Aveline stood in front of her full-length mirror, aghast. It seemed the Phantom had taken the royal theme of the masquerade quite…literally. Her indigo gown was more ornate than she would have ever envisioned.
The color leaned a bit more toward navy than a dark purple, but, at different angles, she couldn't be sure that the taffeta didn't change to a wholly different shade. It seemed to have a luminescent gold that caught at the edges of the rich fabric. Along the straight neckline, ermine fur strategically hid the majority of her cleavage; the same fur lining was present at the bottom hem, as well. Finally, if the royal theme was not apparent enough, gold needlepoint on her sheer white sleeves and upon her waist and bodice had subtle fleurs-de-lis that appeared within the ivy pattern.
She looked… a bit ridiculous. Like a caricature of a royal court member. Had Erik consulted her, at all, Aveline would have tempered his vision with a touch of contemporary fashion. It was glamorous, though. A glamorous costume for a costume ball.
A knock on her door snapped her back to attention. She picked up her skirt and carefully maneuvered to the door in her heeled boots.
"You look like a vision," Erik said, while stopped in the doorway. He wore a more conservative tux, but Aveline was shocked to see that he wore a new mask. It looked identical to the full one he constantly wore, but this one showed his mouth, everything from below his nose to his chin. His cheeks were still completely covered.
"Thank you, I-" How do I ask this? "I notice you…modified your mask?"
He ignored her question, and handed her a mask that resembled gold lace.
"Are you putting your hair up?"
Aveline frowned, turning to look once more at her reflection in the full-length mirror. Her hair was down, in loose curls. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him drop the hand that held her mask.
"You have every detail planned," she answered. "Do you not have a preference for my hair style, as well? A wig hidden in one of your rooms? Perhaps something to channel Marie Antionette?"
"No," he said forcefully. Aveline knew he detected the sarcasm in her voice. "Are you mocking me?"
She sighed, a feeling of guilt niggling at her heart. It was not his fault that his tastes did not match her own. He had ignored her previous question; she could do the same. She took the gold mask from his hand and laid it on the vanity, as she sat down.
"Give me another few moments, and I'll be ready."
Aveline piled her curls atop her head with a slew of pins, but left two long ringlets down to rest on her shoulder. The Phantom watched her from his standing position. His head was tilted in expressive interest. She wondered what he was thinking, but she worried it might be unwise to ask. She perched the mask upon the bridge of her nose, then used the black ribbons fastened to each end to tie it securely around her crown.
The trip to the surface was less dramatic than her original descent into the Phantom's domain. Three months. It seemed longer, to Aveline. They backtracked over the lake in the embellished rowboat, climbed the stone steps, and made their way through the neglected backstage of the Opera Populaire. Upon reaching the backstage area, Erik led her through a hidden doorway that brought them to a series of narrow hallways behind the various walls of the grand theatre.
"So this is how you surrounded me in my search for your black roses."
Erik held her hand, as he maneuvered through the secret passages.
"You did very well," he simply stated. "I was pleasantly surprised with how adept you were at solving my puzzles."
"Even though you thought I was my mother," she pointed out. He said nothing to that, so she continued. "Did you expect my mother to solve them as quickly?"
They had reached a doorway that opened up to the lobby of the opera house. He pulled her through, then stopped to address her question.
"She would have solved them much more quickly." He smiled, and Aveline wanted to let out a sigh of relief that she could finally see more than just his eyes. Deciphering his emotions would be easier with his mouth in plain view. She noticed, too, how his chin and mouth appeared unblemished.
But why did he hide his entire face, then? What is under the mask?
"Your mother lived and worked in this theatre. The riddles, to her, would have been more like recalling memories of her time here…" he trailed off, but Aveline knew he had more to say. "That's exactly what I wanted her to do," he murmured, taking her hand and leading her once more.
It was chilly, outside. But, unlike the last time she had seen the surface, no snow or moisture of any kind was on the ground. The last vestiges of daylight could be seen in the distance, with dazzling colors saturating the darkening sky. A covered carriage awaited them, and Erik quickly helped Aveline into her seat. He sat opposite her, with a stern look on his face. The cabbie had jumped down to do his duty, but with his passengers eager to be seated, he was only permitted to close the door and return to his perch.
Once they were underway, Erik leaned toward her and spoke in a hushed tone.
"What are you expecting, tonight?"
"I beg your pardon?" Her surprise was genuine, as she wondered what he wanted her to say.
He sat back and regarded her with suspicion.
"Allow me to answer for myself." His voice was now at its normal volume, matching her own. "I am expecting us to exchange a few pleasantries with other guests, enjoy dancing, and leave before the crowds begin to disperse. I am also expecting you to stay by my side and take my cues on when to leave a conversation that becomes too intrusive."
Another test, she surmised. The past two weeks, Erik had become more and more probing about her behavior in a public situation. She didn't plan to run from him. In Versailles. Amidst complete strangers. Truthfully, she did not think about any type of escape. She worried, without his tutelage, her newfound passion and aptitude might decline and leave her with the same options she had before that first night in the Opera Populaire: marry and recreationally teach piano to a newer generation of young ladies looking to add to their accomplishments.
"I expect that we'll enjoy the dancing and the refreshments, and that we will stay late enough to satisfy the longing I have felt to have a night of celebration and society," she countered. "Unless you intend to bring me to the surface more often, in which case, I could be persuaded to reluctantly leave earlier than the revelers around us."
He smirked at her cheekiness.
"It sounds as though we will be both greatly enjoy our night, then."
"And what if I am asked to dance by someone other than yourself?" she asked innocently.
"You are occupied," he shrugged. "Either by myself or in conversation that would be rude to walk away from."
"And if I need to use the powder room?"
"I shall dutifully escort you to and from, guarding the entrance for you."
Aveline rolled her eyes at his fastidiousness. She abandoned their tête-à-tête and looked out the window to see the sun disappear below the horizon; she observed the same sky that had been so brilliant with color at the beginning of their journey now changing to a shade similar to the dress that she wore. Out of the corner of her sight, she could tell that Erik was still watching her. But he did not say anything or attempt to draw her attention in any way.
The carriage halted as they drew nearer to the famed palace. Aveline leaned out the window and saw that they were in a rather long line of carriages waiting to drop off their patrons. She huffed and sat back in her seat, impatient for their arrival.
When it was their turn to exit, the driver quickly opened the door, scarcely stopping fully before attempting to beat the masked man to the task. Erik gave a curt nod in approval, as he exited. He helped Aveline down, then handed the cabbie a generous payment.
They waited in line behind other couples and individuals, walking down the middle of the rich courtyard and toward the main entrance. There was an obvious pause at the doorway with each attendee. When it was finally their turn to enter, Erik pulled an invitation from his breast pocket and handed it to the attendant. The doorman barely glanced at the piece of paper, before waving them through.
Aveline had visited the palace before, but never at night. There was something especially magical about the candlelight illuminating the inside. The limited reach of the candles made the gold leaf glitter and animated the illustrations on the walls. Couples and groupings of elegant invitees all marveled at the opulence around them, as everyone made their way to the main ballroom.
Music from their destination became louder as they drew closer. The high ceilings echoed the sounds of string and percussion instruments. Aveline saw, as they entered the ballroom, that the amount of musicians was less than she had guessed in the hall outside. Couples were already dancing, waltzing with ease on the mostly-vacant dance floor.
The sound of Erik clearing his throat, rather loudly, refocused Aveline's attention. He stood beside her, offering his arm and waiting for her to take it. She smiled reassuringly and looped one arm in his. He led her to a refreshment table, where glasses of champagne were ready and waiting.
Aveline took a glass and sipped as she glanced around the room. As she suspected, most of the ladies were wearing traditional gowns with subtle nods to the royal theme. Tiaras on many heads, jewel-toned fabrics, and the occasional swatch of fur or militaristic touches… Aveline looked down at her own attire and prayed she didn't look too comical. Most of the men wore standard tuxedoes, although there was the occasional brave soul who accessorized with a crown or a brightly-contrasting sash.
Everyone had a mask. Most of the ladies had dainty, lace-like creations that were mostly transparent. A few refused to wear the decoration on their faces, so they held their masks on long wands in their hands. The men's masks were much more interesting and varied. The majority wore half-masks that left the bottom halves of their faces exposed. Some wore half-masks that were vertical, seemingly cutting their faces in half lengthwise. There were masks that only covered the eyes, hastily made by cutting a thin strip of fabric and then tying the material behind their heads. Only of couple of men wore something that covered most of their face.
She glanced over at Erik; they certainly were the outliers in the room, as far as fashion was concerned. He was watching the crowd, too, occasionally sipping from his own champagne glass.
The room became quite crowded, with the couples on the dance floor now needing to use conservative amounts of space to waltz. Erik and Aveline finished their drinks and set them back onto the refreshment table. Many of the people around them were engaged in lively conversations, but no one had yet approached them. Erik gestured toward the center of the room, and Aveline smiled gratefully. To continue standing in a popular area without purpose or someone to converse with would be embarrassing.
He gracefully moved with the music, as they wove through the dancing couples, leading Aveline to the middle of the dance floor. They joined the revelry, mid-song, with an enviable ease. Erik looked down at her occasionally, but his eyes constantly darted to the people beside them and around the entirety of the room.
After a few musical numbers, the orchestra took a short recess to refresh themselves, and the dancers dispersed to the edges of the large room. Erik and Aveline found themselves back at a refreshment table, selecting hors d'oeuvres from silver trays, when a voice behind them sounded out.
"Is that the reclusive O.G.? What a delight to have you with us tonight. We are honored, sir!"
They spun around and saw Francine Durand herself, adorned in a crimson gown with a ruffled ivory bodice. Her mask was a loose interpretation of the word, being such a sheer ivory gauze that all of her features could be recognized immediately. Her brunette hair was fastened into a strict bun at the base of her neck, with wisps of grey catching the candlelight like tinsel on a Christmas tree. She was plain, but those particularly shrewd and bright eyes gave her a distinction amongst the ladies in the room. Wrinkles at the edges of her eyes and around her lips were the only other clue to reveal her age. She smiled broadly at Erik, only sparing the slightest glance at his fair companion.
"Madam Durand, the honor is, quite obviously, mine," he graciously replied, bowing and then taking his former protégé's gloved hand and bestowing a kiss. Aveline saw the fire behind his expression and wondered if Francine could see the Phantom's displeasure, as well.
"This is my pupil," he continued, placing a hand on the small of Aveline's back and guiding her closer. "Madam Durand, may I present Aveline de Chagny, daughter of the Vicomte and Vicomtess de Chagny. She is visiting from Toulouse."
"Visiting? How quaint." The older woman's expression was completely disingenuous. She surveyed Aveline with a critical eye. "Well, if she is studying under the great Octave Genereux, she must already be a marvel. I must hear you play. We have so much in common, you and I."
Madam Durand's tone was almost accusatory, and she stared at Aveline until Aveline was forced to look down in discomfort.
"I would relish the opportunity, Madam," was the only response Aveline could offer.
"Your mother…" Aveline looked up into Francine's eyes, worry cresting on her brow. "The Vicomtess, is her maiden name Daae, by any chance?"
"Yes, madam, it is."
Erik had hardly moved next to her, and she felt his hand press harder against his back. She worried he would cause her to lose her balance, so she leaned back into his hand.
"Ah! How wonderful! The famous Christine Daae continues her legacy of bewitching talent through a daughter who is her spitting image! How…" she glanced at Erik, then, narrowing her eyes, "felicitous."
"Francine," Erik growled softly. "Why are you here?"
The pianist took a step toward her former mentor and answered back in confidence.
"You asked for tickets to the masquerade. I enjoy a masquerade as much as the next person," she shrugged. "Surely you cannot fault me for that. And, given your last experience at a masked ball, I very much looked forward to the dramatic entrance I assumed you would make."
Aveline looked over to Erik in confusion, wondering what significance her statement held. Erik did not waver from staring down Francine.
"There will be no theatrics tonight, my dear," he said through gritted teeth.
"We shall see," Francine teased with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
"Erik," Aveline interrupted, tired of being overlooked in their dueling words, "I am thirsty, could we please get some champagne?"
"Erik?" Francine repeated. The expressions flashing across her face showed it all: confusion, realization, annoyance…and betrayal. Her eyes darted to an area behind them, only for a moment, and then she looked back to the duo.
Erik seemed to be hesitating, while Aveline bit her bottom lip. Before either of them could form a reply, Francine spoke, again.
"Monsieur Genereux, or, Erik? Is it? I, too am parched." She moved to stand next to Aveline, linking her arm under the young woman's and pulling her just of reach of her guardian. Erik's jaw clenched, but he let Francine pull Aveline away to face him. "Why don't you bring us each a glass to toast your precious little ingenue?"
Aveline nodded, hoping that he could dispel some of his anger in the brief time it would take to get the drinks. The orchestra had started up, again, and couples were organizing themselves back into the center of the room. After the toast, she would ask Erik to dance, and they could remove themselves from this awkward situation. Now that they were aware of her presence, avoiding Francine would be manageable. Aveline hoped that this unexpected development would not cut her night short.
Erik, to his credit, understood Aveline's wordless communication, and he gave them both a curt nod of the head before heading toward a separate area that held the highly-sought-after champagne fountain.
"He gave you his name?"
Aveline shot a sidelong glance to Madam Durand, but she was watching Erik's journey. She couldn't fully read it, but she knew better than to answer. Francine was obviously quite hurt by this revelation.
Francine looked back to where Erik had been standing, searching something out, then smiled as a cat with cream. Her eyes locked back to Aveline's own.
"My, what a pleasant surprise! I see two more people with whom I would love to be acquainted! Would you do me the honor, Aveline?"
Across the room, Aveline's parents regally walked toward them, all smiles and excitement. Her mother wore a golden gown with touches of ivory and lace. She held a simple white mask on the end of a dowel, carried in one hand far from her face. Aveline's father had a new tuxedo, with a golden cravat to match his wife's ensemble. Perched at his hairline was a gold mask that looked to be purely decorative. They had both seen their daughter, and their movement through the crowds showed their purpose.
Aveline looked to the Phantom, who was walking toward them. He must have seen her parents before retrieving the drinks, because he held nothing in his hands. They were balled into fists at his sides, as he watched them approach. His head whipped to find Aveline, and he sent daggers to her wide eyes. The stare was incendiary. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. He narrowed his eyes and turned on his heel to disappear into the sea of masks behind him.
"I hope you are as good of an actress as your mother was, dear," Madam Durand murmured alongside the bewildered young woman.