On and on she crept, no other noise but that of her feet padding along in rhythm to keep her company. After a time she began to feel that suffering much longer of her current exile would become simply too much. When a respite from the silence came, however, she found herself caught so by surprise that, for a moment, she considered raising an alarm, though to whom he could not say.
From the very walls, it seemed, a faint tinkling as of the sound of a hundred shards of glass waltzing together in a midsummer's breeze filtered through the frigid air. As it continued, a melody developed from the disjointed chords, and the shimmer of song began to transform into an undulating wave of music, filling the dark void and echoing from the low ceiling. Building in power, the notes seemed to take on a life of their own, piercing through her heart like a burning arrow, its shaft holding fast to her senses. Then, when it seemed as though the room could sustain the symphony no longer, it disappeared altogether, the chords no more than a memory, the room as vast and devoid of substance as when she had first dropped herself through the trap door.
It was some time before she was fully able to return to her senses. The sudden departure, as much a surprise as its impromptu entrance, had stolen her breath, and quite deprived her of motion. For many long, anxious moments she stood, straining her eyes into the eternal blackness, as though the voracity of her efforts alone could will the song to return. In its wake, realizing the melody to have ended, she staggered forward once more, unsteady still and dependent upon the rough surface of damp wall at her side to keep her on her feet, so disconcerted had she been at the climax of the mysterious song.
Having walked on for some time, she began to hum to herself, at first attempting feebly to reproduce the soaring, phantom tune, but in realizing how vain would be the effort, took to singing instead. Warming her voice, so used to disuse, with catches of songs from the current operatic libretto, she at last settled on an air from Gluck's Alceste, and allowed herself to be carried away in the familiar tune. Disconnected from her body, her mind and voice rose and fell, now peaking into a warbling crescendo, then falling suddenly to less than a whisper. Unconsciously she walked the expanse of the foreign hall, her feet guiding her lithe form through a labyrinth of snaking turns, redirecting themselves at each false end.
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Alone in the cavernous music room, he paused reluctantly, his fingers stiff and throbbing from hours of playing at the tiny pianoforte. Although far from being his instrument of choice, the miniature keyboard provided a respite from the ground-shaking pulsing of the organ.
Raising a hand to his forehead, he brushed away an unkempt spattering of hair. He grimaced as his fingers grazed his left cheek, the uneven ridges of flesh his constant, begrudging companions. Allowing himself a moment of brooding, self-hatred, the musician threw himself from the piano bench in frustration, pacing the room to the sound of his own harsh, guttural curses. Only when he paused, his right toe colliding painfully with the exposed edge of a table-leg, sending its contents scattering haphazardly on all sides, was he able to hear the haunting, translucent sound of a female's voice below.
Squinting into the light of a nearby torch, it took all of his powers of concentration to pick up the faint, lilting melody. He recognized the song immediately, but was hard-pressed to put a face with the voice. He had long been acquainted with the particular styles of each of the Opera's leading sopranos, and it rather singed his pride to be so at a loss as to the identity of the elusive singer. It only took another moment's contemplation and practiced listening to determine the cause.
The voice of the singer --- whoever she was --- was far too pure and unspoiled to belong to any of the Opera's conceited, self-important prima donnas. Hers was an untrained talent, and he sensed endless, untapped potential in its soaring, weightless flight. He was startled as his own intrigue, and alarmed to discover how difficult it was to draw his attention from the distant song. Realizing that the anonymous singer must be approaching through one of his own tunnels, he drew himself up, paced back to the pianoforte, and hastily replaced his mask, fastening it with uncharacteristically trembling fingers.
His first glimpse of her came fleetingly, when first a hand, then an outstretched arm emerged from the entrance he kept hidden behind a full-size looking glass. She had ceased singing by now, and was concentrating all of her focus on extricating her body from the narrow passage behind the mirror. He remarked to himself on how hesitant were her movements; each additional step forward, though fluid and graceful, seemed to be made at longer and longer intervals, until at last she had come to a complete halt in the center of the chamber, the great organ before her, the pianoforte at her left. He used her momentary pause to evaluate her slight form, and soon found himself transfixed by her subtle beauty.
Her eyes, a prominent, dominating characteristic set, as though by an artist's chisel, into her countenance, held his, and caused him to wonder at their astonishing luminosity. Large and darkly bordered by a fan of thick lashes, their deep chestnut hue retained an ether-worldly quality that he could not explain. Her skin, fair and smooth, was interrupted by her upturned mouth, lips parted into a partial, uneasy grin, revealing a row of white teeth behind her thin upper lip. Her nose, slightly rounded, peered just above her tantalizing smile, and her high cheek cones, framed by layers of dark, mahogany curls, seemed out of place on such a petite skull. She could hardly have exceeded five feet in height, and her frame, thin and shapely, seemed almost to blend into the backdrop of curtains against the wall, clad as it was in an all-consuming, long-sleeved frock and leggings of the purest ebony.
It was not until he had looked her over all the way down to her dainty, slipper-bedecked feet that he discovered with a start that he had stepped from his present concealment in order to better view his subject. Cursing sharply under his breath, he had almost positioned himself once more behind the loose wall panel before he felt the heat of her stare on his face. She had been looking back at him the entire time, he realized, and still she showed no sign of acknowledgement.
Curious, he removed himself entirely from hiding and, encouraged by her breathy sigh and persistent gazing about in the dim candlelight, strode soundlessly to her side. He had spent years perfecting his stealth, and it pleased him exceedingly to be able to lean into her presence, breathing deeply of her fragrant hair without the slightest flinch of awareness. Without thinking, his hand had lifted searchingly to her head, hovering above the flowing mass of curls. She made no motion of recognition until, at last, emboldened by her apparent apathy, he allowed himself to caress one soft, twisted tendril.
A shudder ran down her spine as though she had been rapidly submerged in sub-artic waters, the touch jolting her back into the moment with all the suddenness of the hand of death itself. Gasping, her own hands flew to her face as his returned, with a jolt, to his side. Spinning about in a heady whirl of aroma, filling his nostrils with the sweet scent of violin rosin and laundry soap, she turned herself to face him, shielding her face with her arms, crossed before her like a makeshift crucifix.
Although far from being surprised by her reaction, Erik felt as though he had been unprepared for the sort of welcome the stranger elicited. Hovering somewhere between irritation and bemusement, the dark musician crossed his arms to his chest, watching the girl as she lowered her own from before her face, backing away little by little until her heel caught on the same, blasted table as he himself had collided with only minutes before. Losing all sense of balance and obviously doubly unnerved, the girl lost her footing and came crashing down on the hard stone floor, her skirts lying helter-skelter about her ankles and her hair, dashed across her face, provided a veil to shield from view whatever emotion was now permeating from her lovely countenance.
Hesitating, Erik made his way around the piano bench and stood at her side, realizing that she needed no further reminder of his presence after their earlier encounter. When it became obvious that she could not easily right herself on her own he bent silently, gripping her exposed wrist in what he hoped was a friendly gesture of aide. Recoiling, the as-yet nameless singer's opposite hand flew at once to the wrist from whence his had just departed, pointedly pulling the hem of her long, black sleeve down towards her fingertips. Exhaling in a sorry attempt to control his mounting frustration, Erik backed away, any assistance he might provide being so clearly undesired. Seating himself gruffly on the piano bench at his back, he turned his frame to face the keyboard of the massive instrument and, laying his fingers on the keys, took to playing the first aria that came into mind.
At the far edge of his peripheral vision, Erik sensed a change come over his unexpected guest. Rising from the floor as though mesmerized by the chords, where she had at first been aghast to approach him she now drew closer, her right hand raised only slightly to aide in guiding her towards the grand piano. Pausing at its side, her fingers lightly brushing its polished, golden top, she closed her eyes and seemed to give herself over completely to the flow of the song.
Turning his full attention to his rapt audience, Erik's hands paused completely mid-verse, staring through narrowed eyes, taking in the changed persona of the young woman to his left. As the chords dissolved it was as though a spell had been broken; blinking, the girl seemed to have emerged from a trance, and with the emergence came the return of her previous anxiety. He noticed her fingers tensing on the piano as she took in the varied surroundings, and it seemed as though she was now intent on finding his location and placing as much distance as possible between him and her.
"You know the song?" he ventured, realizing much too late that the question was not only unnecessary, but ill-timed as well. Unabashed by the slight contortion of her lips at the sound of his unfamiliar voice, he continued, striving as best as he knew how to cause his voice to adopt an unpracticed and rather rough tone of paternal kindness.
"I heard you singing in the caverns beyond this room. You have no reason to fear; I know you did not find your way here purposely."
With each new, awkward word Erik winced. Imagine him, the frightful entity thought to lurk in the shadows of the opera house, sitting casually and conversing with what he could only guess must be a very lost, very frightened chorus member.
When she abstained from responding and commenced her fruitless search for the elusive door from which she had initially emerged, he resumed his grip on the keyboard and returned seamlessly to the last-played note of the aria. Sensing her attentions had changed, he decided to beseech her one last time. For some inexplicable reason, Erik felt a nagging need to learn more about the strange woman in black and her glorious, haunting voice.
"Come," he beckoned vocally, letting the one word bridge the distance between them. As though on command she approached, an expression of intrigued bewilderment on her face and he, encouraged by the bizarre power the music seemed to hold over her, extended one hand while maintaining an upbeat trill with the other. Despite her obvious sightlessness, she seemed drawn to his general aura and, laying her hand lightly in his, allowed herself to be drawn to his side. As she grew nearer, Erik noticed her entire frame trembling despite her total lack of resistance.
Bewitched by the wide-eyed stare she had fixed on his face, it took a moment before he could command his limbs to move and his mind to stray beyond the recollection of her haunting voice. Seating himself at the piano bench, he felt her body settle beside his, the heat of her gaze boring into his skull. Clearing his head, Erik started into a light aria, something he vaguely recalled Monsieur Cleveite assigning to La Sorenta for the opening of last month's winter gala. As the lively pizzicato gave way to a rolling crescendo, he felt her attention wavering; changing seamlessly into a passionate piece evoking the power and mystery of nature from Runicini's Arianna, a hint of familiarity shimmered in the way her fingers flew to her lips, fluttering as though overwhelmed by the need to withhold the notes he knew lay dormant in her throat.
Struck by an impulse that surprised even himself, Erik disengaged himself from the keyboard and grasped her wrist and drew it from her face. With his other hand he resisted the urge to still her quivering chin, returning it instead to the piano and applying pressure enough to set the room ablaze with the resonating chord that established the singer's key.
"You know the song," he rasped, unable to mask his own fervor. "Why are you afraid of what you already know?"
Turning fully to face the instrument, Erik started into the introduction once more, pausing just before the soprano's entrance and holding her gaze, forgetting, if only for a moment, that she could not possibly behold his confident grin and his intent stare.
"Sing."
Rising from the piano bench with the grace of an actress performing her final, heart-wrenching speech to an audience of bleary-eyed patrons, the girl delivered the first few notes as though exhausted from the effort of withholding them for so long. As the accompaniment continued, however, her voice improved with the hesitant introduction of an illustrious tonality and all the advantage of a broad range and ability to traverse from pitch to pitch.
Non per altro esce il Sol dall'orizonte,
Che per furar à le sue cime belle
Raggi da farsi un diadema al fronte…
Pounding out the final chords with unnecessary force, Erik spun from the bench as the concluding chords echoed against the stone architecture, leaping to his feet, fully intent on applauding his partner's performance. Her voice needed work, certainly: she lacked the proper breath support, and some inbred restraint held her back from delivering the chorus at its best, but she had the talent of ten La Sorentas, and the elegance of demeanor befitting twenty.
The sight of her, however, silenced his praise; unsteady on her feet, she stumbled back and, through mere chance, fell onto the cushions of a miniature chaise lounge. Kneeling by its side, Erik frowned at her shortness of breath, each new attempt to fill her chest with air resulting in a labored rasp. Her complexion seemed to have paled, and the trembling of a few minutes prior had succumbed to a full-body tremor. Raising his ear to the level of her mouth, he was able to catch a few of the whispered words that she was working so desperately to make audible, he started to pick up an "s'avvien" and a stammered "rinovelle".
The song! For whatever reason, she had resumed the song and seemed incapable of drawing her mind from the memory of the libretto. Seizing her shoulders and stilling her restless body, he raised his voice and commanded her: "Enough! Fin!"
With one final shudder, she seemed calmed at last and, blinking as though emerging from the depths of a hypnotist's trance, caught her breath and clasped her forehead to her palm, regaining her bearings with the disorientation of a sleepwalker awakened from their nightly pacing. Jolted into sudden realization, she threw herself from beneath his firm grip, tensing with all the renewed terror her entrance and realization of him had earlier provoked.
"Who… who are you?" she stammered, her eyes frantically searching about her in a futile attempt to know from which direction her pursuer might next attack.
Rising to his feet and straightening his lapel, Erik let out a low chuckle and bowed to his strange guest.
"I, mademoiselle, am your humble Maestro."
