Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera or its characters. Rights belong to those who have legally acquired them. This applies to the entire story.

Paris, 1880

"Christine...come along, Christine, they're dressing."

A small hand shook the young woman's shoulder. Girls giggled, pulling on their robes and digging their feet into slippers, shuffling towards the door.

"Comeon, Christine..."

The young woman grunted and rolled over onto her back to greet a pair of excited blue eyes.

"Whatis it, Meg?..."

"The premier danseurs. They're dressing, hurry down the hall if you want a peek!"

Without waiting for a reply from her friend, the young Meg grabbed Christine's hand and pulled her out of bed, only giving her a moment to grab her cotton robe. The wooden floorboards groaned in protest as the two women trotted down the darkened hall, passing one of their sleepy maestros in his nightcap and gown as he returned from relieving himself in the lavatory. Meg snorted with laughter when she saw the bewilderment on his face as they rushed by him.

The girls had gathered around the door of the premier danseur's hall, and they tried to peer eagerly through the wide crack between the frame and the door itself to catch a peek of the young men. Christine rubbed her tired eyes and pressed her face to the door to look. She could see one of the dancers, stretching his finely sculpted legs on the bar. He was a handsome fellow, with thick chestnut locks that twisted into short curls, like Christine's own hair. In spite of her sleepiness, she giggled quite loudly.

"Oh, sh, sh, Christine, they'll hear--"

"Who's there?"

As if on cue, all the girls stumbled to their feet and galloped off down the hall like ponies, snorting and giggling, their slippered feet padding softly on the floor. One of the ballet mistresses had heard them and was coming their way, sure to punish them all with longer practices if they did not run back to their beds.

Unfortunately for Christine, by the time she had gotten to her feet and started to leave, the ballet mistress had already come around the corner and stood before the young woman, in a blue nightgown with a white robe wrapped tightly around her stiff form.

"Christine? What on earth are you doing out of bed this early in the morning?"

"I'm sorry Madame Giry, I just needed a drink of water, forgive me, I'll hurry back to bed--"

"A drink of water indeed. Did all the other girls in the dormitory need to fetch a drink of water along with you? I've had it with this sneaking about, trying to peek at the premier danseurs. I'll have no more of it, come with me."

Christine's heart dropped into the pit of her stomach. Her feet would be sore tonight.

She walked behind Madame Giry, her feet dragging on the floor, as they headed back to the dormitory. Her ballet mistress was taking crisp strides, as she always did when she walked, tall and confident like the dancer that she was. Christine could not help but admire her teacher for carrying herself so well even in the early hours of the morning.

"It's not wise to wander around this early in the morning, Christine," Madame Giry muttered softly, without turning her head about in the young woman's direction. The ballet mistress's candle fluttered violently as they rounded a corner and nearly went out. Christine shuddered at the thought of being lost in the darkness.

"I'm sorry, Madame," Christine whispered, "But is it so dangerous to walk about in the halls in the morning? Some of the maestros are up and about at this time, and the premier danseurs and prima ballerinas are preparing for their exercises."

To her surprise, the ballet mistress gave a smile, her thin, dry lips twisting with odd amusement.

"It can be dangerous, Christine," she said simply.

Only a moment had passed when Madame Giry suddenly stopped and lifted her candle. Christine peered down the hall and could barely make out a black shape lingering near the door to the ballet students' dormitory. Christine heard her teacher give a deep breath.

"Who is it, Madame?"

"Wait here, Christine," the ballet mistress spoke tightly.

Christine stood and watched as the older woman continued on down the hall, approaching the dark shape and standing close before it. Apparently this figment was a person, someone Madame Giry knew; she spoke very softly and intimately with the stranger for only a minute. Christine glimpsed a paper passed to Madame Giry between them before they departed, the black shape slipping around a corner. The ballet mistress motioned for Christine to approach her, tucking the paper into her flat bosom. She took Christine's hand, opened the dormitory door, and guided her inside.

"Good night, Christine. Sleep well and be sure to wake on time for class." The older woman suddenly seemed short, distracted, rushed, her brow furrowed, eyes tired. Christine opened her mouth to ask her what was wrong, but the door shut softly in her face.

Madame Giry entered the empty dance hall cautiously. The lamps were put out, but the windows were open, allowing bright white light into the space. The grand piano sat in silhouette a little to the left. A single wooden chair sat up against the wall to her right. She approached it and took a seat, her hands folding tightly in her lap.

The clock on the wall ticked and tocked loudly. Her eyes flickered to the face; almost noon. He'd be here in a moment.

The light weight of the letter tucked beneath her bodice felt heavy like lead. She could feel the warm, broken wax seal pressed lightly against her chest.

My dear madame...

She breathed a sigh and shut her eyes. Damn it, why was she so nervous. There was nothing to be nervous about.

I wish to arrange a meeting with you at noon to-day, if you are not too occupied in your lessons. I want to speak to you about your student

She picked at her nails and cleared her throat softly.

you know the young lady I speak of

She could see Christine's wide innocent eyes turning to look at her in fear as she had approached the premier danseur's hall.

I wish to discuss times I could fit in singing less-

The door opened. The ballet mistress jumped in her chair.

She saw a tall person walk in, turn and softly shut the door behind himself. His gloved hand was wrapped tightly around the doorknob.

"Erik?"

"Yes, madame."

In spite of her nervousness, Madame Giry smiled. She stood and brushed off her skirt distractedly. The man turned about, taking slow steps in her direction. He looked to be dressed for driving a carriage in bad weather; his form was draped in his funereal black cloak, his wide brimmed hat pulled down low over his face, his hands covered in soft black gloves. Oddly enough, however, it was warm and bright outdoors and the temperature indoors was pleasant.

"How are you?" Madame Giry asked quietly as he stood before her.

"Same as always," was his reply. Madame Giry had to strain her ears to hear him. He was incredibly quiet today.

"Will you take a seat?" She asked him, gesturing to the chair.

"No, thank you, I'll stand." He tilted his head to the side a little. Madame Giry wanted to bend down to see his eyes, but was far too afraid to meet his gaze. She looked at his feet instead. She saw scuffed leather boots.

"Well, madame, I take you received my note from Nadir this morning?"

"Yes, yes, I did. I read it."

He sighed softly. "Can you arrange...?"

"I believe so. I must ask her if she wants to sing," Madame Giry replied cautiously.

"She does," he said shortly.

He turned his head upwards slightly, and Madame Giry could see a part of his face. She saw a pair of thin white lips, and two pieces of black leather covering his cheeks. A mask...? Why would he be afraid to be identified? Was he afraid she would report him to the police? To the managers? To a member of the company?

"Is that a mask?" she blurted. Immediately she clapped a hand over her mouth. He would surely strike her for being so rude. Ah, she had insulted him!

She heard him snort. "Are you referring to my face? Yes, madame. It is a mask." He turned from her and headed for the piano, reaching out a hand and touching the glossy black lid. She followed after him tentatively, preparing to apologize, but he spoke.

"What time would be most convenient for you? I do not want to interfere with any of her dance lessons."

"Ah...her lessons are finished at five o' clock in the evening, Erik. Monsieur. I believe she has supper soon after and then goes to bed. Perhaps six o' clock?"

"Very well," he said, drawing circles on the piano with his finger. "Have you mentioned anything to her yet?"

"No, monsieur. Would you like me to?"

He lifted his hand and stroked his throat. "Yes...yes. Tell her that a voice instructor has expressed interest in singing lessons for her. He heard her singing with her friends and believes she has great potential. He's eager to meet her."

Madame Giry smiled a little, but she feared what might happen if Christine did not want to take singing lessons. She could not force her, after all...

"I will tell her tonight."

"Thank you."

He turned from her and quietly exited the room.

Madame Giry breathed a soft sigh of relief.

"Singing lessons!"

Madame Giry's spirits fell when she saw the horrified look on her student's face. "Yes, my dear. He heard you singing in the hall, with Meg and Nancy. He says you have great potential to become a singer. He wants to meet you."

Christine touched her rosy cheek nervously. "Oh, Madame, I cannot sing. You know that. I only sing the songs my mother and father taught me. I am no singer! Oh, please, Madame, I must refuse this kind gentleman."

Madame Giry grasped Christine's hand, desperate to convince her, even if she had to bend the truth a little. "Christine, he was very serious about your potential. He is revered as one of the greatest singing professors in Paris. Just think, Christine, he could make you a prima donna here at the Opera. Isn't that a lovely thought?"

Christine's blue eyes were filled with worry. "Yes, madame, it is lovely, but...I'm afraid I don't have the voice or the talent. I could not possibly learn..."

"You must at least meet him. He wants to introduce himself to you tomorrow night. He will teach you what you don't know, Christine. Come, there's nothing to be afraid of."

The young woman sighed, and nodded her lovely head. "All right, madame. I will meet him tomorrow. But no promises."

"No promises," Madame Giry repeated, thrilled that she had succeeded thus far. Perhaps her mind would change once she met him.

"Come Christine, hurry. It's already five minutes till the hour. Hurry!

"I'm trying, Madame," Christine whined, shoving several more pins into her blond hair. "I must at least look presentable!"

"He won't mind," Madame Giry said absently as she toyed with her own hair in the mirror behind Christine. "Now come...we must leave."

The two women left the dormitory and walked briskly down the hall, Madame Giry's stiff skirts rustling loudly and Christine's feet padding softly. The dance mistress prayed that she would not be scolded for being late to the meeting. She was learning quickly that Erik had a short fused temper if his schedule became disturbed by tardiness and forgetfulness. Hopefully with Christine in the room, he would not become angry.

They reached the dance hall just as the clock inside chimed six o' clock. They entered, Madame Giry shut the door behind her, and they both turned about.

The dance hall was softly lit now, and two chairs were placed in the center of the room. Erik was standing by one of them, his hand placed upon the back.

"Good evening," he said pleasantly.

"Good evening, monsieur," the two women said in unison.

"Have a seat, Mademoiselle."

Madame Giry gently motioned to the other chair and Christine, looking suddenly nervous, obeyed and sat down in the chair. Erik seated himself across from her, leaning forward, resting his arms on his knees and folding his hands. Madame Giry noticed that he was not wearing his gloves. His hands were pale and thin.

Erik suddenly seemed to remember that he was in the presence of a young lady, as he took off his hat and laid it beneath his chair. His hair was thick and black, combed back on his head and well groomed. His face was indeed covered in a black leather mask that extended all the way to his burnsides and down to the sides of his chin. Madame Giry could not help but stare. She had never seen this much of him before.

"I appreciate your visit with me, Mademoiselle," he spoke softly to Christine. He extended his hand to her. "My name is Erik."

"Christine Daae, monsieur," the young woman replied, giving him her hand. He raised it to his lips but did not kiss it.

"Pleased to meet your acquaintance. I assume you know why I asked you here?"

Christine took her hand back gently and toyed with her lace handkerchief. "Madame told me that you wished to give me singing lessons."

"That's right," he said softly. For the first time, Madame Giry saw him smile. It was thin and bloodless, she could not see his teeth. "I happened to hear you in the halls, singing with your two friends. You have a magnificent voice."

"Oh, no, monsieur. My voice is terrible. I cannot sing," Christine countered hurriedly.

"Of course you can. Don't say that," Erik with a sternness that made Madame Giry feel cold. "Your voice is only untrained. I'm offering to train it."

Christine sighed. "I don't want to trouble you, monsieur...I would hate to waste your time."

"It wouldn't be wasting my time. Trust me. Why don't I start giving you lessons, and if you are unhappy we can stop. Would you like that?"

"I suppose..."

"How old are you, Christine?"

"I'm twenty."

Erik smiled again. "How did you learn to sing?"

Christine shrugged her delicate shoulders. "My mother and father were very musical, and they sang songs with me very often. Every day. I only sing the songs they taught me."

"They taught you well," Erik murmured softly. An awkward silence fell in the room.

Erik spoke again. "For the time being, let's say that I meet you again next week in this hall, at this time, for our first lesson. If you do not like it, we can stop. I do believe you gave outstanding potential."

Christine hesitated a moment. "Very well, monsieur. But I'm warning you, it might be very painful on your ears."

Erik chortled. "Don't worry about that."

Madame Giry came forward and collected Christine as she bid goodnight to Erik. The dance mistress turned a little to glance at Erik as they left the room, and she was greeted by the most frightening pair of eyes she had ever seen. Bright, green, and unblinking, they stared at her as she shut the door, burning in her vision as she walked down the hall, and continued to hover before her that night as she attempted to sleep.