Author's notes: Next chapter, a bit longer than the last one. Review, please! Oh, and the remakes of the lyrics of 'Angel of Music' are mine. The song itself isn't… unfortunately.

EriksIngenue – I guess I'll stick with Christine, I can relate to her pretty easily.

Anonymous VoS fan – I haven't given up on the fic, I just had a brief writer's block. It will be updated, but you have to accept the fact I like other things as well, PotO being one of them.

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Chapter 2 – Messenger

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Step. Two. Three. Four. Spin. Repeat.

The majority of my thoughts in the following days consisted of those words. Dancing, while glamorous when you're watching it, is completely different when you're actually doing it. It's a mix of counting steps, memorized moves and attempts at grace, all mixed and done at the same time. Certainly nothing easy… at least for a beginner such as myself.

Fortunately, Meg had proven a faithful friend and gave me some extra lessons. I have no idea how I would have gotten past the basics without her patience, which, despite her sometimes slightly hyper nature, seemed everlasting.

"Your feet are too far away from each other, Christine." She noted when I finished the first part of the simple dance that was part of today's training. "Try to focus a bit more."

I was already classified as a dreamer. Actually, it took mere hours for me to be classified, from the moment since I had entered the Opera house. The ballet girls were friendly, loved gossip and were obviously a bit too girly, even for their age.

Oh, and, naturally, none of them ever missed any discussion concerning the Opera Ghost.

I myself was more fascinated by the fact that everyone seemed to believe in the Phantom's existence with absolute certainty. Even Madame Giry, who I learned was the one who sometimes delivered his notes to the managers, seemed to smile ever-so-slightly whenever she overheard the girls talking. I could never quite place that smile.

It was so slight, you could easily miss it, if you didn't look carefully. What emotion was behind it? What was behind it? No one knew, that I was certain. And asking Madame Giry about it wouldn't give me any answers, that was another fact. Puzzled as I was, I couldn't help but smile as well.

If this was all a joke, if the notes were fake and all this was just a grand illusion that the Opera had fallen prey to, then the joker was more than clever. And if it was not (though only a small part of me considered that possibility), then the ghost had his own sense of humor.

Especially when something angered him, or, more often, irritated him, since he seemed to have trained the managers to obey his every command.

I was still upset about my father's death to concern myself with this too much, though, and continued to live in my own little world, barely noticing the events around me. Except when it came to ballet practice. I wanted Father to be proud of me. If I could not fulfill his wish and be a Prima Donna, perhaps becoming a solo dancer would be enough to make it up to him.

I shifted my feet closer to each other and tried again.

Meg nodded, "Good, you learn quickly. But you have to stop mouthing the counting." she smiled mischievously, "You look like a fish."

"Fish can't dance." I retorted, childishly enough for my age.

"Well, it is kind of difficult to do this without feet."

We both giggled at our own childishness, but Meg quickly resumed acting the ballet mistress, which, for the record, was a role she seemed to be enjoying. I couldn't really blame her, though. She had told me that her mother was strict when it comes to training the corps de ballet, but even worse when it came to training her own daughter.

Now, a much younger Giry was trying to turn a novice into a chorus girl. I smiled a bit at the glint in her eyes. Younger or not, Meg was a Giry – she could mimic her mother's glances almost perfectly and she was doing it subconsciously.

"But really, you need to stop doing that. It would look very strange on stage."

"I might trip over my own feet before I get on stage, so counting the steps is the thing I am worried about the least."

"Don't underestimate yourself. You just need to get your head back to the earth sometimes." she frowned, concerned, "I know it must be hard for you now, but you need to move on someday, Christine. Ma was heartbroken when Papa died, too, I can remember that much, but she has devoted herself to something. That allowed her to move on, I think." she shrugged, "Well, I wouldn't know, really – I was just a baby back then."

A weary, sad smile found its way to my face. She was right. Again, I remembered how my Father wanted only the best for me. It was hard to start a new life from nothing, but even harder to start from the shattered remains of an old life.

But… maybe if I confided in someone, it would be easier. I would be rid of part of the burden and I would be able to satisfy Meg´s curiosity about my past. After that, I wouldn't need to think about it anymore. It would be a read and closed chapter of my life. And I would be able to proceed to a new blank page.

I took a deep breath, a sound like a sigh finding its way from my throat. "My father… he wouldn't want me to mourn. But I have lost everything, Meg. Everything. Father was the only family I had left."

Meg smiled, "Not anymore. We can be your family – I'm sure Ma won't mind. And I'd love to have a sister."

"Yes, that would be lovely." And it would… could… help me forget… at least until the wound would heal. "I remember the stories my father had told me, of the North. I can tell you some of those, if you like. They are mostly fairy tales, but each of them is wonderful. And I doubt that you hear many tales of Sweden here in Paris." Meg shook her head, listening carefully. "I had been there, when I was very little. I don't remember images, only feelings. But it was my home, for a time."

"The countryside must be nice, compared to the dust and smoke of the city."

I nodded, "I loved it very much. And Father would always play the violin until I fell asleep… telling me my favorite story – the one about the Angel of Music."

"The Angel of Music?" she frowned.

"That is the only true story of the tales of the North." Nostalgia was slowly creeping into my voice. It was almost as if I had forgotten about Meg, the Opera, Father's death… I was dreaming, even as I sang.

Father once spoke of an Angel

I always dream he'd appear…

And as I sing, I keep hoping

That he's somehow near!

Here, in this room, calling me softly

Somewhere inside, hiding…

Father had promised he´d send him to me

A messenger of Heaven

Angel of Music!

Guide and guardian!

Grant to me your glory!

Angel of Music!

Now I ponder

Where are you

my Angel?

My gaze regained focus and I noticed I had been staring at a random piece of the wall for all this time. I glanced at Meg, who was motionless and silent, like a cat, and eyes equally wide.

"You have a wonderful voice! Why do you waste time learning to dance? You can be part of the main chorus, not a ballet girl, with a voice like that!"

I shook my head no, "I cannot. Father said that to become a singer, you need three t-s: time, training and talent. And I have none of those."

"You need a fourth t: a teacher." Meg insisted, "That's all."

"Father promised me…" I whispered, not really noticing what I was saying. "'When I am in Heaven, child, I will send you the Angel of Music.'"

But my trance didn't last long enough to give Meg time to give me too many reasons why to sing. After insisting again that I would not sing and persuading Meg to keep my secret (at least for a time), I went, as I always did, to the chapel, kneeling in front of the candles.

I gazed upon the glass Angel in front of me, silently. After all that had happened, I still believed in the Angel of Music. I trusted my father more than anyone in the whole world. He would not lie to me. He knew how much I believed in him.

Angel of Music…

All I ask for

Is your watchful guidance…

Angel of Music…

Please come to me

Bless me with your presence…

I sang softly, my eyes still fixed on the painted Angel. Distracted as I was, I didn't sense the gaze of two golden orbs, or the carefully hidden shadow.

Only when I lit yet another candle did I hear the soft echo of singing, a divine sound I was sure must be a dream. That illusion was shattered the moment I heard the words.

Wandering child, do not falter

Heaven has answered your prayers…

Sing to the Angel of Music

You have drawn his gaze!

The unlit candle I had been holding dropped to the floor softly, but I couldn't care less. The voice... such a voice could never belong to a mortal. Its softness was combined with a strange sorrow, but yet it wasn´t mourning. The mere sound was entrancing, enchanting. And, for all its gentleness, it also held a power that could never be put to words. I couldn't breathe, think or move.But I began breathing, at least, because I knew I couldn't sing without air in my lungs.

Angel, I hear you!

Speak, I listen

Stay by my side

Guide me…

The smile, so full of hope, that appeared on my lips, must have been the reason why a slight silence followed. But any fears were unfounded as a soft echo reached me.

Christine…