Author's Note: Well I just couldn't help myself. I actually love the idea of this story, and yes, it is another re-write. But I assure you, this is extremely different from my other re-write 'The Wicked'. This chapter is vitally important, especially the bit when Christine first meets Erik. That bit pops up again in the last chapter actually. Anywho, please review and tell me your thoughts. I am really excited about this story - I think the plot line is my best of all my stories - and I want to write it the best I can. So feel free to critique. Thanks! And so now I give you chapter one of 'Eternally Yours'.

{Rose Diamund}

Eternally Yours

1. The Sunset and the Storm

Thunder shrieked and boomed shrilly, vibrating the dark purple sky above. Bright purple lightning scarred the sky right down the middle, lighting up the rain falling down in sheets. Each time the rain hit the pavement, it made the sound of a whip cracking; whack, whack, whack.

A young girl with tumbling dark curls and rosy pink cheeks cowered into the black leather seats of a carriage, her tender little hands squeezing as tight as they could around an older woman's upper arm. A small whimpering noise escaped the girl's lips as the thunder screamed again.

The woman smiled down at her, and stroked the girl's curls lightly, "Shh, my dear. The thunder will not hurt you." She tilted the girl's chin upward a bit, so that she was looking up at the woman. Seeing her better in the dim light, the older woman – Marie Giry – could see the girl was crying, soft, sweet tears fall down her cheeks; the tears shimmered a bit as lightning struck again. The jagged lightning reflected in the girl's gentle brown eyes. Marie pulled the small girl into an embrace, feeling the girl sob quietly into her shoulder. She stroked her back, "Shh, Christine. It's all right."

Christine looked up at Marie with big, questioning tear-filled eyes, "M-My F-F-Father…" She said, her lip quivering as she spoke, "He-he is in Heaven now? Can… c-can he not get there in the storm?" Her voice was filled with worry and fright, and Marie felt her heart tear to shreds. The poor thing was worried her Father wouldn't get to Heaven in the storm.

With her thumb, Marie wiped away a few stray tears from the seven-year-olds cheek, "Of course he has reached Heaven, my dear. The Angels will have taken him with open arms."

Christine smiled at this, revealing a gap between her two front teeth, but when thunder boomed, she cowered back into Marie's arms, burying her face in her shoulder. A few moments later, Christine looked out the window, watching the storms with wonder. Her voice was barely a whisper; "He is watching me now? From his place among the Angels?" She fiddled with a necklace she wore, a small silver chain with a single small diamond in the shape of a heart in the center. Her next words chilled Marie's bones, "He promised to send me the Angel of Music. He swore to me I would be protected." Her voice was hardly audible over the storm, and after those few words left her mouth there was no more talking in the carriage. The only sound was the mixture of thunder and the everlasting thwack, thwack of the rain on the roof of the carriage.

Soon, the carriage slowed in front of a big building. Little Christine pressed her nose to the cold glass of the carriage window and stared at what would be her new home – the Opera Populaire. The massive building paled ominously in the cold light of the storm. Christine shuddered a bit, looking at this extremely large building. It didn't look like her old home, which was small and home-like. With a squeaky wooden floor and worn-out, faded furniture. It wasn't anything special, and surely nothing glamorous, but it had always been Christine's home.

Until now.

BOOM! A huge crack of thunder raged through the sky, and Christine heard a scream – assuming it was herself who had screamed.

"Come away from that window Christine," Marie said gently. And when Christine did, she hugged her tenderly, "It's all right, deary," she said when she felt Christine shaking in her arms. "You're all right." Marie looked at the child before her – this beautiful child. Her mother died in childbirth, and now her father dead. The poor child.

"Come along, Christine. You must be sleepy," Marie said, putting Christine's hat on her little head. Christine nodded in fervent agreement. Marie opened the door of the carriage and exited, putting her hands over her head to keep the rain from her. She went to the front of the carriage and handed the driver a few silver coins. Then she and Christine ran towards the large building, shuddering with cold as they entered.

"This… is where I'll live?" Christine looked at the huge, dark room around her, her voice echoing. White marble steps led up, to what she assumed was the balcony seats. There were all different directions to go.

"Yes, dear. You'll sleep with the rest of the chorus girls, right near my daughter, Meg. She'll help you with anything you need." Marie answered, shaking out her fur coat.

Christine stared at the room in shock and questioning, "Have you and Meg lived her all your life?"

"Yes."

"Is it quite lovely living here?"

Marie laughed a little, patting Christine on her shoulder, "Oh, yes dear. It's lovely. You get to dance onstage, and sing everyday. There are always rehearsals and performances, and so many places to explore."

Christine looked satisfied with that answer, "I've always loved singing. Daddy says I was gifted by the Angels." Her voice softened at the mention of her Father, "He said I would always be his little Prima Donna." Her eyes looked distant, and her lip puckered slightly in a sad little expression. She sniffled a little, and felt tears form in her eyes, "Daddy… said…"

Marie kneeled down, her heart breaking as she watched this little girl. So lost, so innocent and ignorant of anything bad. She smiled at Christine a sad smile, she put a strand of Christine's hand behind her ear, "He would be so proud of you, my dear." She whispered, "For being so strong. So let's do that, shall we? Let's be strong for Daddy."

Christine nodded, sniffling a bit, "I will. I will be strong for Daddy. That's what he told me to do."

"Well, then, we must do what Daddy told us, right? So dry your tears, darling." Marie pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and handed it to Christine.

Christine rubbed her eyes, "I'm sleepy."

"I know you are, dear. Meg should still be backstage. I'll have her show you to your bedroom." The two walked down a corridor, and Christine found herself staring at a closed curtain.

"Meg?" Marie called, and the moment she did, a little blonde head popped up from across the stage.

"Mother?" Said Meg, skipping towards her mother. She stopped when she saw Christine, and she cocked her head to the side with wonder, "Who's this?"

"I'm Christine Daae," The seven-year-old announced proudly. "I'm going to live here at the Opera."

Meg's sapphire blue eyes lit up, "Really? We don't have any girls my age. I don't have too many friends," She traced her foot in a shape across the floor, her little pink ballet shoe getting dirty. She looked up at Christine, "How old are you?"

"Seven. I'll be eight in two months," Christine held up her index and middle finger proudly.

Meg grinned a toothy grin, "I'm seven, too. I'll be eight in three weeks."

"Meg," Marie said, "Would you mind to show Christine around a bit? It's eight o'clock, though. So be in bed by nine thirty."

Meg smiled, "Yes, mommy." She stretched her hands upward, silently asking for a hug. Marie bent down and kissed her daughter on her forehead, feeling Meg's little arms wrap around her back as much as they could.

"Goodnight, Christine," Marie kissed Christine's forehead, and saw the little girl's face light up.

"Goodnight, Madame Giry."

With that, Marie left the backstage area.

"Would you like me to show you around?" Meg asked.

"Yes, please."

The two girls started walked.

"Where are we going?" Christine asked, after a few moments of silence.

Meg replied, "To the chapel. It's one of my favorite places to go. It's so pretty, especially in the sunlight, when the glass window look like the lit up."

"It sounds beautiful." Christine mused, imagining it in her head.

Meg gestured to the bag Christine was carrying, "Would you like me to take that?"

"No, thank you. It has all my really important things in it," Christine replied sweetly.

Meg tilted her head, "Like what?"

"I have a locket my mommy left me, and a picture of my Daddy, and my favorite teddy bear, his name is Johnny." Christine answered, "And a few other things, with my clothes."

Meg frowned, "But why did you come with my Mama then? Where are your Mommy and Daddy?"

Christine's expression wavered, "My mommy died while giving birth to my little brother. But… my brother was born dead." Tears filled her eyes, "That was when I was three. And my Daddy… He went to the Angels just tonight."

"I'm sorry," Meg said quietly. She picked at a loose threat on her little white gown, "Mama says that my Father is gone, but I think he's still alive. I sometimes hear her talking about him with her friend. She doesn't know I listen, but I do. One time, she even said he sent her a letter for my sixth birthday, but she burnt it." She frowned, "I don't know why. She sounds so angry whenever she talks about him." Her voice grew soft, "I don't even know his name."

Christine let a tear escape down her cheek, "I'm sorry, Meg. I miss my Daddy, too."

"Here we are!" Meg brightened. She galloped down some stairs and then they were in a beautiful candle-lit room. It was small, but there was a stain-glass window with all different blues and reds and greens and yellows. Pictures of Angels were hanging on the walls, candles were before them.

Christine sat down on her knees, and dug around in her bag and took out her picture of her Father. She put the picture on a small pedestal, which was right in front of an unlit candle.

"I need to go change," Meg said softly. "The bedroom is just down that corridor," She pointed, "And your bed will be right next to mine. All right?"

"All right," Christine whispered breathlessly, staring at the picture of her Father, sitting there beautifully. It looked lovely, like she was honoring him by doing so. And she knew she was. Meg left the chapel, and Christine smiled at the picture, picking up a stick and lighting it. She lit the candle and blew out the stick.

"Christine…" A voice said. It was a man's voice – no, not a man. It was youthful, perhaps teenage. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, drifting off the walls and coming from above. "Christine…"

Christine looked up, whispering to the stone ceiling, "Angel? Is it you, my Angel of Music?"

There was a pause, "Yes."

Christine felt as if she were floating. He was here!

"W…where are you?"

"I am watching you, Christine."

"Yes, but… can I see you? May I see my Angel?" She asked innocently.

Another hesitation. "No, I am afraid it is not possible."

"But… why?"

"I cannot explain now."

"All right, Angel."

A young boy of fourteen or fifteen looked down on Christine. His hair was jet-black, his eyes a smoky green, and he wore a clean white half mask on the right side of his face. "Tell me what's happened, Christine…"

"My Father… he is among you now, is he not?" She sounded worried, "Has he not arrived in Heaven?"

"No, no, he is here."

He heard a sigh of relief from the small girl.

"I was frightened he was not with the Angels. That he could not find his way in the storm."

He thought, for a moment, and said, "But, Christine, don't you remember? Before the storm started, didn't you see a beautiful sunset?"

Christine smiled, remembering the sight she saw from the carriage one short hour before the clouds rolled in. The sun had been a flaming orange orb, streaks of pink and purple and blue mixing into the sun. She had loved that sight, "Yes," She replied. "It was beautiful."

"Wasn't it?" He answered, "But haven't you heard, Christine? When someone passes away, if they are a good, honest, beautiful person, a sunset comes up just before evening. If it is a beautiful sunset, it is the journey of the person's soul being transported from earth to Heaven. Couldn't you nearly see it Christine? Couldn't you see your Father's soul, rising to the Angels and Heavens?"

"Yes," Christine said, closing her eyes and picturing it as clearly as she could. It was true, and it made perfect sense. The sunset was a clear view of God's work, a beautiful transportation of the soul to Heaven. And the more beautiful the sunset, the purer the person. Right? "So, he is in Heaven?"

"Of course. You saw it with your own eyes, didn't you?"

Christine smiled, comforted by the thought. "Yes… I did!" She laughed a bit, feeling relieved and happy.

"Christine?" Meg's voice came suddenly.

"I must go," Her Angel said hastily.

"Wait, no! Will you come back?"

"Of course."

"Christine?" Meg appeared, "Who were you talking to?"

Christine smiled up at the ceiling, "No one."

"Well, come on. I was waiting for you. It's nine fifteen. You need to get in your nightdress and come to bed." Meg said.

Christine nodded, "All right. I'm coming."

For the next few minutes, Christine could think of nothing but her Angel. He had come to her! She had waited for so long. And he was here now!

Christie settled under her covered, yawning a little. "Goodnight, Meg."

"Goodnight Christine."

Christine closed her eyes, smiling at the thought of her Angel returning. She yawned again, and snuggled further into the mattress. And soon, she was asleep in her new home.