Disclaimer: I own none of this, it all belongs to the geniuses of Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber.

A/N: I wrote this story 2 years ago while waiting to come home from England. I've changed very little except for some phrasing.

It was the opening night of Hannibal at the Opera Populaire, and the theater was filled to capacity. Everyone that mattered in society showed up for these types of events; it was the perfect opportunity to see and be seen. Throughout the magnificent building could be heard the gentle murmurs of the elite, greeting friends, settling into their seats, but most of all commenting on the lat-minute change of cast. No one had even heard of this Christine Dáae, and yet she was replacing La Carlotta as tonight's leading lady! There was a general opinion circulating that perhaps the new managers were in over their heads, clearly beyond their areas of expertise.

Hidden behind the velvet drapes of their private box, the afore-mentioned managers, Firmin and Andre, were wiping perspired brows. Both had heard the chorus girl, Ms. Dáae, sing, but she was so unnaturally timid that they were sure she would freeze up as soon as she had to face the audience. They only prayed that same audience would not turn into an angry mob demanding full refunds for a ruined performance.

Meanwhile, the scene backstage was one of orderly pandemonium, as everyone scurried around, double-checking that scenes and props were in the proper place and order. Performers rehearsed a few lines, and the ballet and chorus girls warmed up – one their voices, the other powerful muscles for dancing. In a corner out of the way of the bustle, Christine clung to her friend Meg Giry as though she were drowning in a storm-tossed sea. Her face, pale at the best of times, was now almost translucent, and she trembled like a leaf.

"Meg," Her voice squeaked out as a timid whisper. "Meg, I can't do this! Why in heaven's name was I placed as the lead? I'm no Prima Donna, I'm not good enough, I know I'm not good enough!"

"Christine stop! Just listen to me for a moment."

Calm brown eyes looked into troubled blue eyes. Meg forced Christine to release the death grip on her arm before she continued.

"I've heard you practicing in your dressing room and you are good enough! You have a gift and tonight is your chance to share it with all of Paris!"

As she talked, Meg gave her friend's clammy hands a loving squeeze. Christine could feel herself starting to relax.

"Thank you Meg, I am not sure what I would do without you."

CRACK

Both young women jumped at the sound of Madame Giry's walking stick hitting the floor.

"Meg Giry! Get over here now you lazy chit and start warming up. Or do you think yourself above such a menial task?" Being Meg's mother, Madame felt the need to be harsher than with the others. She knew her daughter had a talent for ballet and did not want to see such a precious gift wasted. As Meg scurried over to join the rest of the corps de ballet, Madame Giry turned a gentler eye to Christine.

"I suggest you also warm up. Good luck."

With that, Christine was left on her own. The panic started to creep up again, so she shook herself to clear her thoughts. She began to sing her biggest part, a romantic aria her character would be singing later in Act III.

"Think of me

Think of me fondly

When we say goodbye…"

Again she was interrupted, but this time simply by a deep yet soft voice, whispering in her ear.

"I have molded your voice to perfection; there is nothing you cannot accomplish with it. I will be watching your triumph, my dear."

Christine whirled around to discover the source of the voice, but saw no one. Although disappointed with the lack of a face to go with the angelic, baritone voice, she was greatly comforted to know that her tutor, the Angel of Music, would be watching over her even now.

"Mademoiselle Dáae? It is time."

A stagehand led her to her spot. As the music swelled, queuing her entrance, she walked confidently into the limelight, ready and eager to conquer her world.