The air was warm and borderline stifling with the heater blasting hot air through the vents, and the cramped, windowless study room at New York's state school, Albany University, was becoming too hot as Christine Daae tried to study for her looming finals. A pesky fly had manage to find its way into the room annoyingly buzzing around the ceiling and finally landing on the lid to her now cold coffee. She batted the pest away, and grimaced at the cheap contents in the mug. The coffee shop had closed hours ago at the student lounge, so she was left with getting a cup from one of those awful machine dispensers that mostly cough out water. But, it was better than nothing since studying advanced music theory in of itself was awful enough without something to keep her awake.

She glanced back down at the chapter explaining retrograde inversions, and her eyes once again began to glass over with exhaustion. Christine took out her cell phone out of her pocket to check the time and found that it was only 10:30pm. She took a minute to determine if it was better to go home and start this again early in the morning or tough it out now. She was getting so damn tired of all of it. So much to do and so little time. She had to keep her grades up or else risk losing the small amount of scholarships she had, but she also had her job to worry about…

Christine put her head in her hands, blonde curls creating a curtain around her face while breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth to calm the oncoming anxiety.

I'm trying Papa, I'm trying kept replaying over and over in her head like a mantra.

Her father's death still tormented even after five years, and she seemed to live in the shadow it cast. She let out a shaky breath, and felt the tears well up in her eyes once again.

She seemed to always be crying

All she wanted was to hear him play the violin and hear his voice tell her those silly fairy tales of Little Lotte once again. Oh, how she took his presence on earth for granted. Memories of their old beach house down south surfaced filled with happiness and music. Beautiful music she'll never hear again.

Christine pulled out a black leather folder filled with an old music score while taking care not to bend the old yellowing papers. It was a sweet Swedish folk song she used to sing with her father when she was young and carefree. The score belonged to her mother before, whom Christine barely remembered since she died when Christine was very young, and her father had given it to her as a gift one day. The papers were tearing in the corners and they had a yellowish hue to them, but the memories are what made it special to her. A barefoot little girl dancing around her father strumming out the song's melody while her sweet soprano voice charmed all those who passed by.

She felt this piece would give her courage when singing in an upcoming audition for the spring musical the Performing Arts Department held annually. It was a requirement for all senior level vocal majors to try out, and even if she got a small part in the chorus, she would surely make her father proud.

As the tears began to pass, she looked back down at the same paragraph she had been trying to read for the last ten minutes, when the stifling room won the battle and began to make her drowsy. As she was drifting off, she heard it in her moment of delirium. A violin, a violin playing her song engulfed her mind with warmth and, for a second she felt…happy. She was reliving her time with her father on the beach, and she could even feel the ocean air kissing her face with the salty smell. She was thriving in the sunlight once more, oblivious to the darkness always watching and waiting for her.

Christine awoke with a jolt when she heard the loud click of the lights shutting off echoing through the small room. She scrambled to find her cell phone in the dark to check the time, and to have some source of light in the pitch blackness.

It was passed midnight, the library had closed, and she didn't get any studying done.

'Damn it, damn it, damn it!'

Christine exhaled loudly from the sheer frustration of her stupidity, and stumbled around trying to gather her things, hoping she didn't get locked in. Not even a book lover, such as herself, wanted to be locked in a library all night. She slipped on her heavy winter jacket, and zipped up her fully stuffed back pack before opening the study room door to the dark, empty library.

She quietly slipped out, and headed down the stairs making sure not to trip over her own feet, then made a beeline for the front doors. She gave a hard push and the door easily swung out letting a cold rush of air nip at her warm face. Christine stuffed her already cold hands in her pocket letting the door swing shut behind her, and began rushing to the promising warmth of her car. But, before Christine even took five steps, she had a moment of panic, and reached around to grab her heavy bag off her shoulder, and furiously unzipped it to look through its contents.

It's not here. Her music. How could she forget something so precious?

Christine whipped back around blonde hair hitting her face from the velocity, and without thinking rushed to the door only to find it locked.

'Of course it's locked, you idiot.' she told herself.

She rested her head against the cool glass, tears of anger, and frustration once again breeching over her eyes. She just wanted to sleep, sleep and never wake up.

"It'll be there tomorrow." She whispered in reassurance.

Before, she could lose all her strength she pushed herself off of the door, and made her journey to the old beat up Honda she got as a graduation present. She wiped the tears and her runny nose on her hand as she got in her car, and put the key in the ignition. The drive was going to be short especially since there would be minimum traffic, but Christine still felt her head bob as she stared at the yellow lines on the highway, and she had to roll the window down to keep herself awake. Exhausted, she parked her car in her usual spot, headed toward the glass doors leading into the shabby lobby, and gave the night attendant a nod before going in the elevator.

Christine shared her apartment with a talented dance major and friend, Meg Giry, who rarely spent the night anywhere, but her current boyfriend's place, so Christine had the place mostly to herself in the evenings. When she got to the top floor, Christine exited the elevator and made her way down the hall to her door. Once she got inside, she dropped her bags and collapsed on the couch, coat and shoes still on.

"I just need to close my eyes for a minute." She barely muttered as she was already lolling off to sleep. The couch feeling like heaven on her back compared to the hard chair she slept on earlier at the library. Her breathing became more even, and she knew she should get up lest she end up on the couch all night, but then, ah, that music visited her again. Perhaps Christine's subconscious had been manifesting her father's playing in her sleep as a defense mechanism from all the stress. But, she hadn't remember her father playing with such beauty, such passion.

This music, this dream music had filled out her hollowed soul with a wave a euphoria she hadn't felt in a long time- she thought she would never feel that way again.

Then, oh, and then there was a voice.

A voice that began a song from the purest place in the heavens that inspired rapture growing inside her mind and body replenishing all the life that was smothered with darkness.

Then, it stopped.

"You must wake up, Christine." It whispered in her ear. "No, don't leave me." She pleaded with the angelic voice. Why did they always have to leave? Any piece of joy she found in this forsaken world had been stolen from her as if she didn't deserve happiness. She tried so hard to create something positive in her life, but then became dejected when life's callousness extinguished any hope for harmony in her environment. What was the point of dangling the golden rays of joy in front of her empty soul only to take it away once she got close enough? Just to torment her, that's why. What a cruel joke.

"I'll never be far my, dear." The voice reassured her. Christine swore she could feel someone lovingly stroke her cheek as she was slipping back in to consciousness. "I'll always be watching over you."

"Wake up, Christine." The voice was fading away this time, and she began to become aware of her bleak surroundings- back into reality.

When Christine finally opened her eyes, she only saw an empty bedroom. There wasn't any heavenly being watching over her, and she was alone, as always. She noticed her cheeks felt sticky from tears, and she tried to vehemently rub away the evidence of ever shedding them. With a sigh, Christine pushed her blankets to side, and began to get up from her bed when she noticed her boots were neatly placed right by her night stand, and her heavy winter jacket was hanging on the back of her desk chair. She looked down and also noticed that she was still in the same clothes she wore yesterday, and the last thing she remembered was falling asleep on the couch. How did she get in her bed?

'Am I sleep walking now?' she thought to herself. 'I don't remember even walking to my room, and taking off my shoes.' The more she thought about it, the more convinced she that she was going crazy from the stress, and as she got up, and walked to her desk, she noticed a black leather folder innocently sitting in plain sight. Christine knew that folder by every crease every worn out corner, and she, also, knew she left it back at the library.

"It can't be." She muttered to herself, and cautiously approached the leather folder as if it was going to bite her. Upon opening it, her suspicions were confirmed when she saw the familiar yellow papers staring back at her wide eyed, disbelieving face. Things just didn't materialize out of thin air, and she had checked her bags thoroughly last night. This was it, this was the moment she was utterly convinced she was losing her mind. As she started thinking about seeing a doctor, she noticed a small white piece of paper tucked in between the music. The paper was brand new with delicate textures caressing her fingers as she pulled it out from the old yellowed music scores. When she realized what it was she was holding, Christine gasped in shock, both hands reaching her mouth causing the paper to gracefully flutter to the floor.

It was a note, a note scrawled in dark red ink with child-like handwriting that said, ' You Should Be More Careful.' No signature was found anywhere.

Someone had been in her apartment.