A/N: Let me know what you think so far~

At first, she hardly realized what had happened.

She had been sitting alone (or so she thought), trying desperately not to cry, for she didn't know if she had enough tears left to spend. Then, there was a tremor in the air, a tickling that sat at the edge of her ear.

Perplexed, but not afraid, she wondered if it was a tourist roaming outside.

But, as the words came to her, she gasped and jumped back into the desk, wobbling the candles. If she hadn't had the foresight to catch them, it certainly could have caused a fire. Turning slowly back around, she couldn't believe it.

Here she had been, wistfully asking for her father's renewed presence, and then...

No words could describe it.

Never had anyone sung with her, no one even knew she could do such a thing! Yet, another voice trespassed, and she couldn't say a negative thing about it.

So lovely, intricately woven yet purposefully simple, it was everything and nothing. It hit the deepest lows and pierced the mountainous highs. Who could own such a voice? It was downright angelic, definitely otherworldly in its skill.

Her body's instinct was to fly, there was someone here! Danger! But her enviously curious mind anchored her, halting all attempts to run. Looking at the door, she had no idea where it came from. Was there someone on the other side?

Unable to resist, she ventured over. Pulling the knob and peering sheepishly out, she attempted to spot an apparition.

No one. The gloomy hall was as empty as the graveyard shift.

But it had been real! It was here, she was sure of it!

A tenuous quiet reigned, perhaps she had made it up in her mind. Scoffing, there was no way she could create such an original score out of thin air. It was only a verse, a single thing that alighted her passion. A sweet sound, addicting in its nature, her soul screamed for more against her better judgments.

It did not reveal itself, she wasn't sure how to provoke it.

She whispered:

"Hello? Who's there?"

Nothing but the buzz of burning candles and cascading dust.

A mix of disappointment and terror, she pondered how to get the being to unmask itself. With a mounting embarrassment, she realized it probably wanted her to sing back.

But she had never done such a thing in front of a stranger! The whole reason for finding such a secluded space was to circumvent any and all who might be listening. Yet it seemed someone, or something, had found her, and it was no trivial person.

Another secrecy, another puzzle to solve, she shut her eyes firmly, squeezing her face so she could pretend she was still alone. Hands clenched, she positioned her body as one who prepares for battle and forced herself to sit.

A cloud of dust puffed around her, she held her breath and waited for the right wave of feeling to come to her.

Brain jumbled she sorted her thoughts, trying to find a composition that would fit this situation, but there was none. So she went with the direct, and loosened her muscles, numbed her tightly wound nerves.

"Angel or father, friend or phantom. Who is it there staring?"

He had not expected this.

She had leapt away, this had been bound to happen. He kicked himself, for he knew he came on too strong and had hung his head in defeat, hoping she wouldn't report him to the police. Images of being dragged from his hideout had filled his mind.

But, when he looked back up, she was still there, turning away from the door. A torrent of astonishment, his heart had beat wildly in his chest. He watched as she practically turned herself to stone, scrunching into a box, closed her bright, hazel eyes, and then plopped solidly onto the ground.

Eagerly, he waited for her next move. Would she scream? Would she throw a candle at the mirror? A thousand situations, each more cynical than the last, blanketed his expectations. Yet again, she dumbfounded him.

She had sung back! Was she actually trying to commune with him? The monster in the shadows? The nameless fear in the night?

Then, her fluttering lids blinked up, and she peered curiously around, awaiting his response.

Nothing had happened, and her disillusionment began to warp her speculations.

Maybe I did really make it up...

She stood to leave.

"Too long you've wandered in winter."

Spine going rigid, she spun around, her mouth in a 'o.' Looking around, head on a swivel, she tried to find the face to match the voice, but in obscurity he still hid.

"Far from my fathering gaze."

It was too much, too beautiful. The edges of her vision went black, she stumbled and fell once more to the floor, palms covered in powder. Being grounded seemed to help, she felt the wood beneath her fingertips, the grains of dust, and opened her senses, let her lids droop.

Then, she recalled what her father had said to her. He had told her that she had been "blessed by angels."

Everything began to click. Was this an angel? Father's angel? Come at last?

Spirit burning, mind pounding, eyes widening, she gave a brilliant smile, one of pure joy. The light of dawn had broken.

With renewed voracity, her lungs unfastened, and she replied:

"Angel, I hear you. Speak. I listen. Stay by my side, guide me."

What had she called him? Angel? If he hadn't been so bewitched by her voice, her face, he would have laughed bitterly. If only she knew...

They were both setting things in motion that were not meant to be, not meant to spin. It was if the earth had decided to turn the other way, as if the clocks went backwards. But in this tiny room of history and secrets, it did not matter.

The two of them continued to weave a duet together. She sought his direction, his advice, and he sought her friendship, her puzzling affection. With each note, they grew more intertwined to one another. If there had been an unexpected guest at the door, he or she would have cried at the inescapable splendor, the choir of the Seraphim just beyond their sight.

Her innocent tenor and his depth of dexterity painted a masterpiece. There had not been many concrete words, but they tested one another's range, trying to balance or best each other. Sometimes she would hit the note just right, and then he would complicate the composition, egging her on. It was both a contest and a compliment.

Even without knowing him, she discerned that he had spent a lifetime, or maybe a thousand, mastering his craft. Sometimes, she had to pause, just so she could enjoy the magnificence of it. Yet, she wouldn't stay out for long, the temptation to join in too strong.

No thought was given to fear. When they sang, she felt untouchable.

By the end of the lesson, when each could no longer continue, she sat happily back on the vanity desk. He was sprawled against the dank cavern wall. Both were breathing heavily, reflecting poignantly on the odd turn of events.

She had sung with the heavens, unaware that he sat far closer. A stab of guilt hit him in the stomach. It was wrong of him to play with her vulnerabilities, for it was quite transparent that she was in mourning. Then again, when had anyone paid his feelings any consideration? Plus, it was better for her not to know. Not yet, anyway.

He would have to be careful, cautious about his eventual reveal. It was luck that she hadn't dashed away yet, wailing like a banshee to the authorities.

The silence became remorsefully dull without the grandeur of the pair.

Not at any moment had they not been singing. How would they part?

Instinctively, she felt the sun rising. Practice would be soon. It appeared to be another long day ahead of her. It would be doubly tedious for him.

Sighing, she rested her head against the smaller mirror's frame, looking back at herself in the other, larger reflection in front of her. For a moment, their eyes met, and he stiffened. It was clear she could not see him, but it still made his hair stand on edge.

"Goodbye, my angel," she said sadly after a pause. "I'll be back."

Tracing her movements, she did not await his answer as she wrenched the door open and escaped.

"And I will be waiting," he replied when she was gone.