The production for Hannibal had been set back, so the manager decided to put on a less-complicated show. His new diva proved to be harder to handle than before, the rehearsal time being spent almost entirely on calming the woman who claimed someone was talking over her singing or making mistakes in the blocking. The "Opera Ghost" was also apparently upset with La Carlotta.
Letters secured by a skeletal, red wax seal were dropped from the rafters during one of the few silent moments during a practice. Several of these notes were aimed to the manager to amiably command him to rid of La Carlotta, she was only slowing production time and irritating, if not bluntly insulting, the other cast members.
In addition to these letters, the Opera's phantom was causing trouble in hopes to...encourage the manager to hasten in following his instructions, mostly with the firing of La Carlotta. Christine undoubtedly knew that this mysterious, havoc-wreaking ghost was her vocal instructor. She only hoped that he wasn't acting on her account with the diva, especially since he clearly spent a lot of time dedicated to giving the manager a piece of his mind in the regard of Carlotta. But over a year had passed without any changes in the position of leading soprano.
"That red-haired brat pushed Violette out of her way when she was clearly standing in the wrong position! Then she accused maman of stepping on her dress when she walked by, the audacity of that woman!" Meg shouted under her breath in the dressing rooms just after finishing the first rehearsal for Hannibal, which was finally returning to the Populaire.
Christine mused at her friend's frustration, pulling the ballet slippers off of her sore feet and massaging them for a moment.
"Quiet Meg, she might hear you!" The brunette warned.
"The croaking toad couldn't possibly hear me over the sound of her self-obsessed, constantly-babbling voice." The blonde assured Christine, "And why do you refuse to celebrate your birthday? We should go have fun with some of the other chorus girls who go out to soirees!"
"Oh, Meg, I have no interest in such dealings! They always come back in the late mornings, half-undressed, and their rouge smudged all over their faces."
Once the girls were changed out of their costumes, Meg went to go console Violette over the aforementioned incident while Christine descended to the small chapel for her vocal lesson. With such a trying daytime schedule, the girl looked forward to meeting with her, still unknown, instructor.
"Angel?" She asked, closing the door behind her.
The voice of her teacher echoed from the angel statue in the corner: "Christine."
Her blue eyes widened in amazement and she couldn't formulate a response, "How- wh-?"
"Ventriloquism, Mademoiselle Daae." He responded, his slightly smug tone suggesting he was smirking.
"It's quite impressive, monsieur." She smiled.
"Thank you, dear girl. Now, on with your scales, we must prepare you to overtake that prima donna even though I have no doubt you will be able to do so."
"She was terrible to Madame Giry and to the kindest ballerina today! I can't believe she's still a cast member. Meg called her a croaking toad!"
"Her tone is quiet similar to a toad at times." He chuckled, a rare occasion, and prompted Christine to continue with her lesson.
The instructor particularly pressed his doting student to perfect the new aria she was given to learn from Romeo et Juliette. He additionally assured that she would soon be on stage, as a lead singer, not a faceless ballerina. Christine pleaded that nothing would hurt La Carlotta, even after all of her antics, and she would only be excused from her position.
"Your heart is too compassionate, Christine." Her teacher remarked.
"I wish no harm to anyone who doesn't deserve it. Besides, it's more fitting for La Carlotta to be humiliated than any injury or death." The girl reasoned.
"Ah, the true angel shows herself. I dismiss you, and wish you a delightful birthday, though you don't seem to enjoy celebrating such an event."
"Thank you, and I don't appreciate the attention caused by it. When is your birthday, Angel? I hate the thought that I must've missed it over all of these years."
"Though I am no angel, I have no birthdate. Or at least, it is not known to me."
"We must make one up for you then!"
"No need for such a foolish celebration that no one marks."
"Nonsense, I would mark your birthday every year."
"Perhaps one day..." He muttered with a wishful tone slipping into his voice.
But the man cleared his throat and continued confidently: "I have left you a gift in your quarters, hate your birthday as you may. Goodnight, Christine."
"There was no need, as always, my Angel. Thank you for everything and goodnight!" She told him, not knowing if he was still listening to her.
Her innocent smile and the grateful look in her eyes softened Erik's heart, melting whatever had remained of his hardened soul. The Daroga even took notice of his easing temper and felt in debt of the girl who caused this change in him. Erik was only excited at any mention of a future prospect with his, now 18-year old, student and at his plan to have her play an unforgettable Juliette for the Populaire within the next year.
Christine hurried up to her bed, undeniably eager to see what her instructor had given her. Any gifts from him, no matter how unnecessary she told him they were, happened to be positively divine. This time, there was a simple hatbox-sized box wrapped in a white ribbon placed on her bed. Her delicate fingers untied it, pulling the lid off of the top and inspecting its contents with curiosity.
Inside where the most exquisite sets of jewelry: a diamond necklace with stones arranged to appear as snowflakes paired with matching earrings, multiple styles of rings with deep blue sapphires framed by crystals, and various pieces dotted with pink garnets. This gift must've cost her instructor a fortune, Christine nearly fainting at the sheer number of accessories and jewels within them. The brunette picked up one of the simplest sapphire rings and strung it through the silver necklace chain from her father that she always wore. Her teacher was too kind to her, seeming much more like a fond friend than distant tutor.