Author's notes: The encouragement (and some suspicious notes written in red ink threatening to "Punjab" me if I wouldn't continue… hmm… who could have sent that?) forced me to continue… so, here you go – I decided to start at Christine's arrival at the Opera, from her POV. Review and tell me if I should do Erik's POV next or continue to be everybody's favorite ingénue. I was actually worried I portrayed her as too strong-willed, but hey – crisis strengthens people. That's a known fact. .

longblacksatinlace – I don't like le Fop, but I'll try to write a good reaction to that scene, even if I'll add it later on. I'll get back to that, don't worry.

EriksIngenue – I was thinking that too, actually. This chapter is still from Christine's POV, I might switch to Erik's POV in the next… I'm not sure yet. Many thanks.

Miss Daae – Heh, empathy is my strong side, I guess – I had a bit of a knack for putting myself into other people's shoes. Especially when I would have liked to make a different choice than them. If only you could change the ending of the musical when you'll be un-stage, huh? Congrats for getting the part, I wish I were in your shoes now ;-)

kayadcpandora – (takes a bow) My first phanfic, to be exact. But thanks – praise is always appreciated. Okay, okay, I'm updating, I really am!

pheebe the anonomus comentor – that was the most positive reaction to any of my fanfics, and for that, I thank you. I suppose empathy is my thing. I think the movie helped me see that she really loved Erik… the last scene, actually, when Raoul finds the rose and the ring on Christine's grave. It's the moment when I think he realized that he made one big mistake in separating Erik and Christine… ah, true love denied! What a tragedy… they were perfect for each other… (goes looking for her handkerchief)

broadwaydreams4ever – I was thinking of switching to Erik's POV next, so tell me what you think. Many thanks & read on.

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Part I: Heaven

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Chapter 1 – Wandering Child

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"I am Christine Daaé, Madame."

It was the day I had been awaiting and dreading. Madame Giry, God bless her for being so kind to me, was to bring me to a new home – a home without painful memories, without more silent tears.

As always (though I found that out much later) the ballet mistress wore one of her plain dresses, this one of an olive-green color and a bonnet, her hair trapped in a tight bun. An air of strictness hung around her and I knew at once this wasn't someone you would want to displease.

"A pleasure, my dear." She said, but the kindness of her tone simply couldn't find its way to her face. "Your father had arranged everything for you, as you might already know. Are you ready – everything packed?"

"Yes, Madame." I nodded meekly.

"Do not fear, child – pain passes in time. But we will miss our carriage! Hurry!" she grasped my hand firmly, picking up my small suitcase with her left hand and led me away from the house that was no longer my home.

Even if Madame Giry had tried talking to me during the ride (which, for the record, she did not), she would likely have received no reply other than silence. I was too lost in memories of happiness and dreams. My only link to my father was now my voice… the voice that had lost all strength after his death. And then there was the Angel of Music. God knows just how much I wanted to believe in the promise Father made.

In the distance, even though my sight was slightly clouded due to the daydreaming, the Opera Populaire had begun taking shape, easily distinguishable among the ordinary houses with its baroque exterior and the light coming from it, surrounding it.

The carriage came to a halt and before I knew it, we were inside. I drifted like a shadow behind Madame Giry, who seemed to know every corner of the Opera. She led me upstairs, to the less glamorous part of the Opera, where the young chorus girls and the corps de ballet resided. As soon as Madame Giry showed me my bed, the door to the dormitories opened again and a small girl, probably my age, hopped in.

Madame Giry noticed her immediately, her frown softening for a moment. "Christine, this is my daughter, Meg Giry. Meg, this is Christine Daaé – she will be joining the chorus." She glanced at her watch and sighed, "I must go, children." And without further explanation, she disappeared, leaving Meg and myself in an uncomfortable but short-lasting silence.

"So, Christine – do you like the Opera so far?" Meg asked, the question that all of the Opera's employees probably asked outsiders or newcomers.

"I haven't seen much of it yet, but I am happy to be here." Was my truthful reply. Really, Father had told me so much about the famous Paris Opera House… if he were with me, I would probably be completely overjoyed to be here now.

"Well, wait till the season starts in a few days!" Meg said, failing miserably at a grim tone. She seemed too excited to be dramatic. "Maman is the strictest person in the world and does everything in her power to make us as perfect as we can be. Even if that means hours of practice and dozens of broken ankles." The cheerfulness of her tone unsettled me slightly. Meg seemed to be a very social person, but to be happy about injuries…

"And that's why you're jittering on the spot?" I asked with a small smile as Meg realized that she was indeed jittering and stopped… for a few seconds.

"No, that's not the reason." she grinned slightly, "Another sighting of the Ghost! Or at least, that's what Jammes told me… but with the Ghost, you can never know!"

I was confused now – in childish tales, I had heard of haunted houses… but operas? And why was Meg so happy – was "ghost-sighting" some kind of sport here?

"I'm not sure I understand, Meg." I confessed.

The blonde slapped her forehead, smiling at her own mistake. "Sorry, I forgot you're new here! You don't know about the Opera Ghost!" When I shook my head, she quickly continued.

"It's like this – there's a ghost haunting this opera. But not just any ordinary ghost! The managers pay him a huge salary each month and Box Five is constantly reserved… for him! He comes to all the galas and premieres and sometimes leaves a note for the managers behind, I think. The girls get carried away sometimes and see him everywhere… well, no one sees the Ghost unless the Ghost wishes to be seen… but I think more than one saw him, so it could have been him!"

I had to hold back a smile. It appeared I had found a soulmate. I believed in angels just as much as Meg believed in ghosts. So I wasn't about to question this ghost's existence… yet. But it seemed to me that it was more of a figment of the ballet girls´ overly active imaginations than something to be taken too seriously.

"But I should go – Ma will surely kill me if I'm not at practice on time and last I checked, I had only half an hour!" Meg squealed, "Perhaps I'm already late! I'll see you later, Christine!"

"Meg, wait!" I managed to stop her just in time. "I just wanted to ask… do you have a chapel here?" She nodded. "Could you tell me where it is?"

"I can do better – I'll take you there. It's along the way, fortunately. But we'll have to run, or else Ma will have my head." And she took off.

How she was able to run so fast in her ballet shoes and costume, I had no idea. But I really had to sprint to keep up with her. When we arrived at our destination, Meg quickly said she would be back to see if I had found my way back upstairs and dashed away once more.

My smile faded slightly as I gazed at the long-melted candles in the chapel. I sat down and took out the only picture of my father I had – it was small, but therefore easy to transport. It was like a talisman to me now. I began to feel tears forming in my eyes as I gazed upon it.

Unable to look anymore without crying, I placed it in a small alcove, near the candles. I lit one of them, coincidently the only undamaged, intact one. I took this as a sign that I was right to come down here.

Now, even though surrounded by darkness, which frightened me, I could remain calm enough to open my mouth and quietly pray, singing, as my father had taught me. I prayed to God, to my father, begging for the Angel he had promised me.

I had no idea I would soon learn to be careful what I wish for.