There was too much blood, and the pain made Christine want to curl into ball with her knees hugged to her chest. She hadn't been able to sleep because of it. This was not at all normal. For the first time since he had left, she was actually glad Raoul was not there. She would not have wanted him to see her like this, though it would have been nice to have someone hold her. She wished she could stay in bed, but the Angel would be expecting her. She had yet to miss a lesson, and she was not going to start today. She managed to pull herself together enough to get out the door, but she was still late. She had come to feel as if she could tell the Angel almost anything, but she would never tell him the precise reason for her tardiness. She wondered how much omnipotence an angel possessed. There was, she reasoned, a distinct possibility that he would already know what the problem was. She hoped that was not the case; the very thought of it embarrassed her.

Once he told her to go home, and not to worry about the performance, she would have thrown her arms around him if she could. She had no idea how he would take care of her absence for her, but she trusted him when he said that she should not worry about it. It was a curious thing, having an otherworldly friend. One day, Christine would work up the courage to ask the Angel precisely how these things worked.

She lay in bed at home, not sleeping, trying to distract herself from her physical discomfort by thinking of pleasant things. Raoul's eyes, Raoul's lips, Raoul's hands. The Angel's voice. These thoughts belonged in separate chambers, and she moved from one to the other, making certain she shut the door behind her. Mixing them in anyway would be beyond wrong. She was horrified at herself for even having the idea that it might happen if she were not careful. She truly hoped the Angel did not possess the ability to see inside her head; if he knew, she would surely lose him forever. She pressed her hands against her face, and forced herself to slow her panicked breathing. It was only because she was feeling unwell, she told herself. She needed to distract herself from her thoughts. She tried reading, but could not concentrate on anything.

Mamma would make her feel better - she always did. Christine saw no reason to tell her about her physical ailment, and she would never tell anyone about the shadowy half-thought that had entered her head. She sat next to Mamma and listened to her talk about the past with a clarity that belied her slipping mind. Mamma told stories of her childhood, and reminded Christine of nearly forgotten episodes from her own.

"And soon, Christine, you'll do everything your father ever dreamed for you. You cannot fail, not now that the Angel of Music has come to you," Mamma assured her, completely clearing the haze of pleasant nostalgia she had created.

"I hope you are right," Christine responded. "Already I'm better than I ever thought I could be, but I do sometimes wonder if I have the fortitude for it. Maybe I am better off being ordinary."

"My dear, if you did not have the strength, I'm sure the Angel would have stayed away. And why would God give you the talent and not the will?"

"I don't know." She couldn't tell Mamma that she would have to give up singing professionally once Raoul was home. He had never said so, but she knew that if his brother were ever going to approve of her, it was necessary. There would be a certain degree of socializing that would be expected of her as his wife, but Raoul was a relatively quiet individual, just like she was. The life she envisioned them sharing was oriented around each other, around having a family. She was certain he felt the same way. There was not room for an ongoing career on the stage in that vision, even if Philippe suddenly decided that he did not mind. Until the Angel had entered her life, she thought that she would not like any career for herself beyond the small one she currently claimed. Carlotta might not have been the warmest individual, but Christine had seen the amount of pressure she was constantly under, and felt a little bit sorry for her. Now, when she thought about it, it was beginning to change. The idea of a successful, if necessarily short-lived career in the spotlight no longer seemed like such a bad thing. When she wrote to Raoul that night, she told him how fulfilling her father's dream seemed like a daunting task, but now that it was becoming achievable, the idea excited her as much as it frightened her.

She felt better in the morning, both physically and mentally. She was a little nervous heading to her lesson, but once she started talking to her disembodied tutor, she knew everything would be fine.

Christine's life continued in much the same way as it had been since Raoul left. She heard from him, which made her ecstatically happy for a few days; otherwise, all was routine. She continued to make rapid progress with her lessons, which pleased the Angel. For the most part, it pleased her as well, but there were moments when she would listen, really listen, to the sounds that issued from her throat, and it would leave her feeling unsettled. While her voice did not possess the quite the same otherworldly quality as the Angel's, she was producing notes so pure that they didn't sound as if they should be coming from a human being, and certainly not from someone as ordinary as she considered herself.

After a particularly successful lesson, she stood facing her full length mirror with her hand clasped to her throat. She had only been studying with the Angel for a couple of months, what would she sound like after a year?

"What is it?" he asked gently, "You've gone very pale."

"I can't believe that was my voice."

"You did very well," he reassured her. "You are almost ready."

"I am afraid," Christine confessed to the Angel for the first time. "Do not misunderstand me; I am very grateful for you, for the opportunity to fulfill my father's dreams... It's just that this has all happened so quickly."

"There is no reason to be afraid, my dear. This is your destiny."

She wanted to ask what would happen if she failed, if she stood up on stage and forgot all her training, but she could not summon the words. She stared at the floor and twisted her hands.

"Christine," the Angel said, in a tone he reserved for when she was feeling doubtful, a tone that reminded her very much of her father, "I said 'almost.' I did not mean tomorrow. It's not something I will spring on you suddenly. You will be so thoroughly prepared that you could not possibly falter. Trust me."

The sick feeling in her gut began to ease, her heartbeat began to slow. Whether his voice, or the words themseves were more responsible for calming her frazzled nerves, she could not say. A slight feeling of unease continued to cause her hands to shake, but it was nothing she could not handle. Her father's death had taught her to soldier on despite her sorrow; her current life was teaching her to treat anxiety in the same fashion.

Between her lesson and rehearsal, she decided it would do her good to visit the stable.

"I'm sorry," she apologized as César nuzzled her palms, searching for sugar cubes, "I came unprepared today. But you will still be my friend, won't you?"

He nickered softly, and turned from nuzzling her hands to her face.

"I thought so."

She stroked the horse's soft, white nose, while whispering nonsense to him about how he was the sweetest, smartest, handsomest horse in the entire world. She also promised to come back tomorrow thoroughly prepared with treats. Before leaving, she took a quick glance around to make sure no one else was present, then she leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to the bridge of César's nose. As she left, she happily noted that the slight tremor in her hands had subsided.

The horse's calming influence lasted through most of rehearsal that day, until she realized that at some point, the Angel must mean for her to replace La Carlotta. She was not quite certain what she had thought beforehand, but that was the only thing that made sense, as their voices were suited to similar roles. There were, of course, some operas where they could both hold substantial roles, but not enough to ensure it would happen on a regular basis. Newly uncomfortable, she could not stop herself from stealing glances at the diva throughout rehearsal. There were times when Christine thought that her acting and ornamentation were over the top, but there was no denying that Carlotta was very talented, and in the prime of her career. Before the Angel, she could not have hoped to attain the same level of vocal prowess. She felt guilty knowing that with only a few months of work, she could unseat another woman from a career she deserved, a career she had undoubtedly worked very hard to build.

After rehearsal was over, Carlotta caught Christine before she could leave. "Why did you keep looking at me like that?"

Christine was unable to meet the other woman's eyes. She needed a moment to form a coherent response.

"Well?" Carlotta inquired, impatience evident in her voice and her stance.

In a voice soft enough to keep any eavesdroppers from hearing, she replied, "I was merely thinking that you deserve your position. You must have worked very hard to be where you are."

"Really?" Christine could tell that she was examining the statement for sarcasm, or some hidden meaning.

"Yes," she responded simply.

The Spanish diva's face softened in a way Christine did not find entirely comforting. "Oh, Daaé," she sighed, "You odd girl. You are far too... nice for this life."

Christine did not feel it was her place to question the Angel, but she hoped that however he planned her rise to stardom, it would not inadvertently harm another person's career. She was certain he would never do so on purpose. She trusted in his inherent goodness; he was, after all, an instrument of God. Maybe Carlotta would get a better offer somewhere else, maybe after a performance or two, Christine herself would. However things worked out, she needed to have faith that it would be what was best for everyone involved.

Note: Thanks for reading, reviewing, etc. And Dkk5 - I hope that sets you at ease.