Erik's POV

Elphaba tore off my mask.

She saw my face.

She probably hates me.

She probably wants nothing more than to flee me now.

My temper is something I can't control. As soon as my mask was pried away from my face my first instinct was to cover my face. My second instinct was to retrieve my Punjab lasso and kill whoever saw it, but I promised myself not to carry around my lasso on Coney Island. Most anybody who sees my face turns into a gloating fool much resembling Joseph Buquet.

As I raised my hands to strike, Elphaba flung her hands in front of her face. The moment her green hands reached the level of her eyes, a transparent green bubble formed around her. My hands fell to my sides and I backed up. What the hell was she doing?! How was she doing it?

"Wh-what are you doing?" I stuttered. She looked up at me through her fingers, eyes still slightly fearful.

"Magic." She said lowering her hands. The bubble disappeared and I finally came back to my senses.

"Magic doesn't exist." I sneered.

"Oh? I could easily prove to you otherwise, if that's what you would like." She said raising her arms once again. Knowing that the trick that I saw was clever, but I doubt magic, I decided not to take any chances.

"No, no. I believe you." She stared at me for the longest time as if she was contemplating whether to believe me or not. She shook her head.

"No you don't." she said. Slowly, Elphaba looked around and started walking toward… a broom? She picked up the broom by its neck and made her way to the center of my music room. She looked at me and then back to her work. Elphaba stared at the utensil with a look of complete concentration strewn across her face and started chanting an indecipherable phrase. When she seemed finished she swung her left leg over the broom.

"What are you doing?" I asked. She didn't answer me, but kept going on with her work. After a few more seconds of her mindless rambling, the broom started to float upward. My eyes widened. When she was only a few feet in the air, I walked towards her… slowly and carefully. I reached my hands above her head and waved them from left to right.

"H-how?" I stuttered. She looked down at me with a smirk.

"Magic. You really should listen better." The first question I had was where did she come from? Did they teach magic there? She kept going up until I asked her:

"Are you coming down?" She swept in a circle near the ceiling before answering me.

"Only if you promise not to strike me." I couldn't exactly make any promises with my temper, but I would try.

"Fine." I waved a hand at her. She came down and her feet hit the ground with a dull thud. Elphaba swung her leg back over and put the broom back in the corner. She stood in the corner with her back facing me.

"If you think I'm afraid of you…" I held my breath. She turned back toward me. "I'm not." This is the first time anybody's ever, ever seen my face and said they weren't afraid of me. Even my Christine was frightened for months before she finally learned to accept it, accept me. I suppose being green helps you accept people easier.

"How do you do that?"

Elphaba let out a long sigh. "I was born with magic. I've always tried to hide it, but when I went with my sister, Nessa to Chiz I took a class for it."

"So, they teach magic where you're from?"

"Oz, and only to people who already have it." She said.

"Oz?" What is Oz?

"It's where I'm from." She let out another sigh. "Sit down. It's a long story."

We both sat down on the piano bench as she told me about herself. My eyes slowly widened as I learned she was a 'wicked witch' where she was from just because she wanted to save animals from 'the wizard'. If you ask me all she was trying to do was a good deed and the wizard is the bad guy. The only person I had grown to like in her recounts was a girl who went by the name Galinda. At first she seemed like a very annoying person, but she sounded like she grew up and accepted the circumstances. I felt a twinge of jealousy as Elphaba spoke of her lover, Fiyero. Why? I've only even known this girl for one day and I have feelings for her? No. I won't let my heart break again.

"Why did you tell me all of this?" I asked. She moved her eyes up to me.

"Well, you started it." I looked at her. She had a point; I wanted to know more about her.

"You know what I mean. I could turn you in to this 'wizard', but you trust me regardless."

"You could, but you won't." I gaped at the feeling that she could read my mind. I wouldn't.

"What about you?" she asked me. I gulped. Was I ready to tell her about me? What would happen if she found out I was a murderer? No not yet. Maybe later, if there is a later, but not now

"I run Phantasma. That's all there is to tell." I said.

"What about your mask?"

"What about it?" I knew what she meant. She wanted to know how my face came to be this awful.

"How did your face come to be like that?"

"A construction accident, nothing more." I replied. Truth be told, I was born with it. My mother never did me any kindness since I was born. She locked me in the attic and beat me whenever chance she could. The only gift I ever received from my mother was life. Did I even want life? Nothing ever became of mine but horror, pain, longing, and rejection.

"Oh"

"Come," I said, breaking the extremely awkward silence that had overcome us, "you have most definitely earned the lead role in my opera, don't you agree? You must begin rehearsing our next production, Don Juan Triumphant."

I haven't brought out Don Juan since the night I was rejected by Christine. I had originally written it to help her forget her poor excuse for a lover, so why, why, was I using it again? Yes, I knew that my first opera of the season was supposed to be Faust. Yes, I knew that the conductor would surely raise hell when I tell him we will be changing the opera a week before rehearsals start. The only thing I didn't understand was why. Why was I letting myself fall for this girl, whom I've only just met, when I should be grieving for my poor Christine? Why was I even thinking about love when I knew I would only get rejected once more? Sometimes my life is more of a mystery to me than anyone else.