Christine Daaé scurried down the hallway of the opera house. She paused a moment to glance at the girls coming out of the large, mirrored ballet room. Ballet rats, she'd heard them called, but that always seemed rather rude, to her.

She loved watching the dancers, though, with all their tulle and lace and satin and ribbons. She had even borrowed a discarded pointe shoe for her bed in the back of a closet in the dormitory, the wool padding making an excellent pillow.

The ballerinas giggled and hurried off to their dressing rooms, and Christine likewise hurried on towards her own destination. It would never do to be late to her lesson.

She squeezed under the crack of the door into an unused and seemingly (by the looks of all the cobwebs and dust) forgotten dressing room that was far off from all the others. She took a moment to catch her breath and steady her heart before she called out to her angel.

"I'm ready for my lesson," she said politely.

"Of course you are, my dear," her angel's smooth voice curled around her, making her heart leap.

It had been three weeks that she had been living at the Populaire, three weeks that she had been taking voice lessons with the angel. And what a glorious three weeks it had been! She had known from the moment she had heard that mysterious voice coming from nowhere and everywhere at once that she had to find the source of it - she had leapt out of her master's coat pocket and hurried to catch the strange singer, only for the voice to suddenly stop. She had cried out for him to please continue - she had never heard such a lovely voice! Surely it was the voice of an angel?

The voice had said that, yes, he was an angel, and, to her surprise, he had asked if he might teach her to sing. Of course she had agreed!

"I have a gift for you, Christine," her angel sounded slightly nervous.

"You do?" her little eyes lit up.

"It's right behind you."

She turned to look, and saw a golden thread close behind her. How it shined! It was the same kind of thread that lined so many of the costumes on stage.

"For me?" she asked solemnly.

"For you," he agreed. "But Christine, you must understand - if you accept this, you must wear it forevermore. It will be a symbol of your dedication to m- ah, to music, my dear. So long as you wear it, you will be faithful to music and music alone. Do you understand?"

She nodded as she picked up the thread with her little hands, tying it around the end of her tail as best she could.

"I will always wear this, angel!"

"So long as you do, I will watch over you, and nothing shall ever harm you," he said tenderly.

"Thank you, angel," she smiled up at the ceiling.

"Now," he said suddenly. "We must prepare for your big debut!"

She hesitated.

"Are you very certain?"

"Quite! Why, all of Paris will fall in love with you!"

Christine fidgeted a little. Her maestro was so certain that she could sing on stage... on the human stage, right up there with all the people. Christine wasn't so certain. But surely her angel knew best...?

"Tomorrow, Christine," he went on. "Tomorrow is when everything will change. You're going to be amazing - the finest singer the opera house has ever heard!"

She ducked her head. She did like when he said things like that. Singing had just been a hobby to her since her childhood, but something she had left off of doing ever since her papa had died. It had been a mere accident that she had started to sing along with the performer up on stage that fateful night, something she hadn't done in ages. But then the angel had joined in, and they sung a duet for a moment before she realized her life would never be the same again.

And now her life was going to change again! She would be famous! In all of Paris! Her angel had said so, after all, and he would never lie to her.

She cleared her throat and stood up on her hind legs and began to sing just like the angel had taught her, starting with some warm ups and working her way up to the song she'd be singing at her grand debut the following night.

She spent the next hour practicing, listening intently to her teacher's corrections (which were few) and to his warm praises (which were many), before finally he dismissed her, saying that she needed a good night's sleep to be ready for the next day. She thanked him profusely, promising to him that she would not let him down.

"My dear," he said kindly. "You could never let me down. I will see you tomorrow, Christine."

She curled up in her bed that night, visions of finally achieving her dream floating through her head. Her papa had always thought she could be famous for her singing, but she had let those hopes fade away after he was gone. She really hadn't felt like singing very much at all for a long time. But now - now she had her angel, and there was nothing she'd rather do than sing. And now all of Paris was going to hear her!