The next day passed by in a mindless haze, for all she could think about was the strange man she had met the other night. The distraction helped her through her ballet training, as having something to think about lessened the pain. For the first time ever, Madame Giry actually commended her.

"You are improving quickly, Christine," she congratulated the girl. "And you are not quite so stiff. I might be able to make a half-decent dancer from you yet."

It had been weeks since the girl actually smiled, but a soft one pulled at her lips that day, and for once, she felt something else other than despair.

Despite being quite worried for her safety, strangely for Christine the night could not come fast enough. In order to pass the time before sundown, she took a walk in the city, since she has been holed in the opera for so long. The cold winter air stung her lungs, but she felt alive, and excited. Nervous, but excited.

After twenty minutes of waiting in the practice auditorium, Erik concluded that Christine was not coming. He could not blame her, for no one in his life has ever voluntarily spent time with him. The only reason Daroga still spoke to him was to make sure he was still alive, and that he hadn't killed anyone that week. He was disappointed, but not surprised. The only thing worse than being disappointed is when there was hope in the first place.

He began to gather his things, becoming cold as he became used to the shock of rejection. Just as he was about to leave, the door clicked open.

Why am I here? Christine scolded herself in her head as she ascended the stairs to the top floor. This is very, very stupid. I should not even be going. What is a ballerina going to do with singing lessons? And yet, through her self-depreciation, she still had hope. Hope is what forced her to open that door.

"You came." His greeting was no more than a soft sigh of wonder as his hope was restored.

"I… I did." Her voice was shy and frail, apprehension laced in her every word. "I hope I did not keep you waiting."

"Not at all. Please, join me." His voice was kind, gentle even, but there was an undertone of command that almost forced its listener to obey. If he wanted to, he could make someone go to the heaven and back with his voice.

She approached him as he sat at the piano, and there was sheet music waiting for her on a stand. Her father had taught her to read music quite well, and as she looked at the page, tears filled her eyes as she was reminded of him. Upon seeing this, Erik frowned immediately.

"Have I upset you?"

"No!" She immediately replied nervously, wiping her tears and regaining her composure. If there was anything she hated, it was people seeing her cry. She was ashamed of it, actually. "No, it isn't you. My father taught me music when I was younger, he died when I was a child. I miss him."

"I am very sorry for your loss," he replied politely. She immediately scolded herself for telling her life story to some stranger who probably could not care less, but she forced herself to remain composed. She nodded in acknowledgement, and soon their lesson began.

Her voice was nothing like it was last night. She knew now that she was being observed, and her anxiety took control of her senses, her voice. Erik was disappointed, but he knew that she was capable of better things. They had a lot of work to do.

"You sound afraid," he corrected her, standing from his place at the piano. At his full height, he only intimidated her more. She froze on the spot. "You must learn not to be afraid, Christine. Again."

The page she was singing from was scales, which were meant to warm her voice and prepare her to sing actual music. But, Erik could tell that they would be singing scales for a long time. The girl had a good sense of pitch, but her technique was wrong, her placement was wrong. And above all, her voice was void of feeling.

"Relax your shoulders, you are stiff as a board." As their lesson progressed, the strictness of his methods became all too apparent. "Are you not a ballerina? Correct your posture."

Christine was slightly terrified by the intensity of his voice, but his strictness and control were something she desperately needed. The conservatory has broken her spirit, crushed her voice, and now if she had any hope of being rebuilt, he needed to be ruthless.

It wasn't until almost two hours later that he had an inkling of satisfaction of what he heard. Although she was making astounding progress in the short time they were together, he never once commended her, or praised her. It was not his way. Strictness and demand for perfection were the two cornerstones of his personality, and although he never once let up on her, she became less scared.

When she rested after attempting her final scale, she looked up to him, waiting for disapproval and corrections. Instead, he nodded simply, picking up his music and putting his things away.

"We are done for today. I expect you here tomorrow, at the same time. I assume you do not have plans?"

She shook her head, gathering her music once she was told she was allowed to keep it. After a long silence, she bid him goodnight, thanking him in her timid speech before leaving the room.