The woman in black stood in box five, listening blissfully as she watched her student sing on stage. It brought her a small bit of pride to know that he had made it so far with her help.

Slowly, another woman approached her, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Christine," she said softly, "maybe if you just-"

"I can't, Madame Giry," the younger woman sighed. "He can't ever see a face as hideous as mine."

"Erik is a very kind man," Madame Giry nodded. "He would see through to the beauty underneath. I'm certain he would."

Christine thought for a moment. It would be dangerous to reveal her existence to another being. Especially with her...physical attributes.

You see, Christine was born with a deformity that covered the entire right side of her face. She was hounded out by everyone and met with hatred everywhere. Her only friend was her father, Gustave Daaé. Her mother would have been a friend to her as well, had she not died shortly after giving birth to her beloved daughter.

Gustave took very good care of Christine and kept her safe in their cottage, hiding her from the world and its cruelties. A few times, when her father left for work, Christine would venture out into the city. However, she soon learned that the world was not capable of loving such an ugly person. Or, as her father put it, the world didn't know how to see the beauty underneath her disfigurement.

"The world's showed no compassion to me," Christine snapped. "What makes you think he would?"

"Because he's different," Madame Giry stated simply.

Christine walked briskly past her and down to the catacombs underneath the opera house, her mind fixed on thoughts of her father and how she came to live below the Opera Populaire.

When Christine was just seven years old, her father became ill. Knowing that he would soon die, he asked his good friend, Madame Giry, to care for his daughter. Madame Giry vowed to keep her safe and hid her in the catacombs, away from the prying eyes of the public. Christine had known nothing else of life since then, except the Opera House.

Christine rowed down the lake and came to the main room of her lair. She stepped onto dry land and took off her hooded cape, hanging it on a hook nearby. Carefully, she picked up and old violin that had once been her father's and began to play it, each note echoing through the candlelit home.

She ended the song as tears rolled down her cheeks, remembering how much her father loved and cared for her, how he called her his Angel of Music and told her she could do anything. Desperately, she wanted someone in her life to take care of her again, though she knew that her chances of finding a man who wouldn't be repulsed by her were slim.

Christine sat down on her bed and thought about Erik, his dark hair and his bright blue eyes, his smile and tall, muscular figure. She wished desperately to show herself to him, but it was a risky thing to do. Especially since she had overheard that Erik had just begun to court Rachel de Chagny, the sister of the Viscount. "Well," the Phantomesse said aloud to herself, "I guess it wouldn't hurt to allow him to meet me once."

The next day, Erik was alone in his dressing room when he heard a woman's voice faintly whisper, "I am your Angel of Music."

"Angel, I hear you," Erik replied. " I am ready for my voice lesson, Master."

"There is no lesson today, my Angel," Christine replied, sliding the mirror back.

Erik watched in wonder as a young girl, who was easily two years or so younger than him, appeared in front of him. "Who are you?" He asked, the faintest bit of fear in his voice.

"I am your Angel of Music," Christine said softly, making sure the white mask was secure on her face. She held a hand out to him and gave a small smile. "Join me?"

Erik hesitantly took her hand and gave a small nod as Christine led him through the dimly lit passageway. He cleared his throat and nervously glanced around. "I'm sorry...do you know where we're going?"

Christine scoffed. "Of course I know where I'm going. Do you really think I'd just lead you down a random hallway? You're the one who followed a random stranger through a mirror. You should be questioning your judgment, not mine."

"Fair enough," Erik nodded.

The Phantomesse lead him down a long, winding staircase and to a vast, glassy lake where they boarded a boat. Slowly, the masked girl rowed her student through the waters, a journey she had made many times before. When they approached the main room of her lair, Christine hopped out of the boat and tied it off before taking off her cape and tossing it aside. "I have brought you," she sang softly, "to the seat of sweet music's throne, to this kingdom where all must pay homage to music...music. You have come here for one purpose, and one alone. Since the moment I first heard you sing, I have needed you with me to serve me, to sing. For my music...my music."

Erik gave a small, silent nod. He couldn't help but wonder why she wore that mask. After all, the part of her face that was visible to him was very beautiful indeed. There was something so perfect about her dark brown eyes, about the way her brown curls fell, framing the fair skin of her face and porcelain of her mask. "Um," he stammered, "how old are you...exactly?"

"Sixteen," Christine replied, sitting down at the bench of an old organ that, once upon another time, she tried to teach herself to play.

"You're sixteen and you live down here?" Erik frowned. "Angel, where is your family?"

"I have none," the masked girl sighed. "My mother died shortly after my birth and my father passed on about nine years ago. I have no other family and no where else to live."

"Well, surely you could find lodging, say, in the dormitories," Erik reasoned.

Christine gave a small, weak scoff. "They wouldn't have me. I haven't seen an ounce of kindness from anyone with the exception of my father, Madame Giry, and Meg Giry."

Erik gave a thoughtful frown. "And why is that?" He asked with great interest.

"Not for any mortal sin, but the wickedness of my abhorrent face," the Phantomesse replied bitterly.

When her back was turned, Erik slowly crept up behind her. In one swift movement, he spun her around and removed her mask.

Christine reacted quickly, covering the right side of her face with her hand. "Give that back!" She demanded angrily.

"No," Erik said firmly. "Why won't you show your face?"

"That's none of your business," Christine snapped. "Give it back."

Erik fought against her and pulled her arm down, revealing her deformity.

"Stop!" Christine exclaimed almost pleadingly.

Erik touched a gentle hand to her disfigured cheek, slowly leaning down and pressing his lips into hers.

Tears trailed down Christine's cheeks as she realized that he wasn't judging her, wasn't showing her the hatred she had experienced many times. No, instead, he was accepting her for who she was.

"There is not a single thing wrong with you, my Angel of Music," Erik whispered softly.

Author's Note: Big thanks to creamy_cupcakess for giving me the idea for this one shot!