First of all I have to say THANK YOU SO MUCH! to all of you who gave me such great reviews. You all are truly the reason I am still writing this story inspirational music ok, enough sappy stuff. Lol.This chapter will mainly be Christine remembering her father's death and the first time Erik comes to her, with the chance of some slight Erik/Christine fluff, just as a reward for the fact that yall sat through a complete Raoul-based chapter, not that Raoul isn't a character deserving of his own chapter or anything.:loud cough:::Raoul glares at me because my cough disturbed him while he was checking his hair:. Lolol ok, no more Raoul-bashing. I promise. OOOO and if you people review, ILL GIVE U A BIG COOKIE! But if you don't, well, we won't go into that. (Mwahahahaha) ahem. Any ways. Onward with the story. Honestly I am too tired and sick to think off a title for this chapter, so until I can think of one, it will be called...:drumroll: CHAPTER 3! Stunning I know.

Christine awoke to the sound of soft, gentle melodies being played slowly on an organ, accompanied by a soft soothing voice singing gently to the sweet notes. Her thoughts immediately flew back to the first time her angel had come to her, two months after that dreadful night her father had died, mere weeks after her father's hand had went limp in hers.

She had pulled her hand back from his in fright as his hand went cold. She stared in horror as his chest stopped moving, and his eyes fluttered closed, never to open again. She sat in silence, not sure how to react. She had not believed it when Doctor Ruyle had told them he could do nothing for her father, that his life was in God's hands. She did not believe her father could be taken away from her. It couldn't happen! It just couldn't! She was only seven, children were not supposed to know such tribulations!

The tears started flowing before she even noticed them. She wiped them away quickly, not wanting Madame Giry to see her crying. Madame Giry had always been like a mother figure to her, but she had also always been strict, forcing her to be strong, to never show signs of weakness.

And she was a very determined little girl, and despite the fact that her father had just died in front of her, she would not disappoint Madame Giry. She fought back a case of the sniffles, and forced back the temptation to wrap her arms around her father's cold as ice neck, hoping to feel it become warm at her touch, and hear his voice smooth as silk, his coaxing voice soothing her into a gentle slumber.

She covered her mouth, trying to stifle the sound of the sobs that were forcing their way up her throat, finally releasing them in a fit of tears, burying her head in her fathers chest. She heard Madame Giry's hurried footsteps and a whoosh of air as she hurried over to embrace Christine, kissing the top of her curly brown hair gently, as Christine turned her head and buried it in cotton material of madame Giry's coat.

"I'm so sorry, Maman, I tried to be strong, I tried...Daddy..." She then collapsed in a fit of tears that soaked into Madame Giry's clothing, but Madame Giry merely clicked her tongue and put her hand underneath her chin, raising it gently until she locked eyes with Christine's watery gaze. Her face was red and puffy, her brown hair greatly disheveled, but she was still such a beautiful child. "Just like an angel.." Madame Giry thought to herself.

She held Christine's gaze, staring intently at her with her piercing yet gentle blue eyes, then gently whispered "At times, it is necessary to be strong and hold back emotions to protect yourself, but at others, crying is your only escape. You, child, do not deserve what has happened to you. You are an angel put on this Earth by God's good grace, and have been forced to undergo one of the most terrible things that could ever happen to a child. You, angel, deserve to cry."

And she did, she cried until she felt as if the angels were weeping with her, weeping with this pitiful angelic creature forced to have a horrible taste of hell at such a young age. Madame Giry brought her to her room so she could tend to her father, and she continued to cry while she laid on the cold wooden floor of their two room cottage. Finally, her tears subsided into heartwrenching gasps that wracked her body until she felt ready to vomit. Her life was over. What reason did she have to live now? Her father was dead. Her music was dead. And she was dying inside.

She gave a sigh as she remembered the last words her father had uttered to her, before he fell into a two-hour fit of coughing and wheezing before finally succumbing to death.

"Do not ache over me, Little Lotte, for when I get to Heaven, I promise I will send you an angel. An Angel Of Music. An angel so magnificent and grand in his power of music you will feel as if you are in heaven, listening to God's angels performing Heaven's song."

At these words her face had lit up for a brief instant, before the light once again faded from her eyes as she furrowed her brow and felt her eyes tear up. "But, you will not be there to share the glory of it with me.." He put a trembling finger to her mouth to silence her, and gave a weak smile as he let out a shattering breath. "I will be watching you from Heaven child. I will always be with you, I promise."

She had allowed herself to hope that his words were true, but when he stopped breathing, she forgot everything he told her, everything he had just promised, knowing nothing except that fact that she had lost her one companion. Her only enjoyment in life. Except her dear friend Raoul, of course. But this was her father! No angel could compare to her own dear father.

But she needed someone, needed someone to care for her, to hold her when she was frightened. Once again allowing herself to hope, she raised her sore, puffy face from the cold floor and listened carefully to the darkness, hoping to hear the faint sound of a violin being played softly, or a gentle angelic voice singing the lullabies of her childhood. Hearing only silence, she collapsed in a heap on the floor and submitted herself to the darkness which quickly engulfed her in its powerful grasp.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Her father's funeral was held three days later, and his corpse was laid in the family mausoleum, his casket laying directly across from Christine's mother.

The realization that she was now an orphan hit her shortly after the processions, while she was sitting quietly in the back of the carriage that would take her to her new home in Paris, the Opera Populaire. Madame Giry was going to take her in as her daughter, and she would perform in the Corps de Ballet along with Meg Giry, her best friend and soon to be sister.

Madame Giry had pondered at why the child did not wish to train to be a soprano, but upon hearing the girl while she was packing her things, softly singing a lullaby, she realized the child's voice no longer had the power it once had possessed. She had a nice voice, but its angelic qualities had vanished. She let out a soft whimper as she realized this poor angel was dying on the inside, slowly surrending her immortal soul to the pain and suffering of solitude.

They rode to the opera house in silence, Christine staring blankly out of the window of the carriage, admiring the way the snow fell, so gently and softly, forming a blanket that could cover the world and all its imperfections and sorrows beneath it. Christine wished she had that ability, to hide her sorrows from herself so she could escape this oblivion of sadness.

As the carriage pulled in front of the exquisite Opera House, for a fleeting moment Christine forgot her sorrow as she gazed in complete awe of the grand Paris Opera house. The design was amazing, the entirety of the structure so eloquent in its grandeur that it took her breath away. Yes. This felt like home.

She piled out of the carriage, suddenly eager to see Meg and explore her new home. Madame Giry gave a small smile as she begged the child to be patient, grateful that this poor soul had a moment of release from the aftereffects of a loved one's death.

XxXxXx

For three weeks Christine trained for the Corps de Ballet, practicing day and night, desperate for something to distract her from her pain, wanting to start a new life. But she was never good enough, she had no passion. Her steps were graceful yet too strained, and she would often daze off as she practiced, causing her to forget her steps. She had never been more ashamed of herself, yet she could think of nothing she could do to help her increasingly fading talent.

Finally, the instructor, stepping in for Madame Giry while she ran some errands, got so frustrated with Christine's lack of concentration that she ordered her to go to her dormitories until she learned the steps without falter. She had held back her tears until she got to her bed, then collapsed in a fit of sobs, just as she had done three weeks ago.

She cried for hours, never stopping until she heard a sound in the distance, very light and smooth, almost like a violin. She raised her head quickly, searching around the room for signs of...what? Her father? Her father was dead, she knew that. But, who was that playing the violin so beautifully, just like her father? Then she remembered...her father's dying words.. "Angel..." she whispered breathlessly to herself, then shaking her head as if trying to clear her head.

There were no such things as Angels of Music, she had trained herself to believe that. Knowing she was dreaming, she stepped hastily out of the bed, accidently stubbing her toe on the hard iron of the bed post. As she felt the searing pain that ran through her foot and up her leg causing her to wince in pain, she realized she was not dreaming.

She closed her eyes and let the music draw her to it, as the most powerful yet smooth voice she had ever heard poured through the walls of the room, enveloping her in its majesty

"Wandering child, so lost, so helpless. Yearning for my guidance..."

She felt her face light up in joyfulness, and she let out a laugh of sheer relief as she discovered this was her angel, this was the angel of music her father had promised to send her. Her father never broke promises. Not even in death. But she had to be sure it was her Angel, she had to know.

With newly found passion and strength she opened her mouth to sing her reply to the stranger, her voice matching perfectly with the melody that was softly playing on her father's violin, with her angelic voice that had found her once more.

"Angel or father, friend or stranger, who is it there, staring?"

She waiting nervously for his response, holding her breath as she waiting silently while the haunting tune continued for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Christine let out a whoosh of air as he gave her his response, the one she had been eagerly hoping for.

"Have you forgotten your angel?"

And from that day on, he trained her daily, giving her singing lessons that went on for hours on end, as neither of them ever grew tired of each others company. She never saw him, although Christine hardly thought it possible for her to see an angel at all. But she was totally comfortable with having an intangible being coach her, because she had grown to love him as a father, and yearned for their daily lessons after she returned from ballet practice. He taught her everything, and she felt her voice soar to new heights. She no longer pained for her father, no longer felt the horrible sorrow of his death, and was grateful in so many ways.

Because she had something she never thought possible to have, something she only read about in fairytales and in stories the preacher told at Sunday Mass. She had an Angel.

A/N: Sorry this chapter had no fluff, I think I might have got too carried away with Christine's memories, but I just couldn't help myself, I wanted to show what a hard life she had as a child and how Erik freed her from it. But yall probably all think it's wayyyyyyyy too much angst in one chapter,so I PROMISE I'll have fluff in the next chapter! Don't kill me:cowering: