Chapter 34- A Letter

A/N: this chapter is kind of slow. . . kind of a go-between transition chapter. yep- the opera's back. . . wonder what Erik's going to be getting into. . . . I know it is slow, but PLEEZ bear with me! Read my A/N at the end if you don't believe me! I will try to post the next update soon!

The work crews were in the Opera a few days later, beginning restoration work on the theatre. Scaffolding was erected all throughout the spacious auditorium, and the sound of hammer and saw could be heard all morning long.

It was around noon when one of the workers found the note, sitting on the ledge of one of the balconies. It was a thin parchment envelope, sealed with a skeleton stamp, the color of what looked to be blood.

Frightened, the worker took the letter with a shaking hand to the managers.

The men who had bought the opera were rich acquaintances, one of whom was French, the other British.

When the letter was presented, the Frenchman, a man by the name of Pierre de Villier paled, fingers shaking as he pulled open the envelope, and read aloud:

"My dear Monsieurs,

I congratulate you on your purchase of this Opera House.

Perhaps you have heard of me, from certain former managers who did not heed my wished closely enough. If they have told you anything, you will know that my wishes are to be followed, or a disaster beyond you wildest imaginations will consequently take place. I warn you, Monsieurs, the chandelier that you see is only a taste of the terror I may unleash if my demands are rejected.

But enough threats for the day. I assure you that provided that you do what I ask of you, there will be no need for such tragedy.

Firstly, my salary of thirty five thousand francs is to be delivered in a sealed envelope to Box Five on the first of each month.

Secondly, concerning Box Five- that box is not to be sold for ANY REASON; it is to be reserved for my use.

Thirdly, I would suggest that my future input on the casting and production of the operas forthcoming is heeded and acted upon. To begin with, I firmly request that you defer from re-hiring Senora Carlotta Guidicelli, as she is a vulgar toad with no voice and has no business calling herself a singer. Additionally, I have it on good authority that a talented dancer by the name of Meg Giry is interested in a position in the corps de ballet. You would be well advised to hire her- she is talented, and her career will flourish.

In closing, my dear managers, know that if my demands are met, the Opera house will flourish and be very profitable for you when it opens. However, if things are not done according to my wishes, you will find that this theatre can be quite a cursed place indeed.

Heed my words, good Monsieurs, for the sake of your safety.

Your Most Humble and Obedient Servant,

-O.G."

DeVillier finished reading and looked up. Several more of the workers had gathered around.

"Firmin and André were right," he said, with obvious fear in his voice. "The Opera Ghost does exist."

"I refuse to believe it, Pierre," said the British man, Richard Longfellow. "It was probably just one of the workers..." he broke off uncertainly, looking around as if expecting to see a terrible spectre descend down upon.

Then, as if on cue, a cold, malicious laugh rang out in the theatre, the echo making it sound as though it came from everywhere, inside the walls themselves.

"He's here," deVillier whispered.
Longfellow looked quite unable to come up with an excuse for the laughter, and his face turned, like his colleague's to that of fear.

"Heed my words!" the tremulous voice said, before the laughter died away.

Out of the corner of his eye, Longfellow could have sworn that he saw the red velvet curtain in box five swirl. . .

In the passage once more, Erik couldn't help but laugh out loud. The poor fools, he thought. He could tell that they would be much easier to manage than André and Firmin had. Still, he might decide to have some fun with them. . . it had been ages since he had had a good laugh. . .

Meg was waiting for him when he returned to the lair. Since she had returned, their life had fallen back into a simplistic pattern. The topic of Meg's selling herself had yet to arise again; Meg didn't want to talk about it, and Erik knew better than to ask about it. For this, Meg was grateful- she wanted nothing more than to start over, and to have Erik by her side. She was still holding back telling him how she felt. She couldn't explain why. . . she supposed it was out of fear. Not fear of Erik, but fear of what love would mean. From what she had seen on the streets, Meg had come to doubt whether love really existed. She was afraid to love- afraid to be loved.

As the days slid by, Erik found himself growing distracted by Meg's presence. It had been fine for the first few days, but now the knowledge that Meg was so near- in the very next room- began to drive him mad. Many times a day would he have to remember to keep himself in check. He was constantly coming up with different reasons to go up to the theatre, where he would proceed to spend agonizing hours in Box 5, letting his emotions simmer down. Upon regaining his composure, he would return down to Meg.

The Opera was coming along nicely; Erik estimated that it would take only a few more weeks before it could be re-opened. He watched as his theatre slowly began to return to life again. The stage was restored- the thick velvet curtains were cleaned, and the catwalks repaired. The remains of the chandelier had been cleared away, and a new one was being installed. The Paris Opera house now looked just as it had months ago.

Down in the cellars, Meg had begun preparing to dance again. In one of the spare rooms, she practiced every spare moment, stretching herself out, and trying her best to return her body to the form it had once had as a dancer. Dancing now evoked both joy and sadness in her. It had always been her passion; how she described herself as a person. But it also reminded her of Madame Giry. Her mother had used to make Meg practice until her toes bled from standing en pointe, until tears streamed from her eyes from physical pain. And every time, Madame Giry had simply said, "The pain will make you stronger." Sure enough, Meg had risen in rank with the ballet corps- most had expected her to succeed La Sorelli as prima ballerina, before the chandelier had fallen and the Opera had come to a screeching halt.

In her hours of solitude, Meg couldn't help realizing that Erik was avoiding her. He was never in the lair, it seemed; he was always roaming the floors upstairs. Slightly stung by his actions, Meg took this to mean that he wasn't comfortable with her living with him. Thinking about Erik not wanting her made Meg feel empty inside, like there was a hole growing inside her soul- dark and all-consuming, breaking her slowly. She knew that it would only be a matter of time before all reason left her. . . and all of sensibility's restraints snapped.

A/N: i know this chapter was boring. . . but i think that we will probably hear the 'l' word next chapter. because i think everyone's just about ready for it, ya?

Also in the next chapter: OPERA! Woot!

ALSO: thanks to everybody who responded to my little "name" question. i heard a lot of good suggestions, so thanks to everybody who sent me a reply on that. i still don't really know what i'm going to do, but you guys have helped me out, so muchas gracias! (or thank you if you don't speak spanish!)