You have brought me

To that moment when words run dry...

To that moment when speech disappears into silence...

Silence...

I have come here

Hardly knowing the reason why...

In my mind, I've already imagined

Our bodies entwining

Defenseless and silent...

Now I am here with you...

No second thoughts...

I've decided...

Decided...

Past the point of no -

"Stop," Erik interrupted Christine during one of her daily voice lessons several months later, and she did as he told her to, stopping her singing.

He turned around to look at her, and then, after a moment of silence, he said to her, "I don't think you need voice lessons any more, Christine."

Her grey-green eyes widened in shock, hardly believing her ears. "What?"

"You heard me, dear. I'm not sure what else I can do for your voice. It's... well, I suppose angelic might be the right word. Your mother's voice wasn't nearly as beautiful as yours is until she was 16, and you're five years younger than she is. You could get on any stage, at this very moment, and win the lead role in any opera. So no more. You're finished."

Then, without another word, he rose from the piano bench with a sense of finality and began to walk towards the kitchen to prepare the dinner that they would eat that night.

She stood there for a moment in stunned silence. Her father was stopping her lessons? She was only 11! Surely there must be something more he that could teach her...

Desperate to make him change his mind, she quickly regained hold on her senses and followed him into the kitchen.

"Father," she said, looking rather shocked, "you can't stop my lessons!"

"Why not, ma cherie?" he inquired, turning to her and raising his eyebrows.

"I'm only 11!"

"Age doesn't matter."

"I suppose that's true, but... surely there's something about singing I don't know - something you haven't told me about!"

He sighed and shook his head, feeling himself start to lose his patience. "I've taught you everything I know, Christine. I know everything there is to know about singing, or any kind or music, for that matter, and there's nothing more for you to learn. As long as you at keep exercising your voice every day, then you'll be fine. Your voice will be, and is right now, your power. Someone's going to be captivated by your voice someday, dear, and when they are, you'll thank me."

Then, without saying anything more, he turned his back on her and resumed preparing dinner.

She stood there another moment, clearly at a loss for words. She was done. Her voice was at its best. There was nothing else her father could do for it. How unbelievable!

After another moment of silence in which she regarded him thoughtfully, she said, "Father?"

"Yes, mon ange?"

She hesitated, then prompted, "Do you think... do you think that I could... sing on the stage? The stage out there, in the Opera?"

He stiffened and turned to her, his expression a mixture of fear and refusal. "No."

"Why?"

"Because, love, it's not a good idea at all."

"Well, why not?" she inquired rather impatiently.

"Christine, what is it that rests on the right side of your face?"

"My mask. What does that have to do with anything?"

"First, performers will not look kindly on being outdone by an 11-year-old girl who's never even audtioned for any role in any production before. Second, even if you were the best which you would be, you wouldn't be allowed to perform because of your mask and what's underneath it. Everyone would be trying to pry your mask off, and when they eventually succeeded, they'd insult you endlessly, and you most definitely wouldn't be allowed to perform then - you'd be so humiliated that you wouldn't want to, anyway."

"It sounds like you're thinking of what would happen to you, not to me," she muttered under her breath as she folded her arms across her chest, allowing her smart mouth to take over without even thinking about it.

"Watch what you say, Christine Elizabeth," he said, a warning tone to his voice as he gave her one of his stern looks. "My point is that you'd get hurt out there, which is exactly why we live down here. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, I understand," she replied rather crossly. "But, Father - couldn't I at least try?"

"Absolutely not."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm your father and I know what's best for you."

"I don't have to show them my mask, though, if that's what you're really worried about. I could" - she paused, trying to come up with a solution - "wear my cloak and have my hood over my head! They wouldn't be able to see my face that way!"

"I already said no," he repeated firmly, sighing inwardly at his daughter's inherited stubborness.

"Father, please!" she pleaded, actually getting down on knees in front of him and clasping her hands together in desperation, something that was sure to make her burn with shame later. "Oh, please just let me audition one time! Just one time... and then I'll never do it again!"

This could be the only chance that she would get to perform publicly, he thought to himself as he gazed down at her, battling his thoughts. It would be a good opportunity for her - one that you never got.

After another moment, he sighed resignedly, "All right, Christine. The Opera is having a public audition for a new production of Hannibal a few days from now. You have Think of Me memorized, don't you?"

Hardly believing her ears, she replied, "Yes."

"Good. You'll sing it for the managers, then, and get the performing experience. But this is the only time, you understand? No more after this!"

"Oh, thank you!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him. "I just want this one time, Father - that's all. Oh, thank you so much, really!"

Then she scurried off to her bedroom excitedly so that she could pick out a nice dress to wear for the audition.

Three days later, Erik and Christine stood in the shadows of Box Five, glancing down at the other auditioners that stood on stage and observing several of the audtions.

"I don't know, Christine," he murmured to her hesitantly, letting out a sigh. "I have a bad feeling about this..."

"Oh, Father, I'll be fine," she assured him, shaking her head at his worry and kissing his unmasked, undeformed cheek in a meant-to-be-reassuring gesture. "You'll be able to see me, and you'll be so proud!"

"I don't doubt it," he chuckled softly, embracing her and then gently pushing her in the direction of the box's exit. "Now go. You're up soon. I'll be watching you from up here. Come right back up here the moment you're done."

"I will, Father," she promised, and then, without another word, she exited Box Five and scurried down to the stage below, pulling the hood of her cloak over her head in order to hide her mask as he looked after her, a bad feeling going through him and getting increasingly worse with each step that she took.

"All right," said Berrain, one of the Opera's managers, after a few more auditions had gone by. "Next!"

Christine rather timidly ventured to the center of the stage, her hood securely on top of her head. She glanced around her, marveling at the view she had. What a huge auditorium the Opera had!

"Your name, mademoiselle?" Berrain asked of her, not even bothering to look up at her.

"Christine Vasille," she replied softly, swallowing hard and trying to calm down her nerves. She couldn't believe that butterflies were wildly flying around inside of her stomach.

"Christine Vasille," Berrain then murmured, writing her name down on a piece of parchment. "All right, Christine. Go ahead and sing for us, would you, please?"

"Certainly, Monsieur Berrain."

The accompanist gave Christine two bars, and then she sang:

Think of me

Think of me fondly

When we've said goodbye...

Remember me

Once in a while

Please promise me you'll try...

When you find

That once again you long

To take your heart back

And be free,

If you ever find a moment,

Spare a thought for me...

She finished there, and for a moment, Berrain stared up at her as she stood on stage quietly, stunned. What a voice this girl had!

"Mademoiselle Vasille," he addressed her, obvious awe in his voice, "your voice is lovely. That was possibly the best audition I've heard all day."

"Merci, monsieur," she replied, glancing up in the general direction of Box Five, where Erik stood, looking down on his daughter with pride.

"I do believe that you are our next Elissa," Berrain then continued. "There is one thing I must ask, however, and that is that you would remove your hood so that I may see your face."

Erik and Christine stiffened in their separate places unanimously, and Christine protested, "Monsieur, I crave your indulgence in this. I would rather not."

"You must! You could not perform with a hood on top of your head for the entire opera... it would be a most ridiculous sight!"

"Then I'm afraid that I won't be able to perform. It is simply not possible. I apologize."

Then, without another word, she turned and began to walk off of the stage.

However, before she could make her way off of the stage and back up to Box Five, she was grabbed from behind and dragged back on the stage by a stagehand that Berrain had motioned to take a hold on her.

"No!" she cried out, struggling and feeling alarmed as Erik observed the scene in silent horror from Box Five, wondering what on earth to do.

"Pull her hood off!" Erisma, the other manager, commanded to her capturer.

Her hood was removed as she let out a scream of protest, and everyone gaped at the sight of the white half-mask on her face.

Feeling fearful that worse events would occur from there, Erik boomed from Box Five, using ventriloquism, "Leave her alone... let her go at once! By God, if any of you dares to lay a hand on her, you'll pay with your lives!"

"It's The Phantom of the Opera," someone whispered, and at that, anxious murmurs rose as everyone glanced around the auditorium nervously.

"No, no!" Christine lied, raising her hand in a gesture of protest. "It's not The Phantom; it's my voice tutor. Please, just let me go, and we'll forget that this ever happened... we'll forget that I ever auditioned."

Fearing being murdered, as they didn't believe that the voice they'd just head belonged to this girl's "voice tutor" the managers nodded in agreement, and Erisma said, "I do believe that that would be the best decision. You are free to go, mademoiselle."

She nodded, let out a soft sigh of relief, and then exited the stage and made her way up to Box Five.

Erik let out a sigh of relief as she entered and embraced her tightly, asking in a severe tone, "Do you see now why you can't do that?"

"Yes, I see," she said quietly, nodding. "I won't do it again, Father. I don't want to, anyway."

"Good," he replied, taking her hand as they exited Box Five and then made their way down to the lair together. "Believe me, Christine: one day, you'll sing for someone, and they'll be captivated by your voice. You can take my word for that."