A/N: No... reviews? Hold on, let my dry my unending tears. Anywho, like I said I'm excited about this story, so I'm not really writing for people to read, but for myself to enjoy :) But still, anyone of the 3 who put on alert and the 1 who favorited, PLEASE tell me what you think. And really anyone who looks at it can give me opinions, ideas, critiques. Enjoy :)

{Rose Diamund}

Eternally Yours

2. Stranger Then You Dreamt It

Ten Years Later

Winter had only just set in. It seemed as though the whole was showered lightly with an icy white frost. A seventeen-year-old Christine Daae pulled her coat farther around her. A shiver ran up and down her spine, but she kept walking despite. The winter-touched forest was beautiful – the leaves not quite white, but not their usual color. They were a sort of icy blue. Much of the branches on the sky-kissing trees were frozen over in a thin sheet of ice. Christine could see her breath in a quickly evaporating cloud just in front of her. The iced grass and rocks crunched under her feet.

Soon, she reached a small clearing. A pond had been frozen over, and was now unmoving. Tinted white plants began to wilt around it, and above the bright sky made the small place have a slight glow. Christine sat down, staring up at the sky from her usual place sitting by the creek. The sun began to kiss the treetops, letting its last bright orange triumphant rays stretch across the sky. A sweet pink-ish color mixed in with the fiery orange, and made a few splotches of light purple clouds. Today's sunset was breathtaking. Christine felt her eyes close, and still she could see the sunset clearly in her mind. This one similar to the one her father's sunset. She thought in her mind her silent prayer she had been saying for ten years now: God bless the soul rising towards the Heavens this evening, and deliver them to the Kingdom of the Lord.

She opened her eyes, and stared at the sunset for the next hour or so, until the sky was a medium blue, the sun completely out of sight. She rose to her feet, and began her journey back to the Opera House. She'd walked about a mile or so before reaching Paris. She smiled as she remembered the miraculous sunset this evening. Everyday for ten years, at exactly six o'clock she'd disappear from the opera house and only return after eight o'clock. She had told no one of her journeys to watch the sunset by her favorite little creek.

No one except her Angel.

She told her Angel everything. He visited her most everyday, but sometimes he skipped days – occasionally weeks at a time. But when he left, she always felt alone. Abandoned. It was true she had Meg and Madame Giry, but they were nothing compared to Her Angel. As if he were the part of her heart she had been missing. And still she had never seen him face-to-face.

He had been giving her singing lessons since she was just a child of seven years. He has always given her praise, and called her his Angel.

Christine now sat in the chapel, staring at the lit candle in front of her Father's picture. She was sitting on the windowsill, made of cold stone. She moved her gaze to the stain-glass window. It was a beautifully crafted painting, with a mix of bright yellows and greens and blues and whites. It was only then that she noticed a small note in the corner of the windowsill. She leaned forward and picked it up. In a familiar, neat handwriting it said:

To my Angel.

She grinned and opened the note.

Christine, I have to apologize for my absence these past weeks. I have missed hearing you're lovely voice. I have been writing an Opera of my own, and more importantly a song for you. I will see you tomorrow, though I regret to say you will not see me. I shall resume lessons with you in the weekend. I am please to know you have returned to the creek, even in such ghastly weather as this. You are a true Angel in every way.

Know that I am always protecting you, my dear. Never lose faith in that. And never forget that, no matter what happens.

~Your Angel of Music

Christine frowned. What was that 'You will not see me'? Did that mean he was watching her, even when he was not giving lessons? Wasn't that strange? And why tomorrow? What was so special about tomorrow?

However, the thought was put out of her head when she heard the call, "Christine!" And heard the sound of ballet slipping faintly tapping on the stairs. As quickly as she could, Christine hid the note in her shoe.

"Christine. Ah, there you are. I knew I'd find you here." Meg appeared in the doorway, and she entered the chapel. "Where've you been hiding this evening?"

Christine smiled, "Just around the Opera."

"Everyday?"

"I have lived here for ten years of my life, and still I do not know all the rooms and places to go," Christine said with a small laugh.

Meg grinned, "I came to find you. We have rehearsals now."

"At eight thirty?" Christine frowned.

Meg nodded.

Christine sighed, but stood and walked with her friend to the backstage. Marie walked up to the two, "Christine, where in the world have you been? I've been looking everywhere for you. You missed a rehearsal!"

Christine looked down, "I'm sorry, Madame. I've been busy."

"You've been busy these past few years?" Marie tapped her foot, "I expect you to be here all day, everyday, unless you tell me otherwise."

Christine opened her mouth to protest, but she knew better, "I'm sorry, Madame Giry."

Marie gave a small smile and rubbed her hand up and down Christine's arm, "No real harm done, my dear. But you must be here!"

"Yes, Madame."

"Come on!" A chorus girl hissed to Christine, and Christine jolted into the tight line of chorus girls, attaching the chains to her wrists and ankles as quickly as possible. She danced around sensually, in her tight costume, feeling as though everybody's eyes were directly on her. She knew they weren't. But she always felt embarrassed dancing around onstage, with these ridiculous costumes on, as if she were doing somethin wrong to make herself stand out. Her hair flew about, and she cursed under her breath for forgetting to tie it back.

Suddenly, a huge voice boomed, making the orchestra stop playing its music, "No, no, NO!" It was Carlotta Biancaroli, the Prima Donna of the Opera, with the thickest Italian accent and the most off-key operatic voice you would ever hear. Christine groaned quietly, already irritated before Carlotta's obnoxious interruption.

"These a'dancers, they take all the a'ttention off a' me, eh? Why, why, why? I am the Prima Donna, aren't I? Why should a' these amateurs get the spotlight over me?" She complained angrily.

Andre, one of the two new managers, sighed, "Carlotta, please. It is their dance. You have your solos but for this one part they are meant to be the center of attention. Later on – "

"There is no later on, there is now!" Carlotta shrieked. "And I will not a' have it like this!"

"Please, Carlotta," Richard, the other manager said. "You will get the spotlight – "

"Either you will a' change it or I leave! Bye-bye!"

"This is simply ridiculous," Marie cut in. "Carlotta, I have had quite enough of your foolishness. Either you will except the scene as it is, or you may go 'bye-bye'."

"Madame, really!" Richard exclaimed at Marie.

"Is a' that so? Well, then. You a' won't be seeing me again!" Carlotta screeched.

"Carlotta! La Carlotta wait!" Andre called after the fuming Prima Donna.

"Goddess of song!" Richard called to her, trying to get her back to no avail.

The whole room was silent as they heard the door slam. Andre turned to Marie, anger flickered in his eyes, "Madame… would you mind explaining to me why you just threw out our Prima Donna?"

Marie blinked, as though she hadn't a care in the world, "Ah but Monsieur I threw no one out. I merely gave her a choice."

"We shall have to refund a full house now! All thanks to you, Marie!" Richard cried. "The show is tomorrow, and there is no replacement for La Carlotta – "

"Christine Daae could sing the part, Monsieur." Marie replied coolly.

Andre wrinkled his nose, "A chorus girl? Marie, you must be joking."

"I assure you," Marie turned her gaze to Christine, who was standing still as a stone at hearing her name. Marie's clear blue eyes had a strange gleam to them, "She has been well taught."

Christine felt her chest tighten. Had Madame Giry just hinted that she knew about her Angel?

Richard looked Christine up and down. She was a slender little thing, not too tall but certainly not short. She had full curves, and an innocent looking face, with sweet brown eyes and soft, dark curls. When she danced or even moved it was graceful. Her speaking voice was tender and sweet, perhaps her singing voice was. "Step up, girl." He said simply, his voice a bit sharper than he had intended.

Without saying a word, Christine came to center stage. She looked out over the empty red seats, feeling a lump rise in her throat. Everyone in the Opera was watching her now, waiting for her to fail. She tried to stop her whole body from shaking.

"Now, Mademoiselle Daae, who has taught you to sing?" Richard asked, looking her from head to toe.

"I…I do not know his name, Monsieur." Christine hardly recognized her voice, it came out in a squeak.

"And you are the daughter of Gustave Daae? The violinist from Sweden?" Andre inquired.

"His only child, Monsieur."

Andre and Richard looked at each other, exchanging a glance. But then, Richard said, "Maestro."

The Maestro nodded turned to Christine, "From the beginning of the aria, Christine."

The soft music was sweet and delicate, and at hearing it Christine was calmed a bit. She thought of the words to come, and when it was time for her to sing to made sure to sing with as much strength as she could – what her Angel always told her to do.

"Think of me… Think of my fondly, when we've said goodbye…

Remember me… once in a while, please promise me you'll try…

When you find… that once again you long, to take your heart back and be free…

If you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me…"

Christine's tender voice filled the room, and the two managers stood staring in awe. Marie was smiling now, grinning. Erik had taught her well.

"Think of all the things we've shared and seen… don't think about the way, things might have been…

Think of me… Think of me waking, silent and resigned…

Imagine me… trying to hard to put you from my mind…

Recall those days, think back on all those times…

Think of those things we'll never do…

There will never be a day… when I won't think, of you…"

Christine's arms hung limply at her sides, her posture was perfectly straight, and she raised her eyes to the imaginary audience. Her Angel's words rung clearly in her mind, telling her what to do, as he always had.

Out of the corner of her eye, Christine could see Carlotta and her husband, Piangi, staring at her. She could almost feel their eyes burning into her back.

"Flowers fade… the fruits of summer fade…

They have their seasons, so do we…

But please promise me, that sometimes… you will think…

Of me!"

A huge wave of applause came, and Christine found herself grinning.

Christine was getting ready for bed, tying the laces on her nightdress firmly on her slender waist. She was just about to blow out the candles, when there was a knock on the door. Christine went over and opened it, and saw Marie staring back at her. "Madame, please come in." Over the years, Christine had received a dressing room of her own, at Marie's request. As if Marie knew she'd use it.

Marie entered, "You did very well in rehearsal today, Christine. Do you believe you'll be ready for the performance tomorrow?"

Christine's entire body froze. Tomorrow? The performance was… tomorrow? 'I'll be watching you tomorrow, but you will not see me' is what her Angel said. How did he know?

"Christine?" Marie lifted an eyebrow.

"Oh, what? Ah, yes. I believe I'll be ready." Christine stuttered.

Marie shut the door and gestured to a chair, "May I sit?" Christine nodded numbly, saying nothing. Marie was silent for a moment, but then spoke, her voice low, "Christine… how long ago was it that you were visited by the man you know as your Angel of Music?"

Christine's eyes widened, "You… you…"

"Yes, Christine. I know all about that. Now answer me."

Christine thought, "A bit over ten years now. Madame – "

"Are you aware of the Opera Ghost?"

"The Phantom of the Opera."

"Exactly."

Christine frowned, "Madame, I am afraid I do not understand. Why are you telling me all this now?"

"Tell me what you know of the Phantom." Marie said flatly, without answering Christine's inquiry.

"I know that he demands a salary… That he insists upon this being his Opera House… and when things don't go his way…" Her voice trailer off a bit. She – and the rest of the Opera – had been frightened of the Phantom for years. He began to strike before she had come to the Opera, apparently. Christine looked up, "But I also know that he has not appeared in weeks."

"No, he hasn't." Marie's eyes lowered so that she was looking at Christine, "And neither has your Angel."

Christine's heart froze, "I do not know what you mean, Madame. But I really think – "

"Christine, you must think." Marie insisted, "How your Angel acts, when he comes to you… and then think of the Phantom." Marie's eyes held a sad element to them, but it was only a tint of sorrow in her hard blue eyes.

Christine bit her lip, staring in shock and horror at Marie.

"Christine, I know him. His name is Erik Destler. He is your Angel, and he is the Phantom of the Opera."