A/N: So, I know the "It's" vs "Its" thing got a little confusing, but given that for the moment it is a name, "It's" as a possessive works. Trust me, it gave me some trouble too. Thank you all for your support and kindness. I hope this chapter helps move things along and, if you celebrate it, Happy (early) Easter.

The following day passed by in a blur of anxiety similar to the previous one. Christine was nervous for another reason, however, as she neared the end of the evening, after having endured another of Carlotta's near torturous performances. She was still feeling the tension and constant buzz of nerves when bustling about the tables, making sure to fuel the customers with their drinks, but mostly she was thinking of the offer she had received the night before.

She had woken up that morning thinking that it had all been some kind of dream or silly delusion, but upon seeing the Majestic again she began to wonder.

Now, as it neared closing time with Meg blabbering on about something she did not bother to hear, Christine was busy pondering what her answer should be to the mysterious voice which lurked in the unused dressing room. She knew it sounded completely insane to even be considering an offer to stay in that room, listening to a disembodied voice at night, alone, and thinking she was anything but completely insane. And yet…something about it seemed so warm and familiar. She knew she had never heard it before in her life, but it just sent a calmness through her she had not experienced since being embraced in her loving father's arms. That violin music she had heard reminded her so very much of her father's playing that she was amazed she had been able to abate the tears which usually accompanied such vivid remembrance. And when the voice had sounded so unsure, she felt like it suddenly had belonged simply to a child, needing the comfort she herself had long been without.

'Christine!' Meg snapped her out of her reverie.

'Hmm? Yes?' Christine blinked, looking at her friend with blank confusion.

'Have you even been listening to a word I have said?' Meg asked, putting her hands on her hips sternly.

Christine looked at her guiltily, proving Meg's suspicion with a single glance. 'I'm sorry,' she mumbled quietly.

Meg sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. 'Honestly, sometimes I wonder who the older one is,' she muttered under her breath. 'Are you sure you don't want to be the one to go home first tonight?' She looked at her friend, puzzled. She had been surprised by Christine's sudden offer to close up again tonight.

'Yeah, just think of it as thanks for getting me this job in the first place,' she covered, trying not to seem suspicious.

Meg rolled her eyes, doubting the reason. 'You know, if we didn't work so late, I would be dragging you kicking and screaming somewhere to finally get you a guy,' Meg told her, shaking her head as she went to collect her purse.

'Meg, it's only my third day here. I think we can wait on finding me a man.' She smiled at her friend's persistence. Meg had often insisted that Christine would grow up to be some old maid who would own half of Manhattan's cats and constantly assure the world she was not lonely but simply waiting for the right guy to come along.

'Good looking men don't just drop out of the sky, Christine,' Meg told her from the door.

Christine shook her head at her friend as she disappeared into the chilly night. Ever since they had seen a band of military officials back in Paris, the little blonde had been obsessed with men in uniform.

Still laughing from the memory of the silly expressions Meg had made upon seeing those poor, unsuspecting men and all others to follow, Christine made her way back into the storage room area behind the stage. It was only once she had closed the liquor room door that she felt the chill of her decision racing about her now raised flesh and tingling in her spine. She walked down the hall with unsure steps to the final door, holding her hand up as if to knock. Thinking this rather ridiculous, she compromised to simply open it slowly, letting it creak ominously to alert anyone who might be lurking that she was coming in. Fumbling for the light switch, she flicked it on to see the room much as it had been the day before. The dust still settled upon everything but the tall mirror across from her.

Feeling bold, she closed the door most of the way and walked into the room, looking about her nervously for any physical sign of her potential teacher.

'Hello?' She schooled her voice to cut out the tremor which threatened it much like the night before.

'Good evening, Mademoiselle,' came the now familiar whispering lull of the voice, filling the small room.

Christine found herself smiling at It's reappearance. 'Good evening, Monsieur. I have decided to come for lessons,' she announced almost proudly, feeling childish in her prideful bravery.

'So I see,' came the almost smiling reply.

'Do you?' she asked, furrowing her brow in confusion. Realising the silliness of her words, she clapped a hand over her mouth before melting into apology. 'I'm sorry. It's simply that I cannot see you, so I assumed…I don't know what I assumed, really.' She shook her head to clear her ridiculousness.

'Does this bother you?'

The voice held no real inflection, so she could not determine It's mood. 'No, not particularly. Though, I must admit it seems like I'm going insane, talking to a disembodied voice,' she told It, ducking her head a bit in modesty and disappointment.

'I assure you, Mademoiselle, I am perfectly real. You have no need to question your mental faculties,' It explained.

Christine hummed thoughtfully at this. 'Why can I not see you, then?'

Silence pervaded in the room, making Christine wonder if she would receive another word from her mysterious friend. She waited patiently for a reply, but when none came, she began to worry.

'Monsieur? Oh, Monsieur, please! Don't go! I'm sorry if I offended you! I did not mean it. You just have to understand how strange this is to be by myself in a place, at night, and hearing voices in an empty room.'

'I thought you had come to a decision on all of this,' It finally said, showing a bit of harsh betrayal in its tone.

'I had, but it just came rushing back. I'm so sorry. Please, if you are still willing, teach me. I promise not to try to bother you with silly questions,' she told It, nearly sinking to her knees as she brought her hands up in a gesture of supplication.

Another pause hung in the air as she waited for the reply she hoped would come.

'Very well,' It answered tersely.

And thus began her first lessons, taking her through the basics of technique, stubbornly fixing her bad habits of rounding her shoulders in, dipping her chin for low notes, or not breathing deeply enough. Through it all the voice remained fairly patient, but also strict and not gifting her with a single compliment beyond the acknowledgement of her doing something correctly. All the while, Christine kept her word in not asking too many little questions beyond "how are you" or the once bold "where are you from" when It mentioned something about a French opera It wanted her to consider studying.

The question had taken It by surprise, making It pause a bit to consider what all It wished to reveal to her.

'I am from Paris,' It answered at last.

'Oh, I went there,' she informed with a broad smile. 'I stayed there for quite a while after…' She trailed off, looking down with a suddenly solemn expression. Silence hung heavily in the air as she remained in her thoughts. It did not wish to disturb her, but It was too concerned for her to remain in such an obviously dark place.

'Christine?'

She looked up at It's rare use of her name. Generally It just called her "Mademoiselle".

'I'm sorry,' she said hurriedly, shaking her head. 'It really shouldn't affect me so. Not after all this time.'

'It is all right if there is something you do not wish to discuss with me.'

'No, I should be used to this by now. Besides, you need to understand why I accepted your offer so readily,' she explained.

It tried to hide a sigh, realising that their lesson was over in place of her telling It about her life. It did not mind so much, simply fearing the tables would turn once the tale was told.

'I was born in a town not far from Uppsala, Sweden. My mother died a few months after my birth, so my father was left on his own to care for me.' She melted into a smile at this, obviously remembering better times. 'He took me with him as he travelled the country playing the violin and making whatever money he could. I did not have much growing up, but it was enough and Papa always found a way to smile for me even after the hardest of days. We went everywhere, finally making it into France where we met the Girys. I was older by this point, but still only just reaching thirteen when he fell ill. We cared for him as best we could, but there was simply nothing we could do.' She looked away again, a tear threatening behind her eye. 'I sat with him the whole night, telling him the stories he had told me all my life. I sang for him as I always had until he finally drifted off, holding my hand.' She looked up at the ceiling, showing the tears now hanging off her lashes and the sobs catching in her throat. She took a moment to better compose herself before continuing. 'I lived with Meg and her mother, both of whom acting as my family until they moved here three years ago. As I am sure you know, they secured a job for me and helped me to come over to be with them again. I owe both of them so much for looking out for me.' She smiled through her earlier emotions, laughing a bit in embarrassment as she wiped away the salty trails on her cheeks.

Once more the silence reigned in the room, but she did not fear she was alone this time. She let it stretch on for a bit, allowing it to act as a curtain for hiding her still close to the surface emotions.

'You know, it's rather silly how I think back to certain moments in my childhood without even realising.' She could practically feel the cock of a head and brow furrow of confusion coming from her teacher. 'When I first heard you, I immediately thought my father had made good on his last promise. I realise now how childish that would be.'

'What was the promise?'

She smiled at the memory somehow, surprising It in her sudden cheeriness. 'There was this story Papa would tell me—my favourite one, actually—about the Angel of Music. It was supposed to find those with musical talent and help them to rise to greater success and glory. Papa said that when he died and was sent to Heaven, he would make sure that the Angel of Music found me to help with my voice so that I might aspire to be the great singer he always knew I could be.'

'And you thought I was this…Angel?' It asked in complete disbelief but also with a grain of caution.

'Silly, isn't it? It's just that when I heard your voice and you offered to help me, all I could think of was that story.' She shrugged, hiding a bit in her luscious curls.

'Not at all,' It quickly assured. 'I am truly flattered you would think me one of the heavenly hosts.'

'Oh, please don't laugh at me, Monsieur,' she begged, looking as though she were about to cry again.

'I would never dream of doing such a thing,' It told her with complete sincerity ringing in its voice. 'Never in my life has someone thought of me as being some kind of gift. I am honoured you considered me as much, even if it was fleeting.'

'Oh, but you are a gift. I truly value your lessons and all you are willing to do to help me. I may never find the greatness my father intended for me, but having this has made me feel like I have at least tried to honour his last wish. I thank you for it, Monsieur. Truly, I do,' she insisted, walking towards the mirror, which she had long taken as the assumed spot of his presence.

'You are welcome, Christine.' It watched her smile warmly at It's use of her proper name. She seemed to glow when It said it. Having just bared her soul to It, It assumed this would be a proper time to gain such a happy glance. 'You may go home now, Christine. It is late and I do not wish to weary you before tomorrow. We shall work more next evening.'

It could not tell if It was happy that she looked somewhat disappointed by It's postponement of her lesson, but judging by the yawn she proceeded to stifle, it was for the best.

'I shall see you on the morrow, then.'

'Have a good evening, Christine.'

'And you as well…Angel.' She threw one last smile over her shoulder as she flicked off the light and left the room.

It could hardly contain It's racing heart as she said this. It finally remembered to breathe after what seemed an eternity before turning to go back to It's home. Something about this girl set It on edge and spinning. It could not determine whether this was a good thing or not, but It could not find the strength to consider it completely bad.