Chapter 1: Cruel and unusual punishment
He hadn't had a wink of sleep in days. Not since she left him. Her voice filled his head; it's soft, lilting tone singing his music. But she was mocking him.
My Angel, my Angel of Music, I will forever sing for you. . .but remember; you're only second best. . . .
Her voice was slowly destroying him. That voice. . .had he not nurtured that voice into a beautiful flower? Had he not soothed it with his music? He meant nothing to her. After all he had done, she still turned away, unable to bear the sight of her Angel of music any longer.
"Why?" Erik murmured, barely conscious. She was still there, as much as he wanted to forget her. He slowly drifter over to his organ, and began a soft, mellow composition he had never played or written before. He was now absorbed in his music, so absorbed that he did not see the tiny form moving toward him; not until it spoke.
"That song, Monsiur; it's very beautiful," said a small, frail girl.
Erik's fingers instantly removed themselves from the keys, and his feet somehow supported him as he rose.
"How did you find your way here? Are you quite alone?"
His tone startled the girl, and she seemed to shrink at his harsh tone.
"I--I've known the way since I was very young, and I'm quite alone, Monsiur. I've often sat alone by a vent in my room, listening to the music. . .your music. . . ."
"How old are you?" Erik asked, his tone now gentle; almost soothing.
"Seventeen in a fortnight, Monsiur. Mme. Giry says I'll soon be old enough to marry, like Christine, De Chagny.
Erik winced at these words. How the memory of Christine tortured his soul!
"Monsiur? Something troubles you?" The girl asked.
"No, girl, I'm alright. What is your name?"
"Amberlinne. Amberlinne Giry. I am the ballerina Meg's cousin."
"Please to make your aquaintance," Erik said is fluent french as he kissed her hand politely.
"I suppose you have not heard the stories of the Opera Ghost told before?
"I've heard it," Said Amberlinne softly, twirling a long lock of her smooth, black hair around a tiny finger as she spoke. "They say you are the Opera Ghost, Erik, but I don't believe in him. After all, you're no ghost."
"Where did you learn my name?" Erik questioned, trying to keep the tension in his voice unnoticeable. It was clear this girl knew more about him and Christine that one would think. . .