A/N: Whee, I already have two reviews!

Tink20: My first ever reviewer, yay! You are my hero! Thank you so much, getting a review is truly the most wonderful feeling in the world.

Kchan88: Thank you SO much, I'm glad that you like it. Hopefully I can keep up to par.

You guys have no idea how encouraging it is to get a review. And I still am beta-less, so constructive criticism is amazingly wonderfully helpful to me!

…Compliments don't hurt either.

Disclaimer: I still don't own any of these people. Not even Gabion. I stole his name from Leroux; he was an acting-manager of the Opera.

Chapter 2: In Which Things Begin

"Christine!"

The girl in question gave a small chuckle at the sound of Meg's voice, clearly audible through the hubbub of the departing class. Meg always did have a natural aptitude for projection. Sliding her note-book back in her bag, she found her friend-cum-room-mate waiting for her at the door.

"Next time perhaps could you could call a bit louder? Really, I could hardly hear you!"

"Har-dee-har. And here I was, about to invite you to lunch! Unappreciative lout!" Meg gave her a crooked smile. "I suppose I could be the bigger person here and still ask you if you want to dine with the rats and I."

"I would if I could, but I've got to run. Mr. Gabion said he wanted to talk to me." She gestured to the nonexistent vocal teacher.

"About what?" Meg raised an eyebrow, and Christine shrugged.

"He didn't say."

"Oh." Meg frowned. Well if you get out soon and in one piece, we'll be at our usual haunt."

"Duly noted." They parted and Christine began her trek to Mr. Gabion's office across campus, almost relieved she had an excuse not to go. The 'rats', as Meg so lovingly referred to them, were a small circle of dancers who had a reputation for knowing everything about everyone. They giggled far too much, and their gossip always got on Christine's nerves. She really didn't give a lick about anyone else's love life, and she knew she wouldn't appreciate anyone twittering about hers. She frowned as she realised she didn't exactly have a love life.

Well, she reasoned, if I did have one, I wouldn't want anyone talking about it.

She shoved her hands in her pockets, trying to fathom what Mr. Gabion wanted. Her head spun with a million worst-case scenarios. I'll bet you've failed, snickered a small voice in her head. Or maybe you'll have to leave the school altogether! Christine frowned. He had sounded rather grim about it…

Her sensible side clucked its tongue at the voice. Don't be ridiculous, it scolded, it's probably nothing to worry about.

No one asked you, the voice protested bitterly.

"I'm going mad," muttered Christine. She soon found himself at his office door, which her stomach greeted with some unpleasant gymnastic feats. She took a deep breath, and rapped twice on the door.

"Come in," a muffled voice instructed her. She found Mr. Gabion seated at his desk, papers scattered haphazardly about his desk. "Oh, Christine! Good, I was hoping you could come. Please, have a seat. I want to talk to you about something."

"He said I should find a private tutor." Christine was nearly drowned out by an outburst of laughter originating from the next table. The usually calm café was now packed with students escaping the torrents of rain outside. The downpour had come quite suddenly, and thus Christine was rather damp as she slid into a seat next to Meg and the rats.

"Well, it couldn't hurt, I suppose." Meg frowned pensively.

"My voice, no, but it will sure be a strain on my wallet." She closed her eyes, savouring the taste of the coffee – she and Meg's mutual weakness – and trying not to think about the expense of a tutor. Prices were ludicrous for voice teachers nowadays, and she knew full well she could never afford one.

"Good point. Why did he say you needed one, anyway?"

"Well, he said vocally I'm fine right now, but I could be really great with training and practise beyond what I can get here." He was right, really. Raw talent was fine when she was younger, but she was dealing with real singers now. Some of them had been training their entire lives. If she was going to make it, she'd need to be able to keep up.

"Oh. So, are you going to?"

"What?"

"Are you going to find a tutor? Pay attention, dear."

"Well, there's no harm in looking around, I suppose." Christine fell into thought as the conversation turned to other matters. Knowing them, it was probably something very juicy. That was one thing that Christine and Meg never saw eye-to-eye on; Christine thought talking about other people like that was wrong, and Meg thought it was jolly good fun. Still, Christine couldn't help but smile as she watched her lively friend converse. Meg had been one of the constants in her life for quite a long time; they'd gone through their school years practically joined at the hip. Best friends and confidantes, they told each other everything, be it dark secrets, silly quirks, secret crushes, hopes and dreams. Meg was the only person who knew any of Christine's secrets. In fact, she was the only person who really knew anything about Christine at all. She was not at all social, and although this severely limited her circle of friends, it had also graciously kept her free from having any enemies.

Until now.

Carlotta Gudicelli absolutely, positively, utterly and entirely detested her, and poor Christine couldn't for the life of her figure out why. She had been unfailingly nice to her, for being nice, if not exactly friendly, was Christine's way. Upon confiding this to Meg, the little dancer had told her that Carlotta saw Christine as a threat.

"I mean, look," she'd said. "You're both very pretty girls, not to mention the two best sopranos in the class. She hates that the guys are always gawking at you and not her." That had made Christine blush. Honestly though, she thought to herself, couldn't Carlotta see she had no interest in any of those guys? Come to think of it, she'd never taken in interest in any guys. Sure, she'd had the odd crush or two, but who hasn't? She'd always been convinced, against Meg's intense protestation, that no guy would be interested in her, and thus never gave them a second thought. They were crude, loud, and immature creatures, and most of the time she had nothing to do with them.

Of course, Christine was a romantic at heart, and she often dreamed of the day she'd meet her knight in shining armour. Handsome, chivalrous, and charming, one day he'd whisk her away from her ordinary life, and they'd live happily ever after. She chided herself for indulging in such childish fantasies, but she couldn't stop herself from half-believing it. Perhaps, sometimes, stories could come true.

It was a cold, dreary September morning when Christine set about finding a tutor. A rather optimistic person by nature, she told herself that by the end of the day, she would find the perfect tutor, and somehow find a way to pay for it. And now it was a cold, dreary September afternoon, and she sat slumped on a bench, rejection weighing heavily on her. She'd looked all over the city, and everyone she found was more than happy to take her on – until they came to the matter of payment. She wrapped her arms tightly around her body, as much of an attempt to console herself as a way to ward off the cold autumn air. A curtain of chestnut curls fell over her face as she stared down at the ground, and hot tears stung her eyes even as she scolded herself for letting it get to her like this. I was an idiot to do this in the first place. I knew I couldn't get a teacher without money. Knowing she'd soon fall to pieces if she didn't busy herself with something, she quickly stood from the bench and set out at a brisk pace toward the campus. She allowed herself to think of nothing but her plans for the rest of the day as she focused on the rise and fall of her shoes. Once she got back, she'd do some studying, and then maybe she and Meg could go—

Her scheduling was interrupted as she walked headlong into someone, sending them both crashing to the ground. She let out a small yelp of pain and surprise as her chin and elbow crashed into the pavement.

"I'm sorry! I wasn't paying attention, oh I'm so sorry!" She apologised profusely as she scrambled to her feet, helping dust off the stranger as he – for she soon saw that it was indeed a he – rose to his feet. He was perhaps thirty-something, with olive skin and dark, but friendly features.

"It's quite alright, Miss. Are you hurt?"

"Nono, I'm fine. I really, really am sorry, I'm just distracted… I'm having trouble finding a voice teacher and--" she frowned. "Why am I telling you this, you don't care. I'm sorry; I'll just be going now."

"It's really okay." He gave her a kind smile. "Good luck finding a teacher."

"Thanks"

And with that, they went their separate ways.