A/N: I woke up yesterday morning, and I was Gaston Leroux!... No, wait, he's dead... I was Andrew Lloyd Webber!... No, I hate that guy for his horrible berating of the original novel. Oh well. My point is that I own nothing relating to any characters from the wonderful novel/mediocre movie "The Phantom of the Opera". I also do not own the titles of any of those old operas, such as "Faust" or "Othello", in case those copyrights are being heavily tracked on fanfiction, too. Also, if you've not read the book, Madame Giry is only a box keeper, and Moncharmin was a previous owner of the opera house.

Inside My Mind

Chapter I- "Angel of Music?"

She was... a vision, one could say, when she came to the opera house that night. I was presently skulking in the rafters, as I tended to do when that abysmally idiotic Moncharmin was doing something I thought suspicious. The child was being closely followed by Madame Giry, that shy, wide-eyed little girl being led onto the vast, ostentatious stage of Paris like a chick being led to the edge of its nest to take flight for the first time. I remember distinctly how she shuddered as she stepped further onto the stage, the very echoing of her tiny footsteps only seeming to terrify her more. Her beautiful pale, almost silver Swedish hair was combed neatly around her face, only accentuating the timidity of her appearance.

Apparently spotting the fact that the girl seemed an inch from fainting, the very prudent Madame Giry quickly took the trembling girl back into her arms, leading her downstairs to the chamber where people of the opera light candles for their loved ones-(how I laughed when I first heard Moncharmin talking of the designing of this new room...love!)-to light a candle for her father, whom Madame Giry mentioned had passed away very recently.

Intrigued by this notion, I quickly followed them- having the agility commonly associated with monkeys or cats, this task is rather easy for me- and found the girl, alone, kneeling by a small, cream-coloured candle. I was watching her through a mirror of my own design- one of many- they are two way, and they pivot, so as to let people in from the outside... I do wonder what must have come over me when I made them in that way; surely no-one would ever be entering one of my mirrors from the outside!

A strange, rather strangled feeling began to well in my chest as I watched this poor little girl weep gently for her father, small, whispered prayers occasionally sneaking through her tears. Pity! I realized with a rush of self-disgust. From all of my years watching men fall from the rafters and breaking their necks, little ballerinas falling where they stood on the stage from the mere heat, and I felt pity for a little girl whom I did not even know the talents of! As I turned to leave her, abhorred by my own savage emotions, I heard the girl begin to sing softly...

"Pie Jesu, Pie Jesu, Qui tollis peccata mundi, Dona eis requiem, Dona eis requiem..."

I stopped as she sang... She was very well trained for her age, that much was true, and she sang the verse with such tragic emotion that I had to take in a heavy breath to calm myself. She had broken off quickly, her sweet soprano voice falling again into a flood of tears. She is so little, I told myself stubbornly as I turned back to the mirror, rather against my better judgment. None of the foolish staff at this opera house will even consider giving her lessons to sing at such an age... Why can't I teach her? There is no harm in that, teaching a child from behind a mirror... Quietly, so as not to surprise the child, I finished her Pie Jesu for her...

"Agnus Dei, Agnus Dei, Qui tollis peccata mundi, Dona eis requiem, Dona eis requiem, Sempiternam, Sempiternam requiem..."

I saw her look around the room in awe as I sang to her, her tears stopping almost alarmingly quickly. She stood up slowly as I sang, as though in a trance, her light blue eyes seeming to cloud over as she stared blankly to the vaulted ceiling of the room.

"H-hello?" she said in a strangely bright tone, as though the mere sound of my voice fulfilling one of her deepest dreams. "Who is that singing? Er…m-my name is Christine Daae... A-are you the Angel of Music?"

An angel! How cruelly ironic this girl was being... This loathsome living corpse who only survived in life by killing, she dared to call an angel! Oh, the ingenuous naivety of childhood...

"Yes, my dear," I lied sweetly, watching an extremely wide smile break over her pretty face as I told her this. "I am indeed the Angel of Music. I was sent by God to teach you how to sing, now that your teacher has passed on." I heard her gasp as I finished my sentence.

"You know that Papa taught me to sing?" she breathed incredulously, clasping her hands at her breast, her eyes still roving about the ceiling.

"Of course, child- I know how far every single person on this earth has come with their music... And you, my dear Christine, have the most pure voice I have ever heard... If you promise to pledge yourself to me and my teachings, I promise that I will teach you to sing like one of God's own angels!" I finished this statement with a deliberate note of triumph- if I was to be an angel, I had to act the part! She fell to her knees as I finished speaking, tears beginning to flow from her eyes again, that wide smile plastered onto her now rather flushed face.

"Yes!" she sobbed to the ceiling, reaching up to it as though there were someone there, ready to embrace her. "Yes, I promise, Angel! I promise..." She clasped her hands at her chest again, sobbing with unbridled joy for her newly discovered angel... or demon, as the case may have been.

A/N: Yes, you WILL review this. All who do so will receive an Erik that will beautifully serenade you at your command. All who do not will have a crazed, bloodthirsty Erik (Punjab lasso included!) invade their dreams tonight. Sorry for the terrible length, by the way. I've got to work on that.

Chapter II shall be coming shortly...