There is a lot of jumping back and forth from flash back to present day. If it is too confusing let me know and I will try to edit it. I posted my replies to your comments at the end. They really make my day so thank you so much for your kind words. Enjoy!

Chapter 7: A Covert Campaign.

-12 years earlier:-

"No! Papa!"

"You have to stay, my love."

Christine wailed into her father's shoulder. He cradled her in his arms even though she was much too big to be held like an infant. But he didn't mind. His little girl was growing too quickly. Who knew if he would be able to do this again when he returned? He nuzzled his disheveled face into her hair as he squeezed her closer. Reluctantly, he pulled away to look into her eyes.

"This is only for a few weeks, Christine. I will be back sooner than you think." He tried to come across as soothing, but the heartache in his eyes betrayed him. Christine could see it reflecting against his blue irises. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms and legs around him, certain that if she let go she would lose him forever.

"Why can't I come with you? Please, Papa. I promise I will be good."

"I want you to come too, but you are attending school now. It is so important to me that you do well there, okay? You have to stay."

His tone was calm and encouraging, but it could not stop his daughter's tears. He smiled down at her and brushed a loose strand of hair from her wet cheeks.

"Papa, why do you have to go?"

"It's just a small job, my dear. Just while they don't need me here. Then I can pay for everything we need."

Christine shook her head. "But-But we used to travel together before, why can't we do that again? Please, Papa, don't leave me here alone."

"My love, I am so sorry. I can see you're upset. Don't cry. I am going to miss you too."

She wailed some more. He rubbed her back gently as he sat her down. He knelt before his daughter, his hands gripping her shoulders. Gustave had to hold her away from him, otherwise he would drag her along on another desperate attempt for petty cash. He hardened his resolve, internally reminding himself that he promised he would never put her through that again. "Christine. You won't be alone. I promise." He consoled. "I am sending you my angel of music. He will guide and guard you. He will keep you safe when I am gone. And look! You will get to share a room with your new friend Meg. Aren't you excited?"

Christine lifted her head up, now able to meet the bright eyes of her father.

"An angel? Like Mama?"

He hid the ache in his soul with a toothy grin. "Just like Mama. Christine, I need you to be brave."

He had said this to her many times before. For a while, when they lived on the streets and in random inns, he would tell her this daily. She had always agreed and buried her complaints and worries. Her father was all she had and she would do anything he asked. For him, she would be brave.

"I-I won't be alone?" She hiccuped.

"Never."

"Promise you'll be home soon?"

He smiled warmly, kissing her cheeks. He was always astonished by her resilience. His arms pulled her in for one more hug. Just one more, he thought. One more before he had to leave the comfort of her smile to face the harsh world on the other side of the door. Never would he drag her back into that world. His daughter and music were the only sources of happiness he had in this world. Yet, he would sacrifice the latter for her if it could keep her safe and warm. Though he knew he had no idea when he would return, he whispered another gentle fib into her ear. "Of course."

Reluctantly, he took his daughter's hand and walked her to Madame Giry. Christine stood in front of her and Gustave could only watch as Antoinette's fingers rested on her daughter's shoulders. Madame Giry was everything Gustave Daae was not. After the passing of her spouse, she had been able to care for her child and give her a warm bed and a small flat to call home. Gustave admired her enviously. Why wasn't he a good enough parent to do the same?

Christine still didn't understand why her father had to leave, but she needed to be brave. She stared up at him, studying his bright eyes and somber expression. Her lower lip trembled as he stepped away from her to gather his things. Christine closed her eyes to hold in her tears. Madame Giry was not as warm as her father. She even didn't smell like him. Christine whimpered as she heard the click of his suitcase.

"Thank you, Antoinette." Her father said, switching to French.

"Of course. Gustave, please remember. Money isn't everything."

He smiled, the light fading from his eyes. "Once you've watched your own child go hungry, Madame, it definitely means more than you'd like to admit."

He gazed one more time at his daughter. "I love you, my sweet angel. Look at me." He soothed in his native swedish. "You must be brave now, Christine. Do you understand? I'll be home soon."

Christine stepped forward, reaching for her father. Madame Giry stopped her from running forwards to him again, taking her hand firmly. "I don't want to be brave without you." Christine cried.

"I know. But I can't be brave unless you are. Can you be brave for me, Christine?"

She sniffled, but nodded. "Yes, Papa. I will be brave."

"Good. I am proud of you, my love. I will see you soon."

"Papa!" She cried as she reached out for him. He turned briskly, putting his worn cap on his head as he exited the small flat. Madame Giry let go of the wriggling child, holding back her own tears as the lonely girl collapsed on the ground in defeat.

-Present Day:-

Can you be brave for me, Christine?

"Yes, Papa. I will be brave." Christine muttered under her breath. She pulled the scroll closer to her chest as she snuck down the back trail of the palace towards the Persian town.

Christine was grateful for the lanterns that lined the pathway. This, mixed with the cool breeze, calmed her raging nerves. André had given her such an ominous task.

"Christine. Take this letter to my messenger hawk. Put it in the tube on its back and release the bird. It will know where to go, just make sure the lid is on tight."

Christine was startled by his request. "But monsieur-"

"I have a meeting with a very important gentleman. I need you to do this immediately, do you understand?"

She didn't like the look of fear in his eyes. She wondered if this 'important gentleman' was the man that Firmin had been talking to in the hall, but dared not to ask. The sweat on his brow and his nervous glances around the room were enough to silence her curiosities. "Of course, monsieur."

As she reached out to take the scroll from his him, he grabbed her hand such ferocity it caused her to gasp.

"Christine. Please. " He begged in a breathless whisper. "This is a matter of great importance as well as extremely confidential. You cannot tell anyone what you are doing, nor let anyone see you. Can you do this for me, please?"

"Of course, but why? Is everything alright?"

He hushed her and looked over his shoulder. "I will explain later. I promise. But for now, please. Hurry. Do not take the carriages back, instead take a path near the back of the villa. Do not let anyone see you, do you understand? You cannot trust anyone."

Christine opened her mouth to reply, but the sound of a door closing behind them startled them. André looked back into the dark room behind him. Christine could feel his grip tighten around her fingers. "Go!" He pleaded. "Hurry! Remember, do not let anyone see you! The fate of the opera rests in your hands!"

Christine had done as she was asked. She sprinted out of the room towards the nearest exit. She hid behind columns and rock around the periphery of the small palace before sprinting down the back trail. Now she walked along it, far from the party above. The path lead from the plateau above the city down towards the main road that cut through the town. Christine decided she would walk through the alleys adjacent to the main path, which then lead back up towards a secondary plateau on the other side of the town. Here, the managers had parked the wagons after the performance. This would stop curious eyes from sneaking into the wagons during the night and give the crew plenty of space to practice.

Christine, at first, loved the idea of camping above the town. It gave them a picturesque view of the new world below. But now she wished she didn't have to travel so far in the dark by herself. Reluctantly, she ventured from the path to walk along the outside of the town. In Paris, it was dangerous for a woman to walk alone, especially away from the main road. Every bone in her body screamed at her to run to the protection of the population, but André's desperate eyes loomed in her imagination and forced her to continue through the darkness.

She internally groaned. Why did she always get into trouble? Even as a child, Christine had been a magnet for mischief and misfortune. Though she did her best to avoid it, her maestro often had chided her on her bad luck.

Christine's heart ached. Her angel of music. God, she wished he was here now. She kept her head low as she passed groups of townspeople, ignoring their stares. Although the plataeu was high above the town, she could not see it in the dark or between the buildings. She gulped.

If her angel was here, he would guide her.

How could you be so naive?! How could you be so stupid!

Christine bit her lip.

She wasn't naive. She wasn't stupid. Her angel was real.

"An angel of music? A voice from the shadows? Christine, have you gone mad!"

Her vision faded as she finally succumbed to the voices in her head. In her mind, she was back in Paris, collapsed against the stones of the Opera chapel. Her eyes stung with the onslaught of tears as her trembling arms struggled to keep her upright.

"Meg, I am telling you the truth!" She had screamed. "I'm not mad, I am not hearing things. Ever since I was a little girl, my angel was always there. He used to teach me, in La Sorelli's changing room, by the mirror. My maestro was never a real man, it was an angel of music. I know it seems crazy but-"

"Yes! Yes, it does seem crazy. Don't you realize? Don't you realize who he is?"

Christine blinked. "What do you mean?"

Meg released an exacerbated sigh. Her hands rose above her head just to collapse back at her sides. She stood behind Christine, glaring down at her friend that was crumpled on the floor. "Christine. All this time, you and I have known the Phantom was a man. We knew the truth. That monster has been tormenting everyone here for years and we promised we would stop him. And you...you've been his student this entire time."

"No! They are not the same!"

"How could you be so naive?! How could you be so stupid! Of course they are! What a coincidence that this theatre has two men who hide in the shadows and know so much about opera!"

"My angel is kind and nurturing! He would never do those horrible things."

"Look at all the signs! The Phantom hasn't been seen in years! Neither has your angel!"

"My angel abandoned me. I failed him. The Phantom was around for much longer-"

"Just because he didn't teach you doesn't mean he wasn't here. Admit it, Christine. It makes complete sense."

Christine cried. This was madness. Her angel couldn't have been a man. Her father had promised her the angel of music, an angel that had been there since she was a little girl. A man couldn't have helped her voice grow into what it was now.

Her angel would not have deceived her for so long.

"No." Christine cried. "You're wrong!"

"You're too blinded by your foolishness to admit the truth!"

"SHUT UP!"

Christine gasped as she was thrust back to the present. She leaned against the wall of a building, her heart racing. That memory, that horrid confrontation, why was she thinking about it now?

Yes, Meg had found her at her weakest. It was the night after her father's funeral. Christine had gone to the Populaire's chapel in desperation. Her angel had abandoned her long ago, but then she had needed him more than ever. She sang until she could taste the iron tang of blood in her mouth. It was only when her lungs nearly caved that she succumbed to her weakness and collapsed in a heap on the cold floor, breathless and consumed by loneliness. She needed her angel. She needed someone to save her from this nightmare she was living. But she was met with silence. He wouldn't come for her. Instead, it was Meg that found her.

Christine continued to walk forward through the foreign streets of Persia, though her mind remained in the Populaire's chapel. She had tried to explain how abandoned she felt, but Meg could not understand that her Angel of Music was real. Her mysterious music teacher wasn't a famous recluse as Meg had suspected. But Meg believed that her Angel and the Phantom were the same. She was wrong.

Someone that beautiful could not have been a monster.

She rounded the corner and sighed with relief. She had found the path that lead upwards to the plateau. She walked up it briskly, eager to escape the town and return to the comfort of the familiar wagons.

In the end, Meg had left Christine to drown in her pain. But in the morning, both girls realized their mistakes. Meg had tearfully begged for her forgiveness, though she never retracted her claims. Christine didn't care. She had no father, no mother, no angel to save her. Meg was all she had left. She had promised to keep Christine's secret, but neither talked about the argument ever again. It was a quiet resolution that left Christine battered and bruised. Sometimes she wondered if anyone out there would ever truly understand her. That was the most destructive aspect of loneliness. A part of her just knew she would never heal completely without the ones she lost. An impossible remedy she would have to learn to survive without.

Christine's thoughts were interrupted by a series of loud and strange noises. She looked around, but saw no one behind her. Looking up, she saw the hint of an orange light gleaming from the plateau. She rubbed her eyes. Had Piangi started a campfire again? Maybe those screeches were his and Carlotta's drunken celebration. She rolled her eyes. She just needed to deliver the note and then avoid the gathering at all cost. It was too late to deal with their pestering state.

Christine looked down at the letter. It was small, its edges barely peeking out of her closed hand. The more she looked at it, the more curious she became. What did it say? André said it was urgent, but what did he mean?

She paused, looking around her to see if anyone had followed. Curiously, she loosened the knot and unrolled the parchment.

Christine forgot how to breathe.

"No...this..this cannot be! Oh God!"

Christine burst into a full sprint, racing up the plateau. She needed to deliver this message immediately. She needed to warn her friends. But as she rounded the top of the trail, her body froze in shock. Her eyes widened as she stared at the wall of flames before her.

Andre's written warning rang in her ears.

Save us. We have been brought to our deaths

Guest: Christine has definitely had quite the trip and it is only going to get more intriguing. Thank you!

Guest: Haha unfortunately Raoul will eventually become an important part of this. I don't plan on painting him to be terrible but I'll give you a warning when he appears lol. Thank you for your praise!

Cotesgoat: You are too kind! Thanks!

Lucyole: Thank you for your compliments. You were absolutely right and I hope this chapter helped clear up anything else you were wondering about that dynamic. You also stay safe and healthy!

Child of Dreams: I believe it is spelled Chieftain... At least that his what the internet tells me haha. I am not entirely sure about the correct terminology used in Persia at the time, but if you know I would love to learn!