"I have dreamt in my life, dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas; they have gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the colour of my mind. And this is one: I'm going to tell it, but take care not to smile at any part of it."
She was thirteen the first time Erik saw her, a shy little auditionee with big blue eyes shielded by overlarge glasses and a massive amount of white-blond hair. Her father followed behind, a tall, thin man with greying temples. She drew back upon reaching the microphone and looked at her father. He gave her a gentle push forward. "It's alright, sweet pea. Go on."
"Name, please," Erik said from behind the screen. Four hours of mind-numbing auditions had made him slip a little, kept him working methodically without putting much thought into it.
"Christine Daae." The microphone crackled as she pulled it down to her height, making her wince and and wrinkle her nose.
"Hand over your accompaniment tape, please." He slid open the window at the bottom of the screen. She deposited the tape and clasped her hands in front of her, twisting her fingers back and forth.
"Stand up, honey," her father whispered. She dropped her hands, squared her. shoulders, lifted her chin. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides. "Don't be nervous. You've got this."
She smiled a little.
"Thirty-two bars, Miss..." He'd forgotten already.
"Daae." She didn't seem to mind.
The music began, very softly. It was a slightly-out-of tune piano, plinking out the notes of a particularly well-known Handel air he must have heard at least ten times today in varying degrees of capability. He settled back in his chair, only half listening.
"Lascio ch'io pianga
mia cruda sorte
e che sospiri la libertà ."
He sat up.
The voice itself was not extraordinary - good, yes, clear and sweet, passable technique - but the singer herself made him listen. She sang with her eyes wide and shining, glowing with some inner light. There was an energy and love for music exuding from her - a life of the kind he hadn't seen all day. She could have made a grown man cry - in fact her father was near to bursting with tears and pride as he stood behind her.
"Thank you very much, Miss Daae," he said, cutting her off gently. "We will be in touch soon."
She blinked in surprise. "Oh, um, I..." Her father placed a hand on her shoulder. She cleared her throat. "Thank you for your time."
He almost smiled. "It was my pleasure, Miss Daae."
As father and daughter exited the audition room, Erik leaned back in his chair, considering. It seemed too good that a gift like this had been just dropped into his lap. A young, mold-able voice, brimming with the kind of potential that if properly cared for, could bring the world to its knees. This girl could be a wonder. With the right teacher, of course.
He would have to keep a very close eye on Christine Daae.