A/N: May the ghost of Gaston Leroux forgive me for this pure silliness.
Cookie
The organ was lifeless. Erik pinned it with his gaze and dared it to breathe the life he felt beneath its surface. It failed to inhale, though, and the mask was thrown to the ground in an attempt to conjure fear.
Beneath the sounds of his mind and the pillowed silence came an aromatic presence. He turned to find the foreign item quietly sitting at the lake's shore. Unimposing, yet enigmatic... someone had penetrated his sanctum.
Damn you, Nadir, Erik thought as he wiped the cookie crumbs from his cloak. Must you continue to torture me with your cursed domesticity?