Chapter Two: Angel of Music, My Protector
Nadir was sleeping when he was rather rudely awoken by a harsh banging on his door.
"I'm coming, I'm coming!" he called irritably.
Pulling on a robe for warmth, he made it downstairs just in time to see the door crash open and a familiar masked man standing in the doorway.
"Dammit, Erik!" he snapped furiously, but was shocked into silence by the sight of an unconscious female clothed in rags.
Eyes bulging at the sight, the Persian could only sputter incoherently as his friend of over twenty years moved past him and up the stairs without a single word of apology.
"Erik!" he protested, hastening after the former Phantom, only to find his masked friend entering the parlor and laying the unknown woman down on a setee before proceeding to light a fire in the large fireplace.
As soon as Erik deemed the amount of heat emitting from the fireplace adequate, he turned and roughly grabbed Nadir by his collar, practically shoving the startled Persian toward the couch.
"You will help her, Daroga!" the former Phantom - no, this was not the former Phantom, this was the man that all of Persia had dubbed "Angel of Death" - hissed menacingly, his yellow eyes glowing with hellfire, making it clear that this woman's death would not be acceptable.
Rolling his eyes at Erik's dramatics, the Persian cursed the masked man under his breath as he examined the unconscious woman, said masked man hovering anxiously behind him.
"Well?" Erik demanded impatiently.
Nadir sighed and looked up.
"Severe malnourishment, pneumonia and a partially-healed head wound," the Persian diagnosed grimly.
"She also needs a bath," he added wryly.
Without another word, the former Phantom scooped the unconscious young woman into his arms and carried her upstairs, the Persian following closely behind, only to find his masked friend entering the first bedroom on the left, which just so happened to be Nadir's own room, and laying Christine down onto the bed before removing her filthy, ragged garments until she was clad in only her chemise.
Covering her with his own cloak for modesty, he then proceeded to light a fire in the hearth, before entering the adjoining bathroom, where Nadir immediately heard the familiar sound of running water.
Christine was seven years old again, sitting by her father's sickbed.
"Papa, don't go!" she sobbed desperately.
Gustave reached out a pale, trembling hand and gently stroked his daughter's soft curls.
"I must, Lotte," he whispered weakly.
"But don't worry. When I'm in Heaven, I will send the Angel of Music to you."
The scene faded and was replaced by the little chapel of the Palais Garnier.
It had clearly been some months since her father's death, as Christine was much thinner than she'd been in the previous memory, yet still looked to be a mere seven years of age.
A candle had been lit and her father's portrait had been placed in front of it, along with a handful of deep purple carnations.
"Papa, you promised!" the little girl wept.
"Why did you lie?"
Suddenly, a voice filled the room, a voice of such perfect beauty as none she'd ever heard.
Its seraphic tones immediately captivated the awestruck child, and she could do nothing but sit there and listen with wide eyes as the Voice sang what sounded like a lullaby, although she didn't recognize the language.
It didn't matter, though, for she was soon fast asleep, not even stirring when a tall masked figure gently lifted her into his arms and carried her back up to her bed in the ballet dormitories.
A/N: Please review if you want Chapter 3...