CHAPTER TWO:

Erik POV

How many terrible singers were at the Opera Populaire? Well, more than I cared to hear lets put it that way. Even worse to hear were the stories. More specifically, stories of me.

The Opera Ghost is evil. The Opera Ghost will murder an innocent girl in the blink of an eye! At least, according to them I would.

I had no such intentions that early on. I certainly could have caused that much trouble, of course, but there was no need for it. Christine hadn't arrived then.

I don't exactly know when she came. I just remember it was early January when I first heard someone crying in the chapel.

Crying wasn't all that special to tell the truth. I would occasionally make girls cry with my frightening shadow on the walls, and amazing illusions, but mainly the ballerinas whimpered late at night because of ghost stories and arguments earlier on that day. Not one of them cried over their dead parents, which was probably why I was drawn to Christine from the start.

I had often thought this crying was from an angel at first, for when I investigated, I found no one to be there. But eventually I spotted a young ballerina with black curls and hazel eyes weeping at the altar.

She intrigued me. I had never seen anyone cry here before. Everyone else would simply light a candle, say a prayer or two and depart, but she would stay for hours at a time.

I stayed silent at first, just watching her and not responding to her grieving, but steadily I developed an unexplainable fondness for her.

Maybe it was because she didn't believe the gruesome rumors that the others spread of me, or because she asked God to bless the outcasts like me, or maybe it was simply because she had an odd beauty to her. She wasn't the innocent little damsel that wins the heart of every man she meets. In reality she was actually quite plain. But something about her struck a flame within me that had never been lit before, and I eventually had to respond to her requests.

"Child, why do you weep so?" I called to her softly, watching her perk her head up wildly like a lamb at the bark of a sheepdog.

"Wh-who's there?" she called out, warily. I was glad she hadn't run like the other girls. She seemed much braver. I knew what to answer. I had been listening to her prayers long enough.

"I am your angel, my child. Your father has sent me, and I have finally found you," I told her sweetly, feeling as though I were the snake coaxing Eve to eat the apple. Her bright young face lit up with utter joy, and I didn't regret calling out so much.

"Oh, my Angel! I've waited so long for you!" she told me, looking around the room, for she wasn't quite sure where I resided. I turned a knob that connected to her father's candle, making it glow brighter. She let her gaze rest on this, content to think I was the burning flame.

"I have waited long to find you as well, ma Cherie," I told her, though still not exactly sure why such a young girl had provoked such a kinder side of me.

She seemed quite happy by this, smiling at the candle.

"My child, I wish to know your name." I knew she was going to wonder why (she was very inquisitive by nature), so I explained. "Your father had no time to tell me when he arrived, child."

This satisfied her, and she nodded to show she understood.

"My name is Christine, my Angel." Christine…the name burned in my mind like it had been branded there. It was beautiful, a shame I couldn't tell her mine. But, I was sure she would be content to call me her Angel, for now…

"Angel… will you teach me how to sing?" she asked in a whisper, as if afraid I would say no. I considered it for a moment. Surely she couldn't be worse than La Carlotta?

"I will need to hear you sing first, Christine," I replied, bracing myself in case she was terrible. She nodded and opened her mouth in song.

There was talent there, oh yes, definite talent, but her voice was unused, raw and in need of training. She didn't know her range yet. Understandable for a nine-year old, but that would have to be fixed. She attempted a note that was far too high, and I winced a little. She seemed to know it was off and silenced.

"Angel?" She called after a moment, looking frightened that I was gone.

"I'm still here, Christine," I assured her, making the candle glow brighter.

"D-did I do well?" I smiled. Such an innocent question! I liked her better than the other sopranos already.

"Yes, but you will still need training." This didn't offend her apparently, for she nodded and smiled cheerfully.

"I will train you later, Christine," I promised her, realizing how late it was. Madame Giry would slaughter me if I kept little Christine up too long.

"What? Why?" she asked, sounding upset I was leaving so soon.

"I am only allowed away from Heaven for a short time, Christine." Not that you'll ever go to Heaven, the voice in my head scolded me, but I shooed it away.

She nodded sadly.

"Goodnight, Fa~ I mean, Angel," she corrected, for she had nearly called me Father. I laughed softly.

"I will tell your father goodnight for you, little one," I told her, just to see her smile again which she did, more cheerfully than ever.

"All right. Goodnight, and goodbye, Angel!" She danced away from the room, the happiest girl in the world. I smiled to myself.

It was strange, but I liked the sensation of helping her. Maybe it wouldn't be that bad to keep my word, to give her lessons. I certainly wanted to see her again.

Besides, what harm would ever come to me?