She turned on her feet, going through the routine under Madame Giry's watchful eye. She bit her lip and sighed, keeping through the routine, managing to finish it without tripping.
"I think mother might actually say that you've improved!" Meg whispered, joining her.
"I don't know which is worse: the opera ghost or Madame Giry!"
"My mother. I could face a ghost, but to see her when she's angry?"
They smiled and laughed, joining the other ballet girls as Giry banged her staff on the stage for attention. She placed her hand on a young girl's shoulder. "This is Christine Daae. A new dancer who will be joining us for the routine. Mademoiselle Daae: this is my own daughter Meg Giry." Meg gave a nod and smiled. "As well as our principal ballet girl: Adellade Matthews."
"There is also the matter of your name," Erik muttered as she prepared to join what would be the first of many ballet teachings.
"My name?"
"I might've removed certain...details."
"Such as?"
"Nothing too drastic. Only that your name is Adellade Matthews. Your mother used to run an inn until her death. Due to having no parents-father dying when you were a young age-you and your brother travelled to Paris. Best not to mention the gypsies or Persia."
"But why change my name?"
"The house isn't too far from the edge of the city. There is a chance that someone might recognize the name Destler, and as far as I can investigate: Erik Destler perished in infancy and Adellade Destler met with her death at the age of seven. Better to die than live in shame."
"Oh." She sighed and frowned.
"You needn't concern yourself." He stood and kissed her head. "As always: Erik will be able to watch and see to it that you are safe."
"Matthews?" Christine asked, walking over toward her.
"My mother's name," she explained. "What of yours? Daae doesn't sound French."
"My father, Charles Daae, was from Sweden. Then he met my mother here. When she died, father raised me on his own. We would travel around, with him playing his violin throughout the towns. And during the nights he would tell me all sorts of stories!"
"Your father was the Charles Daae? The famous violinist?" Meg asked.
"Now that you mention it: I do recall seeing some pieces with his name on them…." Adellade shrugged. "Perhaps I could ask my brother later."
"What does he do?"
"Many things." She shrugged. "Since our mother died, he's been looking after me-doing what he can to help. We've always been close since father died when we were still children. He even gave me this locket so that I could remember him. I never take it off in case I forget him." She touched the silver locket hanging around her throat. "He used to play the violin in mother's inn. Oh, it was wonderful!"
"You should tell him to play here at the opera house in the orchestra!" Christine suggested.
"I've tried that." Meg shook her head. "Adellade says that her brother prefers to be alone."
"And he's terrified of the opera ghost! Or at least, what I tell him of the opera ghost."
"Opera ghost?" Christine asked.
"A strange phantom haunts the opera," Meg explained. "He threatens the managers, critiques the operas, and even steals a few things from the dormitories! Why, Joseph Buquet-the stage manager-he was saying just the other day that he saw the opera ghost's cape."
"Though you needn't worry about that," Adellade reassured. "The worse part of the opera is Carlotta Guidicelli! She's our leading sopranist, and such a diva! Everyone caters to her! Monsieur Reyer, Ubaldo Piangi. Everyone!"
"Oh. She sounds dreadful!"
"Don't worry. Mother will probably place you in the back, as you've just only joined today. Adellade is the one up front, and Carlotta loves to nag her, doesn't she?"
" 'Adellade! Why've you gotta be standin' right 'ere! I'mma supposed to stand 'ere! Not you' " she imitated, much to Meg and Christine's delight.
"And this is where you will be sleeping," Meg announced, opening a door. "It's small, but it's doable, right, Adellade?"
She nodded. "Not so terrible once you're used to it. Once had to sleep here for a few weeks because something had gone wrong with the pipes and Erik had no idea how to fix it. Thankfully the dormitories had an open bed."
"You'll be fine, Christine!" Meg took her hands and smiled. "Adellade can also help you, right?"
"Of course."
She bid Christine goodnight and also parted ways with Meg and Madame Giry. Adellade sighed and made her way to the stage, opening up Erik's trapdoor to lower herself into the dark tunnel.
Opera ghost indeed! She shook her head and smiled to herself. Though Erik could be frightening at times, he was never quite capable of being a ghost…. It had only taken part of a shadow, a misplaced shoe, and the ballet girls were suddenly discussing the possibility of a ghost. Naturally, he had gone with it-played along until the "opera ghost" was taken as truth.
She came to the edge of the lake, seeing him sitting there in the boat with the oar across his lap.
"Am I honestly less terrifying that Carlotta or Antoinette Giry?" he asked.
"Have you seen the routines she yells at me for getting wrong?" she argued, climbing in.
He chuckled as he rowed them across. "She is only doing her best."
They got to the other shore and he helped her out, opening up the door for her to enter. She went to her room to change into a nightgown, throwing a robe on top. She frowned, hearing violin music playing...at this time of day? She pushed the door open, seeing him play by the fireplace.
"You're playing. At this time? Not composing your music?"
"Charles Daae's piece," he explained. "One of the few I have encountered. The composer himself simply wrote the notes Daae played. Hardly does the man proper justice."
"Only you would know." She sighed, sitting on the couch.
"Something on your mind? The new ballet dancer?"
"Christine? No. She looks as if she'll be able to handle the routines."
"Then what concerns you?"
"Do you-do you even remember what she looked like? Our mother?"
"And why would you ask such a thing?"
"Christine…. She was talking about her father-and…. I try to remember-but I can't."
"You were only seven at the time we left." He lowered the violin. "And my memories of her are as little as possible. Being locked away in an attic with rare visitations does not make for an easy memory. Though the ones I care to recall all seem to be the days you would visit me. Sneaking to the attic when she wasn't looking…."
"Half the time, I thought I had dreamed you up."
"I am very glad that was not the truth. Otherwise you would be living beneath an opera house, talking with a man you had conjured up! Some might dare to call you absolutely mad."
"But if I were, would I know that I am?"
"If anything: it would be more probable that I dreamed you up. Something to make a lonely childhood less lonely."
She smiled and walked over to wrap her arms around him. "I think you are definitely real, Erik. Would I be able to hug a man I had dreamed up?"
"You are able to hug the opera ghost, who does not exist," he pointed out.
"I'd still prefer that Erik exists to the opera ghost any day."
"Then I shall do my best to keep it that way." He gently kissed the top of her head.
He glanced up from his composition, seeing her fast asleep on the sofa. Erik sighed and went over to pick her up, carrying her to her room. He gently laid her down and smiled to himself as she stretched and rolled over.
If he had dreamed her up, he certainly didn't want to wake. He would rather spend his days with her than realize that she was never there-or worse to find that she never existed. He supposed he could live with the idea that she had grown up away from him, unknowing of who he was. At least he would have a chance to see the real her….
He paused. A soft sound making its way to his ears. Erik stood, curiosity drawing him away. He made his way up to the opera house and searched the tunnels, hunting for the source. He finally found it in a dormitory, seeing the new ballet girl-what was her name? Christine?- humming a song as she quietly lit a candle.
"Well, I'm here, papa," she murmured, speaking to the portrait before her. "I've joined the ballet. And I've made two friends already! Meg and Adellade seem nice, and I'm certain we'll get along…. Adellade is the principal dancer here. Do you suppose there's an angel who taught her to dance? Oh, I am still waiting for you to send the Angel of Music like you promised. I don't mean to be rude, but...you did promise and…. I only miss you so much. That's all. So much…."
Angel of Music? Erik thought to himself. He could recall reading something of an "Angel of Music" in one of the books in the attic. Supposedly it was a being who came to infants in the crib and sang to them-taught them music…. Children who would grow into prodigies. It was an old tale, of course, yet he could still recall it as being one of Adellade's favorites for reasons he could never quite understand.
So, her father had promised to send her this Angel of Music? He could see why the man would claim such a thing. She did have quite the voice-if very untrained. Perhaps she could one day sing on the stage should she find a tutor. But who would ever dare to tutor a ballet girl-and an orphaned one at that? All the tutors in Paris cared about were the students whose parents could afford the cost.
Still…. It would be quite the shame to see such a voice remain in the dark forever….
An idea began to form in his mind, and before he could argue against it, he had decided to tutor her himself. He had been Adellade's tutor in a number of subjects-though with her never fully showing an interest or desire to learn much of any music-perhaps he could tutor Christine's voice as well.
He sighed and closed his eyes, resting his head against the wall.
"Christine…. Hear me, for I am your Angel of Music…."