She couldn't sleep. Everyone in the dorm around her dozed quietly as the night slowly drew close to the midnight hour. It was very dark, so she couldn't see their forms, but she knew they were dreaming. Perhaps of performing in the grand Opera House, as each hoped he or she one day would. All of the forms in this room were being trained to be ballerinas. The male dancers were down the hall, and the singers were one floor above them. The dormitories were full as usual, yet everyday a new protégé arrived.

Turning quietly in her bed, she let her gaze wander around the room that had become so familiar to her. She had been at the Opera House for over a year now, and although she had always wanted to be part of the chorus, Madame Giry had placed her in the corps, along with her little daughter Meg. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy dancing, but she had always loved singing more, ever since her father had taught her songs using his violin. But those days were gone now, and so was her father.

Her attention was suddenly drawn to the rafters as she heard a noise coming from above. Sitting up in bed, she drew the blankets closer to her as she searched the ceiling. It wasn't a loud thumping noise, like that of a worker over head, but more like a quiet whispering. Glancing around her, she realized that no one else heard the sound, as they were all still sleeping peacefully.

The sound suddenly jumped from one end of the room to the other. It had been directly over her bed and now it was coming from the far corner. Charged with both curiosity and fear, she rose from her bed to follow the whispering. It had now leaped from the corner to the dormitory door. She softly tip-toed around Meg's bed, careful not to trip over the blankets she had thrown onto the floor and headed for the door.

She was suddenly overcome with a feeling of anxiety. If she followed the whispers into the hall and was caught out of bed, she would be severely punished. Madame Giry would see to that, she was sure. Yet there was something that drew her to the whisper. She could almost hear what the voice was saying. If only she could get a little closer. Straightening her back with resolve, she pulled the door open, wincing as the hinges squeaked. She quickly turned around to look if it had disturbed anyone, and seeing that it hadn't, she walked through, pulling the door closed behind her.

The halls of the Opera house were very familiar to her, and as she followed the noise down the hall, she realized where she was being led. She had come to this place often to be with her father, and knowing that this was where the whispers wanted her to go was comforting.

The chapel had always been one of her favourite places in the opera house, save the stage of course. She usually came here alone to light a candle for her father and to say silent prayers for him to watch over her. She had only lost him recently and the pain of it was still with her. Never knowing her mother, her father had been her sole protector and had raised her single handedly until the end. They had traveled often, from court to court as her father played his violin for dignitaries in many countries and regions. There were so many things that she missed about her life before the Opera House, but it was her father she missed most.

Lighting a single candle for her departed love one, she waited for the whispers to shift. This time, however, they didn't. They had rested directly over where she was standing, yet she felt no fear now from them. Not in this place. Here, her father would protect her from the misty voices.

The whispers stayed above her, growing louder then softer, like waves upon the ocean, yet she could never understand what they were saying.

"Hello?" she whispered softly to the ceiling. She wasn't afraid of the voice, yet she was certainly intimidated.

The whispers suddenly stopped, as if her small voice had startled them. She looked around, waiting for them to start again. It seemed like an eternity had passed before she heard a single word float down from above.

"Ekaterina."

It was not many whispers at all now, but a single voice coming from above the alter. She walked toward it and sat at the base, still looking up.

"Who's there?" she asked.

"Ekaterina," was all the voice replied.

"My name is Christine," she said meekly. "Who is Ekaterina? Is that your name?"

The voice hesitated, almost as if pondering an answer. Finally, it spoke:

"You've always known who I am, I've guarded you since you were a babe. Christine may be the name you know now, but it has not always been."

"What do you mean?" she cried. "I've always been Christine. Who is it that you think I am?"

"Ekaterina."