A/N: Welcome aboard, my new beta MusicalMaryann!

Also, I should mention regarding Christine – Due to the lack of space in the ballerina quarters, Christine resides in the dressing room at the Paris Opera.

Chapter 2

Over the next several hours, I found myself so incensed over Christine's relationship with her boy that I was unable to compose a single note. After much debate, I resigned myself to the necessity of finding another voice to inspire my music. Christine was replaceable, was she not? And wouldn't it be a relief, given Christine could be such a wailing mess at times? Moreover, hadn't I been careful to avoid growing attached to the girl, limiting our interactions only to our lessons?

I certainly did not go out of my way to seek my student outside of lessons. I much preferred to spend that time composing. Nor did I pay special attention to her private life, except when it interfered with her singing. Why should it matter what Christine did during her free time, if such activities bore no negative effect on her voice?

Most likely, I was simply annoyed at the inconvenience of having to find another voice, given I had invested years of teaching Christine.

Still, I had to admit that over the past few months, I had grown more preoccupied with my student than was necessary. This was probably due to her behavior, which had grown increasingly confusing and unpredictable. At first, she seemed withdrawn, even nervous, during our lessons. Eventually, she began pestering me with questions about the Opera Ghost. Most likely, this was Meg's influence on her – for Meg was forever asking her mother about my alter ego. I had to assure Christine over and over again that I would protect her from the Ghost. Next, Christine started to flirt with her angel, complimenting me on my voice or knowledge. She would inquire the most outrageous questions of angels, heaven, and hell. I was forced to invent silly lies to appease her insatiable curiosity. Her questions grew so irritating that I finally threatened to stop our lessons, to which Christine tumbled back into desperate obedience. Over the past weeks, I thought our lessons had finally returned to normal. But my relief was short-lived when Christine startled me with her questions earlier today about my feelings toward her.

It had been, after all, an unspoken rule that Christine and her angel did not discuss such frivolous things as feelings – and most certainly not kisses. Yet that boundary had been crossed today.

It was therefore with great reluctance that I returned to Christine's dressing room, surprised to find my student awake. At once, I was confronted with yet another reason why I disliked visiting Christine outside lesson hours – I was more likely to find her inappropriately dressed, such as she was now. Seeing her clad only in her nightgown, my body immediately tightened in a disgusting, uncomfortable response.

I tried not to stare at her. Oh no, I did not notice the way the thin nightgown clung to the curves of her body. I did not see the faint outline of her budding breasts beneath the silk. With a silent curse, I dragged my eyes away, focusing instead on what she was doing.

She was writing in her diary by the candlelight, and as she wrote, her lips lifted in a secret smile. Her expression was such a contrast to her earlier distress that I found myself glaring at her in suspicion. Christine did not write often, only on special occasions.

'But then Christine's first kiss would be a special occasion, wouldn't it?' I thought bitterly. 'It certainly would be for me!'

My leg was growing tired, and stiffly, I sat down upon the ground, leaning back against the wall. How long was Christine planning to stay awake? Perhaps I should have simply sung her to sleep in our prior conversation, but it had grown so unsettling that I had felt compelled to make a quick exit.

The time crawled ahead when finally, Christine closed the journal and put down her pen. She walked to the closet, humming dreamily, and took out a lacy, green dress. Walking toward the mirror, she placed the dress against her body. A moment later, she reached toward her desk, picking up a white, beaded mask, and I started, somewhat astonished as she held the mask up to her face, smiling mischievously at herself in the mirror. Then, she stuck out her tongue, winked, and puckered her lips in a childish imitation of blowing a kiss.

I felt myself grow warm beneath the mask. What a ridiculous child! I did not know what annoyed me more – her silly faces in the mirror or my pathetic, clearly un-angelic reaction to them.

Were the De Chagny's holding a masquerade? Was that why she was playing with the mask?

My student tossed the dress upon the bed, rummaged through her closet, and hesitated as she contemplated another garment. After a brief moment, she took out a deep red dress. I blinked, my eyes widening in recognition. I had given it to Christine for last Christmas, yet she had never dared to wear it.

Christine had been fascinated by the dress, asking about its color. At the time, I had fibbed a response about the red being a Christmas color. After that, neither she nor I mentioned the somewhat bold garment, and it had remained forgotten in the closet.

But now, as she held the dress against her figure, I found myself unable to tear my gaze away. She reached over toward her desk and slowly slipped on a black, feathered mask. I stared, transfixed. My innocent, naïve student had transformed into a bewitching seductress, and inwardly, I cursed myself for having given her that dress in the first place. Now, she was going to wear that dress to some masquerade party for that boy, where masks were mere playthings.

Even the expression in her eyes, as she gazed at herself in the mirror, had changed. There was an awakened curiosity and an arresting maturity within. She watched herself in the mirror, gazing out with strange solemnity, and I lost myself, momentarily, in the mystery of her eyes. It was a look that I had seen only a few times before from Christine. It was one of determination, but resolve for what? For a moment, I was tempted to call out to her, if only to ask what she was thinking. Instead, I forced my gaze away, trying to steady my breathing.

I fully expected Christine to retire to her bed once she had decided upon her outfit, but she kept the candle burning, reading parts of one book, then moved onto another book. More than once, I saw her nodding off, but then she reached out, pinched herself, and stretched her eyelids with her fingertips to keep her eyes open. My eyes narrowed suspiciously. Was she trying to stay awake because she knew her angel hadn't yet left his gift?

With a silent groan, I prepared for an especially long night. I thought about retrieving a book from the lair to pass the time but contented myself with imagining music in my head. I was halfway through my third fictional symphony when I noticed the book slipping from Christine's hands. Her eyes had closed, and from the steady rise of her chest, I saw that she had finally fallen asleep.

Carefully, I slid open the mirror, keeping a watchful eye on my student. Her breathing continued normally, and I stood, unable to stop myself from gazing down upon her. My eyes memorized the perfection of her face – the angle of her nose, the roundness of her lips, the curve of her neck. Christine stirred and mumbled in her sleep, and swiftly, I dashed forward to blow out the light.

My student settled deeper into sleep, and I sighed with relief under the shelter of darkness. Very gently, I took hold of the covers, intending to tuck them around her. But just as I was bringing the blanket toward her chin, her hand reached up and caught my sleeve. In a panic, I darted back, and her gift clattered to the floor.

Alarmed, she sat up, snatching a box of matches from her nightstand to light the candle.

"Please don't do that," I asked without thinking.

Her eyes widened at my voice, and her fingers trembled upon the matchbox. I could tell she was tempted, but she placed the box aside, her gaze searching for me in the darkness.

"Ange, is that you?" she breathed. "Is it really you?"

Shakily, I grabbed her Christmas gift and placed it upon her desk. When I turned around, I found that she was standing and blindly making her way toward the open mirror. Alarmed, I pulled her aside before she could discover the secret passageway.

She froze in my embrace, and we stood there, paralyzed.

"Angel?" she whispered.

"Y-Yes?" I stammered back.

Her voice trembled. "You're holding me so tightly."

I released her immediately, reprimanding myself, and nearly fainted when she reached out and impulsively traced the sides of my torso, up my shoulders and neck. I could not move, dizzy from her touch.

Christine lay a palm flat against my heart then, to my utter astonishment, pressed her ear against my chest. "You have a heart that beats..." Her tone was low, a tremor against my chest.

I did not answer, completely unnerved.

"I knew you would hear my Christmas wish, I knew it!" she exclaimed in sudden childish delight.

"Your...your Christmas wish?" I stuttered inelegantly.

"Don't you remember, angel?" she asked, her hand clutching my arm, as though afraid I might vanish if she let me go. "We spoke of it earlier – I wished for you to come to me as a man. After you left, I prayed that you would visit me over the holiday. Normally, I do not hear from you until after the New Year."

"I see," I managed. Was Christine really so…naïve?

"How long will you be like this?" she asked excitedly. "I mean, in physical form?"

"Why do you ask?" I asked, my mind racing for a way out of this predicament.

"Will you attend a Christmas party with me? Tomorrow, ange?" she asked eagerly. "I will be at Raoul's. I know you are not fond of him, but I would love for you come! We could be with each other, you know, the way you are now...if only for a few moments."

"That is not a good idea," I faltered.

"It's a masquerade!" she burst out. "I'll be wearing the red dress, angel, you know, the Christmas one! Won't it be fun to celebrate?"

I swallowed, "Christine, I'm hardly an invited guest."

"Leave that to me," she replied enthusiastically. "They know I've been studying with an amazing voice teacher! I told them I couldn't tell them your name...but you do have one, don't you?"

Again, my throat went dry. "Erik."

"Erik," she repeated, and I felt a little thrill at my name upon her lips. "Only Erik?"

"No family name," I admitted hastily, hardly believing I was entertaining Christine's ludicrous idea. "But you can feel free to create one for me, my dear." I added idiotically, "Not that angels, uh, have a family name."

Christine didn't seem to notice my blunder. "Erik de la Lune," she improvised playfully. "Erik d'Archange. Erik Desrosiers."

"Whichever one you like," I stated stiffly.

"Erik Desrosiers, then," she replied lightly, "for you always leave me roses."

"Child, it grows late, and you need your sleep," I muttered uncomfortably, my hands still fisted by my sides to prevent myself from tainting her with my touch. I tried not to notice the way her rose-scented fragrance flooded my senses or the slight tickle of her hair upon the bottom of my chin.

She moved her head, looking up at me, her eyes somehow mysterious in the dark. "I thought you were going to address me as a lady," she whispered, her breath warm against my neck. "I am, after all, of marrying age."

I was grateful she could not see the flush in my cheeks and hated my body for its reaction. "O-Of course," I stammered.

"You will meet me tomorrow then, for the masquerade? Guests will be arriving at the twentieth hour," she asked. "Please, ange, please?"

I said nothing, torn between shouting out for joy and refusing her on the spot. Averting my gaze, I forced myself to regain control. This was growing ridiculous. Of course, I would not attend such a frivolous event. It was madness, not to mention stupid.

Without warning, Christine reached toward my face, her fingers ghosting my exposed cheek. Before I could respond, she stood on her tiptoes and impulsively pressed her lips to my unmasked cheek.

"Goodnight, my angel," she whispered, her voice sweet and shy. "Thank you for making my Christmas wish come true."

I trembled in her embrace, unable to breathe. I couldn't respond, couldn't even think!

It was only after she let go of me that I was able to turn and flee back into the safety of the tunnel. Once behind the mirror, I leaned heavily against the wall, breathing heavily. My hand shook as I touched the spot her lips had graced.

My student had unknowingly given her angel his first kiss.