When Christine next opened her eyes, it was as if she were emerging out of a daze or a stupor, even if it were a somewhat pleasant one. The voice of the anonymous male singer still echoed from her ears in a way that felt rather nice. Would that she could've gone on listening to it for eternity, it sounded so lovely, so soothing. But, judging by the graying light tinted with gold coming in through the window in the ceiling of her room, a new day was dawning, and it was time for her to dawn with it. Feeling a slight sting of disappointment, she lifted her hand to rub her eyes.

In that instance, however, Christine had the strange sense of a nearby presence. Almost as if someone was in her room at this very moment. Her initial sting of disappointment turned into one of alarm, she lifted her head from her pillow and began rapidly blinking her eyes in an attempt to bring her blurred vision into focus, and look for that hidden presence. She directed her confused gaze toward her mirror that stood in the middle of the back wall of her room. For the briefest of moments, Christine thought she saw a mysterious, shadowy figure, and a pale face that just barely showed itself. She began blinking rapidly until she managed to place her elbows underneath her.

And yet, when she looked clearly at the mirror for the first time, she saw no one's reflection but her own. Still curious though, Christine turned her head in every possible way in an attempt to spot the intruder whose reflection she initially thought she'd seen. But even when she was sure her eyes had completely adjusted to the very little light in her chamber, she saw no one.

Although she had just woken up, Christine let out a tired sigh. If only she had the luxury of having an electric lamp in her room, which could be lit instantaneously, rather than a single candle that would take two minutes to light at the very least. Even so, even as she could've sworn she saw another reflection besides her own, her vision was telling her no one had entered into her chamber. She couldn't possibly be going mad, could she? And yet, she knew she had not been seeing things.

But even as she knew that there was no point in sinking back into her bed, so too did she acknowledge was there no point in dwelling on this oddest of situations, at least not anytime soon. Once Christine pulled herself out of bed though and began dressing for the day, she was already mentally putting aside a time to discuss all of this as soon as possible with someone she trusted.

"Are you sure that's what happened?" Meg asked. Christine sighed, as this wasn't exactly the response she expected while she waited until now, just after luncheon, to tell her friend. She had also carefully chosen a secluded location – just outside the ballet rooms. It would, however, not be long before the girls returned from luncheon to practice more, which was why Christine had told Meg a bit more hastily than she otherwise likely would have.

"Why would I not be sure?" Christine asked back as she stood from leaning against the wall. "Why would I not remember my own dream?"

Meg shrugged her shoulders and replied, "Perhaps it's because I often don't remember my dreams. If I do dream at all, that is."

Christine drew her eyebrows close together. "You don't think I'm making this all up, do you?" she asked, or rather politely demanded.

Meg instantly turned toward her, and showed signs of agitation. "What would give you that idea? When have I ever said that you were making this up?"

Christine opened her mouth to speak, but then forced herself to stop once Meg asked her second question. After thinking it over briefly, she realized that her friend did in fact have a point, and let out another sigh, this time in acknowledgement. "You're right," she admitted. "I'm sorry. I know I tend to jump to conclusions a bit too easily. But…oh, if only you could've heard that voice as well." Christine felt some of her previous comfort return to her as she remembered that heavenly singing which put her at ease.

"Perhaps, but honestly that's the least interesting aspect for me," Meg admitted. "All I'd like to know at the moment is your opinion on what might have caused you to have such a dream."

Christine was fortunately prepared, having thought of potential reasons all morning. And one in particular seemed to stick out from among all the others. "I might know, yes," she nodded. She then gave an uncomfortable frown though, as simply thinking about it made her stiffen with anxiety. Choosing her words carefully, she proceeded to ask, "Meg, do you…do you remember…the great fire from ten years ago?"

Meg's eyes went wide and her mouth fell open, and for a moment she forgot to answer. "Oh, good heavens," she finally said. "I don't…I don't know how I could've forgotten it."

Though she didn't say so, Christine wouldn't have been surprised if part of the girl's mind had blocked that most frightening of nights out of her memory. If that were the case, she could hardly fault Meg for it. Indeed, it had taken Christine herself awhile to see the threads of connection. And when she finally had, it was as though an electric light had instantly illuminated in her mind; it all made perfect sense.

Ten years earlier, a cold October evening in 1873 had erupted into a literal firestorm when the former Opera House – also called the Théâtre National de l'Opéra before this current house – had ignited as though it were a giant oven. Gustave Daaé, having been recommended as a violinist by Count de Chagny, and his then ten-year-old daughter had just made their home there. Never would Christine truly forget the terror she'd never before experienced and hopefully would never experience again. Never would she truly forget how the scene had seemed to transform into Hell itself, the memories of seeing – or, at the time, thought she'd seen – more than two people engulfed in flames and hurling themselves out windows, nor how she couldn't tell which was a worse way to go – being devoured by those devilish flames, or choking on the smoke she'd desperately tried but couldn't fully stop herself from inhaling.

It was that smoke and the resultant stinging sensation in her throat that would prevent Christine from ever singing again. And while her father had managed to escape the conflagration, she knew that the cause of his death five years later had been the slow working of the smoke's sinister effects on his lungs.

For over twenty-four hours the fire had roared until the firemen had finally managed to put it out. By then though, it was of course too late, both for dozens of lives – including that of Meg's father – and the building itself. The once grand Opera House – which had stood there for over half a century and had hosted the debuts of several ballets and operas – had thoroughly burned to the ground. But not all was lost, for just over fourteen months later, the new Opera House had completed construction and was inaugurated. It had been around that time that Christine had met Meg, and the two had called this house home ever since.

Christine had been dwelling on all of this when she realized Meg had spoken. Having fortunately remembered what she'd said, Christine shook her head in agreement. "Nor I," she breathed.

"Still," Meg then said, "whether or not you've forgotten it, why would you suddenly dream about something that happened a whole decade ago?"

"I wish I knew," Christine shook her head slightly. She stared at the floor as her thoughts started drifting off again, this time toward something else she'd recalled when combing her mind earlier. "Although," she said softly, still staring, "there is something else about that day that the dream seemed to help me remember."

"Really? What?" Meg asked eagerly. Dragging herself out of her self-induced trance, Christine looked back up at her.

As if trying to explain it to herself as well as Meg, she went on to say, "In my dream, someone was calling my name, as if frantically looking for me. I recognized it. It was a young, male voice. And yet, beyond that I still can't bring his name or likeness to mind. Looking back on the actual memory though, the exact same thing happened, and more."

Almost as if she could see it right before her eyes, Christine added, "I can remember someone – likely the person calling for me – grabbing my wrist and dragging me out of the place I'd been trapped in. I believe they then pulled me in front of them and shoved me. The next thing I knew, I was in my father's arms, sobbing with relief." Christine bit her lip once those words left her, but she continued, "After that, I recall hearing a very loud sound – like a wooden structure caving in on itself. And…not much else after that other than how euphoric it felt to escape the fire."

"So, let me see if I have this right," Meg said once her friend's tale was done. "You remember someone rescuing you, yet you can't actually recall who, specifically?"

"No," Christine shook her head again. "Strange, I know. But it's true. I know it wasn't my father, since he was outside waiting for me."

"Perhaps you don't remember who it was then," Meg offered, "because you were frightened out of your wits and the smoke was making you feel faint."

Christine raised her eyebrows. "That could be," she nodded. "I hadn't considered that." She then let out a sigh, however, at the growing sense of loss of not knowing the identity of whoever had saved her life. It seemed, for now at least, that she would have to settle for simply knowing that someone – whoever they may have been – had rescued her from certain death.

"Wait a minute," Meg then said, startling Christine slightly. "Wasn't Raoul here yesterday? Do you think it could've been him?"

"No, it wasn't him either," Christine replied. "He was also outside by then, that I also remember. Raoul even denied it was he who rescued me when I asked him, and I have no reason to believe he was lying."

Meg shook her head in disappointment. But then, seeing an opportunity to change the subject, she asked, "He is the new patron isn't he? What a wonderful surprise!"

"He is," Christine nodded, her smile starting to return to her. "And it was! He'd actually told me he intended it to be a surprise!"

Meg returned Christine's smile, but it soon became apparent something else was pressing on her mind. "Do you think there could be more besides that though, for his unexpected return to Paris, I mean? After all, who honestly travels all the way across the Atlantic simply to surprise an old friend?"

"He'd told me a relative of his had passed away, and that he took up the offer of providing a patronage on their behalf," Christine replied, not wanting to violate the Viscount's privacy by telling Meg everything he'd told her, even if Meg was a friend of hers.

"Even so," Meg persisted, "I can't help but think there must be more." Her eyes then lighting up as though she'd stumbled upon something priceless, she asked, "Whenever he's not here, you both exchange letters, correct? Not to pry but, is there anything in those letters that might suggest certain intentions?"

Once again sensing that same unnerving feeling from yesterday, Christine replied, "Yes, we exchange letters. And, now that you've mentioned it, perhaps I should go back and re-read them for anything I may have missed."

Meg gave her a questioning look, making Christine sigh. This wasn't exactly something she regularly discussed with Meg, having never been interested in gossip. But given how she was having this unsettling yet oddly benign feeling, she decided she was willing to make an exception. "When we parted yesterday, he reminded me rather directly that Madame Giry is not the only one who's made a promise to my father to take care of me. And, while he never exactly clarified what he meant by saying that, something is telling me that it could very well be one thing in particular."

"You mean…" Meg then looked around to see if anyone was within earshot. When it seemed no one was, she still softened her voice when she asked Christine, "Marriage?"

Though she could feel the unsteady feeling greatly increased, Christine was also somewhat relieved now that she was able to put a name to it. "It's entirely possible," she admitted. "He and I may not be in the same social class, but Raoul has always been honorable and honest, a man of his word. And we have known each other for fourteen years. If he had promised my father that he would take care of me, I have no reason to believe he would exclude marriage. What better way, after all, to help secure a good life for me than that?"

"But Christine," Meg then interjected, "why do you seem so nervous about it? I would be ecstatic if a man such as Viscount Raoul de Chagny wished to marry a common woman like me!"

"It's not about me being common, though," Christine retorted. "What I'm about to say may sound odd but… Oh!" She groaned as she decided there was no use in trying to bottle up what was bothering her about all this. "I know for a fact that Raoul would be a wonderful husband. He's a titled man of means, of course, but also kind and humble and of overall good character. And yet…" Meg waited cautiously as Christine took her time to attempt to put her feelings into words. "Although I do love him…it's more of a…familial kind of love. Not that that's bad but…"

"Oh, I believe I know what you're talking about now," Meg smiled, though sympathetically rather than in jest. "Don't think I haven't seen this sort of thing before."

Christine returned the questioning look that Meg had given her earlier, until Meg replied, "What I mean to say is this. You say you love Raoul, and I believe that you do. But…you're not in love with him. Is that it?"

Christine's eyes widened. It seemed her friend really had hit her mark. But Christine was not done yet in trying to understand. "That's why I find it so vexing. I mean – and don't take offense at this – but I've always been a practical-minded sort of girl. I've never been prone to romantic fantasies. I've always thought such things may be fun to imagine but are ultimately unrealistic. You'd think that something as simple as not being in love with a good man who might want to marry me may not bother me. And yet…it does. And I don't know why."

"Perhaps because it's a normal thing to want?" Meg suggested. Christine, her gaze having drifted toward the distance, swiftly looked back at her friend, but Meg wasn't startled. "Christine, I hope you don't take offense at this either, but I'd have thought you would've figured out by now that one doesn't have to approve of whirlwind romances to be a romantic."

"I don't recall ever saying that, for one thing," Christine replied, trying not to sound too heated in her tone. "For another…" She trailed off and briefly sighed in frustration before adding, "This is a dilemma that…I've never been presented with before."

"Perhaps," Meg agreed. Smiling sympathetically again, she continued, "But I'm confident that you'll be able to sort this out, sooner or later. After all, you'll have someone like me to help you out." The two girls then chuckled, having desired to relieve the tension that'd been going on long enough. "And besides," Meg added, "Raoul hasn't even proposed yet, has he?"

"No, he hasn't," Christine shook her head in agreement. "Although, that doesn't mean he never will." She then crossed her arms as she – somewhat unwillingly – started entertaining the thought.

Suddenly, Meg looked forward and remarked, "I wonder what's taking the girls so long?" She then touched Christine's shoulder, causing her friend to look up at her. "Should we and go and find out for ourselves?"

"Oh, of course," Christine stepped forward. "I don't mind at all." Meg smiled her thanks, and the two began hastening down the hall and through the rest of the building together, until they came to the main theatre.

Both Christine and Meg frowned in confusion at seeing all the girls – looking almost like fairies in their white costumes – gathered in the opposite wing of the one they had just entered through. Feeling her heart beating nervously against her chest, Christine murmured, "What on earth do you think is going on?"

"I don't know," Meg shook her head, sounding as concerned as Christine. "But I don't like it." Christine shook her head as well, as she didn't like this either. Her anxious heart felt a bit more at ease though when she reasoned that it couldn't have been another accident, otherwise she would've heard the girls screaming and some of the other staff members would be here already to see what was going on. Nevertheless, she couldn't help but be suspicious.

Just then, she heard a masculine voice that she might not have immediately recognized had she not heard it just the day before. "So you better watch yourselves, little Mademoiselles," he said in a teasing tone. In that moment, Christine finally realized who it was, and the line between frustration and anger was quickly blurred. Not waiting for Meg, she took her skirt up in her hands and hurried across the stage toward the opposite wing.

The man continued to speak even as she moved. "Watch yourselves… Or maybe the opera ghost'll get you all by the throat!" Half the girls started screaming – some in pure fright, others in frightened laughter – when Christine finally marched onto the scene, and her face began to turn red as she saw just whom she was expecting.

"Joseph Buquet!" she mimicked Madame Giry from yesterday, though tried not to raise her voice. Even so, there was the stagehand, with a noose prop around his neck as though he intended to make a cruel joke. Christine couldn't tell whether he was startled or surprised to see her. Either way, just like the ballet mistress, her patience was thinning fast with his nonsense – and left her completely when she recognized three of the girls as the most recent arrivals.

Glaring at the older man, Christine pointed an accusing finger at him and snarled, "You Monsieur, are treading on very dangerous ground. Might I ask what's so funny about a falling backdrop, which could've easily crushed anyone underneath it?"

Buquet opened his mouth to answer, but Christine wasn't done. "Madame Giry may not be here, Buquet, but I am, and I say your job is the only thing in this situation that's hanging, by a thread!"

Though Buquet smirked at her, she was satisfied to see some hesitance. "You really think you can fire me, Mademoiselle?" he asked. "When we're barely equals?"

"I may not be able to, but I will go to those who are if you don't leave the girls alone," Christine warned, speaking through clenched teeth with that last word. "Do you really think Madame Giry will just laugh along with your heinous joke, especially given how she addressed you yesterday?"

Buquet's face started paling as she spoke one last time. "If I ever catch you making light of all this again, especially in front of these girls, I will not waste time warning you again! Do I make myself clear?"

Buquet nodded, finally able it seemed to see the precarious position he was in. "Very clear, Mademoiselle," he replied, pulling the noose prop off.

"Good," Christine glared at him again. She then pointed up toward the rafters and kept her tone as she added, "Now would you please be so kind as to get back to your post?"

Though he started looking resentful, he nodded again and did as she said. Breathing a small sigh of relief, Christine turned around to face the danseuses, and raised her eyebrows to see the impressed and aghast looks on their faces. Apparently her performance just now worked a bit too well. Even so, she smiled warmly, and purposefully moved toward the younger arrivals as she said, "Come now girls, let's get back upstairs."

All the girls nodded, and it was only when they started moving back to where Christine had left Meg that the younger ones started relaxing. But when she finally did return to Meg, she didn't know whether to be gratified or perplexed when her friend gave her the same look the girls had given her just now. Even so, Christine nodded her over, and Meg only spoke when they were moving side by side again. "For a moment it almost seemed as though you'd transformed into Maman just now. I didn't think anyone could be so intimidating as her."

Whether out of nervousness or humor, Christine chuckled. "And neither did I, it seems. Perhaps her influence may be more subtle than even she believes."

Finally smiling again, Meg remarked, "Let's just hope she doesn't catch on to that!" The girls laughed softly together again, but neither said another word as they led the girls back the way they'd come until they'd returned to the ballet rooms.

In the following week since Christine's confrontation with Buquet, she'd set her mind on keeping an eye on him. She found herself not trusting him very much. There was some suspicious air about him that got on her nerves. She didn't think he could be the robber-murderer frolicking wickedly around Paris, but she did consider the man a troublemaker.

But that wasn't the only thing on Christine's mind. Fortunately the other matter was more pleasing, if mysterious. Even if she never heard it again, Christine didn't think she'd ever truly be able to get that man's voice out of her head. Nor did she want to. For the next seven days, after the day's work was done, just thinking about that voice was enough to comfort her. Would she ever hear it again? She didn't know, though her desire for it remained, particularly on one day after a week had passed since she'd first heard it.

It was late afternoon, and Christine was solemnly sitting in one corner of the room that most often served as a private practice area for the house's prima donna. Carlotta hadn't returned to the Opera House ever since she'd been nearly crushed by the backdrop. Christine couldn't fault her for that – at least in part – but imagine her displeasure when the hoyden once again darkened the doorways of the house.

And here she was, being forced to listen to the prima donna rehearsing in front of the new Opera House owners, Firmin and André – or rather showing off for them. She preferred the word "forced" not because the woman's voice was bad, but because it was in fact very good. Christine knew that was to be expected, given Carlotta was the new prima donna, but it wasn't until she actually listened to her that she realized this woman, though barely tolerable, was a woman of talent. She did detect a bit of her usual shrillness, but as far as Christine was concerned, Carlotta could probably charm even the most hard-hearted person simply with her voice. It both impressed and frustrated her.

But as for the two men in the room, they only seemed to be enthralled, as their awestruck gazes were focused on her the whole time, and they enthusiastically gave their applause for the woman once she was done singing. Carlotta gave an extravagant bow, annoying Christine further.

"Splendid, Signorina!" Firmin exclaimed as he took her hand, and then proceeded to kiss it.

"Simply marvelous!" André added with a kiss to her other hand.

Predictably, instead of thanking them, Carlotta only bragged. "But of course! Why would I perform any less for you two darlings!"

As both of them continued to compliment and flatter her, Christine refrained from pointing out how she called these so-called "darlings" "fools" only a week earlier, but by now Christine was getting impatient. She couldn't tell whether the two men were truly enchanted with Carlotta, or putting on a façade. If it was the latter, the two were certainly good at it.

That thought unexpectedly started troubling her, when Christine heard one of the men address her. "Mademoiselle Daaé?"

She looked up to see it was André, giving her a rather curious look. "Yes, Monsieur?" she asked him.

"I was asking if you would care to give your opinion," the tall, lean man replied.

Christine raised her eyebrows at his desire to know what she'd thought. Yet rather than give a false opinion, she chose her words carefully to hide her admiration. "Oh, certainly," she nodded, trying to smile. "It was lovely." Then, without thinking, she added, "It reminds me of a song my father and I used to sing." For a moment, her face scrunched up in regret at her mistake. Christine didn't know what possessed her to reveal something so personal, but it was now out whether she liked it or not.

"Truly?" André asked, even more curious now. "Well then, care to share it with us?"

Christine's eyebrows shot up, and her heartbeat quickly became anxious. "Y-you mean, you want me to sing, Monsieur?"

"Of course!" André smiled as though trying yet failing to look friendly. "I'm certain we would all be blessed to hear you sing as well, Mademoiselle."

Christine only noticed now that Carlotta's smile had fallen, and she seemed to get increasingly agitated. Would that I could just get up and leave! Christine thought.

"I second that!" Firmin added with enthusiasm, even as Christine hoped they wouldn't see how awkward she felt.

She sat up and crossed her arms before she replied, "Pardon me, Monsieurs, but I'm afraid I can't."

Both men raised their eyebrows at her and Firmin asked, "Really now? And may I ask why?"

Feeling the impulse to politely answer, yet not wishing to go into too much detail, Christine spoke slowly so as not to stammer. "An, unfortunate accident, stole my singing voice, years ago."

The two men frowned, and for a moment, everyone in the room merely stayed in their positions in awkward silence, until André finally said, "Oh surely she can at least sing decently enough. I'd say she's only being shy."

Christine opened her mouth to defend herself, when Firmin spoke first. "I shan't be surprised. I insist, Mademoiselle, that you sing for us!"

Feeling her embarrassment rising, Christine retorted, "I beg your pardon, Monsieur. Forgive me, I seemed to have overstepped my bounds, for I truly can't sing! I haven't been able to in years!"

Christine then looked at Carlotta when she noticed that the woman had put her hands on her hips, and gave her a look that seemed equal parts antagonized and condescending. "Oh, leave us then! You've served your purpose for today, maid. Now you only insult me with your presence!"

Grateful to finally be able to leave, yet feeling a sense of resentment at being straight up dismissed so abruptly, Christine nodded before she stood up from the chair she sat in, and gave a brief curtsy. "Good day then Monsieurs, Signorina. I'll trouble you no longer."

"See to it then, girl, and leave, now," Carlotta ordered without giving any kind of goodbye.

Christine wanted to remind her that she was already leaving, but she held her tongue. Still, she allowed André and then Firmin to take her hand, without any kisses.

"Good day then, Mademoiselle," André nodded at her, though she could sense a hint of annoyance.

"Yes," Firmin said as he took her hand, "forgive us for being so untoward and ill-mannered."

"All is well," Christine nodded, though she didn't fully believe it. "Good day, everyone." She then quickly took up her skirt in her hands before hastening out of the room and then down the hallway, breathing a sigh of relief at having escaped the tension once she turned the corner. The hour was already growing late anyway, and after making sure her other daily duties were done, Christine decided it would be most appropriate to return to her room. Though it was a long walk, as her room was completely on the opposite side of the building, she welcomed it, since it gave her an excuse to relieve the sense of discomfort in her nerves.

Unfortunately, her thoughts were not nearly as quick to catch up, even when she had finally returned to her room and sat somewhat roughly on her bed. Christine didn't know why, but she thought she was feeling the prick of tears in the backs of her eyes. But she had nothing to cry about…did she? Even as she thought this, Christine couldn't help but wonder what had made her so flustered back in that room. All the two men were doing was asking her to sing, even if she couldn't. Then again, Carlotta was in the room as well…

That was when Christine figured it out. Clearly, Carlotta was a better singer than she could ever hope to be. And yet… Christine sighed. It didn't seem fair that such a hoyden should have such a beautiful voice, while she had genuinely loved singing in the past but could no longer do so, thanks to that accursed fire.

But it wasn't just that. Ever since she came to live in this Opera House eight years ago, Christine had sometimes wished she could sing at least like the altos, let alone the sopranos – though she'd used to be in that range – especially when the house put on performances. There she would be, watching and listening from behind one of the wings while waiting to assist anyone, and just like everyone else in the theatre, enchanted.

And oh how it could make her particularly envy the sopranos. Like her, they might not all have been attractive or pretty, yet they could charm an entire crowd simply with their voices. Christine immediately remembered all the times she'd charmed her father with her singing – and she with his – and it made her wonder. Had the fire not happened, but would she have been singing among the sopranos, perhaps even in a prominent position among them? While she didn't think she would have eventually been prima donna material, still… And if the fire had not happened, might her father have still been living even now?

Christine put her head in her hands as she felt the aching sense of longing and loss increase by the second. And it certainly didn't help when she started hearing the danseuses go through their weekly singing lessons. Although they might have be mainly dancers, every now and then they would participate with the chorus, hence the lessons. And yet, even as she listened to them, although she didn't want to dare wonder, she nevertheless did… Even if she had lost her singing voice from the fire at that time, it had still been ten years. Might it not have at least gotten a little better since then? Oh… Oh, if only she could do it…

Christine stood up from her bed and went to her door. After looking to make sure no one was within earshot, she shut it again and went to stand in the middle of her room. Taking the appropriate stance, she took a deep breath in an attempt to relax, and prepare her lungs. She then listened carefully to the notes and the pacing at which the danseuses – with a soprano range – sang. Christine took one more breath, and shivered slightly before opening her mouth, and – for perhaps the first time in ten years – tried to sing.

While she hesitated after the first note, she took the time to clear her throat before making herself continue. At first, Christine was surprised when she found she was mostly able to stay on key, even if her voice strained a little bit. But the longer she tried to sing, and especially when she tried reaching even slightly higher notes, the strain worsened. Still, Christine did her best to ignore it until she no longer could and gave a few coughs.

Even then though, she was determined. After letting her voice rest a moment, Christine tried again. But once she did start again, the most peculiar thing happened.

Though she didn't notice it at first, the longer Christine sang, the more she thought she was hearing…a second voice? Yet when she stopped, so did that supposed second voice, and when she started again, so it did too. While she may not have sung in years, Christine did know what one person singing sounded like. But in this instance, whenever she was singing, it was as though another was singing along with her. Moreover, either she truly was starting to sound much better than she thought, or there actually was a truly heavenly voice she was hearing alongside hers.

That was when Christine gasped at an immediate realization. Could that second voice be the highly beautiful one that sang to her in her dream? Did it truly exist outside her mind and in this physical world? Christine quickly stopped singing and instead began to listen…listen for any sound that sounded remotely like the aforementioned voice. This she did for a whole minute. And yet, all she kept hearing were the soprano voices of the danseuses, whom she was trying to keep up with, after all…

"Oh, confound it all!" Christine murmured to herself in frustration. In that moment, she truly felt like a simpleton. All this time she must've been hearing the girls' voices echoing through the building, and yet… Oh, how she wished it were otherwise! How she wished it were so! While her typical practicality wanted to rationalize it all and think realistically, the disappointment and returning ache of loss eventually won out. Again, Christine felt the prick of tears in her eyes, though more prominently this time around.

Before she could feel them fully come though, she felt her practical personality come back to her, telling her there was no use in getting so emotional over something so simple. Breathing deeply, Christine decided it was best that she ready herself for bed. Yet the thought that she had possibly heard that voice again lingered in the back of her mind.

Later, as she lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling directly above her, Christine determined that she would once again speak to Meg about all of this the following morning, whatever her reaction. Talking with someone often helped her to sort things out. Hopefully she'd be able to sort out this very strange issue at least somewhat tomorrow. Hopefully…

Reviews would be appreciated.