A/N:Wow! Three lovely reviews! Thank you very, very much to Chapucera (sigh, yes...but sad endings can be so sweet, I think :') ) , Softiful (Thanks! I've been onstage quite a fair bit myself - in fact, I'm going to be part of a performance in a couple of weeks - and so I felt quite empathic for poor Christine! It's still always the noise of the audience I remark first...and I decided to put that in.) and Chantal (mmm, nyes, that lovely darkness...:) I found that Leroux doesn't say enough about it from Christine's POV. That bit about the "golden pinpricks" came completely randomly...I felt like including some Erik-ness.). I am working through the spacing problem, and I re-uploaded and added all the new spaces into one of my other fics, so I am no longer as annoyed about that. Here is the next chapter, then...with a fainting Raoul included for good measure.

After that opening night, my name became known through all of Paris, it seemed. I was offered many opportunities; I was even invited to sing at the salon of the Duchesse de Zurich. On many other occasions I was invited to concerts, but these I all declined. Many found this very odd indeed, as most of the concerts were for charities I had always supported...even Meg seemed to find me a different person after the opening night, but in a negative sense. We talked less, as I rarely had the time to go and speak with her, so committed I was to my Angel. It was not only others that found me strange, either...I could not recognise myself any more than those who had previously known me. When I sang, I was not myself. I was always under a spell, far away from reality as the music took its hold. It was almost as if the Angel's own spirit had infiltrated itself into me, taking over my senses and changing my usual self when I sang. He was inside my mind, never to leave...

At first, the huge, sensational improvement of my voice - the power of the gift the Angel had given me - made me greatly happy to be given such a great endowment. However, as the weeks went by, I gradually began to feel less glad. I began to fear my gift - fear my own voice! Even when the invitations to concerts were sent to me, and critics praised my singing, I could no longer take their compliments. Some thought this change in my habits was due to pure, unabashed arrogance after triumphing on the stage, and others guessed I was extremely modest. The truth was, I felt scared stiff; my singing was unfamiliar, so perfect it seemed almost supernatural. I grew wary of this new voice of mine, and decided it would be better if I sang as little as possible in public. This was not as big a sacrifice for me as it may have been for others - I generally felt slightly uncomfortable singing at the salons of a high-class public. As a child, I had been far more relaxed and confident when performing in solo to great numbers outside the theatre, but this was when I had the familiar sound of Papa's violin to give me courage. Now, I only had the memory of the Angel and the voice of a stranger in my throat. How could I sing without fear anymore?

I was quite surprised when I found that the kind, generous Comte Philippe de Chagny was slipping in good words about me to the directors. Doubtlessly, this unexpected show of benevolence was influenced by Raoul, whom I had not seen since the opening night. Grateful though I was for such kindness from somebody like the Comte, I was obliged to write to him and politely tell him that I appreciated his help, but he should not continue. I did not wish for attention to be drawn to me; if I was noticed too much, I would be made to sing when I was not ready, and that I did not want to happen.

On a few occasions I glimpsed Raoul in the foyer. I took care to not let him see me, of course, but whenever I saw him I could not help but notice how wretched the poor young Vicomte looked. He was dreadfully pale and ill-looking, constantly glancing about himself in a melancholic fashion. My Angel was curiously hostile on the subject of Raoul, I found - he was quite adamant that I write that letter to the Comte and distance myself from the young man. However, when I caught sight of Raoul leaning mournfully against a wall while his brother talked concernedly to him, I felt a sensation of helplessness overwhelm me. I realised how alone I was...I rarely got a chance to talk to Meg anymore, as she was either at her ballet rehearsals or fretting over her mother, the widowed usherette Madame Giry, who was being questioned by the directors because she was apparently in contact with the Phantom. It was said she kept his box...but I did not know the details. Meg did not understand many of them herself, and she did not talk about her mother very much. Whenever Meg actually was free to talk, I would most likely be with my Angel, who continued to instruct me with his own beautiful voice. I did not have a chance to confess to Meg that I was being visited by an Angel, which meant I kept the knowledge bottled up within me. It was a hard load to bear, and I desperately needed somebody to talk to about it, a friend who knew me well enough to fully believe me...

Why should I distance myself so much from Raoul? It was quite a silly idea, really; both of us had been the best of friends, so whyever should I not talk to him and share my problems and dreams with him as I had when we were children? If Raoul had been a complete stranger with an interest in me, I would not have considered coming into contact with him; but this was Raoul - dear, sweet Raoul from those sunny Breton days of long ago!

My decision made, I went to my dressing room and proceeded to write a note. In this note I told Raoul to forgive me - I had most certainly not forgotten him, and that I would be going to Perros. Tomorrow would be the anniversary of my poor father's death, something I had been thinking about for some time...I would go, as usual, to his grave in Perros and sit by it, thinking of all the wonderful times we had together...

I sent the note, and decided to leave at once. I did not need to wait for a reply, as I did not expect one. Raoul would certainly follow me to Perros - at least, I hoped he would - and once there, we would be free to talk.

The following day, I had arrived safely at Perros. I had left Madame Valerius with the promise that I would return quickly, and then travelled by train and coach until I arrived at the Sunset Inn. Mère Tricard was very happy to see me, and told me that she had been wondering whether I would appear, the following day being the anniversary of my father's death. As it was evening, I retired quickly to my room, after a dinner made by Mère Tricard herself. The window of my room had a rather charming view of the bay by day, and of the shimmering expanse of sea that I was so familiar with. I remembered how my father loved the sight of that sea; whenever he became homesick he would go to sit at the beach and look at the blue water that reminded him so much of the country we had left...

When I went to bed that night, I felt troubled, but when I awoke the following morning, I felt curiously calm and serene. I went to a Mass in the nearby church, still full of that odd sensation of tranquility. The cool of the Breton church failed to wake me from this, but I found I did not mind as I left it after the ceremony. My fur coat served as protection against the coolness - and also against the icy crispness of the wintry air outside. Winter seemed to be coming early this year...

'Child...'

I gave a gasp at the sound of a soft voice all around and above me. The delicate beauty of its lulling tone was unmistakeable; I was hearing my Angel, here in Perros! My eyes were wide as I glanced about myself to make sure I was alone outside the church. 'Angel?' I whispered.

'I am here,' came the reply, sounding slightly different in the chilling air. I was so used to hearing him inside my dressing room...

Then, the Angel spoke again: 'I know the reason for your being here, and I have come to reward you for the faith you have given me. If you enter the cemetery at the toll of midnight, I shall play for you - I shall play The Resurrection of Lazarus on the violin of your father!'

I clutched my coat about me in shocked surprise. My Angel was going to reward me? His words began to sink in, and I realised what he had said. Tonight I would hear a melody my father had so often played - and from my father's very own violin! This was too marvellous to believe...

'Oh, Angel - I shall be there!' I exclaimed, but he had already left me.

After a short uphill walk, I arrived at the Sunset Inn. I was feeling quite warm, wrapped up in my fur coat, but my face was icy-cold from the glacial, salty wind that swept in from the dark-blue, restless sea. Just before I went through the door, I glanced towards the water, watching the countless little waves rolling in to shore. There were no boats out today...

I opened the door and went inside.

'...perhaps a little later -' a light male voice was saying. As soon as I stepped into the room, I noticed with a thrill that it was a certain golden-haired young gentleman I knew very well...the moment he glimpsed me, Raoul leapt to his feet, almost overturning the chair he had been sitting on, and startling Mère Tricard, who had apparently been offering him lunch. Raoul's earnest blue eyes were fixed on me, his stance curiously tense. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but made no sound. Was he so surprised to see me? I gazed back at him, unsure of what to say.

'...er, I shall be in the other room if you need me,' Mère Tricard said, breaking the silence. She seemed to think that we were in need of time alone, which we were indeed. When she had gone, though, Raoul continued to stare at me with a strange look on his handsome face. 'So you have come all the way to Perros,' I remarked quietly.

The spell keeping him frozen seemed to break, and he took a small step forwards. 'Yes, I have...I desperately wished to see you, and...I wanted to come with you to the cemetary. I hadn't realised it was the anniversary of your father's death...I do so miss the old man.'

His soft sentimentality touched me. 'I miss him, too,' I agreed heavily, and then Raoul took another step forwards.

'Christine...I really must tell you that I have not been able to stop thinking of you for a long, long time,' he told me sincerely. 'I...I find I feel a lot for you.' He lifted his chin, his eyes full of emotion, and he took my hand in both of his. My heart fluttered at such a tender gesture, but I forced myself to remember the Angel's words...and that day, years ago when we were just out of childhood, that I realised a Vicomte could never marry a poor fiddler's daughter.

To cover my pain and conflicting feelings, I smiled. 'For me? Surely not, monsieur - I believe you are trying to joke with me!' A look of pure agony crossed Raoul's face, his brow furrowing and lines appearing at the corners of his eyes that made him look suddenly much older.

'Don't laugh - I'm serious! I love you, Christine! That is the truth of it! All I can think about is you...' he said vehemently. 'Why else would I so readily follow you all the way here?' Abruptly, he frowned as a thought came to him. 'I have been lagging about at the Opera house for weeks...surely you must have seen me before opening night?' His tone was quiet and even a little hurt. I could not lie to him; I always had such difficulty lying to Raoul.

Avoiding his eyes, I looked down. 'Yes...yes, I have glimpsed you once or twice...'

'Then whyever did you not come and speak to me?' Raoul cried, truly upset. I could not answer him; I did not have a reply to give. However, to my surprise, before I could begin to think of what to tell him, his face grew cold and hard, and he let go of my hand quickly. 'No...I suppose I don't need an answer; I know it already.' My eyes widened in shock - how could he know? Or at least, what did he think he knew?

'What do you know?' I asked him, voice shaking. His brow creased and his lips pursed in his pain.

'That you already have an admirer!' he said harshly. 'There is already somebody who has taken your heart, and you are too cruel to tell me - you would rather have me embarrass myself by declaring to you my vain love!'

'Don't be ridiculous, Raoul - listen to yourself! Why would I ever wish to make you ashamed? And why would you think that I have an admirer?' I countered. I could not understand his passionate accusations; what had gotten into his head?

Raoul gave an incoherent sound of frustration, running his fingers through his flaxen locks in an agitated manner. He looked straight at me with blazing eyes, and denounced: 'Because I have heard you speaking to him! I heard you, after opening night, telling him so slavishly that you only sang for him! That is the reason why you pretended not to recognise me - your lover was in the room at the time, hidden away!'

My mouth opened from sheer outrage. 'You listened at my door?'

Raoul flushed slightly, but his jutting chin was still determined. I was appalled and terrified at the same time; I had been overheard, talking to my Angel! This was not good at all...

'Yes, I did, and I heard the man reply to you!'

I could feel my face instantly drain of colour. 'You heard him?' I asked weakly. Taken aback by my sudden horror, Raoul merely nodded.

Oh, Raoul, if only you knew...I felt so helpless all of a sudden, unable to tell him, unable to explain...my vision blurred as tears dribbled down my cheeks. Raoul looked quite surprised, and all the anger seemed to evaporate from him.

'Christine...?' he said uncertainly, a child again. Hesitantly, he reached out his arms to me, as if to gather me to his chest, and my own arms twitched upwards slightly in response. However, both of us remained rooted in our positions, unable to approach the other; I was stayed by the knowledge that this could make me lose my Angel, and Raoul was held back by his previous doubts about my truthfulness. Both of us longed for this embrace, but neither of us could step forwards. After a short while, I turned quickly on my heel and tripped away from my poor childhood friend, who dropped his arms and watched me climb the stairs to my room.

I remained locked in my room for some while; I could not bring myself to come out and face him. Cowardly, I know, but I felt so terribly weak in that moment. So alone...

When I finally went downstairs a few hours later, Raoul had disappeared. Mère Tricard informed me that he had gone to the cemetery, and so I immediately went there to find him. I had made up my mind; I could not bear to withhold such an important truth from a friend as dear to me as Raoul - I needed to tell him of the Angel of Music. I made my way as fast as possible to the cemetery, and when I passed through the gates, I saw him straight away. He was a dark figure against the graveyard's paleness, clad in a fine coat and standing with his hands deep in his pockets before a grave he was staring down at. The cold wind ruffled his hair and made him squint his eyes. He looked uncharacteristically severe in that moment, but curiously lonely at the same time. I thought back to the events of that morning with despair...did he really mean it when he told me that he loved me? If he had told me this when we were still children, I would have accepted it; now, however, I had my Angel and the fact that Raoul was a Vicomte to stop me. Oh, how I longed once more for those bright summer days of innocence! How I longed for that time to come again - that glorious time before we grew up, before Raoul told me painfully that he would always remember me, even if he could not marry me or openly be my friend in public. Dear Raoul...it really broke my heart to shun him in this way, when he was ignoring his social duties and obligations to tell me of his feelings.

He did not notice me as I approached him, as my footsteps were lost in the whistling of the wind over the rough tombstones, and he seemed so lost in his own thoughts.

'I see you've found my father's grave,' I said softly, and he whirled around. Seeing it was me, he relaxed and his lips curved into a melancholic smile.

'Yes, I have,' he replied. 'I wished to go to visit it...after all, I liked him so much, and I can never forget how patient he was when I tried to learn to play the violin.' I smiled too at the memory of a determined boy drawing the bow of a violin across the strings and carefully placing his fingers while I watched and clapped.

'I did so love listening to him play, too...' I sighed.

'A true virtuoso, he was, indeed,' agreed Raoul, glancing down at the tombstone. 'He had such a knack for telling stories, too...do you remember?'

I smiled nostalgically. 'How could I forget them?'

Raoul gazed into the distance, where the blue expanse of sea was just visible, dark under the drifting clouds. 'Those nights when all three of us sat by the roadside...or when it was raining so hard we sat in the attic and listened to those stories instead...I can remember some of those tales. There was the tale of the King...and the tale of Little Lotte and her Angel of Music -'

As soon as those words passed his lips, I shivered. He noticed this and frowned. 'Christine? Are you cold? You can take my coat -'

'No,' I broke in, 'I was just...' I sighed. 'I am fine.'

Raoul, however, did not believe me. 'Don't lie to me,' he reprimanded in an almost sullen manner, then appeared concerned. 'You have gone quite pale.'

I pulled my coat tighter about myself. I could not keep it to myself any longer...Raoul was somebody I could trust, a friend...if I declined his love, I should at least give him the privilege of knowing why - or at least, partly why...

'You remember my father spoke to us of the...the Angel of Music?' I commenced shakily, feeling very cold all of a sudden.

'Yes - what of it?'

I took a deep breath and looked up at him with eyes full of sincerity. 'I have heard the Angel, Raoul. He is real, and he has visited me...he is not a fable, as I believed before.'

For a few torturous seconds, Raoul merely stared at me, standing stock-still as the wind blew over both of us. Then, he blinked. 'Ah,' was all he said.

My stomach twisted in humiliation. 'You don't believe me!' I accused him, full of hurt and outrage.

'No - no, I do believe you, Christine!' he reassured me quickly, taking my cold hands in his. 'I have heard the way you sang on opening night...I do truly believe that you have been visited by the Angel. How else could your voice have become so heavenly?'

My shoulders sagged in relieved gratitude - this had been easier than I had expected. I had anticipated a great deal of convincing on my part, but Raoul was already convinced! 'Oh, Raoul...I'm so glad that you do not think me mad...I haven't told anybody but Mamma Valerius,' I confessed. 'There were times when even I thought myself mad! I myself had difficulty believing that I heard the voice of an Angel in my dressing room -'

'In your dressing room?' repeated Raoul, suddenly perplexed. I frowned in confusion.

'Why, yes - that is where he gives me lessons,' I told him.

Raoul's expression was hard to discern. 'So...the voice I heard was the Angel's?' he asked.

'Yes. You see? It was not a man hidden in my dressing room,' I replied, a tone of flippancy creeping into my voice.

'Have you seen this Angel?' Raoul questioned, suddenly defensive.

I bit my lip. 'No...I asked him once if he would reveal himself to me, but he became so terribly furious with me that he almost left forever...I've taken care not to bring up the subject again.'

Raoul's face looked oddly triumphant for a second, then quickly became concerned. He took me by the hands once more. 'Christine,' he said, looking frankly into my eyes, 'I think that some deceitful character is taking advantage of your innocence and trust. I truly -'

I snatched my hands away in outrage. 'So you really do doubt my words!' I cried. 'You don't believe that there is an Angel of Music! How dare you make assumptions about me being naive - you don't know! You haven't heard the voice sing! If you heard the voice sing, you would truly know, then, that it was an Angel you were hearing!'

With that, I turned and left him, tears beginning to spill down my cheeks. How could he?

'Christine! Christine, don't go! Please!' he called after me.

I did not stop, and soon I had left him alone once more in the graveyard. I had only hoped for understanding and support - but now even my old friend did not believe me.

At a quarter to twelve, I left the Sunset Inn. Mère Tricard handed me a key in the dark front room, telling me not to lose it as I would need it to get back in. Nodding gravely, I drew my shawl closer about my shoulders and left through the door.

It was a dark, wintry night, and my lantern shed little luminescence over the path ahead of me. Far to my left, I could see the moon high above sparkling its silver radiance on the inky-black sea, just visible down the hills. I walked quickly, my footsteps crunching on the stony path. The church tower rose majestically above the hillside, its largest bell gleaming in the light of the moon hanging over the waves. It was the church of sailors and fishermen, but by night it looked as grand as any other. At my feet, short grass waved and rippled in the breeze, just like the sea - for the sea appears to be everything in Bretagne.

As I drew nearer to the graveyard, heart thumping at the prospect of hearing my Angel play a familiar, beautiful tune on my father's own violin, I seemed to enter a dream-like state once more. All I could think about was my Angel...I thought of him so intensely that I did not notice that the crunching of my shoes on the stones was echoed by a second set of footsteps. At least, I assumed it was a second pair of footsteps...it could have been my own quick steps, for all I knew or cared. It did not matter to me what I heard now...all that mattered was what I would hear very, very soon...

When I entered the cemetery, I made my way straight to my father's grave and knelt beside it. There were some small wildflowers I had found by the path and I had picked; these I laid down by the tombstone before putting down my lantern. The salty night breeze tried in vain to make my candle gutter out, but it was protected by the glass panels. I raised my head to look at the horizon. It was a darkly beautiful night, indeed...the sky was dark and unspoiled by the city lights, and the soft wind of the night stirred the branches of bare winter trees. Far off, hidden by a cluster of tall, salt-bleached trunks, the church bell began to toll. Its brassy, metallic boom rang out across the rolling hills, echoing from the tall cliffs and losing itself in the sea. Twelve knells...I counted each with anticipation as I waited silently. Here in the graveyard with the midnight bell clanging out the hour, it became startlingly easy to believe in all the strange creatures that had inhabited the tales of the Breton grandmothers Raoul and I had visited for stories. Even though I was no longer an impressionable child, in this environment I fully expected to see the korrigans dancing over the moors...in this environment, the Angel of Music reigned over all.

The last toll echoed into silence, ringing from the cliff-sides and rolling over the waves. A tense quiet replaced the sound...a tense quiet that, a few moments later, was broken by a curious noise. I say that the quiet was broken, but in fact, it was not at all broken. Breaking brings to mind clumsiness and destruction...it was not at all that. The sound that I heard did not break the silence; rather it slid in smoothly, like a sharp, gliding knife. I raised my face to the moon in pure, silent ecstasy as the sound was followed by another, and I realised that I was hearing the unmistakable sound of my father's violin.

I could recognise that particular timbre anywhere - that distinct quality the aged wood gave the music. Even though I could not perceive the source of the melody, I could almost see the long, flowing scrape of the bow against the four taut strings, see a hand with dexterous, quick-moving fingers move from position to position on the neck. A memory of jerking elbows and long swinging movements of the upper body came to me; I remembered teasing my father as a young girl about how much he moved when he played. 'Stand up, child,' he had said. When I obliged, he told me: 'Walk across the room, now, without moving your arms.' I did so, finding it very difficult. 'It feels strange,' I said. He replied to me 'Exactly!', and began to play once again.

Now as I sat listening, I closed my eyes. I had never heard such passionate music...my father had never played with an intensity such as this. The melody sounded almost violentin some parts, but even then the fleetness of the invisible violinist's fingers made this sound indescribably beautiful. The rendition of The Resurrection of Lazarus echoed around the graveyard, and even the strong wind was unable to carry the sound away. I listened in delighted awe...each note affected me in such a way that the tune could have been played on my heartstrings for all the ecstasy I felt.

When all too soon the music ended, I sat still for a long time afterwards...so long that the church bell tolled again. It was only when the brassy sound rang out clearly and sharply that I rose from my reverie, and whispered my thanks to my Angel, before leaving the graveyard with shaking legs.

The next morning, I was shaken awake by a distressed Mère Tricard. The sun had not properly risen yet, and she held a small candle in her hand. 'Mademoiselle Daaé...your friend is in a bad state,' she said to me, sounding quite worried. 'I went outside to open the shutters and I saw two men coming up the hill, carrying your friend the Vicomte between them. He's downstairs, and he is still out cold. They told me they found him propped up on the steps of the church's altar...'

I hastened to dress and go downstairs. Raoul was lying on the rickety couch by the fire; his skin was frightfully pale and his lips were blue with cold. I knelt beside him and took his hand. His slack fingers were frozen! I rubbed them to warm them, watching his still face. He was unconscious, and if he had been left out in the cold for longer he would most probably have died.

'When did he leave the Inn?' I asked Mère Tricard worriedly. She shrugged, eyebrows raised.

'I did not realise he had been gone,' she told me perplexedly. 'I never heard him leave; the door did not open.'

I looked back at Raoul. He looked very sickly indeed. It was obvious he had been outside; there were flecks of mud on his boots, and the state of his fine jacket suggested he had been dragged across the ground. What had he been doing? How had he become unconscious? I had no idea; the first step would be to revive him.

'Raoul,' I whispered, leaning forwards and touching his face gently while Mère Tricard hung nearby nervously, wringing her apron. I noticed Raoul had tiny flakes of ice clinging to his hair, brows and thin moustache. I cupped his cold cheek in my palm, murmuring his name again. 'Raoul, wake up. Reveille-toi...'

After a long while and some valuable help from Mère Tricard, Raoul's eyes flickered open and he fixed me with a startled blue gaze. 'Oh! Oh...Christine...' he breathed, still looking quite ill.

'What happened, Raoul?' I asked him, full of concern...and then something occurred to me. 'Did you follow me?' I whispered, suddenly worried for different reasons. Had my jealous Angel perhaps remarked his presence and punished him for intruding upon our private moment?

Raoul did not reply, still under a state of shock, it seemed. He drew a shuddering breath, eyes unfocusing. 'It was horrible...deathly and demonic!' he whispered shakily, eyes wide and staring as if he was overcome by a memory.

'What?'

'I followed it into the church...I managed to catch hold of the edge of its cloak - and it turned! It turned and fixed me with its burning eyes of yellow hell-fire!' Raoul was trembling uncontrollably now. 'The ghastly tête de mort was just staring...staring at me! And...I...I was overcome...I fainted from the terrible sight...I let go of its cloak...oh, Christine...'

'Delirious,' I heard Mère Tricard murmur, and I nodded grimly in agreement. Raoul did not seem to care, as he clutched his forearms and closed his eyes wearily. What on earth was he gibbering about? What was all this talk of death's-heads and hell-fire? I had no idea whatsoever.

One thing, however, was clear: there seemed to have been something sinister in the graveyard that night. I was more than fully thankful that I had had my Angel there to protect me from that terrifying vision Raoul had seen...I was most thankful indeed!