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Erik was hunched over his worktable. In his mind, the very image of Christine with a halo around her echoed through his mind. The sound of melodic laughter, like a harp playing a joyful song, echoed in his mind. He longed for her true smile, not the forced smile she had on her face, well, around the kind faces of ballet girls. He longed to see the bright light in her eyes of joy. He was drawing every detail he could remember from that moment. There was a littering of crumbled-up paper around him. Charcoal smudges on his white mask from holding his face as he looked at his latest drawing.

Nadir came into the living room. He noticed Erik's cloak and hat by the door. So, he knew he was here. It was time for their weekly meeting. He paused in the living room. Ayesha got up, walking over to him, longing to be petted. He ran his hand down her back. He did not see his friend anywhere. He headed down a hallway toward his music room. Nadir looked inside the room. There were papers scattered around the room. It was like when he got lost in his opera. Only this time, there was no man at the organ. Nadir walked closer, examining one of the papers. It was a description of a new character for this opera. A woman who seemed to like angel made flesh. The description structured him as he remembered what Christine looked like.

"Allah, please do not tell me that he is obsession has fallen on Christine," Nadir muttered.

Nadir dropped the paper heading to Erik's workroom. He knew that was likely where he was. He found him hunched over the table, drawing like a madman. His hands trembled as he did so. Nadir's jade-colored eyes noticed four dozen crumbled-up pieces of paper scattered around the room. He bent over to pick up a crumpled-up paper. He uncrumpled the crumpled paper. The image of the holy version of a slightly older Christine from his memories. The six-year-old girl who sang as her father played in his hand was the image of a maybe twelve-year-old girl with a halo around her head.

"Allah," Nadir muttered, dropping the paper.

Erik turned to look at him. His golden eyes locked on his friend. Nadir took in the state of his friend. It was clear he had not slept in days. Erik turned back to his drawing, not saying a word. Nadir walked closer, looking over Erik's shoulder at what he was drawing. It was the Daae girl sleeping, a single wave fallen across her face. Again, there was a halo around her head. What had she done to earn Erik's worship of her?

"What happened? You told me she was just lonely, and you would only talk to her because of that loneliness," Nadir asked.

"She is an angel. I know it," Erik muttered.

"No, she is a girl. Erik, she is a grieving girl. That does not answer my question," Nadir told him. Erik's eyes snapped to Nadir's. Christine had to be an angel. No woman or girl would do what she had done for that caged nightingale with no one around. To show true kindness and devotion for one of god's creatures. Part of him, although he would not admit it now, or for a long time, hoped that she would show him the same devotion and kindness that no one had before. She seemed to hear the world like he did. "Erik," Nadir sighed.

"She let a caged nightingale. Tell it that the world deserved to hear it sing, not just her. That he was free. She watched as the bird flew, her laughter was like a melody I cannot capture. And when she turned, an aureole appeared around her head. She's tortured by the lack of her father. I know I cannot replace him, but I must be there for her. I cannot fail her. She may very well be my saving grace," Erik told him frantically.

"Allah give me strength," Nadir said, rubbing his face. Part of Nadir hoped Christine lived up to Erik's vision. Knowing all the while that good could exist in the world without it having to be a holy thing. He knew Erik did not believe women or girls did anything without cause. It was good that he saw Christine do so. But he prayed to Allah that he would not put too much of his ideal vision of her on the real person. "When was the last time you slept?" Nadir asked as he helped Erik away from his worktable.

"What is the date?" Erik asked.

"May 17th, why?" Nadir answered.

"Three days," Erik told him.

"Allah, come, let's get into bed," Nadir said, shaking his head.

Nadir paused in the doorway of Erik's bedroom. He breathed out Christine's name as sleep took him. Ayesha brushed against him. He looked down at the cat. He motioned for her to follow him.

"Come on, let's get you fed," Nadir said.

Months passed as they always did. Christine came from a party with the rest of the ballerinas after a show. She shook her head. She pulled the coral pink ribbon from her hair as she walked into her room. The story that Joseph Buquet told the group was to scare them. She seemed to be the only one who was not affected by his story. She had seen too much to believe in ghosts. In truth, she did not believe in angels. She knew her Angel of Music was likely just a man in the back of her mind.

"You danced beautifully. What is it, Mon Petit?" Erik asked, seeing her come into the room.

"Thank you, Mon Ange. It is nothing. Just a silly story about the Opera Ghost," Christine told him. Erik's brows furrowed. What story is about the Opera Ghost? He wanted to ask. But he remained silent. "It's just a story Joseph Buquet told the ballerinas to scare them. I know I have an Angel watching over me. I have no reason the fear a ghost. And ghosts are not real," Christine told him.

"You don't believe in ghosts?" Erik asked in disbelief.

"Ange, are you telling me he is real?" Christine asked with trembling in fear.

It was the last thing he wanted. The look of terror that filled her blue-green eyes. She started to look around her room in fear. He could see her exposed skin with goose pimples starting to form on her pale alabaster skin.

"You have nothing to fear from the Opera Ghost, real or not, child. You have me watching over you," Erik told her.

"I know, angel," Christine said.

Erik noticed a sudden sadness in Christine's blue-green eyes. He meant to comfort her, not make her think. He noted the furrow of her brow as she thought. Why in the heavens was she sad now?

"Mon Petit, what is it?" Erik asked.

"I am sad for him, is all, Mon Ange. Know if ghosts are real. He was just a man. Pushed away for something he could not control. I thought we were all god's creatures. He made each of us," Christine explained.

Erik, for the first time in so long, found his face smiling at her words. She was an angel sent from heaven. Her words about him being just made gave him a new sense of hope. It was in that moment that he started to fall for her. He loved the way her mind worked. He longed to make her smile; to see the way he imagined her eyes up. He started to sing softly to her. And her sad frown transformed into a true smile. A smile that reached her beautiful eyes. It lit up her whole face. He longed for her to always look that way. He would make sure he would always make her smile like that.

Christine was now fifteen years old when Erik found her curled up by her mirror. She let out little whimpers. That caused him to stop. It was still daylight; she should be in ballet training.

"Child, what is wrong?" Erik called out.

"I am a woman now, according to Madame Giry. I have started to menstruate. I am in pain. Angel, why does God hate me? Why must I pay for a sin I did not commit?" Christine moaned in pain.

Christine curled even more into herself. Erik racked his brain trying to remember anything and everything that he could about women's bodies. And what the church preached to them. One thing was sure: he could not stand the sound of moans of pain. He had lain with women in Persia. They were much freer with sexuality. None of that information on how to please a woman did him any good now. He just wanted her to stop crying and moaning in pain.

"God does not hate you, child. The bible was written by men. God's words were misinterpreted. Your body is a precious gift from God. You have been gifted with being ability to bring life into the world. Do you want me to sing to you to take your mind off the pain, Mon Petit?" Erik asked.

"If it is not too much trouble, Mon Ange," Christine replied

"You are never any trouble, my dear," Erik told her.

Erik started to sing softly to her. He watched in amazement as his music reached her. Her curled-up body slowly relaxed and leaned against the mirror. Her hand rested on her middle, where he imagined the pain was. Her eyes closed as his music let start to drift off to sleep, forgetting the pain.

Nadir found Erik in his library. He was throwing books off the bookcase, looking for something. Ayesha was over by the doorway to avoid getting hit with a book. Erik stopped flipping through the book. Nadir could only think that something had happened to Christine. He spied the title of the book. It was an anatomy book.

"I got your note," Nadir commented.

"Good, I need more Anatomy and Medical books. Money is no object," Erik told him, not looking up from the book.

"Can I ask why?" Nadir dreaded asking.

"I don't want her in pain anymore. I am looking for a way to end her pain," Erik answered as he read.

Erik threw the book to the ground, picking up the next. Nadir quickly calculated Christine's age in his head roughly. He was trying to figure out what pain Erik was talking about. When he came up with the age of fifteen, Nadir's jade eyes went wide. He was looking for a way to stop her cramps from her monthly courses. His eyes looked skyward.

"Allah give me strength," Nadir muttered.

"While you are out, I need more paper both for drawing and composing," Erik said, looking up from the book to his friend.

Nadir just nodded. He prayed that in time that Christine would return his feelings, for if not, they all would be doomed. And he had not even heard her sing yet. Allah, help them when that happens. If he did not desire her now, he would when he heard her sing.

A year came and went; all remained the same. Christine had found her Angel of Music, knowing he was likely just a man, or if he was an angel, she longed to be with him in heaven. Sorelli and Meg had become her best friends, well, besides The Angel of Music, that is. She was now sixteen years old. Gone was the child-like appearance; in its place were the curves of a woman. She had also grown in height to five feet four inches and was still growing. She had long legs that seemed to be graceful. Christine still did not enjoy being a ballerina, but she lacked the courage to try out for the chorus. Her self-consciousness took over her mind, thinking maybe her father's praise of her voice was just praise of her father, who loved her. For all she knew, she could sound like a dying cat.

Meg and Christine were out on the main stage of the opera house after curfew. Meg was dressed in a bright red day dress while Christine was deep, rich blue day dress. The dress made her blue-green eyes shine brightly. Christine walked to the center of the stage. She longed to be up here, to be a Prima Donna. She ran and twirled like she was doing a part. Her infectious laughter filled the auditorium.

Erik was watching from the rafters. He had a ghost of a smile at Christine's laughter. She was a beautiful swan, not that she ever was an ugly duckling. He did not realize when he saw not a little girl that was seeking out his comfort, now she was a young woman. The curves of a woman to prove it. It felt so wrong to watch her behind the mirror now. Nadir had scolded him more than once for the look of desire he had on his face when he talked about Christine. As he watched her grow and blossom.

Meg watched as Christine looked out on the auditorium with a look of longing. She closed her eyes, imagining the room filled with people as she sang. Meg did not know what Christine was up to. She knew if they got caught out here, there would be hell to pay. They would be doing exercises until they were blue in the face.

"Christine, what are you doing?" Meg asked.

"Having fun," Christine answered. She looked over her shoulder at her friend. There were only the dull lights from backstage torches filling the room. Meg looked at her for a long moment. Meg wore a worried look on her face. While Christine's face seemed to be filled with joy, being center stage. "I dream of being center stage for so long. Do you think I'll ever be able to do it?" Christine confessed.

Meg came forward, hugging Christine's shoulders. She could tell her friend was showing a side of herself not many people saw. It was nice to have her trust. That trust was hard earned. She looked out on the auditorium. Knowing the stories of the Opera Ghost. She also knew Christine's heart was not in dancing.

"Maybe one day. Sing, Christine," Meg encouraged her.

"Why? Christine asked laughingly.

"Sorelli was made prima ballerina because of the Opera Ghost. He could help you, too, Christine," Meg told her.

Christine gave her friend an exacerbated look. Maybe Sorelli was given Prima Ballerina when she was very young. But that had nothing to do with the Opera Ghost. She did not believe in ghosts. She knew even her Angel of Music was just a man, in all likelihood. Meg had grown up in the Opera House. Her mother was a ballerina before she became an instructor. While Christine saw much more of the world because of Papa's job. Meg just returned her look in disbelief that her friend did not believe in the Opera Ghost.

"Meg, don't tell me that you believe the story that the stagehand Joseph Buquet tells the small ballet girls to scare them," Christine asked in disbelief.

"You don't. Christine, what could it hurt?" Meg asked. Christine looked at her friend. Before she looked back out of the auditorium. She knew this could be her only chance of being a Prima Donna, even if it was only for this moment. Meg pushed her out close to the edge of the stage. "Sing, Christine. Please, sing," Meg pleaded.

Christine closed her eyes for a moment. She imagined the auditorium filled with people. She dreamed that she was a Prima Donna. She could almost hear the orchestra playing. She took a deep breath and let her voice soar up into the rafters. Her beautiful yet untrained soprano voice was something very few possessed.

"Ah! je ris de me voir

si belle en ce miroir,

Ah! je ris de me voir

si belle en ce miroir,

Est-ce toi, Marguerite, est-ce toi?

Réponds-moi, réponds-moi,

Réponds, réponds, réponds vite!

Non! Non! ce nest plus toi!

Non...non, ce nest plus ton visage;

C'est la fille d'un roi;

Ce n'est plus toi,

C'est la fille d'un roi

Qu'on salut au passage!

Ah, s'il était ici!

S'il me voyait ainsi!

Comme une demoiselle

Il me trouverait belle, Ah!

Achevons la métamorphose,

Il me tarde encor d'essayer

Le bracelet it le collier!

Dieu! cest comme une main,

Qui sur mon bras se pose! ah! ah!

Ah! je ris

de me voir si belle dans ce miroir" Christine sang the Jewel song from Faust. It was sung by Marguerite in the Opera.

Erik stopped dead in his tracks when he heard her sing. She truly was an angel. That voice with the right training would be worthy of his music. Nadir was right, music seemed to flow in the Daae's family veins. In his mind, she was now the only diva to be in his opera. She was his Aminta. Her voice was his muse, along with her. He was already planning vocal lessons to make her voice even more perfect, more beautiful, and stronger. He would make her the greatest Prima Donna the world ever saw. Her voice in that instant became his obsession. As she sang, the image of her dressed as Aminta filled his mind. How would the crowd love her? He could hear the roar of their cheers. The way she performed, dressed only in her simple blue day dress. She fluttered around the stage like she was born to. She came back to center stage as he leaned forward to see more of her performance.

Christine opened her eyes, coming back to reality. Meg looked at her in disbelief. That angelic voice came from her friend. Christine basked in her imagined glory before she turned back to her friend.

"Why have you not tried out for the chorus?" Meg asked, shocked that such a voice was hidden in the ballet corps.

"I'm not that good," Christine said with a shrug. Meg could not believe what she was hearing. Most of the chorus girls could not do what Christine just did. She had listened to her mother talk with Monsieur Reyer about it. Christine started to walk back toward their dormitories. "Come on, Meg, before your mother catches us," Christine called out.

Christine was nearly off the stage when she noticed that Meg was not following her. She turned and looked back at Meg. She seemed to be frozen in her spot.

"Aren't you coming, Meg?" Christine asked.

"I'm not coming until you promise me that the next chorus girls' tryout you will try out," Meg said, determined.

Christine looked around her, making sure no one was around. She had the same look on her face now that she had when she spoke of the opera ghost or Phantom of the Opera.

"Alright. Come on, before we get caught. I am sure someone would have heard me singing beside the Opera Ghost," Christine said the last part with laughter in her voice.

Meg ran up to her, linking arms as they headed towards the dormitories. Meg looked at Christine's face as they walked.

"Could you always sing like that?" Meg asked.

"My mother was a singer. Papa started to teach me when I was very young. I have not had any more training since he died. I thought my voice died with him," Christine said mournfully.

Erik leaned against the railing, watching them leave the stage. In his mind, what better teacher for her than the Angel of Music? Tonight, he would present himself, the Angel of Music, to be her teacher. He needed to get a training space. It was too soon to reveal himself to her. His golden eyes closed as he heard her voice echoing through his mind. His eyes snapped open when he realized that Nadir knew that Christine could sing. The instrument he carried inside of her was something he needed to master. He tilted his head as he remembered his words about Christine. He will be having words with his friend. He could have been teaching her for five years. She could be so much better than she was now.

Meg hugged Christine as they reached her room. Christine returned the hug happily. Meg had restored her confidence in her vocal ability on their walk back to the dormitories. She walked inside, heading over to her dressing divider, changing out of her deep, rich, dark blue day dress and into her white nightdress. She walked over to her vanity and sat down in the chair. She started removing the hairpins from her hair. Her beautiful auburn waves fell around her body. Christine loved and hated her hair color. She felt like it would not choose a color. It was not like La Carlotta's bright auburn hair. Nor was it like the light blonde of Meg or the more golden blonde hair of Sorelli. So soft, brunette hair of some of the other ballerinas. Oh no, it was a breathtaking mix of all of them. Her soft waves cascaded down her back. She started to brush out her hair, getting ready to braid for bed.

"Christine," Erik called out.

"Angel, speak, I listen," Christine answered as she dropped the brush down.

She turned towards where the voice sounded like it was coming from. Erik quietly sucked in breath he could feel his pants tighten at the sight of her. Her large, doe-like, blue-green eyes held such innocence. The way her full lips parted as she waited for him to answer. The way her beautiful auburn hair fell around her slender figure held the beginnings of what her womanly curves would be. He closed his eyes, trying to push the image of her out of his mind for now. Later tonight, maybe he will use that image, but now was not the time.

"I heard you tonight, Mon Petit," Erik told her.

Christine's eyes went wide at that knowledge. She put her hand over her heart.

"What do you think, Angel?" Christine asked hopefully.

"Your voice is worthy of my music. If you allow me to teach you. I will give you the world at your feet," Erik told her.

"You want to teach me," Christine said with wonder in her voice. The way her face lit up at that knowledge. The smile that graced her face was something he would never forget. He wanted to see that look always. "Can with start now?" Christine asked excitedly.

"We will start tomorrow evening. There will be a note to tell you where to go. I will not have anyone interrupt us. If I teach you, there are some rules I need you must follow. You will obey my every command without question. You will eat healthily, no excessive sweets, no cold water before you sing, no alcohol, no smoking. I know some of the ballerinas do so. You will not take part. You will sleep well. I will sing you to sleep each night. I have to ensure you get enough sleep. And finally, we are in our lessons, you will address me as Maestro," Erik told her.

"I will obey, angel," Christine answered.

"Rest for the night, Mon Petit. Tomorrow will be trying," Erik told her

He was getting ready to walk back to his lair. When her melodic voice calls him. He looked back at her. She was sitting in her bed.

"Mon Ange, thank you for thinking me worthy of your teaching," Christine said sleepily as she rubbed her eyes.

"You are welcome, Ma chérie," Erik told her.

He took a shuddering breath. He watched her settle into her bed and drift off to sleep. Erik's mind then went to everything he needed to prepare for tomorrow. Tomorrow will be the beginning of her singing career.

Author Note: A lot of this chapter is new. I hope you all like it. Also, not that I don't enjoy your messages. At this time, I am not looking for any commission artists.