AN:Thank you so much for the positive feedback and reviews! We're having a blast! Young artist programs are a common thing today for singers in the process of building their careers. I have not found proof that such a thing existed in the late Victorian era, but it is very likely something like this existed, even if it was called something different.

~o~

It is she, the goddess who comes to unite us this day! Yes, let us share the same fate, let us be united until death! - Les pêcheurs de perles, Bizet

~o~

Chapter 6

Christine's blue dress was simple but respectable. It was the only nice dress she owned, so she wore it only on the most special of occasions to keep it from becoming too thread-bare. The neckline was fashionably low, but the sleeves covered her arms to the wrists. She had Meg tighten her corset so she looked presentable. Her small brown hat, perched high on her head was an obvious outcast to her attempt at class, but she owned no others.

The clock chimed eleven and Christine took a deep breath before knocking lightly at the office door.

It was opened by Monsieur Andre. "Ah, Mlle. Daaé; please come in. We are all thrilled to hear you!" he crooned, leading her into the room. Seated there was Monsieur Ferman, the other owner, as well as a short, older man whom she recognized as the chorus master.

"I am hoping, Mlle. Daaé that you can give my esteemed colleagues a taste of what we were graced with last night. I have been absolutely abuzz with excitement for them to hear you!"

Her teacher was nowhere to be seen, as usual, yet the shadow was there, watching, from just behind the walls. When he spoke, it was in only her ears.

"Relax your abdominals, let the corset do the work, not you."

"Tongue forward...yes, like that...let yourself be able to truly breathe." He murmured as the men talked, preparing for her to sing. He knew that this was just casual banter, but for a singer; these moments before the piece began was utterly critical.

Christine should have practiced in the corset. Damn, she thought. Taking in a deep breath of air, she tested her lungs. Pushing her abdominals against the tight fabric did make controlling the breath a bit easier, but her lungs could not fully expand. She did not know how the beautiful soloists did it on stage.

Andre asked her, "The Jewel Song? Yes?"

Christine nodded tensely. Andre smiled and nodded to the accompanist in the corner. The man began the lilting, bright introduction and Christine took a deep breath again - only to be hindered yet again by the corset. As a result, her phrases were a little off, the lines interrupted with occasional quick inhales, but Christine strove to not let that interfere with the rest of the song. She put her soul into it, closing her eyes and thinking only of her tutor, pretending he was the only one with her. Her voice soared and she knew it. When she finished the last note, she kept her eyes closed and listened to the silence of the room. No one was saying anything. She began to worry and peaked through one eyelid.

Those assembled were sitting with eyes wide, shocked by what they had heard.

"Mlle. Daaé, have you ever considered auditioning for a principle role with the opera?" the chorus master spoke, maintaining a dignified air despite the excitement that was humming in the room.

"I...um... I don't have much experience... sir."

The Chorus Master chuckled at her and spread his hands. "You have some breathing issues that I can resolve within months! Other than that, I hear near perfection!"

Christine looked at each man in the room. She did not know what to say. What would her teacher tell her? Surely he would have intervened if he felt that she was not ready for this... ...right?

Oh please. If she had been allowed to sing without that vice about her waste, she would be fine. Utterly ridiculous, the Ghost thought as he listened to the conversation. Still, perfection. He smiled, beaming with pride as he watched her.

"We'd like you to sing for a small evening gathering of some patrons. This aria...what else do you know?" The chorus master asked curiously.

What else? Christine panicked and began stammering unintelligibly. She stopped, took a deep breath and tried again. "I know a few country songs, sir. That is it." Her cheeks were on fire.

He frowned slightly but then nodded. "Of course. You are young. If I gave you a list of arias to learn, could you do so as soon as possible?" He asked, hopeful.

She nodded with eagerness. "Oh course, sir!"

"Good then. It is settled. We will have you sing as a young artist at this weekend's reception."

It was common in this time for opera companies to run multiple productions in repertoire. Though most of the focus and attention was being pointed toward the new production of Faust, the Palaise Garnier was offering a production of Carmen this weekend. Following one of the performances, there was to be a small reception where the opera would be discussed and a young artist would sing. To go from being seen solely as a supernumerary to that of a young budding artist was an astronomical leap.

The rest of the day, Christine was walking on clouds. She had a long lunch at the cafe across the street - it cost her dearly, but with her new patron and an opportunity to be heard by the top investors in the city, she felt she deserved a fresh pastry.

When rehearsals for Faust began, she was still floating and to others looked even more distracted than usual.

Today was a full run; the first beginning of technical rehearsals. As a result, everyone was exhausted; tempers were flaring and patience was thin.

Christine pantomimed, she walked the stage, she reacted. She was in the moment and enjoyed connecting to the music and help bring the scene alive.

The devil's aria was next and she waltzed a fast, daring and unconventional dance to his ministrations. She felt the pull of Mephisto, urging her body to move. It was magical. The stage was finally alive!

The Opera Ghost watched her, appearing as little more than a shadow coming from box five. He could feel the life she had on stage now. He found it hard to pull his focus from her. This was the best he had seen her perform, and in a technical rehearsal no less. He also noticed the gaze of the chorus master and several other important directors lingering on her more than they had before. She finally existed to them, and he was excited to see her career progress.

She was exhausted by the time she hooked her angel wings onto her body for the final scene. The run had had minimal stops and she realized just how much stamina was involved! Breathless, she ran onto the stage with the other angels and posed, lifting graceful hands toward where Marguerite would fly down.

The run ended shortly following that and was hailed a successful rehearsal by everyone involved. Christine was changing out of her costume when Meg approached her, giddy with excitement.

"Christine, some of us have been invited to a cafe this evening, and you simply must come with!" she urged, the dancers all sharing the similar excitement that only a successful run could generate.

Christine hesitated. She did not generally socialize and she had no money to pay for the cafe. She bit her lip and replied, "Perhaps. Thank you for the invite. " She smiled at Meg and went to the sink to wash off her thick stage makeup.

In the shadows, the Opera Ghost was torn. For one, he desired for her to enjoy herself. After all, she had earned it. Things were finally beginning to fall in place for her. On the contrary, a jealous streak coursed through him. Going out would mean that she would likely be approached by young men, suitors even, and he would not tolerate that...Not with her.

As he watched the young woman wash her face, The Ghost made a decision. He decided to see what she would do. Was it playing with fire? Yes. Was it manipulative, perhaps...Yet when she returned to the chorus dressing room, she found a white envelope with her name on it. Asking the other girls about it yielded only shrugs.

Open, the envelope revealed five hundred Francs, as well as a simple note saying that a rising star should not have to live in squalor.

Like her guardian angel, this admirer - for she recognized the handwriting - was fulfilling all of her wishes and needs. How could he possibly know!?

Easy, Christine thought to herself, all ballet rats struggled with funds on their own. It would be odd if she weren't! She deliberated, clutching the envelope to her chest. She had no engagement tonight and her lesson with her teacher was tomorrow evening. Would he approve? She vowed that if she did go out, she would take heed and protect her voice; no shouting or over imbibing. She thought next of her mysterious admirer. He had already shown his wealth and she desperately needed to stay in his favor. Perhaps he would be there tonight? Would he expect her to socialize? Most patrons would, wanting their property to be seen and awed over.

She felt pulled in two directions. She worried over it until Meg returned with a question in her eyes. The hopeful expression on her friend's face did her in. She smiled and accepted the invitation. "Only one hour, though, Meg!"

She wore her blue dress again- as there was really nothing else appropriate. She pinned her hair in a fashionable twist with tendrils falling down her neck. Her ugly brown hat perched high on her head, tilted to at least look intentional. Her brown gloves were a bit threadbare, but few would probably notice in the dim light of the cafe.

She walked the three blocks to the rowdy cafe and breathed deeply, nervously watching the lively crowd spilling out of the establishment. She would have turned on her heels right then and walked away if Meg - in a bright yellow dress that one could see for miles - had not seen her at that moment and called to her.

The thin dancer was standing with two other girls from the opera, who were entertaining well-dressed gentlemen callers. This was not the Dancer's Foyer of the Palais Garnier, and the men were not solely from Paris' upper crust. They all welcomes Christine over, Meg giving her a hug. "Christine! I'm so happy you decided to join us!" she announced, passing Christine a glass of low quality champagne.

"Allow me to introduce you to a gentleman who has made our acquaintance this evening. The Vicomte Raoul de Chagny. Raoul, this is my dearest friend, Christine Daae," Meg gushed excitedly, shoving Christine rather obviously toward a tall, handsome man in dress that was borderline too formal for the cafe. "Mlle. Daaé. A pleasure to make your acquaintance," he offered, his tone refined; his air elegant. He extended a hand to take hers, kissing the back of her hand.

The Opera Ghost's heart burned. An empty attic across the street was his perch for the evening. A pair of opera glasses through a window gave him the view inside the cafe window that he desired. He found himself clutching at the glasses too tightly, his breath going shallow. He was a fool to let her out of his grasp like that. Now this young suitor was going to snatch his nightingale from him.

Christine held the glass awkwardly but attempted to be polite. "De Chagny?" she asked the man in front of her. "I spent some time in my childhood in Chagny. It is a beautiful country."

"It is, isn't it? Did I know you?" He asked curiously, narrowing his gaze, trying to recall her appearance but coming up short. "Tis no matter. Still, I have heard that you are quite the rising star around the Palaise Garnier."

Christine blushed prettily at the compliment and was grateful at his change of topic. She did indeed remember him. As a young boy, he was vivacious and strong...and spoiled and cantankerous. Her father often played his violin for the Comte and his family and she remembered singing along a few times. She was glad he didn't remember her or his prior infatuation with her. Part of the reason she and her father left for Paris was due to his attentions.

Meg must have seen her reluctance and pulled her away to introduce her to others. The women stared pointedly at her worn hat and gloves and the plainness of her dress, but the men hung on her every word with rapt attention. Someone ordered appetizers for the long tables of opera patrons and Christine enjoyed a full stomach for the first time in ages.

She perhaps drank a bit more champagne than necessary, but all of the men kept making sure her glass was full, so she really could not be blamed. Her tolerance was strong, with her younger years beating barflys in drinking games for coins- she could drink Brannvin like water - but it had been years and her body had not been as well cared for as back then.

The shadow across the street watched her with rapt attention. Dear god, she could have them eating out of her hand if she wished. She was so unaware of her power; she could have nearly any patron she wanted if she would gain the self-awareness required to manipulate them.

Still, she drank a bit too heavily than he was comfortable with. This would reflect in her voice tomorrow, he was sure of it. He frowned and observed her more closely. He noted how the Vicomte continued to look at her with bold lecherousness in his eyes.

Christine sat and listened to the simple band and nodded occasionally toward whomever was talking at her at the moment. The room got louder and rowdier around her. A genuine smile did cross her lips as the can can dancers entered and interacted with the crowd. They were funny and witty and kept the attention off of Christine.

The men clapped and cheered for the dancers, but the Vicomte continued to watch Christine. There came a point where everyone was focusing on the dancers and he tried to get her attention repeatedly, unsuccessfully. He finally, in an act of frustration, turned her a little firmly by the shoulder.

"You are a hard woman to talk to, you know," he said, his smile a bit cynical.

She reared back at the manhandling. "My apologies, monsieur." She didn't sound particularly sorry. "There is a lot of stimuli tonight and I don't get out of the conservatoire much."

"Perhaps you wouuld like to retire to a place a bit more quiet, then?" His breath reeked of drink.

She turned her head to the side at the breath hitting her face. Wiggling out of his grasp, she politely declined.

Raoul let her pull away. "Very well then...Enjoy the company here," he said, dejectedly. He was sulking in a rather childish manner by her rejection, like a spoiled brat used to getting what he wished. Exactly how Christine remembered.

Christine thought she had had enough enjoyment for one night. She attempted to approach Meg, but her friend was flooded with theatre employees, laughing and dancing. Christine would feel horrible to pull Meg away, so she paid for her meal and drinks (even though they were meant to be gifted to her) and quietly slipped out of the front door.

Her walk would seem to be quiet enough, yet she couldn't help but feel that she was being followed.

The night's temperature had dropped significantly and Christine crossed her arms firmly over her chest to attempt to retain some body heat. Her boots were loud and quick on the pavement, preventing her from hearing anyone approach.

She felt a shadow loom behind her. Someone was approaching rapidly. Though in the darkness she wouldn't be able to get a good look, it wouldn't be until she felt a hand on her shoulder that she turned and realized who it was.

"Mlle. Daaé. You must let me escort you home. It isn't safe for a woman like you to be alone. Come." It was the Vicomte, as insistent and forceful as ever.

She swallowed her heart which had raised suddenly into her throat and sagged a bit. "Monsieur, you startled me. I truly am only a block or two away. There is no need."

"No truly. I insist," he said, forcing her a bit by the arm.

It was in that moment when an ethereal voice filled the street, seeming to come from inside both of their minds; both of them hearing the same spectral voice.

"Let her go. Now," it boomed. She recognized the ethereal voice. From the end of the street she would see a tall, dark, figure emerge from a door that had opened and shut behind him.

Her eyes were wide and her body did not obey her desire to pull away from the Vicomte and run.

Raoul's hand tentatively loosened on her arm.

"Step away from her. Now," the voice commanded and Raoul obeyed immediately, as if he was compelled in some way.

"Please, Raoul," Christine whispered, frightened not of the voice, but of the voice's assumptions of her.

Raoul stepped back, clearly shaken by what had transpired. "You..just...get gome safely now," he stammered before quickly turning and half-running into the night.

When she turned back to face the doorway, whoever had been standing there was gone.

"T...teacher?"

"I am here...child." The voice replied, trembling. He wanted so badly to reveal himself to her, so much that it caused him great agony.

"Thank you, teacher," she whispered and hurried back to her dormitory.