Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of The Opera, or the lyrics below which belong to Michelle Branch.
Child of The Winter Night
Prologue
Turn it inside out so I can see
The part of you that's drifting over me...
The Opera Populaire, Paris, 1865
"Papa, I met an angel today..."
Her little hands folded across her chest reverently, Christine Daaè , eleven years old, spoke softly to the ceiling of the ballet dormitory.
"I was frightened, at first. I thought I was alone. But then, I heard a voice...oh papa, it was a beautiful voice, and it sang to me! He told me not to cry, and that I wasn't alone-- that he had been there watching over me ever since I had arrived from our little house by the sea. "
She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, before settling back into her previous position.
"I wish you could answer, papa. I wanted you to know how much I love your angel-- your angel of music. He is gentle, and kind. He sings to me when I can't sleep at night, and only I can hear him. I think he is a bit shy..."
The tears were drying on her round cheeks, and as she rubbed her eyes a yawn eclipsed the words she had been trying to say. Her grief was waning for the moment, and her eyes blinked heavily with the need to sleep.
"Thank you for sending me such a beautiful friend, papa. I promise to look after him..."
Her face became red as she bit her lip once more, a new well of tears rising up at the thought that although she spoke her father's name, his arms, his smile would not appear to her. She drew the blankets up around her shoulders, sniffling as she tried to close her eyes. But the empty space in her chest was throbbing painfully, and she found herself wishing beyond hope that her father, her mother...was there with her.
She wished more than anything...
That she had someone to say goodnight to. Someone who would wrap her in their arms and kiss her goodnight.
As she sobbed quietly, a flicker ignited within the depths of her imagination. An angel, its downy wings spread softly around her, holding her within his arms.
And then, she heard it.
Softly, as though mingled with the sweet summer breeze that blew just outside her window, a voice was singing...
Christine... Christine...
Its melody wrapped around her trembling limbs, making them feel warm and relaxed. The voice wove melodies above her head, so close now that she could swear he was whispering into her ear.
My heart, my little one...
Christine felt herself falling deeper into the darkness of sleep, her tears subsided, only a floating feeling and the surety of his song permeating her consciousness.
I am here...
Your angel is here...
She slept deeply and soundly, never knowing that while she dreamt, there was a man who wondered what she saw.