Angel of Music

1863

Erik

Erik watched as the little girl Adelaide had brought to the theatre wept at the feet of the stone angel. Guilt ripped through him for thinking earlier that she had not deserved his sympathy. Sure, she did not know of the pain he'd endured in his childhood, but what child had? His had been inhumanly cruel. He'd been treated like a rabid animal and left to die on more than one occasion, sometimes from infection and sometimes starvation. Usually both. But there was more than one kind of pain in this world. He realized that, remembering how Adelaide had written to him long ago about her lost love. Sure, the loss of a father was different than that of a lover's, but he'd seen enough of the world, even from just inside these walls, to know how treasured love could be, no matter what kind.

He wondered how he would feel if Adelaide were to die. The thought itself hung heavy in the air like cigarette smoke and seemed to choke him. He would probably become a shell of the already hollow ghost he was. He loved his adopted sister dearly, and would do anything for her. He knew without question that he would both kill and die for her, for she was all he had in this world.

Just as this girl's father was all that she'd had, he thought grimly, feeling pity towards the young singer.

Tapping his fingers silently on the wood of the confessional, he wondered what he could do to help this young girl through her sadness. His first thought was to go and fetch Adelaide, but he knew it was well past the Youth Ballet curfew and the last thing this poor girl needed in her life was more punishment. His sister was kindhearted, have no doubt, but her rules were law. He supposed he could write to the girl. A letter of some sort of reassurance perhaps. Why not? He wrote to Adelaide. But what words of comfort could he possibly have to offer a little girl? Did they even know how to read at her age? And how would he address her?

He honestly knew nothing of children, he realized with defeat. The only ones he'd ever even seen were those in the Youth Ballet classes, which he dreaded watching for more than five minutes at a time. Most dancers were no good until their teen years, and even then many were still too awkward to hold position correctly. In fact, the only child he knew the slightest bit about was Adelaide's daughter Meg, and even that wasn't much. Just what Adelaide had written to him in passing through her letters.

Years ago, after Erik had been freed from his hellish past, he'd only been able to find solace in music. Could this little girl be saved through song, as he had been? Adelaide had said she couldn't sing in groups; that she grieved too hard to focus on her studies. But the voice he had heard just now was like a tiny angel's. Sure, she needed direction, but the raw talent was plain to see. He watched her as she sleepily rubbed her cheek of her tears and moved away from the statue, pulling her knees up to her chest. A good minute passed before she raised her face once more to look up at the monument.

"My father once spoke of an angel," she said solemnly to the stone in a whisper, "I used to dream he'd appear but now I fear it was a foolish hope. Yet still I do pray, every night I pray for him!" She sighed and looked about the room with large, glossy eyes. "Sometimes, I sit in this room and beckon him softly, hoping that he's already here, somewhere inside these walls, simply hiding from me until the time is right."

Something inside of Erik changed in that moment. As he listened to her speak of pleas and prayers that had fallen upon deaf eyes he felt his heart grieve heavily for her. For once he didn't hold himself back, or think things through he he normally did. He thought only of the little girl before him, torn apart from loneliness, yearning for guidance. The little girl who, despite everything, wanted one day to be an opera singer.

He vowed she would be. If being a singer would make her smile, he would teach her all he knew. He made himself promise that as long as he was around, he wouldn't allow her to cry like this ever again. He crouched down so that he was positive he was completely hidden in the dark. Then he threw his voice the way the gypsies had done so many times in his years at the traveling circus. He made it sound as if it came from the ceiling.

If what Christine needed was an angel, an angel was what he would become.

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Christine

"Here now, child, do not weep. For I have at last heard your prayers and I am here now," a dark yet gentle voice suddenly whispered in the darkness of the chapel, "I am your Angel of Music and I am here to guide and protect you."

Christine froze where she sat, half in paralyzed fear and half in absolute wonder. Was she hearing things? Had her father really sent her an angel? She spun around, glancing at the dark stone and wooden panels around her. Not even a fleck of dust fell in the night; all was still. She could feel her heart racing a thousand beats a minute as her palms began to sweat. She placed one of her hands on the cold, stone floor and pushed herself hesitantly to her feet. She looked up at the dark ceiling, thinking for a moment that maybe she would see a warm light or a set of white wings somewhere in the faults of the crackling rock. But the air was frigid and the ceiling bare, save for a small spider that crawled on by without a care in the world.

She knew she needed to say something in response, but her tongue grew dry and her throat tight. For what could she say to an angel? She didn't know-but she knew she must say something! What if the angel left, thinking she no longer needed him? She would never forgive herself. She opened her mouth and spoke with all the courage held deep within her heart, longing for the guidance her angel could bring her.

"Angel of music, my guide and guardian, you are here at last! Father was right...bless him and forgive my scornful words! Please, I beg you to stay by my side. Do not leave me!"

Her voice broke at the end of her plea, a tremor of doubt rising in her throat like bile. She prayed that she hadn't lost her mind and that somehow, somewhere in the dark her angel really was nearby and could hear her. That he hadn't already left; for she couldn't go on without him. She didn't have the strength. She was only a child, lost and afraid of all the change that had come her way.

"Wandering child, fear not. I am here with you, now and always. I shall stay by your side and teach you the ways of music, as you have wished for for so long now. For the music I see within your spirit is as brilliant and pure as the light within your soul, and for that you shall know my ways, young one. You needn't beg."

Christine's heart glowed and a smile crept across her face as she closed her eyes and listened to the warm, deep voice of her angel. She spun around towards her father's picture, still glowing by the candlelight.

"Thank you, father," she whispered.

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