October 14, 1884

(9:00 pm)

"Pour une femme de mon nom," Ilona began to sing whilst surpression a yawn. "Quel temps hélas! le temps de guerre! Aux grandeurs on ne pense guère..."

Her day had been long, with Anna's sudden illness her understudy had been called in early in the afternoon rehearsals. The understudy did not know the part of Marie at all, the full performance had been nothing but a waste of time. They had run through the entirety of La fille du regiment of course, and as they prepared for tomorrow's opening night.

Ilona's voice dipped into a Bb2 as she sang the next scripted cadenza. Her voice had always been deep, even as a little girl in the chorus more often than not she was placed with the older boys in the chorus to prevent her from ruining the high melodic voices of the other girls and boys. Her mother had a low voice as well, a dramatic mezzo, meeting with her father's baritone, must have created her contralto voice.

"Stop, stop, stop!" Her father said slamming his thin hands down onto the organ's keys. "That was horrific, you have no passion. Where is your mind? I'll tell you where it's everywhere but here. Do I need to remind you of what you are working for?"

"No papa," He hated when she called him that, she was truly foolish to aggravate him. Though he hadn't raised a hand to her since she was 7 she knew very well he would strike her for her disobedience.

Instead of striking her as Ilona had half-expected he instead went about lecturing her on the importance of focus for the next ten minutes. During all that time Ilona did her best to pretend to listen while stifling another yawn from coming out of her mouth. She didn't need him lecturing her on the importance of sleep either.

"Your mother is letting you slack is she?" He asked suddenly crossing his arms and actually looking at her. "Does Erik need to make a visit?"

"No," Ilona said quickly. "It's my own fault. I've been staying up late working on my music. She's too busy with her whores at night anyway."

"Yes." He said tapping his foot to some unknown beat going through his head. "Well, what can you expect from a madam? Focused more on her whores than on her own daughter. It's just sad. You see Erik focuses on his daughter. Erik does what a father should by teaching his daughter the music she thrives upon."

Ilona simply nodded and hoped he would not go another spill of how he was good. He'd always gone off on his tangents, as he had gotten older they had seemingly become longer and longer, either that or Ilona's patience was failing her as she got older. She was not as foolish enough to think that her father was insane. His long tangents filled with the paranoid ramblings only a madman could conceive were enough to convince not only Ilona but her mother and poor Nadir as well.

She had taken a seat on the velvety cushions of the fainting couch that sat by the piano just in case she took her corseting and her singing too far. Ilona hadn't had an incident like that since she had been barely fifteen. Her mother's views on corseting were as can be expected for a prostitute, it should be worn at all times to accentuate the natural figure of a lady and to be more appealing to the male gaze. Her fathers were that of it being a useless garment that impeded lung capacity.

Ilona's person choice on the dastardly garment was to wear it but wear it loose enough as to not impede singing abilities. Some of the other singers followed this rule, Anna, for example, wore her's loose. While the screeching Carlotta seemed to just keep tightening hers, with any luck the woman's lungs would give out before her voice, if only. The brattish soprano was a terror to the Opera house, more so than her father's presence as the "Phantom of the Opera" as the ballet rats and stagehands called him.

Granted at least her father contributed something to the theater, while Carlotta spent her time wasting company time on having fits over nothing while the rest of the cast was just trying to get their work done. Her vocal abilities had never been strong or very good at all really, she had joined the company four years ago as a visiting performer from the Venice theater, she said she just fell in love with Paris that she had to move and perform in Paris.

Carlotta brought in record ticket sells for the Paris Opera, it was the only reason why anyone was willing to put up with that devilish woman. When ticket sales declined to her performances Ilona prayed that the woman would be reduced to smaller roles or fired. Whichever came first was fine with her and most of the other members of the Opera House.

"Are you still staying at the whore house?" Her father asked her suddenly dropping his lecture on the importance of focus.

He did it often, he could be talking about something with frustration just spilling out of his mouth and then with the next second he would be absolutely calm and discuss his fine collections or his newest composition. She had grown accustomed to it after so many years of studying under her father and by just being around him as his daughter.

"Yes," Ilona said, not particularly liking how he referred to her mother's apartment above the whore house as the actual whore house. "I'm thinking of purchasing an apartment down the street from the theatre. I already have the ideal living room planned out, a baby grand in one corner and a marble fireplace as the centerpiece of the room. Perhaps I'll even purchase one with two bedrooms, you can get out of this drafty cellar and not be but a few minutes walk from the Opera House."

Her father chuckled at the mention of him moving out of his little-hidden home underground to live in an above ground in sight apartment. She knew that he would never take her up on that offer. He had lived in the damned underground home since before she had been born, well not really before as the Garner had not been completed until a decade ago.

"I would sooner move in with the Daroga." Her father said with a soft chuckle of amusement added to his voice as his daughter seemed to actually be begging him for something. "Furthermore, I'm not sure of how your lover would feel of having the 'opera ghost' living with you."

"I don't have a lover," Ilona retorted and crossed her arms like a child.

"Ah, but on the contrary my dear," Her father held with an overly dramatic wave of his hand. "Your father is not stuck in this room. He has seen the way you and that young banking fellow interact."

Leon was hardly her lover, more of a companion in keeping her mother's business under wraps from tax collectors. He was a banker that was studying law, that held a soft spot for the whores of Paris. His own mother had been a whore and had neglected him due to her poor living conditions, he had done well for himself and was now looking to make the lives of the other children of whores better. He had already helped her mother set up a small area for the children of her mother's girls to go while their mothers were working and be cared for.

He was a kind soul, she could see herself marrying him if she wished to be married, or if he wished to marry her. If she were in the business of getting married that is. She was hardly an old maid in the world of theatre, at 19 she was nearly an old maid by the upper crust members of society but still a blushing maid by the theatre. Anna had only recently married and she was nearing 32.

Ilona had to be careful of course when describing Leon to her father, for all she knew her father could be planning on hanging the poor boy for some delusion her father held him. It was probably for the best that she kept her father away from the subject of Leon all together, not only for the sake of his insanity but for the safety of Leon.

"I don't have a lover, of that I can assure you," Ilona said hoping to change the subject as quickly as she could. "Monsieur Khan sent me flowers after today's dress rehearsals."

"The Daroga has always held a special place in his heart for you," Her father said turning back to face the piano probably to begin deconstructing her performance piece by piece. "Often I imagine that if he had kept you a secret you would have been better off with him as your father."

And now her father had reached the pity-stage of the night. Soon he would begin to cry and say that he did not deserve the small happiness that had been given to him. He would curse god for not making him a normal man. And would spend the rest of the evening in his bedroom with the door locked in his "bed" staring at the ceiling.

Ilona, though she had not spent too much time with her father as a child, knew his moods. As a child her mother had kept her away from him, and when she would visit it was highly supervised by both her mother and Monsieur Khan. As she had gotten older and her father had gotten used to the fact that he had a normal, happy child, she was allowed to spend time alone with him. Her lessons had begun though nearly the moment she could speak.

"You know very well I don't believe that," Ilona said while standing up from her seat on the fainting couch to stand next to her fitted father. "And you know well that I love you despite your constant lectures and your poor choices."

Her father sighed as if he were about to start crying, instead, he stood up from the piano bench and took Ilona into his arms in his best attempt at a hug. She simply smiled and held him back. She was lucky to get a hug from her father but every few months or so. She savored them when they came from him, even when they were awkward and lacked the warmth and feeling of the hugs she shared with her mother.

"Can you play my piece?" Ilona asked after her father had pulled away from her hug.

Even with the mask, she could tell he was smiling as he nodded his head and sat on the bench to begin playing one of the newest pieces he had dedicated to her. She sometimes wondered if she would be a feature character in any of his operas. She hoped to sing an aria composed by her father one day in front of a full theatre, not to the rats of the cellars.

Ilona sat back down on the fainting couch to truly experience the music. Closing her eyes she neglected to think that she might fall asleep with the fatigue she was experiencing.

October 15, 1884

(8:00 am)

Ilona awoke to find herself in just her undergarments and in the "guest" room of her father's cellar home. The Louis-Philippe Room was something of a mysterious second bedroom of her father's home, and she had dared not ask what the exact reasoning for having the room. She had slept enough in the room to know it was just a bedroom, perhaps it was her bedroom? Did her father want her living down in the cellars with him?

She shook her head and made her way out of the warm sheets of the comfy bed and into the average air of the room. Her thoughts of this being her room were washing over her as she turned to an open wardrobe filled with fine gowns all in her measurements as she looked through them. Selecting an eggplant colored day dress, Ilona began to dress in her corset and tie the bustle that had been placed on a chair the previous night around her waist.

The rather formal day dress was made of silk, it was ornate with purple flowers on the shirt and her blouse's collar. She hadn't had something so smooth on her body since the summer's fancy dress party hosted by the opera house. She remembered well she had dressed as the Queen of Hearts with actual playing cards sewn into the skirt of the dress.

Finishing buttoning up the blouse she checked herself in the mirror of the room. Her father hated mirrors, they reminded him of what Ilona could only surmise as for how hideous he was. If he was willing to have a mirror in his home, he really was opening himself up to her. More so than he had ever in the past. Imagine Nadir's face when she told him of the mirror in the room her father must have made for her.

Braiding her wavy auburn hair back into the bun it had been in the day before was quick work for Ilona. She wore her hair in the same style about every day. Going through the long process of braiding and foiling her hair into the intricate styles that the ladies of society did were a waste of time to those in the theatre.

Still wearing only her stockings she made her way out into the dark hallway of her father's home, the carpeted floor prevented her feet from meeting what could be assumed was stone beneath her feet. Making her way into the living area she found herself very much alone, the piano and organ sat undisturbed. He wouldn't leave her here by herself, even if one of the "intruders" had made their way underground he wouldn't leave her be.

"Papa!" Ilona called, hoping that using that title would bring him out from wherever it was he was hiding.

"What are you wearing?" Her father asked from seemingly beside her.

Ilona managed to stop herself from jumping at her father's surprising entrance. He stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, his body language reading his obvious displeasure with seeing her in the dress. Why would he be upset at what she was wearing? Had he not had this and the other dresses made for her? Had he wanted it to be a surprise and now was going to throw a tantrum for not getting to reveal it himself?

It wouldn't make sense for anything else. Did he think her mother was going to wear them? Her mother was most certainly not interested in whatever her father had to give her. From what she had overheard from Nadir, her mother had expected her father to marry her upon finding out she was pregnant, her mother had been of course foolish to think this and had instead had Ilona on her own and opened her own "house of ill-repute."

"I found it in the wardrobe in my bedroom," Ilona revealed hoping her father had not noticed the mumbled last bit of her statement.

Her father clenched and unclenched his fists, he let out a sigh of frustration before calming himself and stalking closer to Ilona. He grabbed her hand and led her into the kitchen, the darkened room smelled of fresh bread and cooked eggs. She sat down where she was instructed to at the kitchen table, not saying a word until he spoke first.

He went to the stove to retrieve the bread and eggs that sat on the counter. Placing them before her, Ilona had to school herself not to take anything until he sat down himself.

"What makes you think that that room is yours?" Her father asked finally taking his seat across from her.

Taking two of the croissants and a ladle full of the scrambled eggs, Ilona set them on her plate. Her wine glass was already filled with fresh orange juice. His position sitting down left Ilona great difficulty reading his body language. With the mask on reading him was nearly impossible, the only thing she could tell was the way his voice sounded curious that he was willing to listen to her.

"I have always slept in that room when I stay with you," Ilona muttered gently. "When I found the dresses in the wardrobe..."

"Just because you sleep there doesn't make it yours." Her father interrupted. "Sleeping in an abandoned building does not make the homeless man no longer homeless, it is simply his shelter. The Louis-Philippe room is only your shelter when you work up the courage to stay with Erik."

Ilona took another bite of one of the croissants. He was playing games with her, or at least that was all she could assume. She studied him intently hoping a wave of the hand would indicate his interest in playing a stupid game with her. His games were all the same, he'd open himself to her and before she could dig any further he'd shut himself off from her completely.

She was his daughter, she deserved to know more about him. She did.

"I'd hardly call visiting you is a frightening stay." She retorted, doing her best to school her tone to sound as neutral as possible.

"But you have not seen Erik's face." Her father said, evidently forgetting that she had in fact seen his deformed face.

He laughed his mad laugh before taking the black mask off his face, revealing the skeleton-like features she had seen so many times before. She felt like pissing him off and decided to just continue to eat while he made a display of himself.

She had seen the deformity on multiple occasions throughout her life, the first time being when her mother had yanked it off his face when she was a toddler. Her mother had experienced many deformed men through her experience of being a battle side prostitute during the American Civil War and the Franco-Prussian war. When met with seeing her daughter's father for the first time without a mask she was sickened yes, but no more so than her time with amputees and other injured veterans.

Growing up having seen her father without a mask on had been more of a curious experience for her than one of disgust. She wondered how he had something so horrible happen to him where the skin on his face had been left so thin, his lips near gone completely, and his eyes so sunken in. Had he been involved in a war? Perhaps, but the way Nadir had said he had been like that even when they met in the 50s.

"You think Erik would have his daughter live with him in this hell?" He railed beginning to pace back and forth, while Ilona continued to eat just to show she was not nearly as disgusted with his face as she thought. "I would face the devil himself if it saved you from his venomous grasp."

He continued to rant and rave at what he would do to save her from whatever madness he could come up with. He often spoke of himself as the devil coming to claim Persephone from Demeter to keep her in the underworld for a few moments of light in the world of the dead.

"If I were a normal man," He muttered, barely above a whisper as he sat himself down in one of the dining room chairs. "If I had a handsome face. I'd have a fine house in the most fashionable part of Paris, music ever flowing from within and out onto the streets. I'd have a wife to take out on Sundays and keep entertained with our music on the weekdays. We'd have a few handsome children to keep us young while teaching them all we knew."

Her papa began to weep as he placed his head in his palms. As she had learned through his ever changing moods, he would either continue to weep until she said something or immediately begin his ravings once more. Ilona kept her distance until the time she thought would have allowed his mood to shift back into the rage before going to comfort him.

"But you could have that," Ilona tread carefully. "I'll purchase a home and we can do all you said. We can go for walks in the park on Sundays and play music all hours of the day and night."

His sobbing ended with a mad chuckle erupting from within his chest. His face morphed into what could be described as a smile on a skull.

"You are a truly kind young woman for your tolerance for an old man's wishes." He said that smile-like expression still on his face. "You see I know I shall never have these things. I will never walk amongst the common man with a lovely woman on my arm. I will never have any of the things an ordinary man will have. I have accepted my fate to live and die in these cellars."

"But you don't have to!" Ilona said quickly taking one of her father's gloved, but still bone, hands. "You can come up to the light with me. I can buy a house, we could go for walks, and we could fill the streets of Paris with music. These don't have to be fantasies."

Ilona smiled when her father seemed to be contemplating her offer. She was sure she could deal with him on a daily basis if he were above ground. She could even have Nadir move in with them, he could handle her father while she was away at the opera. She'd be subject to rumor for her living with an older foreigner but that was hardly the worst of the gossip about her.

She'd purchase a fine home with space for a grand piano, maybe even an organ if her father wanted one. Did she have the money currently for that home? No, but she was sure Nadir and her father would be willing to pitch in funds towards the purchase of a home that would get her father out of the cellars and into the light of day. It could all be so simple.

If only it were as simple as she imagined.

"Ilona," Her papa began not even bothering to look at her. "I am not meant for this world. I am not meant for any world but here."

Ilona's eyes watered slightly, she had never thought she would be crying over her father's refusal for happiness. She did her best to keep her face as neutral as possible, keeping the tears from overflowing the dam she had in place. She wanted him to be happy, he deserved to be happy, yes he was a madman who had done horrors that she could only imagine, but he needed to be happy. He needed to feel loved every day, not just on days when she met him for lectures.

"Papa," Ilona mumbled squeezing his hand. "Please."

"No!" He shouted shooting straight up from his chair. "This is the end of this conversation. Now leave Erik to his peace! Leave!"

Ilona said nothing more just did as she was told. She held her tears back for as long as she could whilst grabbing her things and running out of the underground home and back towards the entrance to the tunnels that was in her dressing room. Shutting the mirror behind her she finally allowed the tears she had been holding back flow.

She just wanted her papa to be happy. Was that too much? She wanted to be a normal girl for once. She wanted to go home to both her mama and her papa living in the same house happily together as a family. She wanted to sit down for an evening meal not with just her mother and occasionally a few of the whores in the whorehouse, she wanted it to be with her mama and papa, maybe even with Nadir as a frequent dinner guest.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that the other girls in the world got two parents that loved her with all their heart's and maybe even loved each other. She wanted her papa to walk her down the aisle at her wedding, she wanted her mother to wear one of those hideous gowns mothers of the brides wore. With her mother crying as she saw her walk down the aisle in a beautiful gown with her papa by her mother's side as they watched their daughter get married.

"It isn't fair," Ilona yelled taking the nearest object in her hand and slamming it at the mirror.

The bottle of perfume busted upon impact with the mirror. She did nothing to pick up the fallen pieces of glass on the floor. The room smelt like a florist shop. Ilona just resigned herself to getting out of this damned opera house.