A/N: I am sorry I'm so slow on updating this… I hope that you will forgive me and enjoy this update.
This chapter is utterly dedicated to Mithril, who is the best reviewer I've ever seen. She's utterly supportive, and just plain awesome. Any mistakes here are all my fault… self-betaing is bad idea I know, but I didn't want to wait another moment!
1870, February 16.
Dearest Angelina,
What a shocking, arousing and impossibly coincidental day I have had! And my sister, I have met the most intriguing man alive! Almost as intriguing as Father…
When I awoke this morning, I was necessarily confused and disoriented. Why, I was still in the swan bed, though I was curiously divested of my stocking and my corset, though my dress was still firmly laced in the back. Surely, my modesty had been compromised, yet honored, yet utterly seductively compromised without my express consent, though I would have willingly (if charmingly hesitantly) given!
A small monkey with clapping cymbals lulled me from my dreamless sleep. Cecil must use the monkey as an alarm clock; I tried not to consider this an act of bizarre immaturity for a grown man and instead focused on the quaint nature of the situation.
And yet, the monkey was rather ugly, and dressed in Persian garb, though nothing would have signaled any reason for the inclusion of Persia or even France until now, as we do not speak French, you know.
Alas, I propped myself up on my elbows and searched for the Monkey's snooze button. I finally put my finger in between the cymbals and let the toy beat on me to avoid the wretched clanging.
Resigning myself to my newly awakened state, I crept out of the bed and went in search of my seductive rescuer-captor-man-ghost-possible lover to ascertain the particulars of my situation.
When I rounded the corner, I saw him seated at a large organ, and I faintly remembered what Father used to say about men who felt compelled to buy large organs.
Compensation.
Undaunted, I strode over to him, allowing my natural scents of lavender and cinnamon to wash over him and announce my presence.
He turned suddenly with a look of fear, desire, confusion, contemplation and a little spot of gas.
I opened my mouth to speak, but he raised one elegant gloved hand. Standing, he turned to face me.
"Night time sharpens, heightens each sensation," he said, slowly and deliberately as if wanting to sing the words but not being allowed.
"I thought it was morning."
He gaped, his eyes wide, and he shook his head in consternation.
"Darkness stirs and wakes imagination," he said slowly and emphatically.
"But one cannot see in the dark! It is… dark! What kind of imagination can happen when you can't see your own hand before you face?"
He began to growl. "I shall skip forward then. Touch me, trust me-"
"Good sir! We barely know each other!"
He sat down, defeated. "Mademoiselle, these are the only lines I have. They are meant to enthrall and seduce you." He narrowed his eyes. "I took the liberty of consulting the Oxford English Dictionary over our confusion on 'ravishment.' I am clear on the matter at hand."
"Hand!" I shrieked.
"Foot?" He countered.
"You are no gentleman, sir! I must, I must… I must be off! You must take me back to my dressing room in the Opera House, careful to not let me fall, but letting me fall at least once so that you may touch me with probable cause and therefore cause us both to blush and realize how much we might enjoy touching each other in the very near future!"
Cecil frowned, and gathered up his cape. I thought he might mean to strike me, or threaten to strike me, so that I might fall to the floor attractively and lie before him vulnerable and heaving. Yet, darling Angelina, he just stared at me!
"Very well. Now hold still. This blindfold contraption will take about five minutes."
Once safely in my dressing room, the masked man released me and stepped away. "Until we meet again, mademoiselle."
"Monsieur… aren't you going to take the blindfolds off?"
His hesitation made my skin grow cold, then hot, then clammy, then strangely prickly and exciting.
"Mademoiselle, I mimed blindfolding you. You need only open your eyes."
Angelina! What a remarkable magician he is! He had me completely in this thrall- he surely is an angel, or a devil or perhaps just a man with a strange sense of humor.
When I turned around, he had vanished, although the large mirror behind me rattled a bit and I heard him utter, "oh bloody hell move rat!" as his footsteps faded away.
I rushed out into the hallway, searching for a friendly face. Without you, my precious womb-mate, I am lost in the cold, forbidding yet curiously decadent city! I made my way down the hall, past a few dancers who scowled at me and one or two stagehands that gestured and chuckled. Finding my way to the rehearsal studios, I was comforted immediately to see Lissy de Mithrileux reading one of the daily publications, her brow furrowed.
"Oh Lissy, Lissy, my dear friend-"
Her eyes lifted from the page and she regarded me with what I can only imagine to be admiration.
"Can I help you?"
"Oh, dear Lissy, I must tell you of my strange encounter!"
She looked back down at the newsprint. "Did you know that 1870 is actually not a bombast year of decadence and carefree glory in Paris? Not that you would know it to traipse these halls…"
"Lissy, I met the strangest most wonderfully eccentric man."
Without lifting her eyes, she muttered, "He wore a half mask of white and lives bellow the Opera House in a rather opulent lair that seems to have been decorated by a team of lonely women after an absinthe binge."
Angelina, I was shocked. She knew of my Cecil!
Lissy looked up, sighed and folded the paper. "Catherine," she began, "He's the Phantom of the Opera. The Opera Ghost. What contemporary people would term an extortionist and a terrorist, but who young women like to regard as reclusive and incredibly attractive genius who could play with yarn and it would cause them to swoon."
She reached out for my hand, and I allowed her to pat it. She seemed amused.
"Did he mention a scorpion?"
I shook my head.
"Did you notice any correspondence from a fellow named Nadir Khan? Did he utter the word, 'daroga'?"
"No Lissy. He just spoke-sang to me of… things! And gave me a monkey wake-up call!"
She heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes, surely out of jealousy that Cecil would pay me so much attention! He must have rejected her!
Perhaps Cecil has taste after all!
Always,
Catherine
