Chapter 1: The Strange Voice

Christine

My full name is Christine Elizabeth Daaė. I think I was named after my father's mother; I'm not exactly sure. Of course, with a last name like Daaė, I was a constant target for teasing ever since I started the first grade. I liked my first name, though. I, with my little-girl foolishness, thought it sounded like a princess name. My father's habit of calling me a princess certainly didn't help my childish ego. Come to think of it, I was a very spoiled little girl. My father showered me with attention, and I greedily drank it in large gulps.

Although I was born in Florida, I was not raised in that state. My mother was a business woman, and her job required her to move every few years or so, and wherever she went, I had to go as well. I wouldn't have minded moving so much if she would wait until the beginning of the school year. Having to go to a new school was bad enough without joining the student body mid-year. Cliques and in-crowds had already been established by the time I reached each new school, so I didn't form any real friendships. However, after we moved to New York – the third state we had moved to in the past five years – she promised me that we wouldn't move again until after I had graduated from high school. I was fourteen years old.

The relationship I had with my mother was very distant. She worked long hours, and when she was home, she hardly said a word to me except to chide me about something I hadn't or wasn't doing to her satisfaction. I can hardly blame her; she was always unappreciated by her boss and she was given a great deal of stress and hardship wherever she worked. I wasn't necessarily the cause of her troubles; I was merely the recipient. When I look back now, I realize that she started pushing me away after the death of my father. You see, when I was nine years old, my father was killed trying to prevent a man from highjacking a friend's car. His death hit me rather hard, as he was my best friend and hero. Still, I was never close to my mother, even when he was alive, and after his passing, I suppose that my mere presence was too painful for her to bear. My parents fell in love in high school, and they married just a few months after graduation. They had been each other's life. Even worse for my mother was that I resembled my father; I had his same blue eyes and pointed chin. Furthermore, I acted so much like my father, for he was the one who taught me to sing when I was very small, and I - in my young age - comforted myself by constantly singing all of his favorite songs. So, she avoided me to avoid further heartache.

I was a very shy child growing up. I obeyed orders quietly and worked hard to please everybody. My most ambitious goal was to remain invisible at my high school, and my wish was granted. As a result, I had no enemies; yet, because of my tendency to do everything within my power to remain unnoticed, I had very few friends. However, I had one best friend: Meg Giry. She was everything I was not: bold, popular, and stunning. I was never jealous of her - we were far too close for such petty feelings to come between us - but still, I sometimes found myself feeling insignificant when I was around her. I had very pale skin, a tiny figure, and blue eyes that seemed too large for my face. It was not so with Meg; she had dark eyes that sparkled with mischief, long, luxurious dark hair, a winning smile, and a tall, graceful build. She was perfection itself, whereas I was merely her plain best friend.

Since I had no siblings, few friends, and a mother who was seldom home, I was rather insecure. I never took risks and I feared anything that might bring about change. So, my life was very average, and nothing unusual ever presented itself. My life was, well, gray and bleak as a rainy day, and I, with my limited perspective, was content for it to remain that way.

When Meg and I were sixteen, we started working for a small, independent theater. We were only chorus members, but I, at least, was happy, although I have doubts as to Meg's contentedness. I, however, have always loved musicals, and to be even a small part of a production exhilarated me. I didn't care for limelight; I only wanted to be a part of the theatrical family.

It was through this theater that I first became acquainted with the one who would change my life forever.

One night, after the theater was closed, I was walking out to my car with Meg. Right as we were about to leave, I noticed that I had left my folder inside the building. Meg agreed to wait until I retrieved it, as we were planning to go to Starbucks to study for the anatomy mid-term that was taking place the following week. As I went inside, I almost bumped into Mr. Harper. Mr. Harper was the janitor, and he was a strange, creepy old man. He was known to be the cause of a good deal of practical jokes, especially the ones that were played on the chorus members. He hadn't ever given me a reason to distrust him, though, so I usually paid him no mind. Still, he gave me the creeps the way he glared at people and seemed to know what they were thinking, even if he didn't know them.

"Oh, excuse me," I apologized, anxious to move past him. He, however, stepped into my path before I could escape.

"You forget something?" he asked.

"Yes sir, I forgot my folder." Please, leave me alone, I silently added. I want to go home.

"Well, I'm setting the alarm, so you need to be out of the building in ten minutes." He then – finally! – moved out of my way so that I could go backstage.

"Yes sir. Thank you!" I called over my shoulder. Then, I ran behind the stage. My folder was on the stool I had been using, and as I picked it up, I suddenly heard a voice, a faint whisper in the dimly lit building.

"Christine… Christine…"

"H-hello?" I stammered. Then, with a bit more bravery, "Very funny," I called, thinking it was Mr. Harper playing one of his infamous pranks. "I'll be out in just a minute!" Goodness, that guy was so strange that it was incredible! I briefly wondered why he wasn't currently being held in some kind of mental facility, but my thoughts were interrupted.

"Christine…" My heart started beating rapidly as I realized that the voice I was hearing didn't belong to Mr. Harper. I quickly grabbed my folder, but before I could rush off to Meg and safety, the voice spoke once again.

"Christine…" The voice was louder this time.

"What do you want?" I asked, now truly frightened. "Who are you?"

"I am the Angel of Music," was the mysterious voice's reply.

An angel. Right. "What do you think I am, a child?" I demanded.

The voice laughed, and I felt shivers creeping down my spine. The laugh sounded cold and unnatural.

"Christine, you are a child. I want to teach you to sing."

"Teach me… to sing?" This wasn't what I had expected… not that I would know what to expect when a mysterious voice starts talking to you.

"Yes. Your voice is weak and you don't know how to properly support it." At this, I began to protest. "But," the voice continued as if it had not heard my interruption, "if you dedicate yourself, and if you use all of your energy, you could learn to sing in such a way that all of the others will sound inferior to you. You have much potential, but unless you are taught correctly, you will never rise to what you can be."

I stood, stunned, thinking the matter over in my head. On one hand, I knew nothing about this voice or its owner. On the other hand, I desperately wanted to one day stand onstage and sing.

"Why are you making this offer to me? You don't even know me."

"Christine," the voice sounded impatient now. "Do you accept my offer or not?"

Any normal person would have said no. Any other person would have run out of the building and never have darkened its door again.

Yet, I was not any other person. I was a foolish young girl who wanted to sing, and I was dumb enough to accept an offer from a person that I absolutely had no knowledge whatsoever about who he was or what he wanted, or even more important, what motives were behind his offer. My desire to sing erased all of the common sense that I possessed.

"Do you accept?"

I swallowed. "Yes."

The voice sighed. "Very well, then. You must come backstage every night after everyone else has left. The door will be open…" he seemed to sense what I was going to say, "and the alarm will not go off. You will be the only person in the building. Is this clear?"

"Yes," I answered. "Why are you doing this?" I asked once again.

Silence. "Hello?" I called, panicking. (Oh, how I hated it when he made me think that he had left! He did this rather frequently, and it never failed to irritate me.) "Are you still there?"

"Yes, Christine, I'm here," the voice answered... finally! "I think we should save this discussion for another day. Now," he continued before I could argue, "I believe you have about one minute until the alarm goes off. You had best be on your way before the police come to catch a thief and instead find you. That would be horribly inconvenient for them."

I started for the door, folder in hand, when the voice suddenly stopped me once more.

"One more condition, Christine," the voice, or rather, angel, said. "You must not tell anyone that you are under my tutorage or lessons will cease."

Yeah, as if anyone would believe me, I thought to myself. Then, aloud, "I understand."

"Goodnight then, child." With that, I didn't wait to hear if he had anything else to add; I ran for the door, only slowing down when I was almost viewable by my best friend.

As I walked through the door, Meg rushed over to me and said, "Christine! I've been waiting almost ten minutes now." She placed her hands on her hips dramatically. If I had not just come from a very abnormal and frightening conversation with a person that I couldn't see, I would have laughed at her. Her accusation was rather unfair, as I had often waited on her much longer than ten minutes while she fixed her hair or applied more (and unnecessary) makeup. As matters stood, however, I wasn't in a humorous mood. She then asked me, "What took you so long? Could you not find your folder or something?"

I looked over my shoulder at the theater as my head tried to sort out what had just taken place. Too many thoughts were rushing around at the same time. So, I just turned and smiled weakly at my friend and replied, "Nothing."