A/N: Thank you and huggles to those of you who were gracious enough to review! I do apologize for the brevity of this chapter; I promise, the next will be much, much longer. I couldn't decide whether to tack this on to the last one or let it stand alone, and finally went for the latter. Again, feedback is dearly treasured, if you would be so kind. :)
Introduction to an Angel
I soon found out from various occurences that sweet little Christine trotted down to the peaceful solitude of the chapel every night during her free hour before evening rehearsal to pray and sing and call upon her father to send her the mysterious Angel of Music. And each night I waited for her with bated breath, watching her go about her somber routine with eyes wide at the potential stored within that breathtaking child. She soon became my inspiration and obsession; she awoke music within me, and for days on end I would sit in front of my organ, composing some of the most emotionally wrenching pieces of my career. I did not eat, nor sleep, and paused only at that designated hour nightly when I would creep up to the ceiling of the little chapel to watch her "performance."
It was one week after the night that I fondly referred to as her "debut" that the idea struck me.
It was horribly risky. If she were ever to discover...
But how would she? She was struck by grief; that much was clear. The poor child desperately clung to the last remnants of her father and a promise that could never be granted.
That was, except by me.
Yes, it was terribly risky. But I was willing to risk anything to soothe this brilliant young artist, this child who ached as I ached, and who possessed a gift that, if properly guided, would prove to be extremely fruitful indeed.
And so, exactly seven nights after my little Christine's debut, I waited just outside the trap door, as always, trembling uncontrollably in anticipation. She appeared right on schedule, crossed herself, and dropped to her knees, her hands folded reverently in front of her. As she struck the match to light her candle, she began to sing the hymn that was now etched into my memory:
You once told me
of an Angel of Music
You once promised
That once in heaven
You'd send me an angel
A guide and a guardian
Now Father, in heaven
I ask you...
I beg you...
Where is he?
Where is my angel?
The last note had barely left her lips when I opened my own to respond:
Beautiful child,
Lost in darkness,
Such loss and despair you have known,
Don't fear, little child;
I will show you
You are not alone!
I waited breathlessly for her to respond. Her rich brown eyes had gone wide, first in terror, then in relief. Tears of joy streamed down her pale cheeks, and she trembled almost as fervently as I. A smile, radiant and genuine and beautiful, lit up her delicate features as I finished.
Angel, I hear you
Speak, I listen
Stay by my side
Guide me!
A matching grin split my own face at her elation. Elation based on a lie, yes... but that didn't matter to me. The look on her pretty little face was enough to dissolve any doubts I had about continuing. And certainly I couldn't abandon the idea now; we'd passed the point of no return. Henceforward, I was her Angel of Music, her guide and guardian, her teacher, and beloved friend.