Erika's POV 

       I've always been a monster. 

       Ever since my birth, when my own father tried to convince my mother to sell me off. 

       When my father, shortly after my mother's death, presented me with a porcelain mask. 

       When I wrote my first opera, and my colleagues wailing about how the 'song seemed to burn their souls'. 

     I could go on, but there's no point in describing my tragic and untimely past. It's always been something that makes people yell, makes people wail and scream. Most of the time at me, but on very rare occasions, at the people who did this stuff to me. But then I would wake up, and dream about nothing but music. 

     I could live off music, if I truly wanted to. But I find myself at a constant yearning for chocolate cake and god knows what else every month, so living off music is pretty hard when you're craving angel hair pasta and grape-flavored popsicles. 

     But one day, my greatest ambition, my greatest hope is to find someone who will spend their life with me. I know it is a lost cause, and that no one would even dare to look at me without my mask, but one day, even as I am lying on my deathbed, I want someone to come up to me and say, "I know what you have gone through. I relate to you. I appreciate you. I love you." And perhaps this person shall be a wonderful singer, with caramel-colored curls and warm, soft brown eyes. I feel like crying just thinking about it. 

    I figured I'd go and collect the money from Box Five.It would be better than pitying myself down here. 

    I walked through the tunnels, holding a lantern and a knife in my coat. The tunnels can get cold sometimes and I hate wearing corsets, don't judge me. I kept on walking, until I heard the most beautiful voice. It didn't even sound human, it sounded like an angel. I realized that it was coming from in front of a mirror door. It allowed me to see and talk from behind but the person in front couldn't see me.

   There was a girl, who looked about sixteen. And she looked exactly like the woman I described. Long, light brown curls and beautiful, loving brown eyes. She was kneeling, and she seemed to be praying for her father. Poor girl. 

    "Don't cry, my angel." I said, and she looked up, adorably. "Angel?" She asked, and I was incredibly surprised. I answered her, trying to sound breathy and ominous, "Yes, I have come for you, my angel. I am the angel of music." She smiled, and somehow slightly went down to the floor. "I am Christine Daaé, angel of music. I assume my father sent you." I felt sort of guilty, and I  said back, "No, darling, your father did not send me. I came here, and I will not rest til' I hear you sing, once more." ( a/n see what I did there? ) 

    She looked down, incredibly shy. Christine's innocent, even completely pure. Poor girl, she must have lost her father earlier. If my father died I would probably throw a party, but Christine looked like perfection. She was innocent, beautiful, and had a wonderful singing voice. Any parent would be proud of her. 

    "I am sorry, angel. You must forgive me, as my father has died and-and-" she bursted into tears on the spot. I breathed in, 'let's pray she doesn't run.' I opened up the mirror and gave Christine the biggest hug I've ever gave anyone. She buried her curls and adorable little head inside of my coat. Christine kept crying, and I kept comforting her. "Mon petite ange, don't cry. Your father is in heaven, darling. In a better place with your mother." Christine rubbed her eyes and yawned. "I'm tired, angel of music." 

     "Oh, mon ange," I cooed, "Go to sleep, my darling ange." I set her down on a very small, not very comfortable bed. "Tomorrow, I will come by again. And you, Christine, will give me a taste of the music of heaven!" 

        I walked back through the mirror, and went back to my lair. I need to see if I have some corsets. And some music. 

       Only the best for my ange.