Her actual name was Christine. However, she had been known for years beyond her own count as "The Phantom of the Opera" or the "Opera Ghost." To her young student, Erik, she was the "Angel of Music." She saw him, now, from her place above the stage of the Paris Opera. He stood with others of the chorus as the new managers were introduced to the leading tenor, Ubaldo Piangi. She leered down at the obese Piangi, hating him, but unable to do anything until the stagehand that stood before her, at his post, moved away. Once he did, she moved forward, checking to make sure he had actually gone.

She truly despised Piangi. His voice, when he sang, made her shudder. He sang now, demonstrating his so-called "talent" to Monsieurs Moncharmin and Richard, who now owned the House. A rope, attached to the scaffolding beside her, held up a piece of scenery directly over Piangi's ugly head. Smirking, she untied it, and watched the wood-and-canvas panel fall. The crowd below looked up in terror, and with a toss of her long hair, she backed into the shadows as stagehands came running. She melted into invisibility, letting her black cloak cover her bare, white arms, and her hair fall forward to hide the brightness of the mask she wore. Shouts were exchanged.

"Buquet! For God's sake, man, what's going on up there?" shouted Monsieur Reyer, the music director.

"Please, monsieur, don't look at me! As God's my witness, I was not at my post!" the man cried back. "Please, monsieur, there's no one there, and if there is, well then, he must be a ghost!"

"Or she," Christine murmured to herself, suppressing a laugh. Satisfied, she climbed up several feet of scaffolding until she was alone, and could watch without being seen—unless, of course, someone looked up.

"Piangi! You cannot leave! Signor, these things do happen!" someone was saying.

"For the past three years, 'these things do happen' and did you stop them from happening? No!" Piangi cried out to the former manager, LeFevre. He rounded upon the new ones. "And you two, you're as bad as him. These things do happen! Until you stop these things happening, this thing does not happen!"

Christine did her best not to laugh as the lead tenor strode away. She controlled the urge, but just barely.

"Gentlemen, good luck. If you need me, I shall be in Australia." Monsieur LeFevre clasped hands briefly with the stunned new owners, Firmin Richard and Andre Moncharmin. Just as he left, Madame Giry, mistress of the ballet and one of the very few who knew Christine personally, appeared, holding a note that Christine had given her earlier.

"I have a message for you, monsieurs, from the Opera Ghost," she said.

"Oh, God in heaven, you're all obsessed!" cried Firmin.

"She welcomes you to her opera house…"

"Her opera house?" interrupted Andre.

"…and commands that you leave Box Five empty for her personal use. She also reminds you that her salary is due."

"Salary?"

"Monsieur LeFevre paid her twenty thousand francs a month," explained the ballet mistress. "Perhaps you can afford more, with the Vicomtess deChagny as your new patron?"

"Madame, I had hoped to make that announcement public tonight, when the Vicomtess was to join us for the gala," replied Firmin hastily, "but obviously we shall now have to cancel, as it appears that we have lost our star. A full house, Andre, we shall have to refund a full house!"

"We can't do that! The performance is tonight! We must have an understudy!" Andre cried desperately. Christine leaned forward. This was the time she had been waiting for.

"There is no understudy for Ubaldo Piangi!" Monsieur Reyer replied.

"Erik Daaé could sing it, sir," interjected Madame Giry.

"I have no time for this," Reyer muttered, "but if you insist…"

"He has been well taught, monsieur."

"Really? Who is your teacher?"

There was a pause in which Christine held her breath. Then came the young, soft, mid-toned voice that she knew so well.

"I don't know her name, sir."

"Oh, well, then, get on with it. From the beginning of the aria."

Another pause as the orchestra readied for her student's solo. His voice then filled the air, slightly nervous at first, but gaining strength until Christine had to clutch at the ropes that supported her. She loved the sound of him—Erik, her student, who had come so far in the three short years in which she had been teaching him. His voice intoxicated her still, made her sway with delight when she heard it. He 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!"

The rest of the day seemed to pass by in a blur for Christine. It seemed not long at all before she was sitting in her own Box Five, watching Erik on the stage, clinging to the arms of her seat with joy.

"We never said our love was evergreen, or as unchanging as the sea,

But if you can still remember, stop and think of me!

Think of all the things we've shared and seen!

Don't think about the way things might have been!

Think of me, think of me waking silent and resigned!

Imagine me, trying too hard to put you from my mind!

Recall those days, look back on all those times, think of the things we'll never do!

There will never be a day when I won't think of you!"

She applauded with the rest of the audience when the opera ended, but stayed not to see the final curtain call. She must get down to his room before he did—she must leave him a sign of her pleasure in him. As she passed through the various secret doors and tunnels, she plucked a rose from her hair. It was tied with a black ribbon, and the color of scarlet. She laughed hollowly with the morbid sense of humor that she delighted in possessing when she reached the space behind his mirror and went through.

Tonight was the night, she thought to herself, that she would finally appear to him. He had asked her, but she had denied, until now. She placed the rose on the dressing table, and then vanished again within the mirror, just as the doorknob turned and Erik entered.

The first thing he saw was her rose. He picked it up, looking around, and she touched the glass fervently. She opened her mouth to sing then, to entice him with her voice, but she was stopped by a knock on his door. Upset, she shrank back a little.

"Little Erik let his mind wander," said the woman who entered. Erik turned happily to face her. "Little Erik thought, 'Am I fonder of books, or goblins, or damsels? Or of riddles, or horses…'"

"'Those picnics in the attic?'" Erik went on.

"'Or of chocolates?'"

"'Mother playing the violin…'"

"'…as we read to each other dark stories of the north?'"

"'No, what I love best,' Erik said, 'is when I'm asleep in my bed, and the Angel of Music sings songs in my head!'"

"The Angel of Music sings songs in my head!" the three of them sang, although Christine's voice was barely a whisper. How could he? She was his Angel—yet he sang to this woman as though she was all he knew!

"Oh, you sang like an angel tonight," said the woman to Erik.

"Mother said, 'When I'm in heaven, child, I will send the Angel of Music to you'. Well, father is dead, Meg, and I have been visited by the Angel of Music!" Erik replied. Christine felt better—he hadn't forgotten her.

"Oh, no doubt of it!" So, she was called Meg? "And now, we'll go to supper!"

"No, Meg, the Angel of Music is very strict."

"Well, I shan't keep you up late!"

"Meg, no!"

"You must change. I'll order my carriage. Two minutes, Little Erik."

"No, Meg, wait!" But Erik was too late. Meg left, and Christine heard the door click behind her—someone had locked it. She then turned to the reason why she had come.

"Insolent girl, the slave of fashion, basking in your glory!

Ignorant fool! This brave young mistress, sharing in my triumph!"

She watched the effect of her haunting voice on him. He rose slowly, and sang back to her.

"Angel, I hear you! Speak, I listen! Stay by my side, guide me!

Angel, my soul was weak, forgive me! Enter at last, teacher!"

His last words sent a chill down her spine. Here, it had come, and all she had to do was open the mirror and call.

"Flattering child, you shall know me, see why in shadow I hide!

Look at your face in the mirror—I am there, inside!"

Christine slid the mirror open, and Erik turned and saw her.

"Angel of Music, guide and guardian, grant to me your glory!

Angel of Music, hide no longer! Come to me, strange Angel!"

She held out her hand as he slowly followed her haunting song.

"I am your Angel of Music! Come to me, Angel of Music!

I am your Angel of Music! Come to me, Angel of Music!"