A/N: Well, another chapter. I didn't think I would have it in me tonight, but after watching Alias, I was in 'mission mode'. . .must get another chapter done! Unfortunately, Agent Vaughn wasn't here to give me backup. Just kidding. Anyways, I was a little unsure about how this story was going to play out, but everything seems to be coming together. Sometimes throwing a wrench into the story makes for a more interesting read (you'll see what I mean).

Yes, this story is not exactly like the movie/musical. But call it loosely based. There are elements from each of them that I have thrown in. I do not want to turn this into a full blown musical with 'The Hills are Alive' streaming in the background. But if I have used specific lyrics (which by the way are not my own thus far), they were used for good reason – they fit the particular emotion or moment.

After reading the reviews, I have decided to move at a happy medium speed. Not too slow, not too fast. Enjoy!

Chapter 6

Christine tossed in her bed, trying desperately to fight off the thoughts that were dominating her mind, and wanted so badly to fall asleep. But she could still feel the cool touch of her angel upon her cheek. His mark still burned like an invisible brand upon her skin. Her fingers traced the gentle curve of her cheek. She could feel where the tear had trailed down her cheek. Where his touch had carried it from her.

She did not know why the action had such a powerful effect on her. Her heart raced even now. It was as though she had caught a glimpse of heaven itself, for the briefest of moments, and was now barred from the sight of it forever. Her heart ached for that vision. Limbs that had once been sluggish and tired were now thrashing about in desperation.

The first lesson commenced later that week. After a few days of utter loneliness, Christine found that she craved the angel's attention more then anything else. When she waited anxiously in the music room as he had directed, she found her hands could not be stilled. They wrung at the folds of her gown. But at the first flicker of candlelight, Christine's head shot up in expectation. Her large, expressive eyes flew open and a smile graced her generous lips. She could not remember feeling such excitement before. Only, perhaps, when she had been a very young child and her father had presented her with a gift.

"Angel!" she called out, rising abruptly from her seat on the small couch.

"Are you ready to begin your lesson?" his lovely voice echoed.

"Yes, I am," she responded.

"Stand straight, look ahead, and do not move from that spot."

Christine complied and remained as still as she could. She could feel a light breeze in the room and was about to turn her head when she heard the angel's commanding voice again.

"Do not turn your head!" he boomed. "I will not tutor you if you do not follow these simple commands."

"I'm sorry, angel," she responded, mentally berating herself for inciting the correction.

"Now, you will learn a simple piece. We will work on your range and your breathing. Once you have mastered the basic skills, we will move ahead to more complex pieces."

"Angel," her voice sounded softly, as though fearing to anger the angel. "Why are you teaching me? What good will it do? I have no one to sing for anymore," her voice trailed off sadly.

There was a pause and then the angel responded, in a tone more gentle then before. "You have been blessed with a gift. You must develop this gift. It was not given to you to squander," he stopped for a moment, as though pausing to think on his words. "You may not have an audience now, but I assure you, your voice is pleasing to my ears."

Christine smiled in gratitude. She would never have thought that an angel would be appreciative of her voice. It was an honor to hear these words from him.

They continued their lessons each day for the next few months. Each day, Christine arose in anticipation of the coming day. Her voice had far exceeded her own expectations. She found it reaching new heights under the strict tutelage of her angel of music. But as the weeks drew on, and she never saw or heard anyone else in the house, she began to grow immensely lonesome. She would sit for hours in the small room adjacent the library and immerse herself in the books.

When the confines of the house became too much, she would venture outside to the small garden that lay behind the house. Autumn was drawing to a close. Most of the leaves had fallen from the trees and carpeted the ground in a blanket of gold. Christine's gaze drifted back to the house. It was drawn across the expanse of the great house, with its two stories and many windows. Many rooms still remained unexplored. But at her angel's command, she remained only in those rooms that had been opened to her. Still, her curiosity was growing with each passing day. With no one besides the angel to talk to, occurring only during the lessons, she began to grow restless.

But whenever she pleaded with her angel for company, for someone real to talk to, she was gently refused. She had inquired about the owner of the house. But an explanation was not provided. She found herself only left in silence. Christine began to grow frustrated.

One day, on a particularly lovely late autumn day, a horse appeared on the small road that wound through the forest. Christine heard the sound of hooves upon gravel and rushed outside to catch a glimpse of the visitor. There had never been a visitor in her months of exile in the house. She was starving for human interaction.

She waited with caution at the front gate, peering carefully along the road that lay before the great house.

"Hello!" a male voice called.

Christine inclined her head further to see the man who approached. He looked to be a young man. Perhaps twenty five years old. His long hair was pulled back at the base of his neck and he wore a hat. By the look of his clothes, the young man appeared to be wealthy. A rifle was slung behind one shoulder, over his heavy cloak. The horse that he rode, a beautiful white stallion, appeared to be injured. One leg was bloodied and the creature was limping slightly as rider and horse approached.

"Hello, mademoiselle," he said, stopping before the slender, shy girl that stood near the gate.

He tipped his hat before slowly dismounting. As he straightened out before her, Christine studied the young man with inquisitive eyes. Now that was able to study his face, she found the young man quite handsome. Never had she seen such a man in the town. No noblemen would even think of living in such a place.

"My name is Vicomte Raoul de Chagny," he bowed slightly before her.

Not really knowing how to respond, she remembered what her father had taught her as a child, and offered a simple curtsey. "I am Christine Daae," she replied.

"Do you live in this house?" he inquired.

Christine's gaze fell upon the looming structure and she nodded. "Yes."

"I have been riding nearly all day, lost in these woods, when I happened upon this road. I was hunting and my horse was injured. May I rest here? I do not wish to impose."

Christine glanced up at the house with fearful eyes. Would her angel permit this? He had not allowed her any contact with outsiders before. But she could not refuse the kind face of the gentlemen that stood before her. She was tired of being alone. What harm would it do to allow the man to rest and attend his horse for a short time?

"There is a small stable beyond the house. You can keep your horse there. I will go and fetch some food if you like," she offered, smiling kindly at the man.

"Thank you, that would be very appreciated," he answered, smiling back.

They sat in the small parlor that lay near the door of the house. Christine had lit a small fire in the fireplace and offered the young man tea and a small plate of food from what she had found in the kitchen. The cupboards were stocked with food and the cellar was full of fruits, vegetables and a considerable amount of wine.

She watched as he ate, the young man bending politely over the small table she had placed before him. His manners were unlike the rough tendencies of the villagers. He ate slowly, in an orderly manner, and frequently glanced up at the expectant face of his hostess.

"Do you live here alone?" he inquired after the silence that had permeated his meal.

She hesitated for a moment before replying. "I have lived here under the protection of a benefactor, "she replied.

"So you are not the lady of this house?"

"No," she blushed, "I am a guest."

"And where is your benefactor now?" he asked, his curiosity obviously piqued.

"Away," she replied curtly.

He raised an eyebrow. "How odd!"

She offered him a smile and a gentle shrug of her shoulders.

"Who is the master of this house? I am curious to meet him," Raoul asked, glancing around the room.

"He. . .I. . .do not know his name," she replied.

"You do not know his name? How could that be?" the young man asked in surprise.

"I came to live here several months ago. I have no family, and as such, I took whatever accommodations had been offered to me. I have been provided a food and shelter. I could not ask more."

The questions were beginning to make her uncomfortable. Christine was afraid of revealing too much to the man. As much as she craved conversation with him, she did not want to be drawn away from the house, from her angel, on a young man's suspicions. There had been too many goodbyes in her life. She had to say goodbye to her father. When the lottery had been announced, it was Madame Giry and Meg. She did not want to lose the last comforting presence in her life. Her angel.

"Excuse me, Vicomte," Christine began.

"Oh please, call me Raoul. I hate hearing that title all the time," he said, smiling briefly.

"Raoul. I can find you a room for the night, if you wish," Christine offered, rising from her seat.

Raoul immediately rose up, his eyes never leaving the younger woman's. He had never seen such a girl before. Her hair was long and dark, curled in perfect ringlets. Her figure was slender and graceful, but there was something wanting in her posture, as though she often found herself in the presence of greater people, or perhaps people she feared. Eyes of warm brown were wide and expressive. There was genuine warmth in them. Not the stuffy sort of façade that he had seen so often.

He watched as she carefully cleared the plate away and disappeared into the kitchen for a moment before returning and gesturing down one of the halls.

"There is a room down here," she said.

Raoul followed behind the young woman, glancing around the halls as they passed by several rooms. How strange, he thought. The architecture is so grand. I would never have expected to find such a house this deep in the woods. It is a house meant for the city or a large estate. I wonder who owns this house.

Christine glanced back at him as she stopped in front of an open doorway. She smiled faintly for a moment before walking into the room and pulling open the heavy drapes of the windows. The room was immediately bathed in light and revealed a large canopy bed and other necessary amenities.

"You may stay here. If you'd like, you can sit in the parlor this evening. There is a library down the hall and I can bring whatever you'd prefer to read," she explained.

"That is most hospitable of you, Christine," he bowed humbly, flashing Christine a smile, before sweeping for her hand.

He caught the slender hand in his and placed a chaste kiss upon the smooth skin of her knuckles. As he did so, he glanced up and watched as her eyes wavered for a moment on his. Uncertainty filled her eyes, as though his action had broken some strange law. But quickly the emotion fled her eyes and was replaced by the hint of a blush upon her lovely face.

"Forgive me, if I have offended you," Raoul said.

"No, no," she blurted out, "you have not."

They stood in an awkward silence before Christine broke it.

"How is your horse?" she inquired.

"I have managed to bandage it up. I will have to watch it though. The swelling might be a problem," he responded.

She nodded softly, her mind elsewhere. "Very good. I. . .I think I might retire for the evening. It is. . ."

"Will you stay in the parlor with me?" he interrupted, stopping her retreat from the door.

She glanced up with those wavering eyes. "Alright," she answered. "It has been very quiet here. I welcome the company," she said softly.

"Very good!" the young Vicomte responded.

Later that evening, Christine returned to her room, carrying a single candle to light her path. She quietly undressed behind the ornate dressing screen that lay in the corner of the room and slipped on a delicate white lace nightgown. Tying her robe over the gown, she walked out from behind the screen and was preparing for bed when a voice that had remained silent all day suddenly filled her senses.

"Why have you let a stranger into this household?" the voice of her angel boomed.

Christine's eyes filled with fear as she glanced around like a frightened child receiving her punishment. "Forgive me, angel. But his horse was injured and he needed a place to stay. I did not think it would do any harm by allowing him to stay."

"You did not think!"

Hurt filled her eyes. She had never heard the angel so angry before.

"Please, forgive me!"

There was silence for a while. Christine stood rigid in the center of the room, awaiting his response.

"Send him away in the morning," the voice responded, a little calmer this time.

A tear trailed down her cheek and reached up slowly to brush it away.

"Why are you crying?" the voice asked.

"I just wanted. . .I wanted someone to talk to," she nearly sobbed.

"I will always be here, Christine," he responded, his golden voice filling her soul.

"I know that, angel," she replied. "But I need someone. . .real."

With that, she scurried off to bed, not wanting to hear her angel's response. Damned if she was, she did not care. How could a human being go so long without another? She cried herself to sleep, staining the pillow with her tears.

She did not know what her decisions today would mean. She was not aware of what she had set in motion. But as she slept fitfully, a presence lingered behind her mirror. Gleaming eyes watched over her.

Emmy6 – Have no fear about the tension. I am the queen of drawing out the tension until it strings apart like toffee. Kidding. But I too hate excessive fluff. I like my Erik to have a darker side. Not too dark, mind you. I can tell you don't think too highly of the movie. I really enjoyed it. I do envision my Christine as being played by Emmy Rossum, and also my Erik to be played by the heavenly Gerard Butler. But let's just say I've replaced his voice to fit with the books – higher quality.

As for ages, I hate it when other authors make Erik younger (such as 25). It just doesn't work. He's always been significantly older. I guess being around that age myself, I couldn't take him seriously. So, like the movie, I'm aiming for mid to late 30's. 50, as in the books, is getting to be a little geriatric for me in this story.

Jtbwriter – Glad that Christine worked out OK. I was aiming for a sympathetic character. In other words, she's got issues too. I wanted to show that she's not just a flighty young woman who's had everything handed to her on a platter. And the fact that she is starving for attention is one of the reasons why Raoul's entrance is almost justified. Perhaps it will give the angel a little kick in the pants too. Wink wink.