A/N: Do you remember how in ALW's stage show, Christine wakes up at the sound of the music box, but not Erik's super-loud-and-obnoxious composing? This is me justifying her actions. Enjoy GrumpyWhenSheWakesUp!Christine~ Also this is dedicated to Christy because ponies. 3

DA-DADA-DA-DA-DA-DAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

Dear God, what the hell was that?

DA-DA-DA-DADADA-DAAAAAAAAAAAA...

Alright, so clearly someone was playing the organ. Loudly. Not only had it yanked me out of a very restful sleep, it had also nearly given me a bloody heart attack. What sort of arse played the organ when there were people trying to doze?

Could you play any louder? I wanted to ask. I don't think they heard you very well in Canada! For Heaven's sake, at least have the decency to shut the door before you slam your fingers against the keys.

...Oh. Wait.

There wasn't a door. Because there wasn't even technically a room. It was just an expanse of land however many stories under the opera. It was more like a cave, or... a lair. Yes, that was more like it. The Phantom of the Opera lived in an underground lair.

How very appropriate.

Well, now seemed to be as good a time as any to make sure that I was still in decent condition. After my little fainting spell, who knew what the Phantom could have done? Granted, the man had been tutoring me behind my mirror for ages now, and he hadn't tried anything perverse. But then there was the fact that he told me he was the Angel of Music and had this inconvenient little ability to practically hypnotise me with his voice. Damn him. Inconspicuously clenching my legs together, the lack of tenderness led me to believe that I hadn't been robbed of my innocence in the night. Good, so my Angel/Phantom had behaved himself last night.

DAAAA-DAA-DAAAA-DA-DAAA-DAAA-DAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

For the love of all things bright and beautiful, could he give it a rest? My head was beginning to pound. Was this his definition of a wake-up call? I most certainly hoped not. Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to block out the sound blaring from the organ. If this was the Music of the Night, then I didn't want it possessing or caressing me. He could keep it to himself.

God, finally, silence. Faintly I could hear the sound of his quill scratching along the parchment he was composing on. Did he plan to have that performed? Surely Carlotta would object. Hell, I'd object. At least now I might be able to get a few more precious minutes of sleep, and remember everything that had happened last night. There had been a lot of mist, for one thing. Too much of it. I felt like I was drowning in that air; it was a wonder I'd been able to sing in it. Lots of candles, too, which probably ate up most of the oxygen. Water and no oxygen. How the hell was he able to live down here?

A slow, quiet chiming. Eyes fluttering open again, they landed on a music box, the figure of a large monkey playing the cymbals on top of it. A creepy monkey, at that. It tapped the cymbals together in time with the melody that came from it. Well, damn, clearly there wasn't any sleep for poor Christine this morning. The monkey was a more pleasant sound to wake up to than that blasted organ, in any case. Huffing in resignation, I slowly sat up, wincing at how sore my back was. Clearly godolas filled with pillows didn't make good beds.

Time to face the day and the Phantom.

Who was wearing a really stupid hat, by the way.