My Dearest Christine,
I am pleased to say that I am well, and I hope the same of yourself. Nana is no longer with me, but I have sent her a letter with your love. I am now in bording school. St. John's Academy in Stockholm. With all of the work here it has been difficult to find time to write, but I assure you that I miss you terribly.
On my last day at the beach house I collected shells for you. They currently under my bed along with other items I intend for you the next time we meet.
As for your dreams, I hope that when you recieve this your mind is at rest and you sleep pleasently. If not, then I suggest that you work as hard as you can. Meet the Angel's expectations perhaps he will not be so strict, and eventually leave you in peace.
With love,
Roul
Christine read the letter once more before kissing it and opening her dresser drawer. The letter piled inside almost filled the little corner she reserved for these pieces of paper. Each letter she recieved from him was placed in the top drawer after a habitual kiss. Closing the drawer she thought to herself of what to do.
The dreams continued, and were becoming more terrifying. Multiple times Meg awoke her in time to hear her cries echoing off of the stone walls of the dormitories. Madame Giry would come in her dressing gown, hair in cap and candle in hand, to see if she was alright. Christine hated to bother her teacher in the middle of the night, but she had to admit that Madame's presence was comforting.
This evening she would dream again, and once more she would be visited by the Angel of Music. She was not sure if Roul believed that the Angel was visiting her in her dreams, but what he said seemed to make semse. She had not been putting her best efforts into her studies out of fear, but meeting the Angel's expectations may help.
Wrapping herself in her blankets and placing her head on the pillow, Christine prepared for the lesson of the night.
Christine searched the darkness as she did every night, hoping the Angel of Music would reveal himself to her.
"Welcome child," said the Angel's voice.
"Where shall we begin?" Christine asked.
"Chromatic scales, beginning in F, moving up a half step when you reach the root."
"Yes sir," she stated, and began the exercise.
"But be mindful of the B flat," the Angel interrupted. "You have a tendency to make it sharp."
Christine continued the run, paying close attention to her pitch.
"Again," he demanded. "Notes are not steps on a stair case that you must stomp on to reach the next one. Use the notes to form a phrase."
"Of course," was all she said. Focusing on making phrases, her voice was like ribbon in the space of her dream.
"Good," mused the voice. "Well done. Now, we shall begin on the aria I had given to you. You remember how it goes?"
"I do."
Christine sang her heart into the song, pouring her soul into the music she was creating.
"Beautiful," whispered the Angel. "You have made remarkable progress this lesson. Your gift will continue to grow if you contine to listen to me."
Christine was almost dizzy with joy. "I will pray for strength, love, and thank the Lord for your assistance."
"That you shall."
The next morning Christine awoke, not from Meg shaking her away from torment, but from the feeling of being rested. For the first time, in a long time, Christine had felt peace.
Quickley slipping out of bed, she ran to the chapel. She was alone, but such was normal. Christine lit her father's prayer candle and knelt on the cold stone floor.
"Father, thank you for the gift of your Angel of Music. I pray for continuous strength and peace, and that some day I shall meet my mentor face to face, so that I may thank him. Amen."