a/n: It's a short chapter, but I decided to update. Much thanks for the reviews! Remember to leave a review.

Suddenly, Meg knew exactly where she would find Christine. She slipped into an inconspicuous, dingy little door.

She cautiously tip-toed down the steps (for the darker, dimmer areas of the opera actually made her quite anxious).

She passed a couple in the hallway, and smirked to find that it was Isabelle with Ambre's so-called admirer, George. She was so intent on finding Christine, though, that she hardly gave this event recognition.

Wait… was that a voice Meg could hear? It was so familiar, though it was too faint to place…

Quickening her pace slightly, Meg entered the chapel.

"Christine… Christine?" she called softly, weakly. As was already mentioned, the dark areas of the opera held their share of scares for Meg.

She felt a shiver go down her spine. She could've sworn she heard a voice – his voice – speaking one last whisper. "Christine…"

There was Christine, completely serene in contrast to Meg's apprehensiveness, kneeling on the dirty chapel floor in her flowing white costume.

All smiles and rainbows, trying to ward off the darkness which the torches couldn't Meg said:

"Where on earth have you been? You were wonderful, Christine, just wonderful!" Christine smiled at her. Meg put a hand on her friend's shoulder supportively.

"You were perfect! I wish I knew how you did it!" Suddenly, her voice dropped to a conspirational tone. She didn't mean for it to go that way; she wanted to keep her voice even and casual.

"Who's been teaching you?"

Quite honestly, Meg had a very good idea of it, but she was curious to Christine's answer.

Christine bit her lower lip, then replied softly:

"Meg… when you're mother brought me here… I would come down here, alone, to light a candle for my father. And there was a voice, and it spoke to me from above… it spoke in my dreams, as well… When my father was on his deathbed, he promised me that an angel would be protecting me. An angel of music…"

A dreamy, almost haunting look came into Christine's eyes.

Meg could feel her goosebumps. She suddenly got the feeling that matters with this "Angel" that she and Christine shared was much more complicated; much darker than it appeared.

"Yes," Christine reaffirmed dreamily, "Father spoke of this angel. And I believe he is here."

"Christine, this isn't like you!" Meg exclaimed, her voice echoing in the stone chapel, small is it was. She quieted her voice.

"This… it's all some sort of fairy-tale, Christine. It – it's like you to be so dreamy, but it's not like you to make up stories like this. It can't be true," Somehow this was to reassure herself as much as to convince Christine.

Christine wasn't listening anymore. She got up and walked to the exit.

"He's my Angel of music," she breathed.

"Who's this Angel?" Meg scoffed, following her, "Christine, I don't believe a word of it!"

"He's here with me, right now!" She looked weak, but her eyes were bright at the thought of her Angel.

"Christine, you don't look good at all. You're pale, you're shaking!"

Suddenly, Christine looked down at the floor. She waited until Meg caught up with her.

"Christine-"

"It frightens me," she said, barely audible.

Meg softened. "Don't be frightened," she told her friend.

The two of them left, Christine casting one last glance over her shoulder before they left the corridor.