Christine's first lesson, like all her lessons, began with the mesmerizing voice of her instructor.

"Good afternoon, Christine. Are you ready to begin?"

"Yes, M. Angel." she was a very sensitive child. The grave politeness in her Angel's voice did much to put her at her ease.

"Let me hear your major scales, but not on an "ah". Sing them on "zee." Start on middle C." He watched her through the mirror, scrutinizing her posture, her breathing, the relaxation in her face and throat. She began singing. Perfect pitch, perfect posture, Erik thought giddily. She's a prodigy.

None of his pleasure came through in his stern voice. It was far too soon for compliments.

"Stop. Start again. This time, I expect that you will actually sing. This means that you will open your throat, raise your soft palette and support your breath from the muscles in your stomach."

Christine looked down in shame. No one had ever criticized her voice before.

"Again, from middle C. This time on "noh", and I want the vowel pure." He watched her for any sign of recalcitrance. There was none. He was the Angel of Music, and his word was law. She raised her head and began again. It was clear after a few notes that she could hear the difference in her sound the moment she followed his directions. Her eyes widened with surprise and her smile became real – which again brightened her tone. Erik decided he could allow her a little praise.

"That was an improvement. I see you noticed as well. Perhaps in a few weeks, I will permit you to begin a song. For now, I want to hear your minor scales. Same vowel."

And so went each lesson. Christine's extraordinary voice flowered under Erik's expert tutelage. Erik knew that she received plenty of praise from others. He withheld his own praise for moments of true perfection – he would not produce another Carlotta. As a result, Christine learned humility and discipline. The praise of others meant little to her; those rare times when her Angel complimented her were her meat and drink. She devoted herself to her music and her Muse, never daring to question or disobey his direction.

Had Mme Giry not spoken up for the importance of play and friendships, the poor girl would have spent all her time studying, singing, and sleeping. As it was, Erik allowed two hours a day for recreational time, and did his best to refrain from following her to make sure she did not scream or giggle as the other girls did. Mme Giry encouraged Erik to trust her, and her unusual maturity supported that trust. Still, he ended each of her voice lessons with reminders that she was not to allow herself "social entanglements" or other "risky behaviors" that might distract her from her studies.

If Erik consciously worked to control Christine's behavior, she exerted an equally strong unconscious influence over him. In her third summer of tutelage under her Angel, she sighed after successfully running a series of intricate scales. "May I rest, Angel? I am a little tired today."

"Certainly Christine. Did you not sleep well last night? Sleep is…"

"Essential to the quality of tone. I know. But I heard something in the walls, and I was afraid." Christine was curled up on the warm hearth, playing with the fire-poker as she spoke.

"Afraid of the dark? That's unlike you."

"No. Afraid of the Phantom! The girls in the ballet say that he always haunts the hallways, and Carlotta said that he's done murder, and even tried to kill M. Debienne once! I don't know why, but my imagination got away from me last night, and I fancied he was right there, haunting my rooms."

Erik had, in fact, been in her rooms the night before, testing the acoustics. He winced to think that the reputation of his alter ego was frightening enough to keep Christine awake nights. But he was sure he had been perfectly silent – had she sensed his presence?

"Do you really believe this Phantom exists? If all the ghost stories in Paris were true, there wouldn't be any room for the people."

"Well, Angel, I thought that since you exist, he might exist as well. But I always feel safe when I know you are near. I suppose it was silly of me to be so frightened last night. I promise I will go to bed early tonight, to make up for it."

"All right, little one. See that you do. I will expect your full energy tomorrow."

That conversation rung in Erik's memory. No matter how the managers goaded him, or how poorly the performers played their parts (and Carlotta's voice withered more with each passing year) he restrained himself as much as possible regarding his culling tactics. Christine's health was far more important to him at this moment than small issues in the Opera Populaire.

Her fifteenth birthday approached; Erik wanted her to be at her best when they finally decided she was ready to audition. She had reached a plateau in performance that baffled him. It was not a matter of technique, or tone, or clarity. Those were as perfect as could be. Something essential was missing, though. If he could only identify and correct that one little thing, her voice would pass through extraordinariness into sublimity, but he could not put his finger on it.

Theatre rules forbade anyone under the age of fifteen from singing onstage. The reasoning was that before the age of fifteen the voice was fragile and should not be strained by performance. Once a singer reached her fifteenth birthday, however, she was free to audition for a part in the chorus.

When Christine opened her eyes before dawn on her fifteenth birthday her first thought was that the sign-up sheet for choral auditions was hanging outside the managers' office, and that her name could be placed on it this very day. The third time she misbuttoned her shoes, she started deep breathing techniques to calm herself. Nothing more momentous happens today than writing your name on a piece of paper, she reminded herself, so take a deep breath and calm down.

She and her Angel of Music had not discussed whether she would audition this year. Christine knew she was most likely risking his ire by acting without his direction, but the allure of that call sheet was simply too great. Here was a chance to display the fruits of her long labor and the strict self discipline that had kept her quiet while other girls shrieked and home when other girls began going out on the town with their friends.

Finally properly dressed, Christine ran down the halls and up the enormous curving staircase. The list hung, as always, on a piece of corkboard by the door. There were several names on it already; she perused these with great interest. A couple of them she recognized from the ballet corps, others were strangers. She wondered how she would compare. The call sheet proclaimed that there were numerous bass, tenor, and alto vacancies but only a single opening for soprano voice.

The hour was early enough that the halls were lit only by rushlight. Dawn had just begun to gleam pinkly on the horizon. Christine glanced around, reassuring herself that the halls were empty, then lifted her pen to the paper. As she scratched her name on the sheet, she heard the faintest sound of a piano. Who would be up at this hour playing piano? Servants might be awake at this hour, but they would be making breakfast, not music. Most of the performers and musicians kept late hours in the mornings because performances went on late into the night. Christine tried to make out the tune, while staring at her name in ink of the call sheet. After a moment, she decided to see who the early morning musician was.