- - - Still several years ago - - -

"You what?!" The Daroga had shouted at him in shock at his confession.

"I've only been instructing the girl. She was the one who insisted on calling me an angel and thinking I was sent to guide her."

"That is no exc-"

"Oh but if you'd have seen her poor face- crying such bitter tears almost every night for over a year! Then this girl comes in one night absolutely frustrated, declaring that her father's spirit abandoned her, for the Angel of Music he'd promised her never arrived. What was I to do, Daroga?" Erik huffed, heading in the direction of his music room.

"Leave her be." He muttered quietly.

His Persian friend couldn't convince him to think of any negatives of his communication with the young girl. The night was spent composing a short, sweet piece for her. His finished product resembled the sound of Schumann's Schlummerlied, meant to be played softly on the violin, granted playing "softly" and on the violin weren't the best showcase of his musical abilities. It took almost a week for him to muster enough courage to actually play it for his student while she was drifting off to sleep in the ballet dormitories. Christine informed her teacher the next night of the wonderful music she'd heard just before their lesson began, saying that it was a lovely reminder of her father and that he must've been an angel for it.

Erik couldn't find it in himself to let down her fantasy of an angel and just continued on to their lesson.

And he later stuck the page of his lullaby in the same locked desk drawer, deciding strongly against telling the Daroga of this occasion. Erik spent the remainder of his energies on the composition of what he hoped to be his life's work- a dramatic romance opera titled "Don Juan Triumphant". For this he played on his organ, occasionally humming out a tune with his voice to see how it would suit the vocal chords when sung. Perhaps his Christine could star in this opera by the time her voice blossomed into its polished, matured form.

He hoped that this orphaned girl wouldn't become a bit of a harlot like many of the current girls in the corps du ballet, only seeking to secure herself a wealthy man. There was only so much he could try to keep her from doing, being nothing but an invisible teacher to her. Erik knew that his mysterious form as her angel wouldn't last forever as his student grew older and less naïve. She would have to have suspicions of who he really was, and he dreaded that day. For now, he was to do his best in instructing her and gaining the girl's trust.

- - - Current time - - -

Erik chuckled to himself, seeing the messiness of his crude composition for when Christine had been so young. He'd titled it simply, Berceuse pour ma etudiante, not wanting to complicate the name or seem too attached to the melody. It worked like magic for the nights when she would toss and turn restlessly with her eyes staring up at the ceiling, somehow allowing her to relax and finally drift off to sleep.

Reminiscently humming the tune to himself, Erik flipped the page of the old book and found just a few of his charcoal sketches. All of which happened to be the young Christine in various poses he'd seen her in throughout her rehearsals with either the ballet or with him. Her eyes always had such an innocent gleam to them, revealing how hard she was trying to do her best for her instructors. There were always a few misbehaving curls of her dark hair that stuck out from the ribbon she'd tie around it and slight imperfections in her posture, for both singing and dancing.

The musician began his sketches of her just as a form of practicing one of his old artistic talents, never really having drawn the delicate form of a girl before. Now he was pleased with his thought to have captured Christine's childish form for him to look back upon. These drawings were never seen by the Daroga and never would be; they were much too personal for his criticizing eyes. Erik knew he would've long been scolded for doing such a thing.

His student continued to grow, her voice becoming stronger through their lessons over the next few years, and she was assuredly more clever. Erik could tell that Christine had been questioning the true form of her strange instructor, who appeared to be but a disembodied voice echoing throughout the chapel walls. She must've been about 12 years old when she finally asked about her teacher.

- - - Back when Christine was 12 - - -

"Angel, I am truly grateful for your instruction. But may I ask you something?" She shyly pleaded, fixing her gaze to the floor in fear of having to deal with the more snappy attitude of her teacher.

"If you must." He replied stoically.

"What are you really? My friend Meg keeps telling me about a mischievous ghost haunting the opera but won't believe that my teacher is an angel. Are you a spirit perhaps?"

He sighed, feeling his heart drop in his chest before answering: "Unfortunately I knew you would ask such a thing sooner or later. Yes, child you're correct in assuming that I'm no heavenly angel. I only know that your father was a great violinist and that you miss him terribly. Only a heartless wretch could've ignored your cries in this chapel."

"Are you the Opera Ghost then?"

"Yes and no. My story is a complicated one that would take much longer than one lesson to explain. Besides, you still need to work on your breathing to hold out a proper fermata with a deep vibrato so we cant waste any time speaking of my origins."

The girl was still quite young and, not wanting to upset her teacher, decided against questioning him further for the time being. She nodded in response before proceeding to restart the aria he'd given her to practice, even though her mind was asking a million questions about him. How did her teacher hear and see her if she couldn't see him? There was no place for him to hide in the tiny chapel. Was she being instructed by a ghost? Surely ghosts weren't known for teaching young orphans how to sing. But there was no way he could've been a man, for regular men didn't possess the ability to have their voice echo from anywhere in the room nor draw her attention so undividedly.

So Christine accepted that her teacher was not an angel, but rather some other fantastic being that was invisible to human eyes. She would hear the distant sound of a violin lullaby playing, very much reminiscent of nights she remembered with her father who'd play for her to make his daughter fall asleep. Her dreams consisted of early childhood memories of the ocean and things she imagined about the mysterious teacher; sometimes he would be a shadowy man, other times he was an ethereal ghost with no distinct form. But in real life, she still referred to him as "angel", only now as a term of endearment as he hadn't provided her with a different name to call him by.

Meanwhile, Erik would get rushes of anxiety due to his fear that the one person who hadn't cowered before him would decide against blindly trusting his deception.