Several weeks passed.

Meg noticed right away some intense change had transformed her friend. When on a few mornings after New Year's Meg entered Christine's dressing room to see her staring into space with eyes glowing transcendentally, the dancer gasped.

"Christine! You look like you've seen"-

Christine turned to her sharply, her face more animated than Meg had ever seen her. "Seen what, Meg?"

"Well, I don't know exactly. A spirit, maybe?"

She jumped as Christine threw her head back and laughed wildly. For a moment Meg almost feared for her friend's sanity.

Christine jumped from her chair and spun Meg around the room. "A spirit, Meg?" She burst into giggles again. "A spirit!"

Breathless, Meg asked, "What in the world has gotten into you? This isn't like you!"

Christine put a finger to her lips, but her unnaturally bright eyes made the gesture more fervent than playful. "That's a secret," she mock whispered.

"I don't understand!"

Christine flipped Meg's curls. "You will, someday! When I take the stage!" And she laughed again, and twirled once more, this time holding only the skirt of her dressing gown as if curtseying for a waltz, humming "Caro Nome". Meg was confounded.

She was not the only one. Although Christine always projected the image of the dreamer, she was now absent almost to the point of comatose during group gossip in the dance studio. After an anecdote, when the girls would break into peals of laughter, Christine would invariably be seen staring at the ceiling, a serene but eerie look on her face. Then, with a hastily given excuse, she'd take her leave and spend the rest of the evening in her isolated dressing room.

It unsettled her fellow dancers.

Meg would shift uncomfortably as she'd overhear them talk amongst themselves. "What's gotten into Daae? She's even stranger than before!"

Madame Giry, Reyer, and even Lefevre on his visits to the set noticed her odd behavior.

"Christine Daae! Pay attention to your steps, girl!" Giry would command, bringing down with a bang the cane she used to keep time to the music.

"Miss Daae, if it would please you to look at me instead of whatever fascinates you so much up in the rafters, you might just learn where to stand when the chorus comes in," Reyer would snap.

Lefevre would simply raise his eyebrows and bury his beard into his chest as he observed offstage, "What a pity. Such potential from her father wasted."

Meg was worried. Christine had been making such strides toward launching a stable career and carving out a place for herself in the Opera Populaire. Now it appeared she was throwing all that progress away. While it was true Christine had always retreated into her own fantasy world when she could, she'd before retained enough common sense to hold onto as much of the world around her to keep her upright.

Almost completely gone were the times when the two girls would spend the evening talking together, or exploring the corridors of the opera house, sugar in their hands to feed Cesar the horse in his stable. Meg knew she herself was partly to blame, since her own career was on the rise and demanded much of her attention. But when Christine turned down three offers to supper and to rehearse at the Girys' in one week, Meg couldn't help seeking her out. She didn't feel chagrined or hurt, just concerned and more than a little befuddled.

It was with this determination that she headed to Christine's dressing room to find out once and for all what was so incredibly fascinating about the place.

She froze, her hand hovering above the door knob.

The most beautiful singing she'd ever heard came from within.

It was both strong and gentle, passionate and tender, and most of all, ethereal.

Meg was spellbound.

Then she recognized it. That tone, that unique tone she'd heard dozens of times before.

"Christine!" Before she could stop herself she barged into the room.

Christine spun around from where she faced the large wall-mounted mirror, as frightened and abashed as if she'd been caught in a crime.

"Meg!"

They stared at one another—Christine terrified, Meg enraptured.

"Christine, your voice! Was that really you?"

Looking shamed rather than proud, Christine meekly nodded her head.

"Well, of course it was, what a ridiculous question. It's not as if anyone else is here with you!" She didn't notice Christine shudder. Meg grabbed her arms. "I've never heard such singing before! You sound more beautiful than an angel, truly! I'm not joking! Christine...Christine, how...?"

Christine shuffled her feet, her eyes darting to the mirror and then back to Meg again.

"I have a new tutor. I was just practicing my scales for my next lesson."

"I suppose that explains it. But who is it? Signor Feretti? No, you've already seen him quite a few times. Madame Lecours...? No, you saw her a couple months ago. Who-"

"I can't tell you, Meg," Christine said very quickly. At her friend's baffled expression, Christine continued. "It's...it's part of our arrangement. I can't tell you now."

"But how strange," Meg couldn't help exclaim.

That unworldly glow was back in Christine's eyes. "Yes, very strange indeed..." she said in a low voice, as if to herself.

She did not speak again, merely turned back to the mirror.

Meg looked on, her concern growing. What sort of singing teacher instructs pupils in secret? Seemed rather suspicious. Meg couldn't help feeling protective of Christine, and often found excuses afterward to ask how she was faring, and was a little satisfied as the young woman's elation continued apparently undisturbed. If whoever this teacher was had any sort of negative design on her, certainly Christine wouldn't be so happy.

And besides, any tutor who could teach Christine—or anyone—to sing like that must obviously know what they're doing.

So Meg decided that the circumstance, though strange, did not require any interference—yet. Still, she kept a close eye on Christine. When Christine was around, that is.

Which she wasn't much, even less than before. She kept her evenings short, and her periodic socializing exclusively with Meg. When Christine wasn't required onstage or in the studio, Meg learned that she was without exception in that large, lonely dressing room.

"Angel?"

"Yes, my child?"

"I think I know why else you have come to me."

"Oh?"

"Yes...it isn't just to teach me to sing."

"No?"

"No. I...I believe you have come also...to bring me love."

….

"Angel?"

….

"Angel? Oh, please, answer me! Tell me I haven't offended you!"

"...No, no. You could never offend me, my child. I was only impressed with your ingenuity. I have indeed come...for that, also. But it must wait, for the time being. Until after your debut."

"I understand. I don't mind. I've waited so long already."

"For love?"

"Yes, for him."

"For him, child? You mean you have waited to meet the man who will bring you love?"

"Now, Angel, you mustn't tease me. You know what I mean."

"And you mustn't presume too much, Christine Daae. Do not talk in riddles. Speak plainly."

"I am sorry, Angel. So very sorry. Please forgive my thoughtless words."

"You are forgiven. But tell me, now. The Angel sees much but not always all. What do you mean, you've been waiting for him?"

"Surely...surely my father must have told you about Raoul?"

"...R...Raoul?"

"Yes, Angel. Raoul le Vicomte de Chagny. We met when I was a child and he was a few years older. I...I loved him very much back then, Angel. And I think I must still, for my heart beats only for him when I am not consumed by your music. Tell me: is it him whose love you will bring me? Is it?"

….

….

….

"Angel?"

…..

"Angel, are you still there?"

…..

"Angel, please, I implore you, forget that I talked out of turn earlier. Speak to me. Speak to me. Angel!"

….

"Angel!"

….

"ANGEL!"

Meg was heading toward the storage room to root through old costumes for Pauline when she heard the anguished sobbing from far down the corridor. With her dancer's speed she flew to Christine's door and swung it open.

Christine was pounding the mirror with her fists. "Speak to me, speak to me," was her wailing cry.

Meg hushed her and gently pulled her fists away from the glass, fearful of Christine cutting herself were it to break. Although Christine had been pleading with whoever it was to speak, she herself said nothing as Meg eased her away from the mirror. She collapsed to her knees and wordlessly buried her head in Meg's lap, shuddering with cries, Meg's hand stroking her hair.

Lajos the ratcatcher had worked longer than anyone else at the opera house, longer even than Joseph Buquet. He was there before the remodeling, and knew the routes through the cellars better than he knew his name, his identity. He lived and breathed the underground almost as much as the inhabitant who dwelled even lower.

The ratcatcher's deep voice as he rounded his rats up with his lantern still rang out clearly, though the same clarity could not be said of his mind.

He mumbled now to himself, stooped over as he led the herd of rodents away with his lantern. He paused suddenly. He heard from a floor below unearthly cries of fury, followed by crashing objects.

He shook his head, cackling good-naturedly in the dark. "Well, doesn't that beat all, gentlemen?" He addressed the rats in his booming voice. "Doesn't that beat all..." And his eyes quivered and grew dim. He mumbled once more into his chest.

Though his feet shuffled, he still kept up with the group scurrying around him.

The next two days found Christine at the lowest Meg had yet seen her. She refused to speak of what happened in her dressing room when Meg found her hysterical.

Still, it was obvious to everyone that now some new drastic change occurred in the girl. Her brown eyes were dull and lifeless, and her face wore the bleary look of one who'd cried until there was nothing left in her.

Meg tried to respect Christine's request for privacy, but the little dancer couldn't help but lay one gentle hand over Christine's during rehearsal as they sat waiting for their turn backstage.

"Christine," Meg whispered, "Please...won't you tell me what's wrong?"

Christine swallowed and shook her head. "No."

"But you might feel better if you"-

"I said no," Christine snapped. She pulled her hand away fiercely. Then she sped off toward her dressing room, pushing her way through surprised stagehands and dancers.

Fearing that Christine's exit during rehearsal would spell doom for her career, Meg leapt up to pursue her but was stopped by her mother. "Let her go," Madame Giry said firmly.

The ballet mistress's black eyes swam pensively after Christine's departing form. She had a feeling...but no, why should Erik bother about one understudy in the ballet?

But still, she couldn't shake her feeling.

Meg, meanwhile, was more puzzled than hurt by Christine's anger. She knew her friend had a temper, usually dormant, but one that could be stirred if pushed far enough. But that was only under extreme duress—and Meg was self-possessed enough to know she herself had not been cause enough for her ire. What on earth could be tearing her apart like this?

"Child...my dear, sweet child..."

"A...Angel?"

"You mustn't cry, my dear. You know it causes me pain. Ah, now you're laughing! That is an improvement, though I still see some tears running down your pale cheeks."

"They're tears of joy, my Angel! Tears of joy! Oh, I was so afraid, Angel! So afraid you'd"-

"Left you forever?"

"Yes."

"No, my sweet girl. I won't leave you alone in this cesspool."

"But you were...angry with me, master."

"Not angry, Christine. Just disappointed. You see, I thought you'd understood."

"Understood...understood what?"

"That the love you spoke of, that you say you've yearned for, should not be of this earth, not come from some crude mortal. No, dearest Christine, you are far too pure for any man of this earth."

"Then...what love is there for me?"

"Ah, that you shall see, my dove. Once you've made your true debut, I—and I alone—will reveal myself to you and show you a world of love, made just for you. A palace far, far away from this prison you call earthly life."

"But...Raoul"-

"You must never speak of the vicomte again. He is not for you, my child. Come now, don't look so heartbroken. Someday you shall look back and realize what a...what a passing whim your passion for the boy was."

"But"-

"You must never see the boy again, Christine. Or I truly shall fly away, for that will mean you have rejected your art, your genius. You do not want that, do you?"

"...No, master."

"Such a sweet, obedient child you are. How desperately you need my guidance. I have been neglectful. I must be stricter with you, Christine. From now on..."

That evening after rehearsal, Meg found Christine waiting outside the door to the Giry home.

Meg was surprised, not from Christine's presence, but from the change in her countenance. It was a strange mixture of her ecstasy from before the episode in her dressing room and her doleful resignation after.

Still, the small, sad smile on Christine's face was genuine.

"Meg," she said softly, "Oh Meg, can you ever forgive my treatment of you today?" She clutched her friend's hands urgently.

Meg gifted her with a grin of her own. "Why, of course, you goose! Don't mention it at all." In truth, Meg's life with stern Madame Giry as her mother and tempestuous Reyer as her director inured her to harsh criticism and left her usually unfazed by others' outbursts. True, she'd been taken aback by someone typically docile like Christine behaving thus, but she'd felt a general surprise more than she had taken any personal offense.

"You seem a little bit better," Meg observed.

Christine blushed to the roots of her hair, looking down. "Yes, I am feeling more like myself again."

A moment of silence passed.

"I can understand if you still don't want to talk about it," Meg said finally. "Just please remember that I'm always here if you need me."

Christine looked up at her, and Meg's heart bled at the open look of vulnerability and gratitude in her wide yes. "You are so good to me, Meg. It...I...can't go into any detail, only...only I had a small disagreement with my singing teacher. That's all. We've made up."

"Oh." Meg tried to carefully frame her next words. "And I gather you still can't tell me who...?"

"I will soon, Meg. After he says I'm ready to make my debut."

"Surely you're ready now, Christine! Your voice is better than anyone's here!"

"Thank you, Meg. But my master knows best." Meg couldn't help but notice there was a hint—just a shadow of something, really—of...maybe not doubt, but...uncertainty in Christine's words.

"We'll see, Christine. Who knows, you might just surprise him yet!" Meg's expression was mischievous.

For the first time in days, Meg heard Christine laugh.

Yet Meg continued to worry, even as they embraced. Christine called the crisis a "small disagreement", yet at the time she'd acted as thought it were a lover's rift. Meg couldn't believe Christine would involve herself that way with a tutor, but surely this wasn't a healthy way to work. But then again, what wonders this was doing for her voice!

Meanwhile, Christine couldn't help but think of her Angel's words.

She'd lived since childhood with the dream of both singing majestically to make her father proud and of winning Raoul's heart. Both desires took up equal space within her. But now it seemed that to gain one was to lose the other.

Christine tried, but she couldn't—she couldn't believe in her deepest heart that Raoul was common, crude, and unworthy of her. But to doubt that was to doubt her Angel's words. And to doubt her Angel...

The unquestioning elation that filled her soul when the Angel entered her life now, for the first time, receded just the tiniest amount—and was replaced with fear.

A/N: Signor Feretti and the name Lecours comes from the 1943 Phantom of the Opera, and Lajos from the 1983 version. I'm all over the board here!