Christine

"Promise?"

"I promise, sweet." He stroked my cheek, and my curls. "When you need him most, he will be there."

Come now, Christine, smile, I demanded myself, and laid my head on his blanket. It was so soft, like the fur of a rabbit. "You won't forget?"

"Never, Christine."

I was quite troubled, still. I trusted Father with all my heart, but why did he see fit to leave me? I still didn't think I understood! After all, Father had left several times before, and whenever Raoul's company was all of a sudden not enough, he always came back. I didn't think he would really die, like Mother. That would not be a wise thing to do! Raoul had moved to Nior, and I wasn't ever to see him again. Surely Papa knew I would be all alone if he left me for good.

The door opened—it was Father's ballet friend. The strict lady's hands came about my shoulders, but I did not shrug them off. I felt very safe, and very comfortable, with my new realisation that he would not die after all. "Sing me Lotte's Lullaby," I whispered into the blanket.

At first I thought he didn't hear me. Then the strict lady's voice said, "Christine, child, you know your father can no longer sing."

"Madeleine," Father said, holding up a hand. Why did his hand shake so? "It is all right. She must always remember."

I crawled into his lap. "You mean you'll really sing for me?"

His dark brown eyes were all red with tears, but he nodded and smiled anyway. How I loved his smile! "It won't sound like it used to."

I shook my head, grasping the back of his neck. I didn't care if he sounded like a croaking toad! I told him so.

He chuckled a bit and motioned to the door. "Look at the muses scampering away. They are leaving me."

I felt my mouth turn into a frown. For the past month he'd been seeing things that weren't even there, and insisting that I should see them as well. It scared me sometimes, for it was as if he really believed himself! Perhaps he was just that good of a storey-teller. But I still never saw anything, not even if I looked very hard. And I did try.

The strict lady laid a hand on his forehead in concern. Father turned his head to the side and she let her hand fall, and he coughed twice, and then cleared his throat. Giving me one more smile, he opened his mouth.

"Angel of Music, Lotte's teacher

"Sing to me of glory…."

He coughed again.

"Angel of Music, come from Heaven…."

I waited for him to continue, but instead, he only coughed. I took his hand and kissed his finger. "It's all right, Papa," I said. "You don't have to if it will make you sick. You can sing for me when you are all healthy again."

"Don't you see it Christine?" His face was ever so fervent. "Don't you see that the muses have left me? I was never given the Angel. If I was, he would never leave me. But look at my muses." His beautiful eyes began to shine with new tears, and the strict lady left the room, her hand covering her mouth. What a strange woman, indeed! "They are leaving me, just like Adele. Such naughty little things."

I leant my head into his neck, and closed my eyes.

"You won't leave me, will you, Christine?"

I shook my head, feeling his jaw move against my scalp. "Never."

"Promise?"

Why did just the sound of his voice make me want to cry? "I promise, Father."

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too," I whispered back. And then I fell asleep.

…

Gustave

A slight, cold draft floated beneath my nostrils.

I wasn't dead yet, then.

I didn't want to open my eyes. I could still feel Christine against my chest, and briefly I remembered that she was in the same position when Adele died—resting over her failing heart, as she now rested over mine. It nearly made me laugh. I should wait to die until she is out of the room, at least.

A soft creaking came up from the floor beside me. Perhaps one of my muses had returned. That would be a lovely thing. Then I could finish Christine's song. I turned my head slowly and allowed my eyes to open.

"Shhh," said the apparition, lifting a finger to its lips, and it pointed to the sleeping child on my chest.

Who was she? I stared intently at her dark curls. No recognition came. I vaguely remembered that I was sick…yes, I was sick, and had been told often that I would begin to forget, and that I was already seeing things. Of course I was seeing things. Perhaps the rest of them were sick for not seeing them.

The apparition spoke again. It did not look like any of my muses. It had only half a face. "Are you in pain?"

I thought for a moment, and nodded my head as my nerves lit themselves on fire. I hadn't even felt the pain until the spirit mentioned it.

The apparition seemed to kneel. It was a great thing, all darkness and a half of a face. "Your wife is waiting for you."

I furrowed my brow at the thing. "You must be the Angel of Death," I whispered, and a sudden memory of a smiling wife glanced across my mind. My smiling wife. My Adele. The Angel of Death would take me to her.

Angels were said to have that special kind of laughter, that kind that was so beautiful it made flowers blossom, but clearly the Angel of Death was an exception. "Is it Death you have summoned?"

Perhaps my brow had un-furrowed, for it furrowed again. "Which are you instead?"

"Don't you recognize me, Gustave? I am the Angel of Music."

I smiled. Of course it was. It was here because I promised Christine. Christine. The little girl on my chest was Christine. Obviously! Had my sickness made me forget so much? The white pain licked at my gut. "You are here for my daughter, then, and not for me."

The Angel was silent for a few seconds. "Your wife is waiting for you," it repeated.

"And Christine is waiting for you," I returned, and thoughts of music filled my senses. She would always be safe.

The Angel seemed to hover at my bedside. "You never told your little girl who I was."

The accusation stunned me, but I was very numb to emotion. "I told her everything about you."

"No, Gustave. You never told her that Music brings Death, did you?"

The half of the face seemed to glow. "I didn't know."

"And you never told her that the Angel of Music shares a soul with the Angel of Death." Two hands, two very human hands, appeared from the Angel's darkness. "I am here for you as well."

Was it fear, or relief that flooded my body? "You will stay with Christine."

"I will," it said, and the hands that had appeared grasped the pillow behind my head and pulled it forth. Once again it hushed me, and though it had only half a face, I briefly noticed two glowing green eyes. "You will not want to wake her, Gustave. Death is not such a terrible thing." Slowly, the night-darkened whiteness of the pillow came toward my face. "In fact," it whispered, "death is the most beautiful…creation…of all."

I smiled into the softness as it pressed against my lips. Beautiful.

"Christine is mine."

I parted my lips against the weight to breathe in, but nothing came.

"Christine," came the musical voice of the Angel of Death.

My arms were too weak to move, but my heart raced as if it had all the strength in the world. Panic gripped me as my fingers gripped the sheets, and I opened my mouth wider, gnawing at the fabric of the pillow. I can't breathe. "Christine!" I tried to shout, as reality awakened my mind and erased my illness-induced fantasies. There was no Angel of Music! What had I done?

"Do not struggle." My heart constricted at the voice of the madman. "You will wake my child."

…

Christine

It was a good dream. In fact, it was more than a dream; it was a memory! Raoul and I were in the attic, only a few weeks after he rescued my scarf. My, he looked so handsome in Father's hat! I blushed as he read a storey aloud to me, standing and thrusting out an imaginary sword at an imaginary enemy while balancing the book with his right hand. I clapped happily.

"And then the Angel of Music came and swept the princess off her feet," he cried, scooping me into his arms. The book fell to the grey, wooden floor.

I shrieked and flailed my hands. "That isn't what the book says!"

Raoul laughed, and the hat fell into his eyes. How truly silly he looked! "But I think it is a better ending; don't you?"

We sat on a dusty chest. "I suppose. But the Angel of Music doesn't have arms, and he is surely too busy, teaching Lotte, to rescue a princess!"

"You can sing better than Lotte ever could."

"Raoul de Chagny, don't you ever say that again!" I scolded. "I have never been visited by the Angel of Music."

And then he laughed, as if he didn't believe me! Raoul was far too serious at times. "Well, Little Lotte, I am sure one day you will; and then I will have no place in your life at all."

"That's not true," I argued, and took his hand. Sometimes he pretended to be jealous of the Angel, for the Angel took up all of my thoughts. "Raoul, you will always be my best friend in the whole world. You have my heart."

Raoul took Father's hat off of his head and placed it onto mine. I couldn't see a thing! I desperately reached up and pushed the hat backwards on my hand. Raoul was on one knee before me. I giggled.

"Christine Daae, I should marry you right now."

"Oh, Raoul, don't be silly," I said. How forward of him! At least, that is what Father would have said.

He smiled at me. "Well, maybe someday then."

I opened my eyes, feeling coldness beneath me. I was so very uncomfortable. The darkness made it hard to see much. Why, I wasn't in my room at all!

I looked down. Father was sleeping peacefully, and my hand was tucked inside of his. That was funny; I could not remember taking his hand before going to sleep. I closed my eyes and buried myself into his chest again, for I was still very tired. I lay quiet for a few moments, waiting for the rise and fall of Father's chest to lull me into sleep. But he was still.

I pressed my ear further into his chest. Where was his heartbeat?

A horrible pain spread in my gut. I rose to all fours, pulling my hand out of his tight, cold grasp, and feeling along his chest, and then his neck for a pulse. There was none! "Father!" I shouted. I pounded at his chest and put my hands on his cheeks. He was silent, and so cold.

He was…dead.

I wonder if Mother looked so frightened when she died, and if I should as well when it is my turn.

Papa.

I scrambled off of the bed, and I tripped, scraping my forehead badly on the floor. Father is dead! Father couldn't be dead! He couldn't leave me all alone like that! My breath whooshed from me, and my hot tears flew from my eyes as I scurried to the corner. No! Father wouldn't just die! I wrapped my arms around my knees, all sorts of horrible thoughts and terrors coming into my mind.

Great footsteps pounded outside of the door as I gasped for air and wailed into the night. Doctor Rene! He could help! The strict lady stood in front of me as Doctor Rene ran to Father's bedside. I knew what I had to do. I shrieked at him to help, and the lady lifted me into her arms. No! I had to stay with Father! I promised never to leave him. "Papa!" But she wouldn't listen. She carried me from the room, pressing my mouth into her shoulder to hush me, but I wouldn't be hushed.

"Father!" I screamed, but he did not hear me. He had run off, to catch up with his muses.