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Meanwhile, Christine was busying herself with adjusting her costume, not wanting to look too bare for him. Her dainty feet, covered only in thin slippers, walked towards her master's shadow slowly as she finished fixing the practically transparent skirt, tucking her hair behind her ear as she stopped several feet away. "Come along, Master. I've set up a small picnic in our old practice room!" Knowing that he would follow, the young woman trekked the short way from the stage to their former practice room, where he had first started to coax her voice into what it had become. "Angel of music, guide and guardian, grant to me your glory. Somehow I know, you're always with me. You, the unseen genius," she sang quietly, stopping when she reached the door.
As it creaked open, it revealed a small picnic. There was a thick blanket on the ground, protecting from the cold stone. On the blanket was a wicker basket laden with bread, cheese, fruits, and two meat pies she'd baked on her own. She pulled out a bottle of wine, along with two glasses. After pouring them both, she sat on the blanket and set the glass for him on the stand. "Here, for you." She sat a ways away, giving him his space before he asked for it and lightly sipping at the wine.

She blushed, bowing her head as she picked up a knife and a pomegranate. "Anything for you, Master. After all, it's been five years since you came to me, my Angel, and started my lessons." Christine set the pomegranate onto a plate, adjusting it before starting to slice into it. The sharp knife glinted in the scant light, cutting through the skin of the fruit and leaking juice onto the white plate. Once the fruit was cut into halves, she set down the knife and picked up one piece, the fingers of her other hand digging into the juicy pulp and plucking out a seed. A thin drop of red juice dripped down the young woman's fingers and hand as she carried the seed to her mouth, slowly pushing it inside and swallowing it. "You should try these, Master," she chirped. "They're delivered straight from the gardens of Southern France. Here!" She plucked another seed from the fruit, holding it out for the man sitting before her.

♫ Christine Daaé ♫

Her cheeks tinted pink, her blue eyes looking into the shadow that was her darling master. "These moments are not for you, my Angel," she admitted bashfully. "I must confess, I am selfish for you, Master. Our time together feels so short, so rushed, that these little steals sway from lessons are my way of begging you to focus on me instead of my voice. At times I feel as if you only hear my voice, and not my heart." Their fingertips touched as she pressed the seed onto his hand, and even through his gloves, she quivered at the raw power of his genius.
A sudden thunk caused her to pull her hand away, looking over to where a rat had knocked over a candle. She sprang to her feet, coat forgotten inn the ground as she lifted the candle and replaced it. Standing in the sparse light, the beauty was tempted to carry the candle to her master to see him, but kept her back to him. "Angel of music, my dear teacher, isn't your student worthy? Through all these years, I've learned, I've followed, all of my life is yours." She then turned to him, soulful eyes on his shadow. "Too long, I've gazed at your shadow, with questions that ring in my mind. Why do you hide when I seek you, must you hurt my pride?" She stepped one step closer, only to jump back as she heard her name called by her mousy friend Meg.
Christine sighed deeply, looking from the door to the shadow. "I must go. Madame Giry wants us all to practice for opening night. It's a full house, so we must be as perfect as possible." She pushed a curl back into place, turning to the door. "I'm part of the ballet again. I suppose my chance for a big break will have to wait until next season." Shrugging, Christine opened the door and walked out, humming as she walked out to the stage where her fellow chorus girls now waited to be directed.

♫ Christine Daaé ♫

Christine, small and shaking in the middle of the giant stage, tightly gripped her costume as she stared out into the empty audience. She stood in the silence, trying to summon her courage as she attempted to ignore the impatient grunts of the two new theater owners. She cleared her throat, swallowing the lump stump in her mouth and nodding to the maestro. "I am ready, Monsieur," she said quietly, reaching up to push blonde curls that had escaped their bonds away from her face. The orchestra started up, she held La Carlotta's scarf in her hands, stared out to the empty chairs, and began to sing hesitantly.

"Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said goodbye." She faltered, turning to run away, only to be frightened back into place by the banging of Madame Giry's staff.

"Remember me every so often, promise me you'll try. On that day - that not so distant day, when you are far away and free, if you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me." Her voice finally began to strengthen, her confidence growing as she imagined her father, her precious Angel, sitting out there and listening to her sing. A smile came to her beautiful face, shock washing over those who listened as she continued the aria. "And though it's clear, though it was always clear, that this was never meant to be, if you happen to remember, stop and think of me. Think of august when the trees were green. Don't think about the way things might have been. Think of me, think of me waking, silent and resigned. Imagine me trying too hard to put you from my mind. Think of me please say you'll think of me, whatever else you choose to do. There will never be a day when I won't think of you!" She raised her hands up, smiling proudly and cheeks flushed as she held the note and ended it with a flourish, turning to gush as Meg rushed up to her and took her hands, several of the other dancers and a few attendants walking up to her to usher her into the costume fittings. It was finally happening, she was getting her big break, and all thanks to her Angel. She hoped he was watching her, that he was proud of her.

♫ Christine Daaé ♫

Christine accepted the praise, reveling in the surprise at her performance. It was different, she knew, how very amazing she was, how incredibly talented she turned out to be. Her teacher had always encouraged her talent, teaching her to be a star from the moment they met. She had never expected, however, for it to pay off this soon. And speaking of soon, the days until opening day sped by. She was pushed quickly to learn all the songs and steps the lead role needed to know. Ever the hard-worker, Christine accepted the responsibility and sat through hours of costume fittings and dress rehearsals. She maintained an air of dignity and professionalism, although she excitedly giggled with Meg after rehearsals and chattered incessantly with her about the future.

Finally, the day arrived, and just before she was meant to go on stage, Christine stood in front of her mirror. She could distantly hear the opera-house, filled to the brim with people, settling as they waited for the opera to begin. She knew she had to go, but she just wanted a moment longer in silence, as a simple chorus-girl. "Thank you, Master," she whispered into the air, knowing he would hear her. He always heard her. Hearing herself called for, she smiled softly, then turned, her large dress rustling as she walked. Madame Giry stood beside her, directing her where to go. "Are you afraid?" she asked, taking Christine's hand and speaking quietly.
Christine shook her head. "Not really, Madame. I was before, but if he believes in me, then I must be good enough to do a decent job," she said, looking up towards the rafters. She knew Madame Giry knew who she was speaking of. He was probably already irritated that the new owners refused to pay his salary and had given Box Five to the Vicount de Chagny. She didn't blame him, although wished that things had gone the way they should've. The new owners would pay soon enough for their insolence. She often did. Stopping just before they stepped on-stage, her nerves finally got to her. Could she really do this? She glanced back up to the rafter, comforted by the shadows, then nodded to herself and stepped onto the stage.

"... There will never be a day when I won't think of you!" she sang, holding a long scarf in her hands, smiling to the audience as though they were the ones she was in love with. She didn't sing to them, however. She sang to the ceiling above, her heartbeat calm and composed merely by the idea that he was listening. She knew that she was making his proud. She barely glanced to the side, although the face in Box Five kept his eyes on her.
The man leaned forward, his eyes wide. "Can it be?" he whispered. "Can it be Christine?" He heard applause, standing and clapping along. "Bravo!" He paused, then turned and started to run out of the box and down the stairs. He had to find the owners, ask them about her. He knew her, he remembered her. All these years, and here she appeared! "Long ago, it seemed so long ago, how young and innocent we were! She may not remember me, but I remember her." He opened the door to the owner's box, rushing inside to whisper to them. He had to see her.

Christine nodded to the crowd, then directed her attention back to the back. "Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade, they have their seasons, so do we. But please promise me, that sometimes, you will think o-o-o-o-o-of me!" She threw the scarf into the air, standing still and breathing heavily as she was applauded by the astounded and excited crowd. The praise was different, it was brand new, and she adored it. This is what she was meant for, she knew it. This was the life she'd always wanted. She owed it all to a single man, a phantom, her master.

When the show finally ended, Christine sat alone in the basement, lighting a candle for her father. Her dress, much larger than she was used to, pooled around her, keeping her warm on the cold stone floor. She was very quiet, waiting for her angel to appear to her. However, she knew he likely wouldn't. After all, she could hear people all around, ever could hear someone coming down the stairs. It was probably Meg, looking for her.

♫ Christine Daaé ♫

Christine looked to the candle, smiling softly to herself. She looked upwards as she heard her name called, her longtime friend stepping inside. "Christine, Christine," she sang, her long hair swishing behind her. Christine looked upwards. She could've sworn she heard her name once more. She looked back to Meg, who walked over to her. "Where in the world have you been hiding? Really, you were perfect!" She touched Christine's shoulder, pushing gently. "I only wish I knew your secret. Who is this new tutor?" she asked, sitting back on her heels.
She looked away. "Father once spoke of an angel, I used to dream he'd appear." Christine looked back to Meg, standing slowly and starting towards the door. "Now as I sing I can sense him, and I know he's here. Here, in this room, he calls me softly, somewhere inside, hiding. Somehow I know, he's always with me. Here, the unseen genius." She gazed off into space, as if waiting for him to come in.
Meg took her hand, leading her out and shaking her head. "Christine, you must have been dreaming. Stories like this can't come true. Christine, you're talking in riddles, and it's not like you." They walked slowly down the hall, Meg carefully leading her friend and Christine off in another world.
"Angel of Music, guide and guardian, grant to me your glory! Angel of Music, hide no longer. Secret and strange angel! He's with me even now-"
"Your hands are cold."
"-all around me-"
"Your face, Christine, it's white!"
She stopped, looking to Meg, then shook her head and continued to walk down the hall, this time on her own. "The future frightens me," said the blonde, making her way to her dressing room.

Stepping inside, the young woman shut the door behind her, reaching for her bodice. She had to get this thing off, it was making it hard to breathe. La Carlotta's waist was trained to be much tinier than hers, and they hadn't had much time to change this dress. Still, though, she need it to be off. Before she could remove it, she heard a knock at her door. Suppressing a groan, she reached for her tiara, removing it and setting it on her vanity. She paused for a minute, brow furrowed. Something was missing. A rose. Her master hadn't come to give her a rose yet. Oh well, he never disappointed her. She was certain she'd done a good enough job for a rose.

Going to the door, the woman opened it, expecting Madame Giry and finding instead, the handsome young Viscount. She blinked, then smiled and curtsied. "Monsieur le Viscount," she greeted. The man shook his head at her.
"Christine Daae! Where is your red scarf?" he demanded.
She tilted her head in confusion. "Monsieur?"
The Viscount sighed. "Well, you can't have lost it! And after all the trouble I took! I was just fourteen and soaked to the skin because-"
Her eyes brightened with joy. "Because you had run into th sea to fetch my scarf! Oh Raoul, it is you!" She happily opened her arms, hugging him tightly before welcoming him into her dressing room. She led him to the vanity, sitting on the chair and gesturing for him to take the one beside her. "How I've missed you!"
"Little Lotte, let her mind wander," he sang, taking her hand and rubbing the backs of her knuckles with his thumb. "It has been far too long, my Lotte. I have long missed our picnics in the attic, your father playing the violin, us reading dark stories of the North."
She laughed, shaking her head. "No, what I love best of all is the Angel of Music singing songs in my head," she said, before sitting back and looking at him fondly. He had grown into quite the handsome man. She always knew that he would.
"Little Lotte, you must come to dinner with me to celebrate your success. We must catch up!" he said, standing. "You must change, I must get my hat."
The woman shook her head, standing as well. "No, Raoul, I can't. The Angel of Music is very strict."
He shook his head, striding to the door and chuckling. "Two minutes, my Lotte!" he warned before walking out.
"No! Things have changed, Raoul!" she tried to say, the door shutting before he could stop.

Left alone in her dressing room, the woman sat back down, looking at her reflection. She needed to change. Of course, Raoul would be back soon to drag her to dinner, but she was certain she could talk herself out of it. At any rate, she needed to get the heavy dress off. Removing it and setting it onto the settee, she loosened the top corset around her waist, taking it off and setting it on top of the dress. The corset underneath was much more breathable, her breathing returning to normal once the top corset was gone. Adjusting her stockings and slipping into a pair of slippers, she reached for her thin robe, tugging it on and tying it closed. It didn't cover her very well, but it still did a better job that her slave girl costume from before, and it was much more comfortable than her dress. She started over to the closet with her clothes in it, about to choose a dress for the dinner she was probably going to end up going to, when she felt something change. Something different, yet familiar. She could sense him. She could sense her Angel of Music.