“Angel?” she whispered.

“I am here, child,” I answered.

We went through her daily lesson.

“Your voice is greater than that of anyone else, my dear,” I told her.

“Thank you, Angel.”

“I will make sure that you are to sing on the stage within a fortnight. I’ll take care of Carlotta; you need not worry about her.”

“I’m afraid of singing to hundreds, Angel,” she said.

“No need to be; you will be astonishing.”

I was still behind the mirror as I talked to her.

“Angel, when can I see you?”

I was afraid of that; what if she saw me and turned away out of fear? My mind secretly wanted her to see me, but I knew that was an atrocious idea. 

“Never,” I whispered.

“Why?” she asked in shock.

“Child, I am not one you would want to look at.” Even with my mask, I added silently.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Angel.”

“It’s not your fault, my dear,” I murmured.

There was a knock on the door and right away I knew it was Raoul. 

“Goodnight, Alice,” I sighed.

“Goodnight, my Angel.”

The dim light of candles filled the cavern. The grand pipe organ was in front of me as I wrote the script music for my opera, Don Juan Triumphant.