A/N: Thank you for all the reviews and thank you BastInterest for editing during your crazy spring break!
Erik
This had to end.
Elizabeth frantically clutched the velvet covers to her breast, her auburn waves draping seductively about her shoulders. I swiftly turned, burying my emotions deep within myself. She had served her purpose.
I could feel her eyes burning into my bare back as I stalked from the small bedroom, but I refused to look at her. Grabbing up my discarded cloak, I wrapped the thick fabric about myself, fully immersing myself in the persona of the Opera Ghost. Erik, I knew, couldn't withstand his mortal desires, but the Phantom had the power to drown out everything else, to erase all human weaknesses. So I waited, my energy thrumming heavily about me, pulsing out all traces of my desire for Elizabeth, for anyone.
Finally, she emerged. Her brown dress hung loosely on her slight frame and she hadn't bothered to pull her hair up into her cap in her rush. The long curls were hanging around her, creating a halo of color on her otherwise pale form.
She was biting on her lip nervously, her green eyes flashing to meet mine timidly. I carefully avoided her gaze and gestured for her to follow me. Stepping over my scattered belongings we made our way to the small gondola that was moored by the side of the lake. I was hesitant to have her sit on the small cushions that had supported Christine so long ago, but the boat granted the swiftest passage out of my labyrinth and I found that I wanted, needed, Elizabeth out of my sight as soon as possible.
Grabbing up the thick rope that held the small craft to the stone launch I paused, waiting for her to step in. She remained still for a moment, looking questioningly at the gondola then she turned to face me.
Her green eyes met mine for the briefest instant before I turned my head away from her, but I still managed to glimpse the pain that was reflected in them. With a low snarl, I gestured for her to step in and after a sigh of resignation she complied, her weight causing the boat to rock gently. Once she had settled herself in the small seat I leaped on the platform and drove the rowing stick deep into the murky waters, pushing us forward.
Elizabeth was silent on the short ride, keeping her head facing forward, but I could see her delicate shoulders shaking under her thick hair. Taking a steadying breath I moved the small craft even faster through the waters, trying to ignore the disgusting wave of pity that I felt for this woman.
As soon as the gondola scraped the shore I jumped out, moving slowly down one of the dark passageways, not even waiting to see if she made it out of the boat. We moved silently along, my feet making no noise on the stone, and her footsteps only audible when she tripped. I paused each time I heard her splash into a pool of water, wanting to make sure that she didn't loose sight of me. It wouldn't do to have her wandering around down here again.
Methodically, I counted the panels that lined the stonewall, halting when I reached number 34, the panel that would lead to her room. My long fingers reached out to flick the small switch that would activate the machine. Once I heard the groan of the wheels running along their small track, I leaned back against the wall, waiting for her to step into her bedroom.
Elizabeth slowly stepped forward then turned to face me, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. For a moment I couldn't bring myself to look away, and then to my horror I began to take a step towards her. But as soon as my treacherous foot moved I caught myself and slunk back into the shadows until the panel closed and hid her from my view.
With a deep sigh I moved away from the wall and began my decent to my home. I knew there was no point in avoiding her.
I now realized that the longer I went without seeing her the less control I would have over my emotions. Perhaps, if I kept a closer eye on her I might be able to quench this sick fascination. Besides, I told myself, she always seemed to be in the thick of the activities with Cabartte. She just might lead me in the right direction with him.
I followed her as soon as she stepped out of her rooms.
I watched, amused, as she confronted her aunt, and as she reluctantly began to clean her squalid rooms. But I soon found that my humor drained when that damned woman struck her violently. It had taken all of my strength not to burst into the room and strangle that woman.
She dared to touch my property?
Elizabeth recovered swiftly however, lifting her small chin defiantly and held her ground while the two left the room. But, as soon as the door shut I watched with mute horror and sorrow as she collapsed onto the couch, tears falling silently down her cheeks.
Sighing, I pushed open the large mirror and stepped into the suite. She was so preoccupied that she didn't notice my presence until my hand softly cupped her chin. Her startled gaze met mine and she instantly tried to pull away. Lifting my other gloved hand to the back of her neck I gently held her still.
To my relief, the cut wasn't deep and I moved over to her mop bucket, wetting my handkerchief in the soapy solution before moving back to her. She struggled when she felt the sting of the soap on her, but I held her firmly with my hand.
It wouldn't do to have her getting an infection from her wound, I told myself bitterly, trying to justify why I even gave a damn.
As soon as I moved the cloth away from her she instantly went on the attack.
"Why have you moved her to the back of the class? You know she's the best dancer out there," she cried, her face echoing her confusion and hurt. For a moment I started at her incredulously. Did she really not know? How has she not seen how badly that child has progressed in her illness? Slowly I moved over to the large mirror, wanting nothing more than to escape her frantic questions.
"Lizzy, your stepsister is dying." I said dully, pushing the mirror aside, wanting to be as far from her as possible, hating myself for being so callous, but also hating her for making me care.
Elizabeth
My breath came out in frantic pants and I collapsed on the floor, trying to contain rising hysteria. Tears, hot and swift, fell down my face and I didn't even bother to knock them away.
"Your stepsister is dying."
Erik's words echoed over and over in my head, and I frantically put my hands over my ears, trying to cover the sound. This wasn't happening!
Madeline had been becoming noticeably paler over the weeks, but I had attributed it all to the winter chill that still lingered in the air. And not even two weeks ago, she had decided to begin dancing again. At first she had been very unsteady on her feet, but she had soon mastered herself and was able to pirouette and chase with the best of the other girls. She had been steadily getting better, not worse. Perhaps Erik was wrong.
He had to be wrong! How on earth could he make such an assumption?
I shook my head. Madeline had been improving! And who was he to make such a dire diagnosis?
Slowly, my tears slowed and my breathing returned to its normal pattern. Madeline was just getting a cold. She was always sick during the springtime. Reassured at last, I moved to my feet and began to clean with vigor. I knew that the rehearsal would be over soon and I had no desire to have another confrontation with Aunt Maria.
The kitchens were humming with activity when I entered them again, exhausted from my cleaning.
Judging from the state of her belongings, it appeared that Aunt Maria hadn't bothered to dust in ages, and it had taken me hours to clean the thick layer of grime off of everything. Tossing my now empty mop bucket to the side, I paced over to the small table where Renee was cutting up chickens for our supper.
"Oh, hello there, Lizzy!" Renee called, a throwing a large smile my way. "Would you mind helping me? I've never been very good at quartering chickens, and yours are always so perfect."
"Of course," I replied, donning a clean apron over my dress and washing my hands in the nearby basin. Renee scooted over to one side, leaving me ample room to cut my own small collection of chickens. For a few minutes we worked in silence, our hands busy cutting and pulling apart the tender meat. Suddenly a thought hit me.
Perhaps Renee will know more about Madeline. Her chores always put her in more contact with my stepfamily then my own daily tasks.
"Renee, have you noticed any changes in Madeline lately?" I asked softly, not wanting to sound too worried. Renee paused in her cutting for a moment, thoughtfully studying the window in front of her while she pondered her answer.
"Hmm. She has been rather pale lately, but she's always sick this time of year," Renee said, turning to look at me, puzzled. "Why? Do you think she might be relapsing?"
"I'm not sure, honestly," I replied, dumping my newly cut chicken into a large baking dish.
"Lizzy, you're worried about it, I can tell. Have you noticed anything different about her?" Renee asked, putting her knife down and turning to face me. I shook my head, and tried to figure out how to best let Renee know about Erik's warning.
"I…I don't think that she looks too different. But, someone else believes that she's steadily becoming gravely ill," I replied as quietly as I could, moving some of Renee's uncut fowl over to my cutting board to finish.
"Someone? Who is this someone?" Renee asked, leaning closer to me, her long black hair falling over her shoulder.
"He sometimes watches the practices," I replied, wishing I hadn't brought the subject up. I should have known that Renee would be curious.
"Oh, a new Patron perhaps?" Renee asked, helping me to move the chicken over to the large ovens.
"Yes, perhaps," I said noncommittally, wanting to move to a different topic.
"Wait! Lizzy, is this the man that you're…" but thankfully Renee's question was cut off by Peter DePerix rushing into the kitchens and pulling her into a swift embrace.
"Hello, my love!" he cried, hugging her tightly to him. "And hello to you as well Lizzy! My, it's been awhile since I've seen you! Would you mind pardoning us for a moment?" Peter asked, ever the polite gentlemen.
"Not at all," I smiled, taking Renee's bowl of chicken from her. I watched with in amusement as the two walked over to a secluded corner of the kitchens, deep in conversation.
The rest of the evening passed quickly. My stepmother found me trying to help with the cooking and shooed me off to one of the tables.
"Goodness, Lizzy! You do enough around here! You don't need to help with the cooking as well. Now, go sit down and rest," she cried, giving me a quick peck on the cheek.
Dinner was a success, as usual, and all of the stagehands, dancers, singers, and maids left with full, contented bellies. As soon as the kitchens cleared I set about making my special tea once more, carefully hiding the tea leaves in a small jar until the water was ready. I chatted with Sophie for a moment while I waited for the water to finish boiling.
"I've already asked Renee, but have you noticed any change in Madeline?" I asked, praying that perhaps nothing was amiss after all.
"No. She seems fine," Sophie replied, hopping up on the countertop, her small feet dangling under her. "But I have an important question for you, Lizzy! Has my mysterious tutor mentioned anything to you about future lessons for me?"
"I'm afraid not. But I can ask him if he will teach you again if you'd like," I replied, walking over to the stove to remove the steaming teakettle.
"Oh, would you please! I miss singing," Sophie cried, clapping her hands together in delight.
"Of course I will, dearest!" I said, pouring the hot water into the waiting teacup.
Gingerly, lifting the small porcelain cup into my cold hands I bid Sophie goodnight and began the long walk to my room. The moon had long since risen in the sky and its pale glow reflected eerily against the dark wood. But I was content to walk leisurely, not wanting to spill any of the precious liquid.
Once I reached my doorway, I carefully balanced the teacup in my left hand and turned the knob. To my surprise, several taper candles were glowing brightly and there was a rich smell of incense and tobacco hanging in the air.
Carefully shutting the door behind me I scanned the room for any sign of Erik. It didn't take me long to spot his powerful form, resting in my small arm chair, Moppet draped gracefully across his lap. I gulped. What is he up to now?
"What are you doing here, Erik?" I asked quietly, placing my teacup on my tiny table by my bedside.
"Composing. Silence would be appreciated," he replied darkly, not even bothering to look up from his thin paper, his pen scratching frantically over the parchment.
Rolling my eyes and sighing at his insane and confusing behavior I picked up my latest novel, Wuthering Heights, and curled myself on my bed, sipping my tea quietly. For a long while the only noise in the room was the steady whisper of my turning pages, and the low scribbling of his pen.
Though my mind was still turning over his prediction about Madeline, I soon found myself utterly caught up in the escapades of Kathy and the dark Heathcliff and absently raised my hand to rub my cheek. The instant my fingers touched the cut I hissed in pain.
"I wouldn't touch it if I were you," Erik's rich voice called, startling me.
"I didn't mean to," I replied acidly, tossing my book down on the bed and walking over to my small washing basin. Pouring some of the water on a nearby cloth I dabbed at the open wound, trying to sooth the painful burning sensation.
"Put soap on that rag," Erik said, still furiously working on his score, his head bent over his work. Grumbling, I did as he instructed and worked a good lather up before cleaning the cut again.
"Why did you say that Madeline is dying?" I asked, wincing as the soap came in contact with my exposed skin.
"Because she is," he replied simply, finally lifting his head to look at me. I turned to face him, trying to figure out if this was another one of his manipulative tricks, but Erik's blue gaze met mine steadily, their depths dark.
"Of what? She's been improving!" I cried, coming to sit on my bed once more. Erik leaned back into his chair, laying his work on his lap, disturbing Moppet. The small white cat hissed at this outrage and leapt over to my bed, curling up by my side. Absentmindedly, I began to stroke her smooth fur waiting with baited breath for Erik to answer me.
"Lizzy, your stepsister has consumption. Paris is not the ideal climate for her condition and in her weakened state she has contracted a bad cold. Her lungs won't be able to take the strain for much longer," Erik replied softly, his tone dark and foreboding.
I blanched at his words, clutching at my breast. Consumption? I had heard of the disease before, who hadn't? But Madeline was still young! Perhaps…
"Surely her youth will help her recover?" I asked, my voice a small croak.
"She is frail and sickly. She will die," Erik answered, slowly gathering his papers together and rising to leave.
"Erik, wait!" I cried, moving over to him. Erik paused at the sound of my voice, but immediately backed away from my advancing form.
"She won't die! I know she won't! You're wrong, there's no way…"
Erik's chilling voice cut me off in mid-sentence. "She is dying. I've seen this disease too many times before to not know its symptoms. Your stepsister is weakening by the day; she will not last much longer. I'm sorry, Lizzy. There is nothing that you can do. You had best prepare yourself."
I shrank back at his words; tears beginning to fall uncontrollably down my cheeks. My hands rose to cover my mouth, and I looked up at him pleadingly. Erik's entire being seemed to slacken, his arms hanging loosely by his sides. His eyes met mine, and the pity that shone in them was unmistakable. He began to step towards me but stopped himself, turning abruptly on his heel, his long fingers reaching for the switch on the wall.
"Please," I called weakly to him, slowly sinking onto my bed. "Erik, please don't leave me."
He turned, his body tense, thrumming with energy. Slowly, deliberately, he walked over to the bed and knelt in front of me. For a moment he was silent, and it was almost as if he was fighting some internal battle, his face tense, his eyes avoiding mine. Finally, he brought his gloved hand up to my cheek wiping away my tears.
"Don't leave me alone," I whispered, turning my face into his palm. Erik was still for an endless moment, his gaze bleak and unreadable. Then he rose and came to stand by the wall, one of his hands pressed to his temple, the other bracing him against the plaster. I could hear his heavy breathing, and I knew then that his mind was made up.
Wordlessly, he tucked his papers under his arm once more and hit the metal switch. I buried my face in my hands, my weeping becoming more and more frantic. The panel slowly slid back and he stepped into the darkness, leaving me completely and utterly alone in my grief.
