Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or any of its adaptations or characters.

Title: Songbird

Summary: After the death of her father, Christine finds herself at the mercy of an aunt she hardly knew existed. With her entire world changing in an instant, her future never seemed so uncertain. Yet, the mysterious masked lord may just be able to offer her a life unlike anything she ever imagined.

Chapter 3 – A Song from the Past

Christine hauled the bucket of dirty water out to the back of the chateau and dumped it into some bushes. It had been a few weeks now and she found herself unsupervised and competent. For those first few days, she had still needed the aid of her aunt or another of the staff that happened to be nearby. It was the difference in the surroundings, expectations, and storage that she had to learn. She was intelligent and quick-witted, though, and had a good handle of her duties now.

She set the wooden bucket onto the ground and shielded her eyes as she glanced up at the sky. It was a bright and beautiful day. Perhaps the heat wasn't as much of an asset as it seemed with her being in a heavy frock and going in and out of the chateau all day.

She was making good time with her chores and so decided to take a short break and enjoy the fresh air. She strolled along the outer wall of the house, attempting to stay within the shadows that the large building cast across the ground, until she could branch off into the spacious backyard. She could only vaguely recall the route through the gardens, and therefore decided to stay near the fountain at the head of the maze. For, apart from wanting to avoid getting lost while she was still considered new, she believed that perhaps the water would offer a little bit of relief from the harsh sunlight.

As she strolled, she reflected on her time at the chateau thus far. She couldn't recall a time where she had felt more alone. Physically the place was very spacious and there were fewer staff members than there should have been for a property this large. It was more than that, though. This was an entirely new environment and she was still in the process of finding her niche. There was simply nobody she could confide in—nobody who would understand.

Christine began humming an old tune her father had taught her. It was supposed to be a calming and comforting melody. She hiked up her skirt so that she might be able to sit on the side of the stone fountain and drag her fingers across the surface of the water. It certainly did feel cool compared to the temperature outside.

She looked beyond the distorted reflections to the water and let her mind go. She reflected on a time in her past when she had traveled with her father to the sea. She recalled meeting a boy there, who had gallantly saved her little red scarf from the treacherous waters. Now that scarf was gone, just like that boy, just like her father. Nothing from the past ever remained the same.

A loud clatter jarred Christine from her reverie. She twirled around and spied Monsieur Reyer behind a wooden wheelbarrow with a shattered pot on the ground beside it. Putting two and two together, it appeared as though the porcelain had fallen and smashed on the ground when he had come to a halt by her. It wasn't the first time she had begun to sing aloud without even realizing.

"Monsieur Reyer!" she exclaimed, rushing toward him to assist in the cleanup.

"Please be careful, mademoiselle," he warned, bending down carefully to scoop up the broken pieces. "I would not want you to get hurt."

"Oh, poppycock. I am certainly more than capable of lending a hand," she insisted.

There was a pause as they scooped up the bigger pieces, placing them carefully on top of one another to transfer more easily into the wheelbarrow. Monsieur Reyer had actually cleared a little place for them at the bottom. Seeing that his efforts were futile, however, since Christine refused to let him assist, he stood back and watched over her.

"I do apologize about my clumsiness," he said. "I heard the loveliest of singing along the side of the chateau and had to find its source." He had just confirmed her beliefs without even knowing he had done so. "I am afraid that I was so startled to see that it was you that the cart lost balance and the pot tipped over."

"Then perhaps I am the one who should apologize, Monsieur Reyer," she stated, standing up with the last shards. She placed it in the cart with the rest of the garbage. "I didn't even know that I was singing. Obviously I would have restrained myself if I was at all aware."

"It was quite beautiful," he responded with a smile.

Christine smiled back, but she wasn't as carefree about it as he seemed to be. She was worried that her aunt might have heard, since she must have been singing awfully loud. Luckily, there was no sign of Madame Giry bustling out to scold her about it or poking around wondering where the noise had come from. She could only imagine what sort of talking to she would have gotten. She supposed that singing and music in general wasn't necessarily a common thing in the household, even with the master's compositions.

Her eyes darted about the outside of the chateau, just to be sure that she was still in the clear. Other than a number of open windows that had draperies billowing, there was no sign of movement or life.

With Monsieur Reyer returning to work, she decided it was best if she were to do the same. She walked cautiously back to where she had left the bucket, stepping as if there were broken glass scattered about and she wasn't wearing shoes or stockings. She gave one last look around outside then ducked back into the chateau with her bucket in hand.

xXx

The flame flickered on the single candle alight within Christine's bed chambers. It danced every time she walked by to prepare for sleep and for the next day. She finished dusting off her uniform and hung it on the outside of the wardrobe. She placed the shoes and stockings delicately on the ground next to it. In the time since her arrival, she had managed to add a little time piece and small piece of broken mirror to her room.

She glided into a seated position on the edge of the mattress and took up that little piece of mirror and the comb that had been hidden in her nightstand. Holding the glass up in one hand, she ran her comb through her hair with the other. Her chocolate-colored tresses were thick with curls, but not at all a tangled mess. It tended to remain fairly easy to brush, despite its usual fully and busy appearance.

Her father had always admired her long locks. He had claimed that it had reminded him of her mother's hair. Since she had very few memories of her mother, she had cherished any information he had chosen to share about her. Now with her father gone, as well, she saw her hair and the memory as something precious enough to keep.

A soft knock issued from the closed door. Christine glanced over at it as if she were able to see through to the person calling upon her. Obviously not being able to do just that, she placed the mirror and comb down on her nightstand and tiptoed over to it.

"Yes?" she called through the wood.

"It is Madame Giry. May I have a word?" the feminine, controlled voice answered.

Christine took a deep breath, preparing herself, before pulling open the door. She smiled in a welcoming fashion and stepped aside to allow her into the small bedroom. "Good evening, Madame Giry. Come in, please."

"Thank you." Madame Giry stepped over the threshold. She was still in the outfit she had adorned that day, as she tended to not even prepare for bed until everyone else had extinguished their candle. She glanced around skeptically at the room and what little her niece had done with it.

Christine closed the door softly then cleared her throat. "So what can I do for you?"

Madame Giry turned toward her as if she suddenly remembered the reason for her visit. "Master Erik sent for me this evening to have a word. It is quite rarely that he does this. I believe he finds that the way I run things is to his liking. But, whenever he does call for me, it is only for a matter of utmost importance."

Christine's eyes went wide. She was actually feeling a little for her aunt in that moment, for the woman looked quite nervous if stone ever could. Her eyes seemed unable to rest on any one thing for too long, and her long bony fingers kept twitching against one another in a way that she hadn't seen before. Christine believed her immediately that the master of the house only dealt with the staff if absolutely necessary. It seemed from her perspective in just a short time that he didn't want to be bothered with any of these responsibilities. That was perhaps why he had pushed them onto her aunt.

However, Christine did not voice her concerns or thoughts. She believed it best that her aunt finish what she had called upon her to say.

"It seems that you were the topic he wished to discuss," Madame Giry continued.

"Me?" she uttered in disbelief.

"Yes. In fact, and I am not entirely sure what you could have possibly done to deserve this, he requests an audience with you tomorrow during the noontime meal."

Christine was so taken aback by this that she couldn't find any words to say. Luckily, Madame Giry was quick to criticize. "Obviously there is no denying him this right. So, when you meet with him you are to be on your best behavior. Do not anger him or question him in anyway, do you hear me? If he were to just give the word, you would be out on the street." Madame Giry cleared her throat. "Now then, make sure your uniform is neat and tidy. I will make arrangements for you for tomorrow regarding your duties. Now, get some sleep."

Christine was vaguely aware of her aunt shuffling past her and out the door. She still wasn't sure what to think of the request. Well, it was more of an order that she couldn't turn down; but, she couldn't deny that she was just as curious to see who exactly she was working for.

She blew out the candle then lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. The darkness above her held so many questions that didn't have immediate answers. Tomorrow would bring relief for some of those, but tomorrow seemed so far away. Anticipation made each second that ticked by feel like an eternity. She wasn't sure how she would make it through the day.

Through all of the wondering and waiting, though, there was one question that outshined all of the others. Christine ventured to ask the question to the shadows, hoping perhaps they could save her from the torment of anticipation. "What could he want with me?"