It started out as simple curiosity.

A Phantom glided silently through the secret passageway that trailed under the ballet dormitories. He had an uncanny ability to avoid the loose floorboards that creaked in protest whenever they were stepped on. There was a reason people thought he was a ghost, after all.

It was just another normal day at the Opera Populaire. Erik was making his daily rounds about the place he often thought of as his kingdom. He maintained the air of a cold and distant king as he observed countless stagehands, musicians, and ballerinas who had no idea they were being watched. As he climbed lithely across the rafters above the ballet rats' practice room, his curiosity was piqued at the nervous voices he heard.

"...heard he can shoot flames out of his eyes!"

"Oh, Meg, you're making that up. Ghosts aren't even real!"

'So it's ghosts they're talking about,' Erik thought to himself, amused at the possibilities. He peered down to see a a group of twelve-year-olds in tutus huddled together like agitated sheep.

"Well that's what Joseph said!" the small ballerina named Meg exclaimed. She looked to be no older than twelve, and she was noticeably shorter than the other girls.

"You should know better than to listen to that drunken fool," an older girl said with a sniff. The others ignored her and continued to chatter about ghosts and the strange happenings around the opera.

"I hear a horse from Faust went missing!" one said.

'Yes, that was me,' the ghost smirked.

"Well I heard that Monsieur LeFavre keeps Box Five open so the Phantom can use it..."

'Also true.'

"...to hide the limbs he cuts off his victims!"

Up on the rafters, the Opera Ghost pulled a face.

'That, however, is where the truth ends.'

The girls squealed in horror.

BANG. The familiar, jarring thud of Madame Giry's cane silenced the room. She stood in the doorway just as harsh and severe as ever, and the ballerinas quickly organized themselves into a line. Her black dress matched the black tone with which she spoke. She gave one long, drawn-out glare around the room, and then said quietly, "When I leave my ballerinas in the practice room, I expect them to PRACTICE." A few of the girls winced. "You will now continue. You will work twice as hard as yesterday to make up for the time you have wasted."

Her voice softened. "But before you begin, allow me to introduce someone." Madame Giry stepped briskly into the room to reveal a petite girl following hesitantly behind her.

The girl's brown eyes stared unflinchingly at the ground. Her cascading curls fell to her waist, and she clasped her hands gracefully out in front of her.

"This is Christine Daaé. She will be studying as a ballerina with the rest of you." Madame Giry put an uncharacteristically comforting hand on the girl's back. "I expect you all to make her feel welcome," she said with a tone that indicated they did not have an option.

Madame Giry proceeded to order the girls to begin with their stretching. She walked the new child over to a corner and told her to observe the girls for a while before she tried herself. With another gentle pat, she left the room. Meanwhile, the other ballerinas had lined up in order by height at the railing on one of the walls.

Erik was busy observing the shy, brown-headed girl, curiosity piqued by the way Madame Giry had treated her. The time worn dance instructor was not one to show compassion easily. He guessed that something must have happened recently to the child. The way she stared at the others gave him the impression that she felt very alone in the world. Not long after Giry left, Erik noticed a full head of blonde hair bouncing enthusiastically over to Christine.

"Hello there!" she said with a bright grin. "I'm Meg." She stuck out her hand to shake, a gesture that was almost comical in one so young.

"Hello," Christine replied ever so softly and took her hand. Her voice resembled the tinkle of a bell.

"So," Madame Giry's daughter went on, "what brings you to this place?"

Christine's countenance quieted again, and Erik had to strain to hear what she said next.

"I'm an orphan. My father died two months ago."

'Ah. That would explain the melancholy.'

Meg, too, sobered. "Oh." She looked at a loss for words. "I'm...very sorry. You don't have any other family to stay with?"

Christine stared at the ground and shook her head. As her curls hung in her face, the Phantom though most likely she was trying to hide the moistening of her eyes.

For a moment, Meg was quiet. But then she exclaimed, "Well, not to worry! You have us as a family now!" With a happy grin, she flourished her hand toward the other girls at the practicing bar. Christine looked up, smiled, and followed Meg to the group of girls, where they began stretching together. Erik stood from his hiding hole in the rafter and got up to leave, but for the rest of that day, he could not help but ponder the Daaé girl and the sense of loneliness they both shared.

Days passed, and life went on for the Ghost as usual. But one particular evening, there was a break in his routine. Erik was creeping stealthily through the dark of one of his private passageways, coming to the end of his rounds, when he suddenly heard a soft hum. This was no strange occurrence to the Ghost, as stage hands and maids often hummed tunes to themselves as they went about their daily chores. However, there was something...different...about this voice.

He felt his way along the wall, now heading the direction of the voice. As it grew louder, he realized two things: the first, that he was heading toward the ballerinas' dormitories, and second, that he recognized the tune. He racked his memories to place the melody, and finally realized that it was an old Swedish lullaby he had heard in his earlier days.

The high, clear voice kept humming. Finally, Erik found himself facing a one-way mirror he had put at the end of the passage. It looked out into one of the many dorms of the opera. He stepped closer, and his eyes drifted around the room to search for the source of the sweet sound. They finally rested on a small bed to his right, where a brown-haired child sat staring at a picture in her hand.

It was Christine.

She did not even seem to realize that she was humming to herself, but finally she began to actually sing the song. In a gentle, clear voice, she began:

"Shining sun has gone to rest

So must you my baby

Little birds are in their nest

Come to yours my baby Little lamb can, soft and white,

Snuggling cuddle in the night

So must you my baby."

Her small thumb stroked the frame in her hand as she sang. Erik was absolutely frozen in place. He had never heard such an angelic sound come from a child's mouth. Her singing voice was flawless, expressive and heartbreaking. If she could be trained...her talents would exceed all other singers that had ever come before her!

She continued, sadder this time.

"Whistling winds go rushing by

All for you my baby

Roundabout the house they fly

Just to please my baby

Rocking winds may play at night

Twinkling stars may sparkle bright

You must sleep my baby."

A single tear ran down her cheek. She reached up a shaking hand to swipe the tear away, but as she did, she burst out into a torrent of fresh ones. She placed the frame on her bed and proceeded to cradle her head in her hands.

"Why did you leave me, Father?" she whispered. Her voice broke. "I'm so alone."

Erik was shocked when he felt a twinge in his heart. He believed the world had taken pity- and compassion, for that matter- from him long ago. But his heart ached for this girl. He knew better than anyone what it was like to feel such despair and loneliness. Which is why he could not even stop himself from reaching out to her.

"Christine," he said just above a whisper. Her head whipped up, her eyes wide as she looked around the room. After a minute, she quickly wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

"F-...Father?" she asked with such hope and fragility that the Ghost felt another pinch in his heart.

"Christine," he said again, louder. "You are not alone."

By this point she must have realized that the voice was not her father's. With a hint of fear in her face, she questioned, "Who's there?" She rose and looked around the room. "Who are you?"

The Phantom was silent for a moment as he watched her. She stopped in her tracks and looked up in wonder.

"Are...are you the Angel of Music that father said he would send me?"

Erik could not bear to crush the glimmer of hope he saw in the child's face. He replied, "Yes, Christine. I am."

Her entire countenance lit up brighter than a star. He continued softly, "You have a beautiful voice, Christine. Would you like to be taught by the Angel of Music?"

She looked faint with joy for a moment, and Erik suppressed the urge to tell her to sit back down so she wouldn't collapse. She immediately answered, "Yes! Yes, more than anything. Please, Angel. Teach me." The Ghost felt a tug of a smile- another thing he though had long since left him.

"Very well, child. I will return to you this same time tomorrow evening. We will begin then."

She looked all around the room, eyes hungry to behold her teacher. With gratitude evident in her voice she exclaimed, "Oh, thank you, Angel! Thank you!"

Erik began backing up towards the entrance of the tunnel. As the light from the room faded away, he whispered, "Remember, Christine. You are not alone." The last thing he saw was her angelic, happy face before he returned to his world of night.