"All right," Meg sighed as she put her hand on her forehead and started pacing nervously in front of the ballet room door like a caged animal. "There is definitely something going on around here."

Christine had waited until the same time she'd last spoken with Meg about this, right after luncheon. But unlike the last time, her initial frustration had been traded for anxiety. For one thing, she didn't feel too keen on telling Meg about how she'd tried to sing. "Please don't tell me I'm going mad."

Meg held up a hand in a stopping motion. "I didn't say that!" she assured her friend. "I'm just trying to think through…trying to think through…" She trailed off, as though searching for the right words, until she believed she found them. "How…truly bizarre this is…"

"That's exactly what I'm thinking!" Christine exclaimed in relief. "First I hear that voice in my dream, and a week later, I might very well have heard it echoing through the building. I reasoned at first that it could just have been you and girls in your singing lesson, but from then till now, I haven't known for certain."

"Christine," Meg looked at her with briefly amused confusion, "if it were our voices echoing all the way up to your room, while we might be decent, I doubt any of us sound as angelic as the voice you've described to me." The fair-haired girl then turned to return to her pacing, until a sudden and deeply unsettling thought came to her. "Christine," Meg looked back at her, her face now starting to pale, "you don't think there could be some wanton intruder in or around your room, do you?"

Christine's face began to turn white as well, but only marginally. "That is worthy of consideration," she admitted. "But still, I'm not quite sure." She then put a hand in front of her mouth as she donned a thinking expression, until she too had thought of something as suddenly as Meg had. "Besides Meg, if it were truly a man of…ill intentions…I would think his voice would have quite a bit more…lust to it." Strangely enough, Christine felt the urge to go on speaking. "But this voice…this voice sounded as pure as snow in high winter." For a moment, it felt as though she would lull herself into a trance, until Meg spoke again.

"All right," she said, partly in jest, partly in anxiety, "who are you? And what have you done to Christine?"

Christine jumped a bit in surprise, then – upon remembering where she was and whom she was speaking with – shook her head to rid it of this romantic drivel like a dog would shake water off its fur. "Pardon me," she murmured.

Meg immediately brushed it off by saying, "In any event, we ought to keep that possibility open until we're sure we know otherwise."

Christine nodded with agreement, then began murmuring to herself. "Well, there is the morning after I heard that voice, when I thought I saw someone's reflection in my mirror…"

Unfortunately, Meg's sharp sense of hearing caught her friend's words. "What?!" she exclaimed, her blue eyes wide with shock. "You thought you saw someone?! Why didn't you tell me last week?!"

Christine was already scrunching her face in frustration at having been caught, but she wasn't about to lie to her best friend. With a sigh she replied, "I admit it; I didn't tell you because I simply thought I was seeing things. In my defense though it was very early in the morning, and I was only barely awake. And you know how things don't always look right when you're half-asleep."

"One is either asleep or awake, Christine," Meg retorted. "There is no halfway." She began pacing again, only faster than before. "I don't like this," she finally said. "I don't like this at all."

"And I do?" Christine couldn't help but ask. She was already talking further when Meg looked back at her. "Really, Meg; you think I'm going to have affection for a man I've never met or even seen just because his voice sounded divine?"

"To be honest, Christine, I don't really know," Meg shook her head. "Now, I am glad that you were comforted in your sleep. But I don't like the idea of some anonymous unknown just wandering about the house's unseen halls as though he were…"

Meg trailed off, as a startling realization just came to her, and apparently to Christine as well, for they both looked at each other with the same wide-eyed, open-mouthed expression. "A…ghost," Meg at last finished.

For a moment, the two of them stayed silent as they tried taking all of this in, until Christine finally spoke again. "You don't think there really could be any truth behind the danseuses' silly stories?" she asked, quickly realizing she was also asking herself that.

"I don't know the answer to that either, I'm afraid," Meg admitted. Then, with more frustration, she added, "Oh, but how I wish I did! Too many startling and even frightening things have been happening around here! What we need is clarity!"

"I wholeheartedly agree!" Christine exclaimed. "But, what can we do? We're only two girls close to becoming women!"

Just after she spoke, Christine was starting to fear if someone had heard her, for she could already hear the chatter and the footsteps of the danseuses coming down the hall. She didn't want anyone to be needlessly frightened again. Meg, however, pressed her lips together at having their conversation cut short. Still, she turned to Christine and said, "We will discuss this later, if we can. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Christine nodded. While she too felt disappointed, time was pressing, especially if it had to do with someone like Carlotta. But since the hoyden was – most thankfully! – not here, Christine wanted to use the available freedom to collect her thoughts. She and Meg said their goodbyes, and Christine began hastening down the hall, nodding respectfully to Madame Giry when passing her. Christine then immediately wondered if she and Meg should tell the ballet mistress, but eventually decided that Meg's mother couldn't afford to needlessly join the discussion, until they had verifiable proof.

As she continued through the house alone, Christine began to look into her own thoughts on the matter, and was surprised to find that while she too wouldn't want someone playing a grand game of hide-and-seek in the Opera House, part of her couldn't think any ill will towards whoever owned that voice. The voice that had comforted her during the most frightening dream she'd had in years. The voice that she believed was singing along with her just last night. Could a person own such a voice while harboring dishonorable intentions? How it agitated her not to know! Christine had meant it when she fully agreed with Meg about needing some certainty in the midst of all this confusion. Even so, she partly hoped that that certainty would be at in least somewhat in favor toward her private wishes.

In any event, such thoughts about such things couldn't be dwelled on for the time being, specifically when Carlotta once again came to the Opera House, and Christine was once again compelled by duty to attend her. She could only hope the woman wasn't still frustrated at how Christine had "upstaged" her – as she believed Carlotta would put it.

Fortunately, at least somewhat, any scorn she must have earned from Carlotta did not show on the woman's usual expression: bored with the slightest hint of annoyance. Even so, Christine was surprisingly getting used to Carlotta's bearing; but only just, as the woman was already putting her irritability and impatience on full display as though she might as well have written it on a placard to wear.

As was often the case, even as she held the Signorina's train behind her while they went upstairs to the prima donna's dressing room, even as the woman kept twittering inanities, Christine did her best not to actually listen to the woman's rants. But every now and then she caught statements such as "can't find any good help these days" and "They should be thanking me for coming here at all!" and the like. Even then though, Christine didn't bother to roll her eyes as she used to when she first started attending Carlotta.

Just as she was wanting this little venture to end already, they finally found themselves outside the dressing room door. Christine sighed with relief, but quickly, as she didn't want Carlotta to hear, lest the woman should get more vexed. At the same time, she let the train down and opened the door, after which she picked up the train yet again, and followed Carlotta inside. The only decent thing about all this was that at least the prima donna had stopped spewing her nonsensical…nonsense. Truly, Christine was running out of words to describe such an unpleasant noise.

But the two then proceeded to their usual routine, with Carlotta sitting at the vanity – now Christine saw why they were called that – and Christine helping, or rather doing all the work, of removing non-essential things from the hoyden's person.

Before long though, Carlotta deemed it necessary to speak again. "Truly, Mademoiselle, I couldn't help but notice how the two new managers of this Opera House seemed rather interested to hear you sing."

Christine pressed her lips together at how the woman never called her by name – and sometimes got her name plainly wrong. But the automatic politeness in her compelled her to answer. "I'm sorry then, Signorina – if you want me to say so – for offending you, if I have."

Yet instead of dismissing her apology as she often did, Carlotta surprised her attendant with her next statement. "Oh no, nothing of that sort, no! Indeed, I became rather curious if you don't mind me saying so."

While she didn't at all like where this conversation was going, Christine nonetheless replied, "Indeed? What were you curious about, may I ask?"

"Certainly you may ask!" Carlotta said in jest as though they were old friends amusing each other. Truly, whatever had possessed her to take on this demeanor, it couldn't be good. Still, Christine listened as the woman went on. "I understand that your father was a violinist, yes?"

Even as she kept moving, Christine frowned, feeling more and more uncomfortable with every word. But she replied, "Yes, what about it?"

"And he was a rather prominent one in this house?" Carlotta asked. "Just out of curiosity – though of course you already know that – how does a common violinist become so esteemed in this finest of Opera Houses?"

Christine flinched a bit once she heard that last sentence. If she had to reply though, then she must choose her words carefully. "He had already had a very generous benefactor for quite some time before he came here. That's all I'll say."

"Interesting," Carlotta smiled before she let out a giggle, perhaps the most unnerving one Christine had ever heard. And against her wishes, the hoyden kept on talking. "Is it true though that you could sing at one time – before that aforementioned 'accident,' that is? And am I right in assuming your father must have taught you?"

Please stop, Christine inwardly begged as she started feeling a nervous perspiration emerge on her forehead. Her heartbeat too seemed more anxious than it had been in awhile. For a moment, Christine actually wished Carlotta would go back to spouting her usual drivel rather than go in this syrupy tone that was making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

But her wishes were not heeded, as Carlotta continued to speak. "Pardon me ever so much for being this intrusive." Liar, Christine thought, though she continued to hear the woman's deeply disturbing words. "I only want to say how much of a pity it is that you can no longer bless anyone with your voice, I'm sure it was so lovely! Perhaps your father should have taught you better, hmm? Oh, but wait…I seem to have forgotten. That poor old pauper of a man is lying dead in the ground, isn't he?"

Christine had been doing her absolute best to restrain herself with every sentence that came out of Carlotta's mouth. But that last one proved the final straw. Her tolerance had been hanging by a thread, and the thread had now snapped. This termagant could poke fun at Christine all she liked. But she absolutely could not abide such venom against one she loved – especially not the man whom she considered, when he was alive, to be the best father in the world.

Merely a second after the shrew had finished that last sickening statement, Christine didn't pause or hesitate at all. For the briefest of moments, the room was filled with a hard, striking SLAP! After which came sounds usually associated with one tumbling to the ground.

Immediately following this, though Christine felt a stinging sensation in her palm, her eyes and fury were focused solely on the deplorable dame sitting in a heap of fabric on the floor. Neither of them spoke, Carlotta putting her shaking hand to her now utterly appalled face, and Christine noting in a second of surprise that her smack to Carlotta's cheek had drawn two small scratches. Nevertheless, she hoped she looked the most intimidating she'd ever been when she stood over the woman and pointed an accusing finger at her.

Speaking the first few words through her clenched teeth for effect, Christine snarled at her, "Never speak such wretched words around me again, vile witch! Dare be so bold another time, and I'll tear your hair out!" She could've said more, but she didn't want to. She was too angry. She only wanted to scowl at the woman before her, hoping the expression was hot enough to be burned into her memory forever, like a horse's branding.

Every second that passed felt close to an hour. Fixed as she was to be sure the woman learned her lesson, Christine didn't hear the footsteps in the hall outside that were hurrying to the door. Nor did she hear the door opening.

"Christine!" Only when two familiar, feminine voices exclaimed her name in shock did she become utterly stunned herself. Everything, even the passage of time, seemed to freeze. Before long, however, Christine dared to look at who she already knew were standing in the doorway, their now white faces amazed at the scene before them. Madame Giry and her daughter, Meg.

Christine didn't bother to wonder why they were here at all. All she felt was horror, both at knowing there would be dire consequences for smacking the Opera House's prima donna in the face – however intolerable she was, and at knowing, even more so, that she had failed Madame Giry more thoroughly and absolutely than she'd ever failed anyone. Her stomach felt like an iron weight and she felt sickened.

Christine didn't want to look at either one of them, so great was the burden that had just settled on her shoulders. Nevertheless, and despite the stinging of tears forming in her eyes, she looked directly at them, murmuring in a shaking voice, "Forgive me…" Knowing she wouldn't last much longer, Christine took up her skirt, passed through the little space available between Madame Giry and Meg, and then rushed down the hall and eventually down the stairs.

Had she been able to see the scene for herself though, she would've heard Carlotta give a great shriek, followed by a growl. She would've seen Carlotta directing a fiery pair of eyes at Meg and the ballet mistress, shouting, "Well?! Don't just stand there! Send for a doctor! Oh, my beautiful face is now ruined!" And, perhaps best of all, Christine would've seen Carlotta break out in hysterics over two little cuts and a welt mark on her cheek, while Meg only glared at the once proud prima donna, as if to say, "Serves you right. If Christine got this angry, you deserved it!"

But unfortunately, Christine saw none of these things. Her vision now blurring with tears, she hoped she would make it back to her room in time before she completely lost control. She'd already humiliated herself enough just by seeing Madame Giry and Meg immediately after what she'd done. What if word of this got to Firmin and André…or even Raoul?

She couldn't bear to think of all that now. She simply wanted to be alone. With that thought, she hurried through the Opera House even faster, until she'd finally returned to her room, and shut and locked the door behind her.

While Christine didn't burst into tears like she thought she would, she wished to have no contact with anyone, not even Meg, for the rest of the day. Fortunately, no one came to her, as if her wishes had somehow reached them from afar like a wireless.

Even so, wanting to soothe her aching body and aching feelings, Christine decided it was best to have a bath down in the ladies' washroom. And just as she wanted, no one spoke with her or barely even looked at her. Though that of course only made her wonder if the gossip had already started. Still, she ignored any attention that may have been given her. And within an hour, she had returned to her room in a freshly laundered dressing gown, carrying a warm towel to dry her hair with. Fortunately, this section of living quarters being exclusive to women kept her from worrying about any male gaze.

Even then, however, Christine couldn't fully flee the emotions and issues that continued to burden her. She got busy drying her hair and dressing for bed; but by the time she was done with both, she once again felt her eyes welling with horrid tears. She knew crying was really a divine gift to humanity, as it served almost like a purification ritual of one's innermost soul. Still…

Spotting one of her knives from underneath her bed, Christine snatched it and stood up to head over to the spot where she usually practiced throwing them. She did her best to concentrate, but she put in as much of her raw feelings as she could when she finally threw the weapon. As she'd expected though, this time the knife didn't stick to the wall, only hitting it and then falling to the floor with a resounding clink. Christine groaned and put her head in her hands. She didn't know if she didn't hit her mark because she was too emotional to really focus, or because misfortune was working against her yet again.

Getting increasingly tired, Christine strode back to her bed and flopped down on it, finally lifting her face from her hands. With nothing to look at in the dark room with only one candle providing any light, she stared out into space, and finally gave up the fight against her emotions that were by now overwhelming her.

As one tear after another fell down her cheeks, Christine didn't know where to begin in sorting out her thoughts. She hated Carlotta for her blatantly disrespectful words about her father. Had she not found a surrogate mother in Madame Giry, she might have hated her too. But in this case, Christine hated how she'd forced such monumental disappointment upon the ballet mistress – even if Carlotta had cruelly provoked her. She hated knowing that she'd most likely have to face Firmin and André for her misdeed – though she could never truly apologize for it. She hated the likely possibility of everyone in the house finding out. She hated how confusing things had gotten lately. She hated that both her parents were not here to comfort her and guide her. She hated that that hellish fire had stolen her voice. She hated…

"Christine…?

Christine…?"

Even though she'd been sniffling, Christine was instantly pulled from her self-induced stupor as she let out a small gasp. Was she just hearing things again…or was someone calling her name? Come to think of it, it didn't sound like they were calling for her in the conventional manner. It sounded more as if…as if…they were…singing her name? But why call for her in such an unusual…

Christine gasped again as she figured out what must be happening. It was that voice! That beautiful voice she knew she'd heard twice before! And yet quite a bit more prominent than both those previous occasions… Such a realization both excited and frightened her. Somehow remembering a childhood habit of hers, she shifted backwards on the bed until her back was against the wall, and hugged her knees to her chest.

"W-who's t-there?" she asked, then grimaced at how she'd stammered. Believing she should be bolder, and that it was possible that the person couldn't hear her, she raised her voice, but not so much as to awaken the house. "Who's there?!"

"Christine…?

Christine…?"

There it was again. Just as silvery and soothing as she remembered it being. Nevertheless, Christine bit her lip and tried to calm her racing heartbeat. But then, not long after they called her name twice more, there was…something else…

The whole time, Christine had been looking around the right side of her room, and it only just now occurred to her to look left. More so, she had that sense she remembered having that morning the week before…and she was even more certain of it now than then… Someone was in here with her… And yet, who…?!

Daring to look the other way, Christine let out a third gasp, louder now, and laced with fear. With wide, unblinking eyes, she both marveled and felt immense alarm at seeing…bright, white, almost glowing mist or fog…inside her mirror?! But that was impossible! There was nothing like that here in her room at this moment to be reflected in the mirror!

Christine hugged her legs tighter. She couldn't tell if she was completely losing her mind or if she was truly seeing what her sense of sight told her she was seeing. As was the case when Carlotta spoke those most disgraceful words, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand stiffly. And yet, unlike then, somehow it didn't feel so unwelcome this time.

But suddenly, any reasonable or rational thought Christine might have had completely abandoned her. She was seeing something else in the middle of inside the mirror, something standing among the mist, yet still in the shadows. Little by little though, what she saw now to be a human figure slowly emerged from the darkness behind them.

And right then… Christine knew that whatever else happened to her for the remainder of her life, never would she forget this moment…

Never would she forget meeting…him…

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