Meg found herself not too long after her bows, far below the opera, sitting on the throne that, just that morning, was the the site of her terror. This time Erik was playing little melodies along with her reading. She had to admit, she loved this. Meg only had to focus on the printed words, not the loneliness. Just words. She did longed to speak about what she experienced in the early morning, but she felt that they weren't ready to speak about things of that heavy nature. After a few chapters her throat grew tired from the constant speaking. She stopped and waited for him to speak first.
"Is everything alright?"
"Yes." She said lazily. "Just tired." Meg pulled the clip from her hair, she never took it down after changing back into her dress. Her skirts were piled around her crossed legs. Standing up from the throne, Meg walked to the elegant instrument. She rested her head for a few moments on her crossed hands over the tallest section of the piece. She was looking at him while he continued to play.
"Did you have dinner?" He asked while shifting chords. Meg shook her head to tell him no. She had completely forgotten about eating until he mentioned it. Erik stood up from the bench.
"Come along." Erik lead her to the kitchen, he seemed to lead her many places. She wasn't shocked one bit by the decor. Burgundy walls and rich mahogany cabinets. He pulled a seat away from the grandiose table by the door for her. Meg sat down with a thank you as he began to cook. Balling her hands into little fists, she rested her chin on them, and watched him prepare a meal for a while.
"Do you like to cook?"
"Yes, I do." He said with little smile under the mask.
"Like what?" He turned to her.
"Well, everything, I'm making something fast for you. Since it's so late."
"Thank you, you really don't have to be so nice to me."
"I do not mind. It is the least I could do, seeing as what your mother did for me.." She knew the beginning of her mother's relationship with him, somewhat, but she was too afraid to ask. He started to plate his creation, when he was done he came to place both plates on the table. When he went to grab a bottle of wine he spoke again.
"I do not know exactly why you trust me, or want to be around me. I am not the… most upstanding citizen you know, Mademoiselle." They both knew it. He killed, manipulated, and kidnapped his way through his life.
"I really don't mind. I've met worse people than you, their actions might not... match yours. But their words, and personalities make me feel… so lost." Her eyes were trained at her wine glass and then his long fingers moving without a thought on his own. "I feel like I'm drowning when I'm not alone or on stage. Drowning in voices and egos, and spirits of people who don't necessarily want to be around me." He watched as she put the cup to her lips. "Monsieur." She whispered nervously, then took a sip.
"Bon appetite, Meg." It became customary for Meg to address Erik, by name or title, with whispers. So he in turn began to address her, weather it was her name or title, with a whisper. They ate and spoke of lighter topics, somehow they landed on the topic of their favorite operas.
"This might be a biased choice, but I really enjoy Faust. I do get my namesake from the story." Meg laughed delightfully.