Chapter Two
Amelia awoke to a knock on her door.
"Meeley-bug… you need to get up!" Mother. Of course. Today was going to be awful. As much as it seemed idiotic to do so, she was already impatient for the sun to go down she could get out of this blasted townhouse.
Amelia pulled the coverlet over her head. "Mooottthhhheeerrrrrrr…." She groaned, curling up under the blankets as if to shield herself from the onslaught about to ensue.
"No, Amelia Maria, you need to get up." From beneath her cocoon of blankets Amelia could see her mother, all business now, hands on her hips and frowning. "You have the final fitting today, so you can have your… gown… to wear at the party tonight."
At first Amelia died a little inside, but when she thought of the actual dress cheered a little.
"Alright. I'm coming. Can I have some privacy, please?"
Her mother huffed and reluctantly left the room. Once she was sure the door was shut, she poked her head out from the covers and stumbled over to the window. She had been so sure it was a dream…
But there it was, unassuming despite the grinning death's head cast in red sealing wax. She remembered… something, she was sure of that much. Erik, looming over her, smiling, incredibly handsome… she shook this last thought out of her mind and cracked the seal on the envelope. The handwriting contained therein was neat, spidery, and elegant, perfectly aligned in the center of the paper.
I will be waiting for you at Christine Daae's dressing room mirror, at precisely eleven o'clock tonight. Do not be late.
MP
Amelia smiled in spite of herself. MP. Monsieur Phantom, as she had so rudely called him. She wondered if he had a sense of humor or if he was just being satirical. She looked out the window at the Parisian streets below and could see the ruined silhouette of the Opera Populaire. She remembered now, what she thought she didn't: he was really in her bedroom, watching her sleep for a moment with an impassive look on his face. In her delirium she had reached out for his hand—encased in a soft leather glove—and held it loosely in hers. She felt him brush a lock of hair behind her ear before vanishing into the night, leaving the note for her on the bedside table.
She frowned, wondering what had possessed him to steal away like that. Surely he could have just given her the time last night… she chuckled quietly. Last night seemed like a dream as well. But again, there was the incontrovertible evidence: her damp clothes, her boots lightly dusted with gray ash, the note.
"Amelia! Get dressed and come down here!" her mother called. "I have an announcement!"
"Coming, Mother." Amelia hid the note beneath her mattress and did as her mother instructed.
The day wore on faster than Amelia had previously thought it would. The dressmaker only needed to make a few minor adjustments, little things like loose edges on the inside of a hem, making sure the petticoats were sewn in the right way, again complementing the Mmelles. Hyatt on their color choice for the dress, a shade that the tottering old man could only describe as, prés de minuit. Like midnight. That seemed to be the only accurate description of the color: like midnight. The satin fabric was a dark shade of indigo blended with violet and a smidge of black, sewn together with black thread. It served to complement Amelia's eyes and skin tone quite nicely. The rest of the day leading up to the banquet thinly disguised as dinner party was spent in preparation. Amelia bathed; her hair was thoroughly washed and dried, then cajoled into an elegantly relaxed updo, with little strands and hanks falling out at tasteful places that accented the shape of her eyes and her face. She dressed in her midnight gown and a pair of black ballet flats, adding a black necklace, drippy onyx earrings and a pair of black, opera-length gloves. She draped a soft cotton shawl over her shoulders and proceeded to the banquet.
Once there, she slipped into the crowd of people and floated along silently, unseen, ipping her champagne and watching the little dramas unfold before her. She had just settled into a chair when her mother came up to her and tapped her on the shoulder.
"Amelia, look at that young man over there." She pointed to a handsome man in the company of an insipid-looking brunette; he was in a dress uniform, she a very light pink gown.
"I see them." Amelia said softly. "Who are they?"
"Why you silly girl! That's Raoul, the Viscount de Chagny, and his new bride, Christine Daae! Or should I say, de Chagny." Her mother chuckled, amused at herself. "Aren't they just a splendid couple? They say that he saved her from the clutches of that awful Phantom…" Her mother shuddered and carried on relaying the gossip. But Amelia wasn't listening. Her gaze was riveted on Christine Daae. She'd heard the stories, of how Erik was madly in love and obsessed with her to the point of committing murder just to attain her, and how Raoul de Chagny had saved her before it was too late for the poor girl. Amelia didn't really care too much about the details. She could only wait for a chance to duck out in order to sneak to the opera house and uphold her promise to Erik.
She had it all planned out. It took her twenty minutes to walk to the Opera Populaire from her own house, and less from the ballroom they were in now. She planned to duck out at ten fifteen, just in case she got delayed.
With as best a simper as she could manage, she politely asked the time of one of the wait staff, He reported that it was exactly ten thirteen. She thanked him sweetly, and gathered up her shawl, leaving a message for her mother that she was leaving the party; she felt tired and did not want to be bothered until tomorrow morning.
The door was less than ten feet away when she heard someone come up behind her. "Excuse me, would you mind if I…"
Amelia turned around slowly, her face painted with a look of ice-cold indifference. The façade melted though, when she realized that she was being waylayed by none other than Christine de Chagny herself.
She could guess why Erik had been so obsessed with her, at first. Christine seemed sweet, wholesome, unable to hurt a fly even if it threatened to kill her. Amelia doubted the woman even knew the meaning of the word "malice".
"You were saying something?" Amelia prompted, walking slowly through the gardens, appearing to be at a leisurely pace.
Christine smiled, and it seemed her whole face lit up. Her eyes were too brown, Amelia decided. They threw too much uniformity in her features.
"Yes, I… I was going to ask you how you were liking Paris. I overheard your mother speaking to one of the guests and I thought it might be beneficial to perhaps become acquainted with you."
Amelia arched her eyebrows and kept walking, not looking at Christine. The girl beamed too much. She practically glowed and would thus get Amelia caught with her vibrance. That, and then Erik would go quite mad, she was sure. "Don't pay any heed to what Mother says. The poor woman's about mad as a hatter in her old age."
"Oh," Christine faltered. "Well, I… I…"
"I must be going." Amelia finished for her. "I have the most dreadful headaches you see, and I simply cannot abide being social one more bit. Perhaps I shall see you at some other function. Good evening, Viscountess." Amelia nodded her head in deference and left Christine standing behind her, dumbstruck, as she disappeared into the night.
Chapter Three
Erik paced, impatient. It was ten fifty-five. Where was she? All day he had been consumed with thoughts of her, her sleeping face as she held his hand. The small smile she had given him when he told her his name. Amelia Hyatt had filled his mind to the extent that with the thought of her, his music would either flow out of him like lifeblood or simply not come forth at all.
