Chapter 6 – The Opera

A/N: Hello there! As promised, here are the review replies. I'm allowed to put review replies in my stories, right? I thought I read something about it not being allowed…let me know if that's true…anyway.

The Mad Maiden: Thank you! I'm so glad you're enjoying it. Heh, I know that song. Haven't listened to it in a while, though…

TheAuthorC.: Thanks! I'm enjoying writing it. I will try (not in this chapter, since it's already been written, but in the following ones) to add some more description. Probably not a whole lot, but I'll try. Thank you for the suggestion:)

It was a bright, sunny day, and Erik simply did not have the heart to keep Winter in the house beside the lake during such weather. And so it was that he packed a picnic lunch and took her up to the roof of the Opera House to enjoy the afternoon.

She was delighted when they arrived. Throwing off the black cloak he had made her wear for concealment while they made their way to the roof, she ran to the edge of the roof and looked over.

"Erik, come look!" she cried. "Look how high up we are!"

He smiled at her excitement as he walked across the roof towards her. "Yes, we are very high up. You're not afraid?"

"No." She turned and smiled at him. "I like heights. I always have."

Erik stopped dead in his tracks. "You remember?"

She shrugged and, turning away, leaned over the edge of the roof to look down at the traffic below. "Some things. I get flashes of memories – nothing about my actual life, but things like remembering that I enjoy heights." She frowned. "And I remember that I hate the color red."

"Do you remember why?"

She shook her head. "No. I wish I could, though." She looked over at a far corner of the roof. "Who's that a statue of?"

Erik followed the direction of her gaze. "Oh! That's Apollo, a pagan god worshiped by some people called the Greeks. Would you like me to tell you about him?"

She nodded. "Tell me about the Greeks, too," she pleaded, so with a smile he sat down on a stone bench, placed on the roof for the benefit of resting opera singers or perhaps secret lovers. She joined him, snuggling up against him with her head resting on his shoulder as she listened to him animatedly tell stories about Apollo and the Greeks, only interrupting occasionally to ask a question or two.

They stayed like that for an time, until Erik noticed that somewhere in the middle of one of his stories, Winter had fallen asleep. He stopped talking, and looking down at her, he smiled gently. She had managed to wind one of her arms around his in such a way that he couldn't move without waking her up. Quietly and without disturbing her, he reached out his unrestrained arm and tucked a stray strand of mercury-colored hair behind her ear. She moved in her sleep and tightened her grip on his arm.

Erik closed his eyes and inhaled a deep breath of air. Never had he felt so loved before in his life – not even when Christine had still trusted him. He realized, not for the first time, that he loved Winter – he adored her. Never before had he felt so attached to someone. If Winter were taken away from him, he felt that his heart would break.

He fell asleep with his head resting on top of hers, a slight smile curving up the corners of his mouth and a protective arm around the girl.

OoOoOoO

He woke up knowing that he wasn't alone. Opening his eyes, he sat up straight and looked around. Nothing. And then he heard the voices.

"…Philippe, really I couldn't."

The voice of a well-bred French gentleman was what next reached his ears.

"Of course you can. Carlotta, I've been admiring you for the past three weeks. Every time you passed me in the hall without speaking to me was agony. Please, do me this simple favor."

"But…meet you after the opera?" Carlotta simpered. Erik knew she was playing the boy like a fish on a line. "I don't know if I can manage it."

"Please, I beg of you. I may be dead of a broken heart tomorrow if you do not permit me to tell you how I truly feel tonight…"

Their voices trailed off, and Erik realized that they were leaving the roof. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief. How any man could admire Carlotta was beyond him.

"Erik, what's an opera?"

He started, not having realized that Winter was awake. Then he stared down at her in disbelief and no little shock.

"An opera – is - " He faltered. She had been living in the Paris Opera House with him for approximately three weeks, and yet she did not know what an opera was. Clearly, he had failed as any sort of tutor.

"It's like a play, only bigger, and a lot more complex, with lots of music and singing and dancing."

She nodded and bit her lip thoughtfully. "It sounds pretty," she said after a moment.

An idea struck Erik all of a sudden, and before he could stop himself, he asked, "Would you like to go see one? An opera?"

She twisted in his arms and looked up at him, her blue eyes dancing with excitement. "Oh, can we?"

Erik thought for a moment. If anyone had taken Box 5, some artful ventriloquism could get them out again, and he had been missing his job as universal theater critic, anyway. "Of course we can."

"Hurray!"

OoOoOoO

Standing in his bedroom, Erik slipped on his black leather gloves and was pleased to see that they had regained their snug fit. After Christine had left, he had lost a considerable amount of weight, which was not a good thing since he had been rather skinny to begin with. Ever since Winter's arrival, though, he had gained at least some of it back – enough, anyway, so that he no longer looked like an emaciated skeleton.

Turning around, he smiled at the sight of Winter sitting on the edge of his coffin, swinging her legs back and forth and watching him intently.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked. She nodded, her face lighting up with excitement as she jumped off the coffin and ran over to him.

As he helped her into the boat, he noticed with pleasure and perhaps a little bit of pride that she was very pretty. The pride bit was due to the fact that he had picked out both the dress she was wearing and her hairstyle. Her dress was a fairly simple but beautiful affair, with bell sleeves and a skirt dyed with varying shades of blue. As for her hair, it was done up in a simple braid that somehow managed to flatter her exotic features.

When they arrived at the opposite shore, he led her along a shortcut to Box 5, which by extreme luck (A/N: -Cough-Semiomnipotentinterference-cough-) was not occupied. It wasn't even lit, which was convenient for Erik. It meant that he could sit in the back, in the shadows, unnoticed. After finding out where he was going to sit, Winter joined him, resting her head on his arm while she watched the opera.

By the time the first act was over, Erik was quietly seething inside. How could he have let things get so bad?! He had an entire list of faults running through his mind, only one of which was the fact that they had given Carlotta the leading role – again. He would have to rectify that as soon as possible.

During the interlude between acts, people were getting up and visiting other boxes, sending members of the opposite sex coy looks across the theater, and waving to people they knew. Winter moved forward in the box to get a better look at all of the activity, and Erik watched her with interest.

Suddenly, she emitted a short scream and threw herself back into the shadows of Box 5, running to Erik and practically leaping into his arms. Startled, he caught her and held her close, alarmed to discover that she was shaking violently.

"Winter, what's the matter? What is it?"

"Th-th-the man," she stammered. "In the b-b-box across f-from ours."

Erik looked across the theatre. Sure enough, in the box directly across from Box 5 was a tall, handsome man, with dark hair and a rough, angry air about his person. His face was twisted in an unattractive expression of bewilderment as he peered at their box. Apparently he dismissed whatever he had seen as nothing, because he shrugged and returned to flirting with the woman sitting next to him.

"Who is he? Do you know him?"

She shook her head frantically. "N-no, I don't remember who he is, bu-but I don't want to stay here. I want to go home. Erik, I want to go home!" she sobbed. Erik stared down at her, torn between prodding her to search what little memory she had and taking her back to the house by the lake. She pulled away and looked up at him, and one glance at her pleading tear-filled eyes decided him. Picking her up, he slipped soundlessly through the entrance to Box 5 and became a shadow among shadows as he made his way back to the boat.

Later that night, he was working on a composition when he heard quiet footsteps on the floor behind him. Turning around, he saw Winter standing in the doorway, wearing the nightgown he had bought her and looking at him nervously.

"What is it?" he asked gently. She glanced at the floor, bit her lip, and then finally said something in such a quiet voice that he didn't hear what she had said.

"Pardon?"

"I'm sorry," she repeated, her voice little more than a whisper. He stared at her.

"Whatever for, mon cher?"

"I made you miss the rest…of the opera…you didn't have to take me home." He could see that she was keeping her eyes tightly closed. "I don't…even know…who that man is. He didn't see me…I was acting stupid…"

Black cloak swirling about him, Erik sprang up and strode over to Winter. Kneeling by her side, he took her chin in his hand and forced her to look up at him. Her eyes opened, and unshed tears slid down her cheeks and onto his bare fingers.

"You weren't acting stupid," he said, his voice deadly serious. "That man is someone from your past, someone you were afraid of. You still fear him, because somewhere, deep in your subconscious, you remember what he did to you. You remember everything, Winter; it's just locked away somewhere deep inside of your mind. But you can get it back. You will get it back. You'll remember everything."

Winter looked at him for a long moment, and he looked back. Then she launched herself into his arms without warning, slamming into him and knocking him to the floor, making him emit an "oomph" sound as the air rushed out of his lungs.

"I love you soooo much!" she squealed, and hugged him hard.

"I love you too," Erik gasped, trying to regain the breath that had been knocked out of him. Upon hearing the somewhat stressed quality of his voice, she jerked back and regarded him with a concerned expression.

"Are you alright?"

He chuckled. "I'm fine, le petit. But I think, if that's quite all, it's somewhat past your bedtime." He paused, then added, "And I'm actually quite grateful to you for giving me an excuse to get away from that opera. I'm fairly certain that my ears were about to start bleeding from that soprano's voice alone."

Winter giggled and hugged him again. "Goodnight, Erik."

"Goodnight, Winter."

A/N: Who was that strange man Winter feared so much? Will they ever find out? What will happen in the next chapter? Questions, questions:)

Hello there! It's me, with a note for you people who don't speak French. Neither do I, actually. Aren't Internet translators wonderful? Ahem. But I digress.

Mon cher - My dear

Le petit - Little one

And there you go. I hope you enjoyed the chapter!