The first thing that struck me about him was how impossibly tall he was, towering above my modest 5 ft 4 inches. And it wasn't simply his height which caught my attention; it was the breadth of his shoulders, the lithe length of his legs, the lean shape of his torso... everything about him was majestic. As my eyes travelled upward past his black trousers and black suit-jacket, they suddenly reached the stark contrast of a white… mask.

The mask which I had vowed not to even acknowledge.

The mask which I found myself unable to ignore.

Why must he wear a mask?

Are masks a… custom, wherever he comes from?

What is he hiding?

So many questions raced through my mind, as I studied this ashen accessory. It appeared to be some sort of fabric, covering a direct half of his face, from hairline, to upper lip. The consequential realization that his entire mouth was on show brought a strange sensation over me; I found myself greedily devouring the sight of those full, unhidden lips. This led to me eagerly scrutinizing everything else I could see: pale, angular features, high cheekbones, a prominent jaw… all aspects of his face were hard, robust and masculine. And yet, I could not stop myself from being drawn to the sheer softness of his eyes… although, I was almost certain that there was a shade of sadness amidst their golden hue.

"Are you quite finished?" The voice snapped me back to my senses with sharp clarity.

Oh lord, how many times had this man made me jump already?! If our lessons continued, a nervous breakdown would definitely be on the cards.

"Has your avid inspection of my appearance proved sufficient?" he asked calmly, all words sounding like poetry spun from his lips, even though they were practically dripping with sarcasm.

"…sufficient? Um… no! I mean, yes! I mean…" I trailed off pathetically, unsure of what exactly he was asking.

"Very well," he scowled. I winced in response. He turned to Madame Giry, bowing flamboyantly. Or, maybe it was just the fact that he bowed at all which was flamboyant in my eyes. "Thank you for your assistance, Madame, but I believe that will be all for now."

She graciously took the hint, and bobbed a modest curtsey. I felt extremely left out of this charade, so took to bouncing lightly on my toes instead.

"In that case, I have my ballet to attend to…"

I shot her a look which clearly read, 'please don't leave me alone with this madman!'… but alas, she simply smiled, turned on her heel and began journeying down the corridor. My new tutor quirked his eyebrow at me disdainfully, as I realized that I was still bouncing, albeit even more vigorously.

Well done, Christine. Yet another stranger who probably thinks you're insane.

I stopped mid-bounce and grinned sheepishly. Mr. Destler remained stone-faced.

"Come. There is much work to be done."

I watched in awe as he stalked through the door, beckoning me with a lazy flick of his long, elegant fingers. I trotted after him, trying not to get distracted by the lithe grace of his movements. This became easier, however, when I fully entered the room. It was beautiful. Not in an obvious, superficial sense, but more so because it was filled with things I love. The carpet was faded and worn, yet was still a luxurious shade of scarlet. Paintings of colour and splendour were proudly displayed on every wall- divine works of art which I'd never seen before. A collection of glass animals adorned the fire place, which was lit- crackling gently as the flames licked and morphed and twisted. A large, fully stacked bookshelf stood at the side of the room, yet there were books everywhere: books of science and mathematics, history and politics, language and literature, art and design, and… ah, of course! Music. In fact, it appeared that music was the sole focus of the entire room; as I surveyed my surroundings, I took note of the sea of instruments, all lovingly placed at the centre of the room. My eyes widened as I realized that this man, this musician must play: piano, violin, viola, cello, flute, clarinet, oboe, trombone, trumpet, saxophone, guitar, mandolin, as well as an assortment of drums which were certainly not of Parisian culture! He noticed my shocked expression and unsuccessful attempt to count the number of instruments on my fingers- his response simply being a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.

"I enjoy developing my musical skills in various areas…"

"I'll say!" I chuckled in disbelief. I gazed up at him, my mouth curving upwards in awe. He pointedly ignored me, and began busying himself by rearranging the papers littered on the grand piano. Being naturally inquisitive, I couldn't stop myself from sneaking a look…

"You compose?" I asked excitedly, picking up one of the sheets of score.

My casual question inspired a violent reaction from my tutor; he snatched the piece of paper away from me, before cradling it to his chest.

"Yes... and no."

My brow furrowed in confusion. "How can you compose… and not compose at the same time?"

"Why so many questions?" he grumbled, dumping the now systematically ordered pile of papers onto his desk.

"Sorry… I'm just curious, it's in my nature!" I beamed.

"Wonderful." he sighed. "Anyway, I do believe that it is time for your lesson to-"

"Christine Daaé, by the way," I interrupted, holding out my hand earnestly. "My name, that is…"

"I am very much aware of your name, Miss. Daaé-"

"Good! So, Erik- can I call you Erik? I'd just like to say that-"

"No."

I cocked my head to one side, confused. "…Pardon?"

"No, you may not call me Erik. I would much rather for you to refer to me as 'Mr. Destler', as I will refer to you as 'Miss. Daaé'." He paused, his smouldering eyes sending shivers down my spine. "I believe it is more appropriate, given our strictly professional relationship."

I gulped. "Um… of course, if that is truly what you would prefer?"

"Very much so." His voice was low and predatory; a velvet caress with a sharp, lethal edge. "I am not your friend, Miss. Daaé. I am simply your tutor, as you are my pupil."

Despite generally claiming that 'I like everyone!', I already felt a surge of dislike towards this man. Why was he being so… so vile towards me? I hadn't done anything wrong! The fact that I felt this way, yet still could not take my eyes off him unnerved me greatly- to the extent where I was ready to walk out of the door and never return. But then, he spoke again.

"However, I intend to make you the most sensational opera singer the world has ever known. Angels will weep when you sing- begging you to sprout wings and join them, as your voice will be far too Heavenly to be witnessed upon Earth."

Any resentment I previously felt towards him had melted away in an instant… I was simply left with a hollow numbness within me - unsure of what to think or what to say. To claim that I was moved by his words was a blasphemous understatement.

"So, let us begin." The soft, wistful look his eyes held just moments before suddenly hardened, as he beckoned me towards the piano.

I blindly obeyed him, without fully knowing why.

Well, your lovely reviews have clearly inspired me to write more already... so there you have it! The next chappy! :D I hope you enjoyed this one as much as the first... especially seeing as this is where our story really begins! And I will not say ANYYYYYMORE- other than a stereotypically desperate plea for feedback! It truly is what spurs me onward... so if you share your thoughts, a new chapter wil hopefully be up soon! :-) Thank you all so much for reading, it really means the world. :D