A/N: Please note that this story has not been beta-read due to the fact that I wanted it posted around Christmas. I had time to write it but not enough time to wait around for it to be edited. Any editing has been done by me reading over it again, so please excuse any mistakes!

Thank you! Enjoy!

Chapter Two: Seasons Greetingsf

Erik arrived so early that no one else was around except for tfhe pastor from the night before. He'd planned it this way to have some peace and quiet.

The pastor greeted, "Good morning!" then remarked, "You know, I didn't catch your name last night. It slipped my mind." He extended his hand, offering, "I'm Father Norris. You are?"

He generally didn't like to shake hands, but he did appreciate the civility, which improved his taste for the procedure. He gave the man's hand a firm shake as he replied, "Erik."

"Well, Erik, it's a pleasure to meet you. I can't wait to hear your talent." He gestured at the organ. Erik needed no further bidding; he slid right onto the bench before the console and got comfortable with the settings on the instrument, testing the knobs and the pedals before he tried out a few scales. He nodded in approval of the sound to no one in particular then launched into Bach's "Sinfonia from the Organ Cantata No. 29". Upon its completion, he turned to Father Norris and found the man gaping; he smirked, pleased at this response.

"I take it that the position is mine."

The man nodded dumbly. Rather than engage in conversation, Erik turned and played some more on the organ. He had an organ at his friend's house—as well as his harp, cello, and a spare grand piano—but it wasn't nearly as magnificent as this. He delightedly played through the entire piece of Mozart's "Fantasie in F". He was about to play more after it when Father Norris turned and noted the presence of someone. He beamed and greeted, "Miss Daaé! Good morning! Where's Mrs. Valerius?"

The name sparked in his brain. His intent to keep his back turned withered to nothing, and he rotated around to seek out his new favorite person. She wore a dark green dress in the same style as the white one from before. Instead of heels, she wore flats to match, revealing that she really was quite short. He suspected that she didn't like wearing pants when she had to sing with the church choir, because it would be awkward with the robe. That, and she probably really liked dresses.

Christine laughed, admitting, "She's in the bathroom."

He couldn't explain it, but he couldn't bear the thought of actually interacting with her now that he had the chance. Before she could turn her attention to him, he rotated back around and quietly played "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas," which made him smirk. For the first time, he actually felt like he was having a merry Christmas.

Christine eyed the mysterious man at the organ. Since he seemed preoccupied, she asked of Father Norris, "I take it that you've found a replacement for Elizabeth."

He beamed. "Yes, I believe so. I'll be introducing him at the service."

"Marvelous playing. It took my breath away." She smiled, hoping that the organist would hear it. Erik did indeed hear it, and it caused a smile.

Fondness dripped from every word as Father Norris guessed, "You're here early, because you want to warm up in private?"

Erik nearly stopped playing; the only thing that kept him going was the fact that it provided him with an excuse not to turn around and make eye contact.

Laughing wryly, Christine nodded. "You know me."

"I do know you. …Don't tell any of the others that I said this, but I'm quite disappointed that you didn't sing any of the solos."

Her face warmed a little as nervousness unsettled her stomach. "I'm not ready to perform solo. I'm kind-of a fperfectionist. I want to be good when I sing solo—you know, have some training under my belt so that I'm not all weak and intimidated by the idea of singing for everyone. When I get nervous, I get all airy, and my voice shakes in a way that's obviously not vibrato. I don't breathe, so it doesn't sound good."

Erik stored this information away in his memory, sure that it'd eventually have use. He kept his silence, continuing to play as he mused on how best to talk to the girl that he considered angelic. It was nerve-wracking, which was a new sensation for him. He never got nervous about anything. All the while, he kept an ear tuned into the discussion between the other two.

"Well, you need to get a vocal teacher soon, because I want you to perform next year. It might be the last year that I see you, depending on where you go to college."

"Hehe. Umm…" She pursed her lips. "I don't know where I want to go to college. The idea of going out to New York intimidates me. Besides, that's all the way on the other side of the country! …Maybe I'll go to Uppsala."

Father Norris raised his eyebrows. "You would go all the way to Sweden for college?"

Christine laughed, semi-self-conscious. "It seems less intimidating to me. Maybe that's just because it will remind me of my father. He was from there."

"I know. I remember him telling me. …What about France? I seem to recall hearing from a little bird that you're quite the French student. You wouldn't want to train there?"

She grinned and crinkled her nose. "Train? What do you mean 'train'?"

"Your voice, of course."

She shook her head, insisting, "I don't think I'll end up doing anything with my voice. It's more of a…hobby." She winced. She knew full well that she was far too passionate about singing for it to be labeled a hobby; it just didn't seem right.

Erik reminded himself to breathe and be calm so that he wouldn't lash out at her and call her stupid; that wouldn't make a great first impression. He'd just have to show her that she had to do something with her voice; she had to do greatness with it. He had yet to hear her sing, but he felt it within the depths of his soul, in his gut, in his bones, that her voice would be magnificent.

Father Norris proposed, "What will you do if you don't sing?"

"Hmm…" She grinned, offering, "Maybe I'll do something with languages—like be a translator. That way, I could travel the world. You know that I'm good at languages."

"If you ask me," he insisted, "you're wasting your God-given talent. You need to use your gift to its full potential. I feel it in my bones that you're meant to do something spectacular with it."

Christine laughed yet again. "If you say so."

She always felt strange when people spoke about her voice like it was the most amazing thing that they'd ever heard. She felt especially strange when people complimented her on it (for the few that got to really hear it), because, to her, it was such a natural part of her. Singing was like breathing: she had to do it to live. If she didn't sing, she felt as if she suffocated. Music was the biggest part of her soul and the fastest way to touch her heart.

If someone complimented her on her voice, she'd liken it to those who complimented her eyes: the only one she could truly say 'Thank you' to was God, because He gave them to her. Therefore, she felt awkward when something that was a part of her got praised, because she was just born with it; it wasn't an accomplishment; she did nothing to deserve the praise.

Erik realized that he had stopped playing at some point. Afraid that conversation would get directed at him, he started up "Deck the Halls". Oddly, it was the first one to pop into his head, so he went with it; he just needed something to fill the space.

He couldn't believe it when the girl behind him began singing to it, laughing as she went along. They went through the entire thing; he could hear the strain on her voice as she tried to sing through her laughter. He knew that she could get the F5 with no problem, but she squeaked on the second time through it because of her tenseness from the urge to giggle. By the third and fourth time, she had it down. He nodded to himself as if to say, 'Good! As it should be!' He loved her for the fact that she easily followed his ritard at the end. His ears delighted in the fact that she chose to end on a high note.

Silence filled the air. She giggled then admitted, "I can never take that carol seriously. I don't know why. It just…makes me laugh."

Erik hated himself that the first thing he said to her upon her speaking to him was "It's a pity that you couldn't sing well because of it." Afraid that she'd take offense, he offered (without turning), "Shall we perform something else? Perhaps 'O Little Town of Bethlehem'?"

Christine smiled in bemusement. "That's one of my favorites. How did you know?"

Erik smirked, murmuring to the keys before him, "It's easy to tell which carols were your favorites to sing last night. Your eyes were just a little bit brighter; your expression was just a little more sincere."

Embarrassed though she was at the fact that he paid close attention to her, she now desperately wanted him to turn around. "So, you came in to view the program, and that's how you found out that we needed a new organist?"

"Yes." He was getting anxious talking to her. He wanted to hide within the flow of music again, but he didn't want to be rude by truncating their conversation. He had to wait for a suitable lull in it.

Christine found herself greatly intrigued, her heart yearning to discover more about the mysterious man before her. However, she felt it'd be rude (and downright weird) if she approached him and tried to look at him from the side. "What's your name?"

"Erik." He wondered if he should ask her name but realized that the pastor had already given it. Therefore, he felt fine about saying, "And you are Christine."

The girl in question pursed her lips in a curious smile as she narrowed her eyes and demanded, "How did you know my name?"

"Father Norris said it."

"No," she refuted, "Father Norris always calls me 'Miss Daaé'." She grinned, tickled by this mystery. "So, how did you know it?"

Internally, he panicked at his slip. That was right: he had called her 'Miss Daaé'. He offered up truth that sounded like a lie. "I happened to overhear it on my way out of the church last night."

Christine couldn't fathom his interest. She was a very boring person. Why would anyone take any interest in her—especially remembering her name in passing? She was so flabbergasted that she commented on the first thing that popped into her head: "Erik is a very Swedish name."

"Is it?" His heart got giddy. He could tell that this was a compliment from her.

"Yes."

Here was his lull, but he no longer wanted to truncate their conversation. "Hmm. I'm afraid that I know nothing of Sweden. It's not one of the places to which I have traveled."

Instantly intrigued, Christine inquired, taking a step toward him, "Where have you traveled?"

"A great many places. All over Europe, some of Asia—including the Middle East; Pakistan and Iran, really. No Sweden, though."

Her curiosity and general affinity for people got her asking, "What was your favorite place to visit?"

The question caught him off-guard. His brain hurried to catch up and process the question. "Probably Italy, but I greatly enjoyed Russia."

A bit anxious at the fact that he still hadn't looked at her, she commented, "Aww. If you were in Russia, you weren't that far. You could have stuck it in your tour…but I guess it might have been out of your way since you were heading to Asia. It's a beautiful country, though. It's one of my favorite places to be."

He now regretted not going. "I'll have to go there sometime."

Fighting the fact that it hurt her heart so much that it upset her stomach, Christine stated, "I go there annually—to visit my father's grave. We decided before he died that it'd be best to bury him in his hometown." Unleashing a wry "Heh!" for the main intent of exhaling, she added, "He joked, 'It will get you to visit Sverige more often.' …Sverige is the Swedish name for Sweden."

"I gathered that."

She laughed mostly to relieve the tension in her gut and heart. It didn't work. She'd have to change the subject soon to get away from the depression creeping up. She meant to, but she kept on the topic, saying, "I go during the summer—as soon as school lets out. My father's birthday is June 9th, so I visit him on it when I can. Usually, school lets out too late for it, though, so I just make up for it when I get there. …Was. Oh, my goodness! I said 'is,' didn't I? …Wow. I haven't done that in three years. Sorry."

Quite bewildered, he almost looked at her while he questioned, "Why are you apologizing?"

"…I don't know. I apologize a lot. I don't like offending or annoying people."

Since she felt awkward, she figured that now was the perfect time to change the subject. She grinned, sensing the answer to her question before she even asked it. "Are you French?"

He smiled and, again, nearly turned to look at her. "As a matter of fact, I am. Father Norris mentioned that you're a student of French?" Oh, how he wanted to look at her!

"I am. That makes it sound so prestigious, though. I'm only taking it in school. Currently, I'm in my third year of high-school French. Next year, I plan on taking AP French—Advanced Placement. I…heh…I really like French. It strikes me as a very romantic language. A friend of mine says, 'Romantic? With all that hacking? Yuck!' and I tell her that she's weird—because she is. Her mother's French, which makes her part-French, so it's weird that she doesn't like French."

Erik nodded and murmured, "Indeed."

"I guess she's been too Americanized; she grew up here, so it's all she really knows. She's a total California girl."

His urge got the better of him. He requested, "Speak to me in French. I'm curious."

Seizing the opportunity, Christine retorted, "Only if you look at me! It's a little weird talking to you like this."

He weighed his options. He liked conversing with her…and if he planned on getting close to her and convincing her that her voice was destined for greatness (though he had yet to hear it properly), he needed to earn her trust. He needed to look at her sometime. Why not now, when no one else was around? Taking a deep breath, he rotated around.

Christine's lips parted in surprise, and she blinked a bit. She hadn't been expecting a masked face. From his melodious voice, she expected someone handsome. She shivered under the weight of his dark eyes.

"I'm looking at you," he pointed out. "That was your condition."

"Yes…" she replied, getting entranced by his eyes. She distractedly said, "I don't know what to say."

He smiled, and it came so easily that it startled him. The only thing that ever made him smile was music. Trying not to freak out about it, he offered, "We could start with a proper introduction. That's even basic French. Not very intimidating." He extended his hand, saying, "Je m'appelle Érik."

Grinning hard, Christine laughed then gripped his hand. Their breaths caught in their throats; their smiles fell. Her eyes went to his hand. It was pale and cold but strangely beautiful with its elongation. Somehow, the bony fingers enchanted her; she suspected it was because she knew that they could produce such powerful music. His touch was surprisingly gentle against her skin. It felt like a hug for her hand, which caused warmth to go up her arm and across her chest to her heart. Simultaneously, it gave her goose bumps. She dragged her eyes back to his soulful ones and murmured, "Je m'appelle Christine."

"Quel beau nom," he breathed, his smile returning. It was probably the most beautiful name that he'd ever heard—especially with the French accent to it. "If I recall correctly, it means 'Follower of Christ'."

"Well, I am," she replied, laughing. She couldn't bring herself to pull her hand away. It felt like it belonged with Erik's. She began to feel uneasy about this strange sensation in her heart, so she tried to joke with more basic French. "Comment allez-vous? Hehe!"

Erik couldn't believe how wonderful it sounded to be asked how he was. He felt like he never heard it; he at least heard it very rarely. His heart raced as he replied, "Ça va. Et toi?"

She grinned hard again, and Erik fell more in love with the way that her eyes twinkled as she shyly replied, "Moi, je vais bien." She laughed at the fact that she almost said "très bien," which would have given away how happy she felt to have met this intriguing person.

Since it didn't seem particularly wise to continue holding her hand, Erik instigated their separation. Both felt chilled at the loss. Not knowing what else to do, Christine asked, reverting to English, "How long have you been in America? Your English is very good."

"Twenty years. …I'm thirty-eight."

Smiling, she offered, "It's hard to tell what age you are. Your eyes seem young, but you have this air of…wisdom about you."

He actually grinned as he replied, "You have an air of sweetness about you, but your eyes seem old…yet there's innocence there, too."

Mrs. Valerius announced her presence by saying, "I've always said that she's an old soul." The woman stepped closer to them from where she stood in the aisle, coming to wrap her arm around Christine. "An old, gentle soul."

Christine added, "And my father used to say, 'That's why you were in such a hurry to be born. You were ready to experience life.'" The old pang in her heart was barely there as she smiled.

"Yes. …Shall we warm up?"

She blushed. "Umm…I think, maybe, I'll just warm up with the rest of the choir."

The elderly woman scoffed. "No, you won't. Come on." She steered the girl over to the grand piano, stationing her in the curve of it while she sat on the bench. She plunked Middle C with her thumb, but Christine remained frozen, not even opening her mouth.

Father Norris offered, "If you'd like, we can leave—give you some privacy."

'YOU can leave,' Erik hissed in his mind, 'but I'm not about to!'

Unfortunately, Christine grinned with such great relief that he felt obligated to leave with the man. To his great relief, they stood just outside the sanctuary, enabling him to listen to her. The two did five-note scales, starting with C major before going up: D major, E major, F major, G major, A major, B major, and C major an octave higher. They kept climbing. She was timid, but the voice was there; it just needed guidance.

Father Norris took note of the way that Erik listened intently to the girl singing and decided to wait to speak until she finished.

Erik gritted his teeth as he noticed how closed-off her sound was. Notes that should have rung beautifully were squeezed out, muffled by her undoubtedly closed mouth. True, it had to be open at least a little bit, but he could clearly picture her lips and teeth being more discernable than the blackness of an open mouth. She squeaked slightly the higher that she went, and she was only at G5. Granted, it was because of the break between her registers, but still. He made a note to himself that he'd work heavily on her passaggio.

He knew without looking that her jaw was tight; in general, she was tense; she wasn't using her diaphragm; she wasn't using any proper technique. Without the ability to hide within the choir, she was meek, which made her voice weak—and he knew that she had a powerful voice locked inside her. She just needed to get past her silly shyness and open up!

He groaned, "Non!" and touched his fingers to his masked forehead when Christine stopped at A5, not daring to go farther. That just wasn't acceptable!

Before he could stop himself, he stormed into the room. The two females at the piano gaped at him. Christine went red and apologized, trying to make it a joke, "I didn't mean to hurt your ears. Sorry."

He was about to speak when Father Norris called him back with, "Excuse me, Erik, but I need to speak with you about the service. We'll be starting in about half an hour, and I have some things that I need to discuss with you."

Huffing, Erik turned and went back to the man. He lingered long enough in the doorway to call, "Your jaw's too tight, and you're not supporting with your diaphragm!"

Utterly stunned, Christine gaped then laughed, watching the doorway until he completely disappeared. With her eyebrows raised, Mrs. Valerius questioned, "Do you want to try again?"

The singer nodded; they started at Middle C and worked their way up. She made it up to C6—the "soprano C"—but it wasn't pretty. She tended to close her mouth as she went up instead of dropping her jaw like she knew that she should. Therefore, her high notes tended to sound just plain painful.

She scoffed at herself. "I know full well that I should drop my jaw, but I just can't…do it! I know that I should support with my diaphragm, but…" It dawned on her. "I don't really know how."

"Like I said: we need to get you a vocal teacher."

Her eyes went to the empty doorway. "What about Erik?"

Mrs. Valerius frowned. "Who's Erik? …That masked man?" The woman shook her head. "No, no. That one's got a temper to him; I can tell. You need someone with a gentle temperament—like yourself. Plus, I don't feel comfortable with you having a male teacher—especially one that's so much older. It's not proper. No, we'll find a nice, female teacher for you to go to."

Christine didn't like confrontation; she generally didn't like to make waves. Therefore, she smiled and nodded, easily agreeing with the woman. Still, as they worked more on exercises (borrowed from her school choir), her eyes would stray to the doorway. There was something about Erik that made her curious and made her smile. She couldn't wait to see him again. Unfortunately, she didn't see him until after she returned from getting her choir robe on; by this point, people were in the sanctuary, so he kept his back turned. With a sigh, she resigned herself to the fact that she'd talk to him after the service. Situated with the rest of the choir, she listened to Father Norris start.

"Good morning. Merry Christmas. Please join me in welcoming our new organist, Mr. Erik Garnier."

The congregation applauded, though there was some whispering.

Father Norris smiled at Erik's back before turning to face the people in the pews. "Now, I'm sure you're all wondering why his back is to you. The answer to that is he feels that he'd much rather you all focus on his music instead of who he is. And who doesn't like a little mystery, hm?" Chuckles arose. For the time being, it seemed that the churchgoers could be content with this arrangement.

Using his peripheral vision, Erik glanced at the choir, who happened to be the only people who could see him from where he sat. The members of it whispered to each other. He heard Christine softly and politely tell them to please be quiet ("Father Norris is speaking!"). It made him smile. He decided to take this in a different way: she respected him and wanted to stop them from gossiping.

After the service, Erik remained where he was until he heard the room empty. Father Norris squeezed his shoulder, commending, "Phenomenal playing. Thank you so much for volunteering. I'm glad that we were finally able to come to an agreement about your salary." The man said this with a hint of a strained smile, for he and Erik had heckled about it. His love of the man's playing won out: he agreed to pay him double the ordinary amount. For instance, instead of getting a hundred dollars per hour for rehearsals, he'd get two hundred. Service fees, such as playing for funerals or weddings, would cost well over three hundred as opposed to a hundred or even two hundred and fifty per service.

Erik grinned, and his eyes gleamed. "Me, too."

Father Norris gave one last smile before leaving the room. Erik was just about to begin playing one of his own original compositions when he sensed another presence in the room. He turned and found Christine sitting front and center in the first pew closest to him. Still in her choir robes, she was reading over sheet music in her black binder. Suddenly, she sighed, complaining, "Christmas is pretty much over now. I wait all year for this!" She laughed sadly, her smile turning into a simper. "Christmas carols are some of my favorite songs. Sometimes, I end up singing them during the summer." She laughed, her eyes remaining on her sheet music, and he smiled. She sighed, lamenting, "I wish that you could sing them all year long without getting strange looks, but, at the same time, that takes away the meaning of them, and they're not as unique anymore."

Finished with bidding goodbye to her friends, Mrs. Valerius stepped back into the room to collect Christine. Her uneasiness about the two being alone together lent her speed as she strode down the aisle. "Christine, you still have to get changed."

"I thought you wanted me to sing for you?" She sheepishly admitted, "Wearing my robes helps me feel more confident."

Erik commented, "That's very psychological."

The blonde shrugged. "It helps." She smiled simply because she was usually a very upbeat person.

Since she did desperately want to hear the girl sing, Mrs. Valerius sighed but smiled, taking her seat at the piano. Christine joined her on the bench since she always felt more confident singing as she sat instead of singing while standing.

Strangely hesitant, Erik offered, "If you don't mind, I'd be happy to supply the accompaniment."

Christine lit up. She adored the idea. After her earlier carol with Erik, she craved singing with him for real. His playing was too breathtaking to pass up. She wanted to sing something substantial with him. She wanted to prove to him that she could sing (after the disastrous warm-up, she feared that he thought her incapable of proper singing). "That'd be lovely!"

He smiled. It was beginning to feel natural to him—smiling because of her. "What shall we perform?"

Mrs. Valerius piped up before Christine could offer something else. "'O Holy Night'."

Christine complained, "Oh, Mama Valerius, no! I don't do it justice! …I'll sing along with a track for 'O Holy Night'. How about that?"

"I don't want to hear someone else singing it; I want to hear you singing it!"

She refuted, "I will be singing it; I just get more confidence when I sing along with someone else. Besides, she has the most beautiful voice! Oh! It's angelic!"

Mrs. Valerius insisted, "You're angelic."

"No, no! I'm serious! She has the voice of an angel. Plus…she sings it in Swedish. My father loved listening to her recording. He even had the original 1987 cassette. I think she was probably his favorite soprano."

The woman smiled. "Now that I know that, I know that I won't be able to talk you out of it. Let me just say, though: You were always your father's favorite soprano."

In an instant, she crumbled. Erik was in awe at how quickly she went from happy to devastated—smiling to bursting into tears. Mrs. Valerius cradled her charge as she wept, sobbing her heart out. Just as she seemed to recover, another bout hit her. When she finally regrouped, she pulled back and wiped at her cheeks, appearing stoic before she smiled at her adoptive parent—who was more like a grandparent than a parent. "Sore spot," she offered, trying to laugh it off as she rubbed at her heart then simpered. Her eyes roved over the room before finally settling on the pulpit. "His funeral was held in Uppsala, but we had a memorial service here for the people who knew him here—so that they wouldn't have to travel," she quietly informed Erik with her stoic face and vacant eyes. "The funeral was more of a private event. …My mother's was in Denver. She died when I was six. He died when I was fourteen—from lung cancer."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Somehow, the fact that she was an orphan made her that much more attractive to him. He supposed it was because he had always been alone…and now she was.

She gave a weak smile then stared at the floor. "He started deteriorating around this time. He died January 22nd. I…" Her eyes stung, but she closed them to fend off the fresh wave of tears. She kept them at bay as she finished, "I sang him…to sleep." It was no good; she broke down sobbing. "And he didn't wake up." She sobbed some more then wiped at her cheeks.

Erik longed to caress her hair or her face as he soothed from his seat at the organ, "He went peacefully." She gaped at him, so he clarified, "If the last thing he heard was your voice, he went peacefully." She bowed her head, sobbing as more tears leaked from her eyes.

Mrs. Valerius was mystified. Christine had never talked about it in such great detail; she had certainly never cried in front of her. At the funeral, she was stoic; she didn't shed a single tear. She'd occasionally mention that she missed him—him and his playing—but she never broke down like this. It was as if this man had the power to make her open up her soul and purge herself of everything that she kept bottled up.

Even though she seemed to be calming down, Erik sought to comfort her by playing "O Little Town of Bethlehem". To his delight, she sang along. Her voice was a little weak from her bout of grief, but it picked up some strength. Unfortunately, due to her improper breathing, it was airy and lacked true power.

He turned toward her and stated, "Your breathing's terrible."

She simpered. "I know! I just…don't know how to breathe properly. Like, I know what I should be doing, but I have a problem applying it in practice."

"Hmm," he hummed, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. "When you're singing in the choir, you seem to use proper technique; when you sing by yourself, it's like you forget everything. Just now, you breathed from your chest instead of your diaphragm." He said with great thoughtfulness, "I can tell that you're a smart girl. You just have to let your brain be the boss instead of your body. It might sound strange, but singing is quite unnatural. In order to do it properly, you have to overrule a lot of your body's natural defenses—like your epiglottis. You have to keep it out of the way, but it doesn't want to be out of the way, because it's what keeps you from taking your food into your windpipe instead of your esophagus when you go to swallow."

He nearly grinned at the intent way that she watched him. It was evident that she hungered for knowledge—but especially so with singing.

"Likewise," he added, "your diaphragm helps regulate your breathing, so it doesn't like being told what to do. You have to train it."

"Uh-huh," she replied, nodding eagerly. She hoped that he would suggest being her vocal teacher, because she thought it'd be rude if she asked him. Unfortunately, he said nothing more beyond this; he merely turned and played "What Child is This?" She wilted, pouting at the abrupt termination to what could have turned into a full-fledged lesson. Her jaw dropped, and her breath stilled, when Erik began to sing. She got goose bumps from his voice. She could barely breathe. She just kept staring at him with her jaw hanging down. Mrs. Valerius was in the same position. However, when he finished, she had the presence of mind to speak.

"You have a beautiful voice," she breathed.

"Thank you." He smiled wryly. "I suppose God had to give me something to make up for my face." He was afraid that one or both would inquire into this, but they remained quiet, hushed by the awe inspired by his voice. He pressed, "I'd very much like to hear you sing 'O Holy Night,' Christine." Somehow, it seemed wrong to speak her name—like he might get struck down for speaking the name of one of God's angels. Pushing past his unease, he added, "In fact, I was highly disappointed that you didn't come forward to sing it last night. That other girl was dreadful!"

Mrs. Valerius prodded, "See? Even random members of the audience felt that you should have been the one singing it!"

"Okay. I can take the hint. Let me just set up." She dug through her medium-sized tote bag, pulling out her iPod and the speakers that went with them. The tote bag was cream-colored with a red rose and French words printed upon it. She didn't normally bring the speakers everywhere she went, but today was an exception, because she planned on using them to sing for her dear friend. Before she started the track, she informed them, "The singer is Sissel Kyrkjebø. She's actually Norwegian, but she sings in other languages—one of them being Swedish. The Swedish version is called 'O Helga Natt'. My father thought her accent was cute. Heh." She smiled fondly before adding, "I'm going to let it play once through to remind myself of the words…and because I want you guys to hear her sing first."

Erik offered, "Okay." This other singer had a beautiful voice, but he was quite impatient to hear Christine. Given that she'd be singing along to a track, she'd have more confidence, so he'd get to hear her voice at its strongest.

It was beautiful right up until the end, where Christine hit the B-flat but couldn't sustain it, forcing her to cut out on the note before finishing up the rest of the phrase.

Red in the face, Christine observed, "And that is why I didn't perform it last night."

He had no right to, but Erik insisted, "You'll perform it next year, and you'll make everyone in the room cry. You just need to get some training."

Christine opened her mouth, taking a breath in order to ask him to be her teacher (since he'd opened himself up to it, making it no longer seem rude). Right at this moment, Mrs. Valerius smiled and insisted, "Well, then, we'll just have to get you a proper teacher. In the meantime, you and I have to get going. We're meeting Meg and her mother for brunch." She brushed off Erik with, "Lovely to have met you! I look forward to hearing more of your playing."

He nodded. He wasn't too worried. He knew that she would eventually become his pupil. Until then, he'd bide his time.

A/N: I love being a soprano. I have nothing against the other classifications, but I love high notes, so I'm really glad that I'm a soprano. When I use my chest voice, I do not sound cute. Lol.

((sobs)) I need a vocal teacher! I wish I could live in Colorado again so that I could get more lessons from my grandma. She was the perfect teacher for me. She's a coloratura soprano. When I was seventeen, I visited her in the summer and stayed for a week. I got ten lessons in seven days, mostly twice a day. It was the most amazing boot camp ever. Lol. Just kidding. It was a lot to take in, but I learned so much! …And I still have the tapes from that summer. Oh, yeah!

Unfortunately, I don't like listening to them all that much, because I hate my speaking voice, and my grandma kept asking me questions as part of her teaching method—such as "How do you open your mouth?"

Is this a trick question? "Umm…you drop your jaw." (Possible question mark in there, lol.)

Ugh. I want to punch my younger self in the face, because she sounds so…so…little girl-like! Lol. I like listening to the singing, though…sometimes…and singing along with the warm-ups that we did.

Enough rambling. Please review!

Kagome-chan