She had been sitting alone in one of the storage rooms that she and Meg often ducked into to gossip between rehearsals. Meg had just left, and Christine was still mulling over the conversation they had just had. Meg had been trying to coax her into auditioning for a solo role in an upcoming show, while Christine had been quite insistent that she could do no such thing. She had wanted to, yes, but as she told Meg, she was certain her nerves would get the best of her, and she knew that many of the higher notes were often hit or miss for her.
It was then that she had heard the man's voice for the first time, soft yet powerful.
"I think you should try out for the solo," the voice told her.
She jumped in surprise. Was someone in here with her? Oh, she and Meg would have to take better care to make certain the room was empty next time they wanted to gossip... But try as she might, she couldn't see anyone around her.
"And just who is 'I', monsieur?" she called out to the voice.
Silence was the only reply, but she waited for several moments hoping he would respond.
"Are you still there?" she tried.
"Yes," he said.
She was almost certain now that the voice was coming from inside the wall next to her. A smile quirked at her lips. Was this The Phantom talking to her?
She had heard the stories of him, of course. Nearly everyone at the Opera House had. The stories about him were widely varied but the common strand between most of them - the believable ones, anyway - was that he was an eccentric genius who hid in the walls and tunnels and often gave his opinions to the managers. The managers, in turn, left him to wander where he would due to the excellent nature of his advice which had brought in quite a bit of money to the Opera House. The opinion of many of the ballet girls, however, was that he was in fact a supernatural figure - a specter, a phantom, who haunted the old building and played pranks on the performers. Some of them regarded him with apprehension, thinking he brought bad luck, but Christine wasn't afraid of him.
He must live like a ghost, even if he is but a man, Christine had thought to herself. How weary that must be after a while. He's surely heard the stories about himself, even those most awful ones. Perhaps, she thought wryly, he would like a change of pace.
"Are you an angel?" she asked with all the innocence her nineteen year old self could muster.
She heard a sharp intake of breath before his swift reply.
"Y-yes."
He had attempted to project a confidence that he obviously did not feel, a small stutter to the word otherwise boldly spoken. Christine had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.
"Well, Angel, what makes you think I should audition?"
"I've heard you practicing, and in the chorus. You're quite good. They would be fools not to promote you."
"Thank you, Angel, that's very flattering, but my range is not consistent. I simply cannot run the risk of an audition going terribly - then they'd never promote me," she sighed.
The voice was silent for several minutes and Christine had begun to think that perhaps he had left.
"Sing for me," he finally said.
She had scrambled down off the wooden crate she was sitting on, smoothing down her skirts. She was suddenly as nervous as if this were the actual audition, and when she reached the higher notes, sure enough she faltered.
"You need to remember to breathe from your diaphragm, Christine. Try it again."
She had paused at his knowing her name, but she had taken his advice all the same - and that time she was able to reach the note.
"Oh, Angel-!"
Christine had marveled at how easily his advice had helped her.
"I do hope you'll consider trying the audition."
"I- I might. I suppose it depends on how well my practices go between now and then."
Another pause.
"I could practice with you, if you wish it," he had said slowly.
Christine had fidgeted at this thought.
"I have no way to pay you for that, Angel, and I would prefer not to be in anyone's debt."
"Just hearing your voice is payment enough - and if you can manage to unthrone La Carlotta I will consider us more than even. You simply can't imagine how weary I am of her shrieking onstage."
So Christine had started to meet with him in her spare time, and her singing improved by leaps and bounds. She had auditioned and received a small solo role and she had been thrilled.
It had been rather odd to talk to him behind the walls, which had lead to her asking if perhaps he could stand in the same room as her. He had gone very quiet when she had asked, and she was almost certain that she had angered him and he had left, but he had said he would think on it. It was a few weeks later that he had announced to her that in her next lesson he would accompany her on the piano in one of the abandoned rehearsal rooms.
She had been nervous but excited for that lesson, to finally see what he looked like. There were so many stories about him from people who had claimed to have seen him. Some said he was frighteningly tall and lanky, nearly like a skeleton. He was shrouded in a mist, said others, and all you could see were his bright yellow eyes glowing out through that mist. Still others said his face was no face at all but rather a death's head. She had wrung her hands a little as she waited, picturing all these possibilities. She had only hoped that if he did turn out to be rather monstrous that she didn't embarrass him over it by screaming or - heaven forbid - fainting. After all, even if he did look like all that he was still the Voice that was so kind to her these past five months. He couldn't help how he looked, certainly hadn't chosen to be that way. She had almost wished, though, that she had asked Madame Giry if there were any truth to rumors about how he looked - just to be able to prepare herself. But Madame had not made any mention of it when Christine had told her about their upcoming in-person lesson, and she had known that Madame had talked to him in person numerous times before.
"Christine?" he had called to her.
She knew that his calling her was for her own benefit, so as not to startle her by showing up suddenly. She nodded eagerly.
"Come in, Angel."
She heard a few noises of metal on metal and then the glass of the full length mirror had slid back to reveal a figure standing behind it.
All of those worries of screaming came to nothing and she had nearly laughed at how silly all of the descriptions had been. He was simply a man, a rather thin and bony man, but a human man all the same with dark hair and pale skin. The only thing that garnered a second thought was the white mask covering the right side of his face, and how bright his warm amber eyes were. He stepped smoothly into the room as she smiled at him.
"Hello, Angel."
A small wave of anxiety passed over what was visible of his face and he hesitated before sitting down at the piano bench and promptly began their lesson.
The lesson went well and she was quite impressed by how well he could play. She had found herself rather curious as to whether he had dressed up for their lesson together or if perhaps this was how he always looked - did he honestly go about the false walls and tunnels dressed in such finery, cape and all? She never found the answer to this question, but he always dressed very well anytime she saw him.
"Thank you for this, Angel," she had told him at the end of the lesson. "It's good to finally see you."
He had turned slowly to face her, a slight frown on his face.
"Christine," he said softly. "You do know that I am not an angel, yes?"
There were more than few people at the Opera House who firmly believed he was supernatural in origin, and even several who had seen glimpses of him in person yet still insisted that he was in fact a ghost. He didn't mind people thinking such things about him, but to be called an angel when he was clearly not felt terribly wrong and he did not wish to trick her.
She pressed her lips into a flat line, trying not to laugh, and nodded.
"I had rather guessed," she said solemnly.
He looked somewhat embarrassed.
"You may call me Erik, instead."
She had eventually began to ask him questions here and there, and those questions had led to conversations that grew longer the more they got to know each other. He had been quite reserved at first, but Christine had been patient and persistent and over time he began to open up to her and they found they shared a number opinions and likes and dislikes, and eventually she found he had a dry and witty sense of humor that could always maker her laugh. She had considered him a friend as much as Meg or Jammes, but then it had turned into- into whatever it was that she felt for him now. She certainly hadn't intended for that to happen, but it had all the same.
She drifted off to sleep with these thoughts in her head. Tomorrow she would awake and then a little later she would see Raoul, and things would never truly be the same again.