Disclaimer: I do not own the song Heaven's Light from The Hunchback of Notre Dame. I just made it that Christine was the original composer of it.

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The saying "like father, like daughter" was very true in Erik and Christine's case. Erik began to learn this shortly after telling Christine of his past.

One day, upon returning from one of his rare trips above-ground, he saw that the entire lair was in a shambles. Several of his mirrors were broken, some of his sheet music was ripped, and things were thrown all on the floor.

He instantly knew who the culprit was. "Christine Elizabeth Vasille!" he shouted, his shout echoing through the entire lair.

A sniffling Christine pitifully crawled out from her hiding place underneath the organ.

"I - I'm sorry, Father," she stammered, trembling. "I got angry and I - I started wrecking things, and I couldn't stop!" She burst into hysterical sobs.

He sighed as he understood that there were now two people with furious tempers living in the same place.

"It's all right, Christine," he replied resignedly. "It seems you've earned my temper. We'll just have to learn to deal with it, I suppose."

"You're not angry?" she inquired, hardly daring to believe her luck.

"No. Now help me clean up this mess."

"Yes, Father."

Then, about a week later, he heard a strange humming noise coming from nearby. He stood up and went in search of its location, but whenever he seemed to find it, it moved abruptly.

After several minutes of frustrated and fruitless searching for the source of the sound, he finally understood what was happening and walked up to the swan bedroom, which was Christine's bedroom, and found her sitting on her bed soundlessly, staring into space.

"Practicing your ventriloquism, I suppose," he said softly to her.

She glanced over at him.

"How did you know?" a soft, muted voice asked out of thin air.

He chuckled. "I'm a ventriloquist myself, ma cherie," he replied, using his ventriloquism."You're doing a wonderful job. Are you able to sing yet?"

"I don't know," she replied, this time speaking normally. "I haven't tried yet. Should I try now?"

"If you wish to, yes."

Then, about a month after Christine had mastered ventriloquism, another characteristic of hers appeared - her dislike for the deformed side of her face, or, really, her face in general.

She sat sullenly in her room one day without her mask, crying as softly as possible. However, her father heard her and came in.

"What's wrong, Christine, mon ange?" he inquired, looking concerned as he sat down next to her.

She glanced up at him, her face tearstreaked and red.

"I hate my face," she muttered sadly with deep loathing. "I hate it, hate it, hate it! It's so ugly! Why do we have such hateful faces, Father?"

I've asked myself that for years, he thought to himself, and then he replied, "I'm not sure, love. But that's why we have the masks, you see?"

She nodded. "Yes. Yes, I do, Father." She sighed. "That's why we have masks..."

As she thought about this, she suddenly was filled with the inspiration to sing.

She stood up and walked over to the piano and sat at it. She began playing a tune that was unfamiliar to him and sang softly with it:

So many times out here,

I've watched a happy pair

Of lovers walking in the night...

They had a kind of glow around them -

It almost looked like heaven's light...

I knew I'd never know

That warm and happy glow,

Though I might wish with all my might...

No face as hideous as my face

Was ever meant for heaven's light...

She stopped then.

Erik stood there, spellbound by the fact that one - Christine was already composing music of her own, two - she had come up with such a melancholy song, and three - her singing voice was so close to perfection!

"Christine, darling, that's amazing work!" he exclaimed. "It's a lovely song, although it's a bit sad. But the best part is - you found your voice, Christine! You almost had it right then and there, I know it! Oh, I'm so happy!"

He then scooped her up in his arms and spun her around, causing her to laugh.

After a moment, he stopped, and then he set her down and said proudly, "Well done, ma cherie - I am very proud of you."

She blushed. "It was nothing, really," she muttered. "Just freewriting, that's all."

There was, however, one difference between Erik and Christine besides the obvious ones, and that was their choice of musical instrument. While Erik tended to prefer to play the violin, Christine made it very clear one day that she had a different preference - the piano.

"I don't want to practice the violin!" she exclaimed mutinously. "I don't want to be a violinist, Father; I really don't!"

"Well, then, mon ange, what instrument would you like to play?" he asked her.

"The piano," she instantly replied.

He raised his eyebrows. "The piano?"

"Yes, Father - the piano."

"You shall have to prove to me that you are capable of being a complete pianist, then." He thought on which piece to have her play. "Play Mozart's Piano Concerto in C Major perfectly, and I shall allow you to be a pianist and nothing else."

He didn't wait long for his request to be fulfilled, as she sat down at the piano, straightened herself a bit, and then played the entire piece from memory perfectly.

When she finished, she sat expectantly, waiting for his answer.

He nodded. "Very well - you are a pianist and a singer. Well done."

She clapped her hands delightedly. "Thank you, Father! Thank you so much!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck.