A/N:

Well, guys, this is the chapter you've all been waiting for - the masquerade. The ball itself lasts all of this chapter and at least part of the next one, but the events that take place will never be forgotten. ;)

-Han

Chapter Fourteen

December 31, while cold, was a beautiful day. The Opera Populaire was full of activity, stagehands and ballet girls and singers everywhere as they prepared the opera house for the masquerade.

Rose was dressed as the night sky in a dark blue gown studded with silver gems, along with a matching mask adorned with white feathers. Clara's dress was maroon and slightly tattered, paired with a black lacy mask and a brownish shawl, and her dark hair fell mostly loose around her shoulders. She said she was dressed as a barmaid, though why, Amy had no idea.

Rory's costume was fairly modest – he was dressed as a soldier in a black suit with gold and red embellishments. He actually looked quite handsome, Amy thought, but she wasn't going to tell him that.

Halette was a princess in a deep pink gown and a rose-colored mask, a glittering silver tiara on her dark head of curls; Majori was a butterfly in vibrant orange and black, her delicate mask shaped exactly like wings; and Isabelle had gotten made a replica of Belle's yellow ball gown, which with her gold mask made her tanned skin glow.

Upon John's arrival, they saw that he wore a velvet waistcoat with brown plaid trousers, a somewhat ragged coat, and a top hat. "Who are you supposed to be?" Rose asked him curiously.

He beamed, straightening his jacket. "Well, you see, there's a fairytale – one of my favorites, actually – about a man who lives on a cloud and chases away children's nightmares. I thought it was perfect for a ball at a theater."

Rose was there to help Amy into her costume, which had turned out truly magnificent. "Madame, you've outdone yourself," Amy complimented the seamstress, who gave her perhaps her most genuine smile yet.

Soon after, the guests began to arrive, and the cast and crew of the Opera Populaire filtered out into the ballroom. Amy kept her eyes open, constantly searching for Erik in the growing crowd, but his tall figure was nowhere to be seen.

"Amelia?" John came up to her, touching her shoulder gently. "Are you all right? You look lovely, by the way," he added, tilting his head.

She laughed, flustered. "Thank you, monsieur. Yes, I'm fine. Just… looking for someone."

John smiled at her. "I hope you find them," he said sincerely, then headed cheerfully away to find Clara.

Meg Giry approached her next, dressed as a shepherdess and trailing Isabelle, Majori, and Halette. "Amy, you look incredible!" she gushed. "I love your mask!"

Amy tried to smile. "Thank you, Meg," she said. "Is everyone still arriving?"

"Uh…" Meg peered around the room. "No, I think everyone's here by now."

Spirits sinking, Amy nodded. "Oh," she said softly. Then, as an afterthought, she said, "All four of you look wonderful as well."

The ballerinas all blushed and giggled, thanking her and complimenting her as well. They moved away, gazing around the ballroom in awe and excitement and murmuring to each other.

Barely a minute later, Monsieur Andre's voice echoed through the ballroom, attracting the attention of everyone else in the room.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!" he called. "Welcome, all, to the Opera Populaire's first masquerade since the theater's reopening two years ago."

Applause filtered throughout the room, and Monsieur Andre paused momentarily. "Thank you all for attending tonight. Monsieur Firmin and I are pleased to be hosting this ball, as a toast to the New Year. Enjoy the ball!"

Amy's heart was aching, and her stomach churned with nerves. "I told him, I specifically told him not to be late," she breathed aloud, fighting back angry tears.

"M-Miss… Amy?" Rory was beside her, clearing his throat. "May I claim the first dance?"

Blinking rapidly, Amy nodded. "You may," she said, holding out her hand for him to take so he could lead her to the center of the floor.

The music began, and she and Rory commenced the dance. He wasn't bad, actually, but it was clear he was extremely nervous. His hands trembled, some of his turns were clumsy, and he even tripped occasionally.

"Rory," Amy said gently, feeling a rush of pity. "Please don't be so nervous."

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, his face red.

This was quite possibly the most awkward dance ever. Amy was tempted to pull out, but she had promised Rory this dance. Fortunately, the dance ended rather soon after, and Amy's embarrassment subsided.

Rory cleared his throat again. "May I have another dance?" he asked.

"I…" Amy began to stammer out an excuse, trying to be polite, but a smooth voice cut her off.

"Actually, I believe mademoiselle has promised me the next dance."

~O~

Yes, Erik was late. And he didn't even really have a good excuse for it, either.

You live in the opera house, he admonished himself bitterly, hurrying through the empty hallways as the music of the first dance echoed softly in his ears. He had been composing a song and lost track of the time, but he knew that was a poor reason. He should've been on time.

Amy was going to kill him.

Erik slipped into the ballroom as the end of the song neared. People stared, probably at his recognizable mask, but for once in his life he didn't care. He searched the sea of dancing people anxiously, looking for a flash of red hair or golden eyes.

Then he saw her, and his breath was stolen away.

Amy was dressed in a strapless, shimmering, pure white gown, fitted in the bodice but with a full skirt that swept the floor. Her bright red hair spilled over her pale shoulders, making her skin look nearly the same color as the dress in contrast. A black ribbon encircled her waist, tied in a neat bow at her back. The golden necklace he'd gotten her dangled around her neck, sparkling in the light from the chandeliers. As she completed a twirl, Erik caught a glimpse of white flat slippers on her feet. Her mask, however, was the most startling part of the costume: black as night, made of porcelain, and covering the left side of her face. Only the left side of her face.

It was like the opposite half of his mask.

The music came to a stop, and Erik was moving again, striding towards Amy and her partner. As he got closer, he heard the boy request another dance.

"Actually, I believe mademoiselle has promised me the next dance," Erik said coolly, reaching the pair.

Amy spun to face him, her mouth falling open. "You – you're late," she said.

Erik took her slim hand in his and kissed it softly. "I apologize, mademoiselle."

Rory was staring at him rather blatantly, and Amy coughed. "Monsieur Williams, this is Monsieur Erik, my escort. Monsieur Erik, this is Monsieur Rory Williams, the leading tenor."

"Pleasure," Rory said, not sounding very pleased.

"Indeed." Erik nodded to the young man, then turned to Amy. "Now, my dear, shall we?" he asked, gesturing to the floor.

The next dance was already beginning, and Erik bowed as Amy curtsied. He then let her hand slip into his and led her into the dance, his eyes focused on her alone.

She blushed. "What? Why are you staring at me?"

"You are surely the most beautiful woman in attendance at this masquerade," he said.

Her eyelids fluttered slightly, and her blush darkened. "I see you like my costume, then," she said.

Erik took a moment to touch her mask that mirrored his own. "I cannot say I understand the reasoning behind your idea, but yes, I do very much like it."

"You look very nice yourself," Amy said as he spun her. "But then, you always do."

"As do you." The compliment slipped easily off his tongue, earning a smile from the young singer.

A few moments passed before she spoke again, her expression hardening. "So, you were late."

Erik cringed. "Yes," he said slowly.

She gave him a sharp look. "Why?"

"I did not realize the time. Again, I apologize," he said. It sounded weak even to his own ears.

Amy regarded him for a moment, then her gaze softened. "All right," she said, her lips curving. "But just this once."

Erik gave her the barest hint of a smile in return. "You have already forgiven me more times than I deserve, Amelia."

As he pulled her in from another twirl, he caught the touch of a flush on her cheek, and he smiled.

~O~

"Amy!" Clara hurried up to her at the refreshments table, trailing John behind her. "Who is that man you've been dancing with?"

"The Phantom?" Amy tried to keep her tone neutral, but a smirk crept onto her face nonetheless. "What about him?"

Clara gasped. "So it really is him?"

"Of course it is." Amy shrugged.

John's eyes brightened in excitement. "So it's true! I've heard the stories, but I never thought –"

"What stories, monsieur?" Erik asked calmly, stepping up beside Amy and slipping an arm around her waist as though he'd been doing it for years. In reality, it made her blush fiercely – but neither Clara nor John seemed to notice.

"All kinds of stories," John answered, beaming with delight. "I'm Doctor John Smith. It's a pleasure to meet you, monsieur…?"

Erik seemed rather baffled by John's enthusiasm. "Erik," he said after a moment, withdrawing his arm from around Amy's waist to shake John's outstretched hand.

Clara, too, was clearly fascinated by Erik – or rather, his relationship with Amy. "So you two are…" she began, her eyes gleaming in a way Amy didn't like.

"He's my escort," Amy said firmly.

"Oh, indeed." Clara's mischievous grin widened, and abruptly she turned, tugging on John's arm. "Come along, dear, we should be off."

Erik – who had not placed his arm around Amy again, she noticed – blinked. "Your friends are certainly..."

Shaking her head, Amy winced. "They're something," she agreed, sighing.

A chuckle slipped from Erik's lips, and she allowed herself to smile. He glanced at her, then a slight frown marred his face.

"What?" Amy raised an eyebrow.

He reached up, gently brushing a stray curl away from her cheek. Her pulse skyrocketed at the simple action, and the air around them crackled with tension suddenly.

Erik took her hands slowly, his eyes lingering on her face. Silently, he led her out into the center of the ballroom again just in time for the next dance.

The music was slower this time – a waltz. Erik's hand on the small of her back drew her close to him, and her arm fell around his shoulders like it belonged there. His other hand grasped hers, fingers wrapping around hers securely.

"Have I mentioned that you're a very good dancer?" Amy was slightly breathless, light-headed with exhilaration.

"Thank you. I taught myself." He turned her slowly, then drew her close again, almost closer than before.

Amy's eyes lifted to meet his. "Really?" she murmured. She was in a dreamlike state, not feeling quite real. It was as though she was floating above the stars.

He made a small noise of affirmation. Was it her imagination, or was he leaning closer to her?

The music softened to an ending all too soon, and Amy bent her knees in a curtsy to Erik as he bowed. He stayed a few inches distant from her, and though she wanted nothing more to be in his arms again, she did the same.

A chime echoed through the room, and people began to chatter excitedly, the dancing halted for the moment. Amy stepped closer to Erik now, eyes wide.

"What's going on?" he asked her over the sound of the second chime.

"It's midnight," she said, her mouth dry. "Time for the unmasking."

Erik cursed, a panicked look overtaking his face. "I have to go," he said, turning away. "I can't –"

As Erik began to push through the crowd, desperately trying to escape, Amy followed him. "Wait!" she called, reaching for him.

She finally caught up to him at the edge of the ballroom, in a somewhat secluded area, just as the last chime sounded. She pulled off her mask and, in one movement, grasped his shoulder, turned him toward her, and kissed him.

All around them, other people were talking and possibly doing the same as she was, but Amy's attention was solely on Erik. One of her hands still held her mask, but the other slid to the back of his neck, curling around his collar. The feeling of his lips on hers, warm and surprisingly soft, was dizzying, and she broke away after a few seconds.

He looked more shocked than she'd ever seen him, wide-eyed with his lips parted. For a moment they just stared at each other, breathing, taking in the reality of what she had done.

Finally, Amy swallowed hard, glancing away. "Sorry," she said, even though she wasn't, not really. "It's a… tradition, you know, for New Year's –"

Erik cupped her face in his hands, pressing his mouth to hers again and cutting her words off. Amy's arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer. His mask, cold and smooth, brushed against her cheek, but she didn't mind. She was where she was meant to be at last.

Abruptly, he pulled back, but his thumb brushed over her cheek for a moment before he pulled his hands away. She waited, hesitant, vulnerable, as he stepped a pace away and stood with his fingers pressed to his lips in almost reverence.

"I must go. I will see you tomorrow, I promise," he said, his voice rough.

Clutching her mask in both hands, Amy watched him leave, feeling oddly bereft with a sense of abandonment that she was unable to shake.

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