This is my first fanfic, and I love it like scientists love guinea pigs (of course, I DO cherish it more than scientists cherish their specimens, but I digress). I'm currently going through the final editing process, so please review, even (and especially) if you don't like what I have written. If this is the case, please private message me with your ideas and/or suggestions of how my writing can be improved. Thanks!

Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or any of the characters in it.

Prelude: Comfort from Heaven

Someone was chasing me… I ran into a crowded room, screaming for help, but although people surrounded me, no one came to my aid; they didn't seem to hear my cries… closer, closer, my pursuer came… he started reaching for me with his horrible, skeletal hand…

My eyes flew open right as the hand grabbed me. Breathing heavily, sweating, and shaking, I looked around the room. All was quiet and still. I inhaled and exhaled deeply, trying to calm my frightened mind.

While some people think that a vivid imagination is a gift, I sometimes think it is more of a curse than anything; it's certainly nothing to be tremendously thankful for possessing. When people have wild imaginations, they become frightened easily, and consequently, it doesn't take much for their imagination to run away with them. On top of all this, vivid imaginations are twice as powerful.

I happen to have a very vivid imagination.

I'm sorry, I've been carrying on so. I began this narrative not to tell of the

side-effects of a strong imagination; rather, I began this narrative to document the strange – and perhaps unnatural – events that occurred shortly before my nineteenth year which forever changed my life.

As I lay cowering in my bed unsuccessfully trying to calm myself, I suddenly heard a voice… his voice. The voice of an angel, sent to comfort me from my own self.

"Christine… Christine…" was his soft, gentle whisper. I turned my tear-filled eyes heavenward and whispered, "Oh, Angel, I'm so afraid. Please send me comfort."

"Child, why do you fear?" was his reply.

"I've had a nightmare," I answered. Though I would have felt extremely foolish giving such an answer to anyone else, I could tell my angel anything – my accomplishments, my fears, and my dreams – with an absolute certainty that he wouldn't think me silly.

"What is a bad dream?" he now said. He asked me this in such a gentle, soothing tone of voice that I began to see how safe I was, seeing as he, an angel, was watching over me. "It is not a certainty of something that will happen," he continued in that same soft voice. "Nor is it something that can bring you harm. It is only a dream. Close your eyes, child, and fear no more."

I closed my eyes. Instantly, I felt my fear being replaced with peace. Just one word from my angel was enough to surround me with a comfort that I knew could never be found anywhere else, though I cannot explain how I knew this.

Who was this angel? At the time, I knew not. He kept his name and face a mystery to me. All I knew as I drifted back to sleep was that he was there, protecting me, and I was safe.