Author's Note: First of all, my apologies that this chapter is so short. There's no way I can think of to make it longer without waffling/descending into cliche or whatever. The stuff here did need to be said, and I promise the next chapter (whichwill followshortly, I did promise a double update after all) will be a bit 'meatier' as requested by WindPhoenix - for everyone else, it'll be actual plot instead of filler. Thanks for bearing with me.
Secondly, thanks again to Spectralprincess, Busanda, steelelf, WindPhoenix, Soignante, Lady Winifred, mildetryth and angelofmusicxx for their latest reviews. You guys really know how to keep me going. Thanks again, and enjoy! Nedjmet.
Disclaimer: The characters and plotline of the Phantom of the Opera on which this story is based are – to the best of my knowledge – the property of Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber. No infringement of copyright is intended nor is this story written for profit as I have the greatest respect for their work.
Chapter 27
Beethoven woke her again, as was her habit; but this time she didn't pay attention to the symphony, or let it carry her through her morning routine. The music that filled her was the song of a violin that played with a sweetness and skill beyond even that of her father. The music that filled her thoughts and threatened to drown her senses once more was that of an angel.
An angel?
The Angel of Music.
She knew the stories, had cherished them as she grew, had kept them close to her heart for as long as she could remember. Yet in spite of all this, she could not claim to know all the workings of an angel, even the angel of music.
Why now? Why had he come now?
Yes, her voice had come back, but that had happened weeks ago. Surely if he wished to craft it as he'd said, his work would have begun sooner when the damage was repairing. Or was it because it had taken her this long to return to music? That would make sense, but if he was to guard her as he promised; if he was to keep her as he had said, then why wait? Why prolong the pain? The face. The white face when she had moved in . . . had that been him watching over her then. Why had he not revealed himself truly, let her know that he was there? Did he await her faith? That had never wavered. Her devotion to music? Had she found a music sooner that was not . . . had she found a music that was unfamiliar, yet welcome: then there would have been evidence enough of her devotion.
He had spoken of her devotion to him. That had never wavered. Why had he waited?
She wanted to believe so badly.
Maybe that was the problem.
She had been waiting so long for her father's promise to be kept. It was not impossible that someone could know; that someone could be using that. But who? She knew of no one who possessed such a voice, nor had she ever heard the like before. It had been rich, soft, deep; melodious, even in speech . . . heavenly. Saying that such a voice belonged to the Angel of Music could not possibly be even remotely heretical.
She wanted to believe.
But the timing. And why the theatre? Yes, it was a glorious building; capable of being a worthy home to some of the world's finest music: but what need had an angel of that? Was it for her? She was yet neither ready nor worthy. He would not want her to become proud, surely, for that would not do her any good during lessons. What need had an angel of such a setting, one where he or his disciple could easily be discovered. He obviously sought to remain hidden. Was it a test of her loyalty?
Her mind swam with questions. Her devotion and faith in the Angel had been strong and true all these years. Why was she plagued with doubts now that he had finally come? Perhaps it was too good to be true? Perhaps she was afraid to believe: for once the promise had been kept – if she proved true – then the Angel would leave. She would be left with Music, but she would be without a guide and guardian who knew. How could this all come about and she still keep her heart intact? How could she devote herself to this angel, only to lose him once his work was done?
Too many questions. Too many doubts. Too many fears.
Still too many fears.
She needed the Angel. She needed the promise of her father to be kept. She needed an angel.
She would trust in this angel. She would listen to her heart and follow the music. Time would tell if he was true.
She was a child of Music.
She could recognise its Angel.
