There was chattering all around her. Christine sat there silently, twirling some hair around her finger, pretending to be staring at the score in her lap. Men and women were talking and laughing, and she was sitting in a corner, feeling very lonely in the crowd.

It was her first day of rehearsal at the Opera House, and she was nervous. She had woken early that morning, too anxious to go back to sleep. Erik had assured her that nothing would be required of her except to show up and blend in with the mix of voices.

"Of course, that will not last long," he had said. "Soon you will begin to shine, as you deserve."

He had forbidden her to pay any attention to any vocal advice anyone gave her, stating that everyone there was incompetent regarding vocal perfection. He didn't want her 'perfect instrument' to be 'damaged' by listening to those 'over-confident screeching monkeys.' His comment had made her giggle, and he had looked a little suspicious at her laughter.

They were in a large practice room with plenty of seats for everyone. Two pianos were at the front of the room, and a large whiteboard was nailed to the wall. There was a black staff across it, and a few notes had been scribbled onto it.

Before too long, the door opened, and two men walked in. Christine recognized one of them—Mr. Reyer, who had greeted, escorted, and accompanied her on the day of her audition. She didn't try to catch his eye, though, instead staring at her lap again. The two men went to the front of the room, putting down some thick folders on the benches. Mr. Reyer cleared his throat, and the few dozen people in the room hushed.

"Welcome back from your well-deserved break," Mr. Reyer said. "In case you weren't aware, Norma is going over very well." There were a few titters, and Mr. Reyer waited for silence with an eyebrow raised. When everyone was still again, he said, "As you know, it is time for our gala. I'll be notifying the soloists, duets, ensembles, Et cetera, within the week. However, that does not mean we are taking a break from a production. Today we'll begin rehearsals for Figaro." There was another outbreak, and people began whispering excitedly. Mr. Reyer raised his hand in a signal for silence, and the group quickly grew quiet.

Mr. Reyer paused for a little before saying, "Yes, I know it's a favorite of many, but let's try to be professional about this. Mr. Gabriel will take you through much of the first act today. Please divide yourselves up into sections. And please give Mr. Gabriel your undivided attention so that you'll have a productive rehearsal." Mr. Reyer turned to go, and people began opening their scores. The other man, presumably Mr. Gabriel, sat down to one of the pianos and opened up a folder, pulling out a heavy score of paper.

"Oh, wait," Mr. Reyer suddenly said, turning back around. "I almost forgot. We have a new member of our little Opera House family joining us today."

Christine felt her cheeks heat up. She frantically, silently, and motionlessly begged Mr. Reyer not to do this, but of course he was not a mind reader, and he continued:

"Miss Christine Daae auditioned for us a couple weeks ago, and we're happy to have her here. Why don't you stand up, Miss Daae, and tell everyone a bit about yourself?"

Christine looked around and then slowly stood, clutching the score in front of her like some sort of shield. Everyone turned to look at her. She stared straight at the whiteboard, at the blue music notes written on it, and said stutteringly,

"I'm—Christine, and I—"

She was cut off by the doors opening, and everyone turned to look as someone else walked in. Christine immediately and gratefully sat down. The woman in question who had just walked in was talking loudly on a cell phone, and after a moment Christine realized the woman was speaking in rapid Spanish. A few people turned and whispered to themselves, and Christine saw more than one annoyed look directed toward the woman.

She was tall, slim, and positively gorgeous, with long, shiny black hair, olive skin, and perfect white teeth. She was dressed very fashionably, and a big black handbag was swinging from her arm as she walked over to a chair and took a seat. After a few more moments, the woman looked around at the company who was all staring at her in impatience, gave a smile, and said 'Adiós' into her phone before hanging it up and putting it into her pocket.

"We're glad to see you made it, Señora," Mr. Reyer said, a tight smile stretching his lips. "Have a good rehearsal."

The woman waggled her fingers as Mr. Reyer left, and she opened the score with something like bored indifference. Mr. Gabriel called for attention, and the rehearsal began. It was nothing but a sing-through, and Christine tried to keep up with everyone else. It wasn't that difficult, but she was careful because she didn't want to make a mistake and embarrass herself in front of everyone.

As the rehearsal continued, even Christine could sense a slight struggle for power between Mr. Gabriel and the woman who had entered late. She was apparently playing the leading female role, Susanna, and Christine was intimidated by the woman's voice. It was big, unashamed, and gorgeous. She buried her face in her script as if it would drown out the woman's voice. She was suddenly ashamed about her own weak little lyric soprano voice.

The rehearsal was long and uncomfortable, as the woman playing Susanna had many unpleasant things to say about Mr. Gabriel, the ensemble, and the Opera House. Christine looked around and noted that many people were rolling their eyes or muttering to each other, leading her to believe that this was a regular occurrence. Although that made her feel a little better, it was still somewhat discomforting when the woman said that the ensemble was holding her back and that the rest of the women were envious of her.

"Señora, please," Mr. Gabriel said tiredly, rubbing his face. "Please just get through this one aria, and then you're excused for the day."

The woman hmmphed and stuck her nose in the air, but she sang what was required and then left, her heels clacking loudly and her long, shiny hair swinging wildly.

The rehearsal ended soon after she left—apparently she caused them to run long with her comments. Christine made no attempt to socialize, and she immediately left the room, glancing behind her a few times to ensure that she wasn't followed. She hoped someone didn't pop out of a room and demand to know where she was going.

Erik had carefully explained the layout, and she hurried past some closed doors as well as open ones. True to Erik's word, a small hallway appeared on her left, and she turned and went down it, heading for the last door on the right. Glancing around her shoulder once again, she opened the door and peeked inside. It was a small room with hardwood floor, and there was a baby grand piano situated in the middle of it. Erik was standing on the other side of the piano, looking at her expectantly.

They had worked very hard for the last week, more often than not leaving the run-down theater only when they had to. Christine found that if she focused hard and thought of nothing else, the music overwhelmed the crushing sorrow. Erik's lessons left her exhausted, and she was grateful for the distraction. She liked going home and crashing. She didn't want to stay up late and cry about her father.

Now that she would be rehearsing regularly with the Opera company, Erik had told her that he would hold his lessons with her in the Opera House itself instead of wasting time by forcing her to traipse back and forth across the city on the buses. She had been a little surprised that he would give her lessons in such a…public place, but he hadn't said anything about it, and so neither would she.

"Hi!" she said, trying not to be nervous. Something about the new atmosphere and setting of the lessons was a little jarring. It was weird to see Erik in a place other than the dark streets or the dim, old, dusty theater. She stepped in and closed the door behind her.

There were some papers on the stand, and she glanced at Erik to see that he was writing something. She looked back at the papers, seeing that it was handwritten music—Erik's, of course, as it had that distinctive, inelegant scrawl. It looked jumbled, and she could hardly tell where one measure ended and another began. She was reminded of Beethoven a bit. She had seen some pictures of the famous composer's handwritten pieces in the book Raoul had given to her for Christmas. There were numerous clumped notes, several ones that had been scribbled out, and some unintelligible notes in the margins.

"Tell me your impressions from your first rehearsal," Erik then said, and she jumped a little before snapping her gaze back to his. She shrugged.

"Fine, I guess," she said, reaching out to touch some of the piano keys. "I feel a little…um, intimidated, honestly. There are so many amazing singers. This one lady—I guess she's playing the lead in the next opera—she has such a beautiful voice."

Erik clenched a fist and narrowed his eyes at her comment.

"What?" he said, almost hissed. "Carlotta Guidicelli?"

Christine frowned. "Is that her name? I don't know. She's from Spain, I think."

Erik's chin stiffened, and he said coldly, "I have obviously not taught you well enough if you think Carlotta Guidicelli has a praise-worthy voice!"

"What do you mean?" Christine asked, confused. "It was beautiful!"

He looked incredibly insulted. "Do not ever presume that Carlotta Guidicelli's voice is anything other than a rapid series of ear-splitting shrieks."

"Oh," she said, completely confused. "Uh…okay."

He was silent for a moment, and then he waved his hand. "It is of no concern at the moment," he said, walking around. She edged to the other side, keeping the piano between them. He continued: "After more time has passed and you have been here longer, you will come to realize how far your voice surpasses all those who sing here."

It was strange and almost uncomfortable how Erik continually told her that her voice was a 'perfect instrument.' For a man so obviously cold, critical, and demeaning, it was almost unbelievable that he considered her little voice to be something special and worth training.

As the days passed and she fell into a constant routine of rehearsals and lessons, it was easier to suppress the grief. Her days were spent singing and learning, and then she walked the few blocks back to her apartment before falling into a heavy sleep. Erik seemed almost glad with the progress she was making. He was the…nicest he'd ever been to her. He wasn't exactly nice, per se, but he wasn't as sharp and impatient as he had been. Still, there were little things that set him off for no apparent reason.

Once she had been humming one of her favorite pieces—a duet for violin and cello that had been written by a late British composer, the one that had been playing that night at Raoul's work party. The melody was incredibly beautiful, and she sang it softly to herself as she was gathering her things, getting ready to go home for the night.

To her alarm and surprise, there was a sudden bang on the piano, and she looked up quickly to see that Erik had smashed his fists into the keyboard.

"Don't you ever sing that again, do you hear me?" he snarled. "Never again!"

"Okay," she said hastily, clutching her things to her chest and backing away quickly. "I'm—I'm really sorry. I didn't know."

He looked at her and then sighed, running his long fingers through his hair. "Of course you would not know," he said, seemingly more to himself. "Of course not."

She had watched him with wide eyes for five more seconds before offering a hasty goodbye and darting out the door. He never offered any explanation.

And one normal Friday afternoon, she had been absently chattering to him as she copied his notes onto some of her personal music. His handwriting was hard to decipher; she was getting good at it, though she still had occasional trouble.

"I'm so glad that it's Friday," she said. "I need the weekend. Thanks for giving me Saturdays off, by the way. What's this word say? Erik?"

He glanced at the word she was pointing to. "Glissando," he grunted.

"Thanks." She wrote it down. "Anyway, Raoul wants to take me hiking tomorrow because the weather's supposed to be really nice. I'm excited. Can you believe I've never been? Imagine—a Swede that's never been hiking!"

He looked up to her sharply. "You are still with that boy?" he snapped.

"Well, yeah," she said, instantly cautious. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because he does not understand your music," Erik replied. "He will sequester you into a dreary suburban life with disgusting children and filthy domestic animals, and the extent of your singing will be that dreadful Brahms lullaby to your shrieking brats."

Christine gaped. "That's…an awful thing to say," she whispered.

"The truth is oftentimes awful," he said, unfazed by her reaction.

"Erik, I—I've told you before. Maybe Raoul doesn't understand why I'm singing, but he supports me. He knows that I want to do this. He wouldn't do any of the stuff you said. If I want to sing, he'll let me."

Erik glared, unconvinced, and said, "It is better for all involved if you end this relationship as quickly as you can."

"I like Raoul," Christine said, getting a little irritated by Erik's continual insults towards her relationship. "I don't want to break up with him."

"It is ultimately in your benefit if you do so," Erik said, his fingers curling into fists.

"Really?" she snapped. "Is it really, Erik?"

He stood sharply, and she quelled immediately. At the first sign of serious anger from him, she was cowed. It was then that she reminded herself that he was a murderer. He killed people for money. He was not a man to be pressured or pushed. Even though she was no longer constantly afraid of him, she knew she needed to always maintain a certain distance and wariness when it came to her masked teacher.

"Really," he hissed at last. She gathered up her things quickly and left, extremely glad that she could spend two days away from him. He somehow riled up emotions that she didn't often feel, and sometimes they scared her a little.

It was always a small relief to go back to Raoul. He was a normal guy, and he didn't kill people. He also wasn't a musical genius, but it probably would have been too much of a good thing if he was.

They spent an enjoyable weekend together, and she was glad to have a small break from the rigid rehearsals and her demanding lessons from Erik. But going to church on Sunday was still a difficult task, and she cried that night.

However, for all the sadness and grief, she was feeling a bit better than she had the week before as she went to rehearsals the next morning. Carlotta Giudicelli was late, as usual, and spent a good deal of time texting on her phone instead of singing. When Mr. Gabriel asked her to put it away and focus, she merely glared at him and returned to what she was doing.

After a difficult rehearsal, Christine stood gratefully, her body stiff from sitting in a chair for so many hours. As she was gathering her things, she suddenly heard,

"Miss Daae? Can I talk to you for a moment?"

Her head snapped up, and she saw Mr. Gabriel watching her. Christine glanced around and then walked down to the chorus-master, anxiety quickly brewing in her stomach. As Mr. Gabriel opened his mouth to speak, he was interrupted by a tirade of angry Spanish from Carlotta. They both looked over and watched wordlessly as Carlotta yelled at two women. From what Christine could gather from the occasional English sentence, the two women had tittered at her and had bumped into her roughly on purpose. Then Carlotta grabbed her purse and stormed off, still yelling.

Mr. Gabriel sighed deeply and rubbed his eyes for a moment. The rest of the company filtered out as well. Some were laughing at Carlotta.

"As I was about to say, Miss Daae," Mr. Gabriel then said, leaning against the piano, looking tired. "Mr. Reyer said you did an incredible job during your audition. I'm sorry I wasn't able to attend."

"Oh," she said, clutching her things tightly.

"Anyway, I'm sure you're aware of the gala coming up in a couple of weeks."

Christine nodded. True to Mr. Reyer's words, those people who had been selected to sing were notified. Christine had tried not to be disappointed that she wasn't one of them. After all, she was the newest member of the company. It wasn't as if she was going to suddenly get all the solos. And Erik hadn't mentioned it, so she tried not to fret.

"Well, following the gala there's usually a little—not little, really—a party that happens afterward in the Opera's ballroom. You know the kind; those rich, annoying parties with champagne and rented tuxes and ugly dresses and borrowed jewelry…"

"Yeah," she said. She did know those parties—all too well.

"It's a time for the patrons to mingle with the performers and the administration of the Opera House," Mr. Gabriel said. "There's usually some light entertainment during it. We have string quartets or jazz pianists or something along those lines. Anyway, this year Mr. Reyer wanted me to ask you if you'd be willing to sing a couple songs during the after-party."

Christine stared at him. "Really?" she said, her voice cracking. She blushed.

Mr. Gabriel smiled a little. "Sure," he said. "Why not? Apparently you've got a good set of lungs. Mr. Reyer was very impressed. And it'd be a nice way to sort of introduce our newest member to our patrons. You don't seem to be the type of girl who'd go out and make sure everyone noticed her…like some of our other company members." They both knew to whom he was referring, but neither offered the name. Mr. Gabriel continued: "So this will be good for you, I think. Just one or two songs, you understand, and nothing distracting. I'm sure a couple nice ballads would do just fine. And you know it's nothing that huge. Don't be offended if only a couple people end up applauding. Most will be busy talking or eating the free food."

Christine giggled a little. "Yeah, I know. Just—wow. Thank you so much! I promise I'll do my best."

He smiled again. "Good, that's what we want to hear. Have a nice afternoon."

She nodded, hurrying toward the door, calling, "You too! Thanks again!"

Feeling elated, Christine ran the entire way to her practice room. She couldn't believe her luck.

Flinging open the door, she cried, "Erik! Guess what?"

He looked up at her, and she rushed in, shutting the door behind her. Dropping her stuff on the floor, she sat on the piano bench to catch her breath and looked up at him.

"Guess what?" she repeated, grinning broadly.

"Pray tell me immediately. I will die if you do not at once," he said dryly, and she laughed again.

"They asked me to sing at the gala—okay, not really at the gala. They want me to sing at the party afterward. But still! Isn't that so exciting? I'm so excited!" She was flushed, and she continued to grin at him. "I was thinking that I could sing my audition song again. It's nice, isn't it? And then I have this other song in mind—Mr. Gabriel said I could sing one or two. It's this really pretty piece from—"

"I have your song here," Erik interrupted, handing over five pages of music. "This is what you will sing."

"Oh." Christine took it and looked it over. "This is okay. But for my other one, can I—?"

He interrupted a second time. "You will only be singing one song."

Her grin dropped a little, and she was confused. "But…wouldn't it be better if I sang two? So that…people heard me more?"

"One song is all you will need, my dear."

"Okay," she said. "If you think so." She hardly ever knew the reasons for the things Erik did, but they usually wielded good results. If he thought that she should only sing one song, she would do so.

After the lesson had ended, Christine gathered up her music and other belongings, watching Erik. It was still a little hard to believe that she took voice lessons from the Phantom—yet he sat in front of her, looking very human with his baggy clothing, long limbs, and black mask. She looked at it curiously.

"Hey, Erik?" she said, her heart beginning to hammer as she finally prepared to ask the question that had haunted her for months.

He looked up in response, waiting for her to say something.

"I was just—um. Please don't get mad, okay? I was just wondering…why you're…um, still wearing that mask around me. You know I wouldn't tell the police about you, right?"

His stare made her uncomfortable, and she had to look away and down at the top of the piano.

"If I took off this mask, you would run to the authorities," he said.

"What do you mean?" she asked, more confused than ever. "No I wouldn't! I mean…you've done bad things. You—you kill people. But after all you've done for me, I couldn't just…I know you paid all those bills for me. You brought my dad back to me. I couldn't just betray you like that. You really can take it off, I promise."

His bottom lip stretched, and by his eyes, she could tell that he was smiling, though there was no humor in his gaze or posture.

"I will only say this once to you, Christine: you will never touch my mask. Is that understood?"

She nodded. "Of course I wouldn't touch it. But…whenever you wanna take it off, that's fine with me."

He chuckled darkly, and it was somehow beautiful and scary. After quickly ensuring that she had everything packed away, she blurted a quick 'goodbye' and rushed out of the Opera House, his words and laughter continually swimming in her mind.