and they mocked her with songs.
Erik recognized some of the songs from his childhood. Children can be so hateful. His mind wandered to some of the more enjoyable songs that the kids would sing. They touched him so deeply that he began singing them quietly. Music was the one thing that could reach his soul.
It wasn't until the middle of the night that he could sing to his heart's content. He was down in his lair, and everyone in the building was asleep. He could let out everything, even in some silly childrens' songs.
Erik sang (and did some writing) until the sun came up.
Christine heard the Angel again the next evening. She was in the chapel, praying for Father. This time it was accompanied by an organ. The music was strange, but his voice entranced her nonetheless. After a bit, she gathered the courage to call out, "Is that you?" The music suddenly stopped.
Erik ceased abruptly at the voice. It must have been one of the ballerina girls, no more than ten years old. Could she know that he, the Opera Ghost, lived underneath the opera house? He stood up slowly, his gaze locked on the ceiling of his lair. Never in all the time he lived here did anyone answer him (with the evident exception of Madame Giry). She must have been in the chapel; the rest of the opera house was busy with rehearsals this time of day. Warily he said, "You can hear me, child?"
The answer was clearer now that he stopped playing. "Yes, I can hear you, Angel!"
Angel? Erik didn't understand what she was talking about. He didn't know what to say.
When she didn't hear an answer, Christine hesitated. What if he wasn't the Angel? But he must be. "You are the Angel of Music, aren't you? Father promised me that he would send you!" A grin appeared on her young face.
"You must be him… Your voice is so beautiful…"
Erik could hear the joy in her voice. Her words themselves were a song without singing; love poured out of every syllable. He knew that she believed in the Angel. She believed in him, in his songs. How could he deny her?
Before he knew it, he was saying, "Yes, I am the Angel of Music. I'm here now."
"Angel, have you come to help me sing? Father always said that I had the makings of a wonderful voice. I don't have time for voice lessons now that I'm training to be a ballerina girl." She sighed and closed her eyes. "Well, thank you for singing my favorite songs at night, Angel. Watch over me, I pray." Christine heard soft footsteps coming down the stairs. Meg appeared behind her.
"There you are, Christine!" she exclaimed. "Come on, or we'll be late for warm-ups!" Christine, still grinning widely, took Meg's outstretched hand and followed her out of the chapel.
Christine. Christine was her name. And French folk tunes were her favorite songs to fall asleep to. And she asked him to watch over her. Erik didn't even know her, but her voice was so innocent and pure. He could not refuse her wishes. He would teach her. He would protect her. He would be her Angel of Music.