This is more based off of the book Christine than the movie or broadway.
DISCLAIMER: Phantom of the Opera, Erik/Phantom, Christine belong to Leroux, Webber, and whoever else. The words belong to me.
Patiently she sat, in backwards of her vanity, her back erect, her neck straight, shoulders back, and practicing her breathing. Such an innocent child, willing to please and learn. He watched her a moment longer, admiring how the candle light flickered against her hair in a halo, how she would close her eyes and she exhaled through a little 'O' of her mouth; he would have to teach her to rid herself off that habit, but for now he watched her impish traits.
With her hand still on her belly, she glanced at the ceiling, no doubt waiting for him to begin the lesson. With her lovely face upwards and her neck bared, she reminded him of a tempting angel, patiently waiting for her commands.
"Christine," he breathed, pressing his finger tips against the cool, smooth glass of the mirror. Her gaze flickered his way before searching the cracks in the walls for his voice. He hadn't meant for her to hear him.
"Angel?"
His cover blown, and not a minute too late either, had she not reminded him, the lesson never would have begun. "Child," he began, throwing his voice to the right corner of the room. "You have been praticing as I've asked."
She said nothing, only waited.
"Let us begin with the usual warmups. Stand, if you will." Gracefully she obliged; He watched the breezy material of her dress waterfall over her legs. "Stand only a little straighter. Now lift your chin and straighten your shoulders. Good girl." He appraised the way she carried herself, how she took critisism and instructions in good nature and had learned to not argue against him. "Begin with the scales in key of C and hold each for two notes." And she did, her eyes lifted to the ceiling, her voice clear and ringing. Each note she hit was a beautiful thrust to his heart. "Now the key of G." He said, skipping a few scales. She blinked at the surprise of it, he rarely ever skipped, but she followed instructions.
Her high 'do' was beautiful.
"Now, I want you to start in key of C, hold each note for two notes, and continue even after the second high 'do'." He said, throwing his voice in front of her. She barely startled, so used to his voice changing places every new minute, and did as told, soon reaching notes many have ever accomplished. And she was only sixteen.
When she reached a key she could not clearly sing, she stopped and apologized. "I am sorry, Angel. I cannot go further."
"You are doing so well, my songbird." He appraised after a short moment. "And to admit you can go no farther is a trait every singer must have. However, also know that you can go farther, everyone can. But you must work." She nodded slowly and waited. "As a reward, we will cut warming up a little short. But only tonight, do not think I will do it again. Now, we will begin with a simple aria."
For half an hour she sang, on her own, without music, and all he did was sit back and listen. Her voice swept to all nooks and crannies of the room, past the mirror, to overwhelming proportions inside him. A voice like her's was meant for more than practice sessions in a room barely able to contain her voice. A voice like her's belonged on stage. Or better yet, among the stars.
"Many voices," he said instead of giving her another song, "I have heard. None of them, I am proud to say, can match your's." He saw she wanted to beam with pride but kept her face pleasently straight. "No, do, smile. It is a compliment you deserve." Her eyes were brilliant in the light, her smile outshining the candles. She took a deep breath, no doubt trying to release the sense of accomplishment he too felt deep within the caverns of her heart.
"What do we do now?" She asked, a little breathless.
"We end for tonight." He answered. He saw her face fall. "Is there something wrong, Christine?"
"Oh!" She said, spinning back around to face his unseen voice; clearly she thought he had gone. "It's nothing, Angel! I just enjoy your teaching. I enjoy singing."
"I should think so," he said, almost jokingly. "But to make you go on, you would surely sing yourself into exhaustion. Do you wish your voice hoarse?" She shook her head gently, her curls shakingly framing her face. "Good," he threw his voice to be beside her, as he wished he truly was. "You are far too talented for a chorus girl. You have a voice many would gladly die for." She reached out a hand as if she knew she could touch him. "You will soon have a place in center stage." He let his voice caress her lovely jaw. She closed her eyes and sighed. "You will shine as you were meant to. Brilliantly." He whispered softly, like he would if he were standing behind her, holding her close. "You will be adored by all above and below."
"And what about you?" She murmured, tilting her head to the right, to where he really sat behind the mirror. "Will I be great enough to win the adoration of you?"
"You already have it," he whispered. She opened her eyes, shocked. Perhaps he had said too much. "We will end tonight," he said abruptly. "Be prepared tomorrow night. If all goes as planned, I will have news prepared for you." He saw his tone had made her fear she had done wrong. "Rest for tonight. Sleep." He said softly, gently. "And spend tomorrow your last day as a chorus girl." She smiled, not knowing exactly why. "Good girl. I will see you tomorrow night. Sleep well, my songbird."
He sat perfectly still and waited. She stood still and straight long enough for him to leave and then she gracefully deflated, smiling brilliantly before she let loose a tiny giggle. She stood before her mirror, taking the pins from her hair so the thick mass tumbled. She moved with a spring to her robe, throwing it around her frame to tie it loosely. She bit her bottom lip, still smiling, and took a curl, winding it around her finger. She said nothing and barely made an audible sound as she went around and blew out the candles. He appreciated the way she looked in the dimming light; even more so in the darkness.
He only moved when she had shut the door and he had heard her lock it. Only then did he push the mirror aside and step out into the room still smelling of blown out candles and Christine. He skimmed his fingers along her vanity, taking a warm pin and twisting it back and forth between his forefinger and thumb gently.
"Yes, my Christine." He whispered into the silence, eyes fastened on the flashing pin. "You will shine brilliantly in the darkness."