A/N: Hi readers... if I still have any. I'm soooooooooooo sorry that I didn't update this sooner, but I actually have a legitimate excuse. I was going to post this chapter at the beginning of last month, but my router went kaput and it was saved on my iPod. Crummy excuse, but there it is.
Many hours and many, many drawings later Erik slumped over at his intricately carved mahogany desk, exhausted from grief. His sleep was anything but peaceful however, as dream after dream about his past flooded his brain. His mother screaming at him, the face in the mirror and the subsequent lacerations of his wrists and hands after he smashed the mirror, the gypsies, Giovanni and his daughter, his time in Persia, the building of the Opera House, Christine. At times, they mixed together to create even stranger circumstances until Erik couldn't tell fact from fiction. Soon after, the apparitions of his dreams dissolved like insubstantial mirages of the desert.
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Juliet groaned softly and attempted to lift her head from the soft, feather pillows adorning the luxurious bed. For a moment, she couldn't recall where on earth she was and a pang of panic struck her heart. And then she remembered. Right, I'm stuck in the lair of the Phantom of the Opera.
She struggled to sit upright. Her settings further came into focus as she blinked blearily. Deep blue walls, a simply enormous canopied bed that was a shade of blue like the feathers of a peacock, a bookshelf that was stuffed to the rafters with leather bound and most likely expensive books, a pure white marble washbasin, and many other costly looking trinkets were scattered here and there. All in all, it was an attractive room. This Phantom fellow must have quite a lot of money- well, of course he does! Juliet thought, swinging her legs over to the edge of the bed in preparation of getting up. He's been getting a princely salary ever since he's been at the Opera Populaire.
Juliet realized that she was still wearing her slippers from the day before when her feet touched the floor. Hazy details of what had transpired with the Phantom came filtering into her brain as she made her way to the washbasin on the other side of the-she refused to acknowledge it as hers-room. When her image was visible in the mirror above the basin, the memories came flooding back and she groaned.
"Beautiful, just lovely," she muttered, pressing her fingertips to the dark bruises adorning her slender neck. They were in the general shape of a large, strong hand. They were very sensitive to the touch and Juliet made sure not to touch them again. She wondered why the Phantom had had such an aversion to her singing. If the rumors were true, he had a sort of obsession with music. So why demand that she never sing again? And, now that she thought about it, Juliet had noticed that the organ had been broken. The rumors and whispers about the mysterious man were thus far not matching up with the reality she was facing.
There was, thankfully, fresh and cool water in the pitcher beside the basin. Juliet was glad for the opportunity to wash her face. On an absolute whim, she opened the armoire to the left of the bed. A surprise greeted her. Dresses that looked to be roughly her size filled the space, as well as accessories and shoes. Now how could he have... she wondered. But now that she looked more closely, some of the dresses looked to be curiously similar to some of the things that Christine had been wearing. In fact, Juliet thought that some of them were exactly the same.
Regardless, Juliet didn't want to be wearing the old blue gown for two straight days. So, she pulled a dark green dress out of the armoire and put it on. The clip in her hair had understandably become loosened, so she went back in front of the mirror to fix it up a bit. She had every intention of asking the Phantom where exactly the wash room was in this cavernous expanse.
Tentatively, she opened the door and peered around. The demon cat appeared to be nowhere in her immediate vicinity, so Juliet deemed it safe to step out. Her feet, clad in a pair of emerald silk slippers, were almost entirely silent on the cold, gray, stone floor. The place was entirely silent and to Juliet, it felt as though she was the only person alive. It was somewhat eerie, really. Eventually, she came to stand in front of a dark, silent door. It was ornate, with climbing, dancing silver filigree here and there.
Even though nearly every instinct Juliet possessed warned against going into the room, her overly curious nature prevailed and her hand curled around the decorative doorknob. Slowly, she pushed the door open. A darkly beautiful room greeted her eyes. A vast, black satin bed commanded the majority of one's attention. There wasn't much for furniture, but what little there was was grandiose and expressive. Juliet's gaze shifted to the left and her gaze fell upon a large writing desk. There was a person asleep at the desk, and there was no doubt that the person was the Opera Ghost.
A gasp caught in Juliet's throat and her feet took root in the floor. She had no desire whatsoever to have another run-in with the Phantom. The two she had had thus far were far more than enough. She took a stumbling step backward and collided with the door.
Instantly, the Phantom was on his feet, so fast that Juliet questioned whether he had really been asleep. "Mademoiselle Chris-Juliet, have we not had the discussion about the fact that my room is off limits?"
The name slip-up had not escaped Juliet's attention, but she chose to ignore it for the time being. "I was hungry and was looking for something to eat," she defended herself. "I don't know my way around this place like you do." She was very lucky to have caught the Phantom in a sleepy stupor, or she might have added to the bruises on her body.
"The kitchen is three doors down from this one," the Phantom said stiffly. "If that is all..." Juliet's keen eyes had just fallen upon the pictures on the Phantom's desk and identified their subject. Suddenly, the reason for her being held captive here had presented itself to her with astonishing clarity, and she didn't like it. Not at all.
A frown creased her brow. "Is that what I am then, a substitute, a stand-in?"
The Phantom offered no change in facial expression. "I'm sorry, but I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking ab-" Juliet stopped him.
"Yes you do," she said, feeling a tidal wave of anger rise up in her chest. "I'm just a replacement Christine for you. The fact that I'm not dead, the reason I'm being kept here, the reason music of any sort isn't allowed, the name confusion, and the multiple sketches of Christine on your desk. They all make sense now." If Juliet hadn't been scared out of her mind, she would've taken an indignant step forward. Or three. She hated being compared to the rising prima donna. All Monsieur Firmín, Monsieur André, Madame Giry, or practically anyone for that matter, would ever say was, "Oh, you're nearly as good a singer as Christine... You're nearly as graceful as Miss Daaé... You're nearly as pretty as Miss Daaé." Juliet was sick and tired of hearing what she nearly was.
"Look at yourself!" said Juliet scathingly. "Look at what she's done to you. When I came to the Opera House, I was immediately told all of the 'Opera Ghost' horror stories. I couldn't close my eyes at night for a week. And to think, all that was needed to undo you was one woman with a better than average singing voice. She's got you wrapped around her little finger and she doesn't even know it. You went from cunning, malicious specter to quivering, depressed wreck in one, graceless move." Juliet's eyes next found the empty morphine syringe.
"And this is how you think you're going to keep your head above water?" she asked in disgust. "Drugs make pain go away for a time, but as soon as they fade the pain comes back. No matter what you do, it always comes back. Always." Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. "You can't run or hide from a problem, Phantom," she whispered. "You can only face it dead on." She turned on her heel and swept out of the dark room.
Once outside, Juliet brushed at her eyes impatiently. She followed the Phantom's instructions to the kitchen and let herself in. Thankfully, there was plenty of food stocked there, but it appeared as though the room hadn't seen much use. This fact didn't surprise Juliet overly much. The Phantom looked like he didn't eat much and didn't eat often.
The kitchen, like the other rooms Juliet had encountered down there, was exquisite. All of the metalwork in the room was a burnished, gleaming bronze, as were all of the pots and pans. What was not metal was a smooth, black granite. Juliet noted that the color black seemed to be a recurring trend.
Soon, she had fixed herself a nice breakfast of eggs, toast, and fruit. Even though she had by no means forgiven the Phantom for the many things he had done, she made up a tray of breakfast for him. She realized that it could very well be dangerous to go back into his room, but she didn't care.
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Erik stared at the ceiling as he laid on his bed. She's right; I'm a mess. But then again, what does she know? She doesn't know what it's like to have your beating heart ripped out of your chest. He sighed, scratching Ayesha's ears softly. She purred and placed a soft paw on his shoulder as though sympathizing with his somewhat pitiable situation.
"Well, it's going to do me no good to just lay here, is it?" he posed the question to Ayesha. She cocked her head to the side like she was taking his question into consideration. Then she nudged his shoulder gently yet insistently with her nose, prodding him up and out of the bed.
"All right, all right," he chuckled, getting out of the bed. Ayesha jumped into his arms and made herself comfortable, purring contentedly. "Sometimes I really wonder who's the master here, me or you," he told the feline. She gave him a smug look.
Erik slid his feet into his house slippers and made his way over to the desk. He stared longingly at the drawer where his morphine resided, but Ayesha meowed loudly and distracted him. Reluctantly, he turned his eyes away and sat down at the desk. The candles that he had lit had worn down and Erik replaced them before pulling a fresh stack of parchment out of one of the drawers in his desk and also a fresh bottle of ink. His golden flecked fountain pen lay exactly where he had left it the night before.
Carefully, he took the writing implement in his hand, dipped it into the ink, and began to sketch. This time, his pen did not shape the lovely face of Christine Daaé. It drew the beginnings of a building plan, very different from the last one that Erik had designed. For one thing, it was above ground.
His door swung open again and Erik got to his feet, irate. Had he not made himself clear the first time? This room was off limits for everyone but him. Ayesha jumped off the desk from where she had been drowsing and curled around Erik's ankles, ears flattened and eyes narrowed.
It was Juliet. She wore a forest green dress that he had... acquired for Christine some time ago and a determined expression. "I made you breakfast," she informed him, setting the tray on a table next to the door. Delicious smells wafted over Erik. He stood there dumbly, unsure of what to say. "A simple thank you would suffice," she said, exiting the room once more. Erik tried to make his mouth work.
"Than-" The door swung shut. He looked at the tray for a long moment, and turned back to his work. He wanted to finish this outline and had no time for food until then. A part of him was struck by the gesture of kindness that had just been shown to him. People didn't often show him anything of that sort.
Erik worked straight through the day, hardly stopping for anything. At one point his face grew warm and the mask started to rub against his face, a very uncomfortable sensation. So, he cast it carefully off and continued in his work. Near the end of the day, Erik's stomach rumbled thunderously. He looked over to the tray which had remained untouched.
Maybe if I set it in front of the fire for a few minutes, it'll warm up a bit, he thought, picking up the tray and setting it on the hearth. He returned to the desk to straighten up his papers and set them in a drawer, and then the door opened for the third time that day.
"I've just come to collect the t-" Juliet, who had just come in, stopped cold, her mouth slightly agape and fear flooding her dark brown eyes.
Erik realized right away, too late, what was wrong. When he'd taken the mask off earlier, he'd neglected to put it back on. He whirled on his heel and strode into the shadows of his room.
Yet another person who cannot see through to the beauty underneath. Just perfect.
A/N: Well? What did you think? Again, I'm so so so so super sorry for not posting this sooner, but it had been entirely done on my iPod and I didn't feel like writing it up again.
