- - - Current time - - -

The next article of nostalgia in this seemingly-ancient book was a small poster from Christine's debut at the Populaire. It was an unforgettable performance, the best the opera house had ever seen and ever would. Erik remembered meeting her two hours before the show began for a lesson, her voice more immaculate in singing each piece as ever before. His breath grew ragged at the passion in his student's tone and he watched her smile proudly upon finishing without his intrusion.

Each of the posters from the show were imprinted images of a painted Christine in white alongside the young man playing Romeo. A few other characters surrounded the pair but the focal point remained to be the brunette soprano with gleaming eyes.

- - - The night of Romeo et Juliette - - -

"I only hope not to faint before the audience's critiquing eyes." The young girl chuckled.

"The worst critic you could endure is myself, and you haven't fainted yet." Her tutor reassured.

"Well I must thank you for the several years of instruction. It's as though my father's intentions have come true and he sent me an angel, just as promised."

"I am no angel-"

"You've told me this several times over. When can I finally learn who you truly are Ange?"

The room chilled significantly with the change in conversation.

The instructor spoke after a few thoughtful moments: "Soon, after tonight's performance."

Christine thanked him once more before joining Madame Giry in her new dressing room. It was a proud moment for her adoptive mother who'd raised her since the death of Gustave Daae. She wished the young girl luck after fastening the last crystal hairpiece into her curls and briefly grinning nostalgically. Christine had a few minutes to study her reflection in the gilded mirror before joining the cast on stage.

This was a youthful woman, familiar but yet different from the one always seen meekly amongst the crowd of ballerinas. She was transformed into Juliette: a simple Renaissance gown, thin layer of pink blush over her cheeks, ancient silver jewelry adorning her neck, loose brown curls concealed beneath a sheer veil, tiny crystals pinned into her hair, and plain slippers over her feet. The curtain was called, parting for the audience to see the show begin.

She started the entire opera expressing her joy at being at a delightful soiree:

Écoutez! écoutez!
C'est le son des instruments joyeux
Qui nous appelle et nous convie!
Ah! –
Tout un monde enchanté semble naître
à mes yeux!

It wasn't long before Romeo appeared as the center of attention, feeling sorrowful over the loss of his Rosaline until seeing Juliette. The lovers met and innocently started their affair, paying no mind to their feuding families. But their airy smiles and shining eyes were quickly replaced with despairing expressions as the scenes progressed. The pair was torn apart, leaving Juliette to fake her death and Romeo to discover her unconscious body, thinking she'd truly died.

Once she awoke, the young girl peered over the body of her lover and realized that he stabbed himself in believing her dead. Tears glazed over her eyes, her hands grasped Romeo's dagger. His arms limply wrapped around Juliette, disappointed in their circumstances as she sang to him.

Va! Ce moment est doux!

Her shaking hands dropped the dagger upon impaling her chest with it, the (fake) blood staining her white gown and her breaths shallowing with each inhale.

Ô joie infinie et suprême
De mourir avec toi! Viens! un baiser!
Je t'aime!

The soprano uttered her last words of devotion before being joined by her lover's whispering voice in their apology for committing suicide:

Seigneur, Seigneur, pardonnez-nous!

And with these words, the lovers died in each other's arms. The heavy red curtains were drawn, the thundering sound of applause taking over the previous silence. Christine stood up with the help of her Romeo's strong arms and faced the crowd confidently with the rest of the cast behind them. Everyone took a deep bow as roses were thrown on-stage for the leading performers. The new soprano felt honored, joyful tears forming in the corners of her blue eyes.

But this moment ended quickly. She hastily went back to the dressing room, removing the dozens of hairpieces pinned into her curls. The commotion outside of her room wasn't as welcoming as being inside the safety of her room with Madame Giry congratulating her. The ballet mistress pointed out a single rose with a black silk ribbon tied around the thorny stem laying beside the mirror. Christine admired the gesture, suspecting her instructor was the giver of this gift.

A knock sounded upon her door, followed by a young man entering the room: "Hello there, Little Lotte. It's been a while, has it not?"

"Raoul? This is a pleasant surprise-" The soprano smiled in greeting.

"You have certainly followed in your father's footsteps."

"He promised to send me the Angel of Music upon the event of his death. Father passed away years ago and I have been instructed by such a tutor."

"No doubt of it, you're likely the best soprano of the Populaire. My brother and I are patrons to this theatre for several years now."

"Thank you."

"Join me for dinner tonight, we must celebrate your success!"

"I cannot, the Angel is very strict. I must only focus on my music." Christine insisted, though Raoul only laughed.

He warned her to be prepared to leave in twenty minutes, even through the girl's protests. The room was empty once more, and Christine decided to change into a nightgown rather than an evening gown; she was much too exhausted for a night out with an old friend. But as she was fastening the last ribbon over her waist, the candles all extinguished themselves from a phantom breeze.

A deep, familiar voice intimidated Christine momentarily until she recognized the rich tenor singing to her. It was the angel, singing to her about keeping her priorities on music rather than the foolish boy who impudently entered the dressing room mere moments earlier. Christine was entranced at hearing his voice independently, drawing nearer to what seemed to be its source- the mirror. The glass surface slid away to reveal a skeletal man standing tall with a stoic expression and a ivory-colored mask over half of his face. This was the man she called her angel.