There was a ghost at the Opera Populaire long before the Phantom walked the halls. She was a little thing, blonde and ethereal with hollow blue eyes. She was lost in the halls of the great building, and could slip through the crowds without being noticed.

She wore white, as did all the ballerinas. She moved with them, but her movements were rote and held no passion. She slept in their dormitory, shared their meals, and even spoke to them on occasion. But she was alone, and living without emotions was not living.

This was how she grew; only letting in a select few, like Madam Giry, the Ballet Mistress and her daughter Meg. But again, it was rote, doing what she needed to survive. He freedom was dancing and singing, though no angel ever came to her rescue.

But there was one emotion that Christine Daaé felt: sadness. And when she was alone she would allow that emotion to rule her. She cried for the mother she never knew. For the father who passed away when Christine was ten. And for Raoul, the only friend she had known in her young life.


The Vicomte de Chagny was going through some difficult times.

He was the pampered second son of the prominent family. He looked up to older brother Philippe and looked after his two sisters. Raoul loved the life he led, but not the responsibility his title included.

He wanted to be carefree and live life as he would, but society dictated a certain way of life for his class. He had gotten a taste of fun when he was a child. He had visited the shore and had watched a violinist perform alongside his daughter, Christine. Both had exceptional music talent, and Raoul had longed to meet the girl who was around his age.

They met a few days later when Raoul, giving no thought to himself, ran into the sea to fetch Christine's errant scarf. They became fast friends and Gustave Daaé taught Raoul an appreciation for music.

Even though it wasn't proper, Christine and Raoul kept up a friendship and when Christine's father passed away Raoul felt the loss too. Christine was lost, but clung to the last words her father had said: "When I am in heaven child, I will send you the Angel of Music."

Raoul had clung to the words as well, an Angel to watch over Christine when he couldn't be there for his friend. And when Christine's patron, Monsieur Valerius, sent her to the Opera House to study Raoul could only send letters.

But now, at the age of twenty, the Viscount was fighting for his life. He had been out at sea, one passion he was allowed to indulge in, when his boat had hit an obstacle. He had been thrown overboard and had almost drown. He had been rescued, but suffered some lasting damage, like the loss of time and memory gaps.


His time was nearing. He had been lurking under the surface for too long. It was time he made himself known.

Christine…

She would be his salvation, his muse, and his lover, damn the consequences. She would be the music that filled his soul and brought life to the unheard strains of the notes he had been composing. He would finally triumph and she would get her angel.

"I'm coming for you, Christine. Just a little while longer, my Angel."