Hello, readers!
Just a quick AN. I love "Versailles," the television series (thank you, Netflix!). I very much picture this version of Erik to be like Fabien Marchal, and Aveline is a bit similar to Sophie. I think, after finishing these two POTO fics, I'll be writing a story with those two characters. That's all.
Happy reading!
Jenn
Erik wore the clothing Aveline had become accustomed to seeing. The black hooded cloak with the sleeves removed and the jagged, frayed edges. The black shirt underneath, and the black belt that cinched both garments at his waist. Black gloves and black baggy slacks that were tucked into his black boots. Head to toe darkness. No wonder she hadn't seen him hiding in the recesses of her room.
Only his mask was different than usual, as he wore the same one from earlier that night, with his mouth and chin exposed.
"Did you set all this up?" she asked him, plainly. "Is this another test?"
He walked past her wordlessly to close and lock her door. After doing so, he returned to stand opposite her.
"I did no such thing," he said in a hushed voice. "If I had known this would be the end to our night, I would never have let you leave my home. Our home," he added, as an afterthought.
Aveline shook her head. She removed her gloves and mask, placing them on a table near her. She sat down at the small vanity in the room and set to work removing her curls from their restraints. Erik watched her silently, then cleared his throat before speaking.
"I'm sorry that our night together was ruined."
She did not respond. It felt wrong to admit that Francine inviting her parents to the masquerade ruined her evening. It didn't, not completely. It ruined his, she acknowledged.
"I'm sorry that we only shared two dances, and that both times you were distracted or upset," she countered. "And, while dancing with my father, I was so preoccupied, watching for you, watching Francine speak to my mother, that I wasn't able to fully enjoy myself, either."
She frowned. Apparently, her night was rather ruined, after all. Aveline leaned back in the chair, now that her hair hung loose around her upper body. Erik, she could see in the mirror, chose to sit on her unmade bed, facing the window. He leaned his elbows on his knees and stared straight ahead.
"You heard everything I said to Madam Durand," Aveline spoke up. "Was anything I said displeasing…or wrong?"
"No, it was-" he stopped himself from finishing. "I'm glad you are willing to come back to me."
"Once I do, will you ever let me come up, again?"
"Of course." He looked over at her, then, smiling. "You must improve your Spanish in Cadiz this summer, before you start your first tour. We can't have you spouting out anything embarrassing."
She muffled her laughter as best as she could, turning in her chair to see the Phantom's smirk of self-satisfaction. When she calmed down, they both sat and enjoyed the contented silence between the two of them. Erik stood and spoke first.
"I'll leave you, now. You must rest."
Aveline stood, as well, moving to meet him as he walked toward the door. He stopped before unlocking it, his hand still outstretched. He clenched it and held it to his mouth; he turned back to his pupil and held both of her hands.
"I will see you tomorrow night, Aveline."
She nodded. "Good night, Erik."
He bent down, and she knew what was coming, but she was unsure what to do. He kissed her cheek quickly, hesitantly. She felt her face heat up, but at the same moment he dropped her hands and left the room. He walked into the dark hallway, disappearing into the shadows, his footsteps quieter than a cat's. She shut the door and locked herself in, hoping to sleep deeply.
The morning came too swiftly, and Aveline found the light that flooded her room to be blinding. She had forgotten to draw the thicker curtains, and the gauzy white material that presently covered the window did nothing to block the sun. Her eyes squinted and blinked rapidly, as she tried to pull the rather unfortunate-looking puce curtains towards the center. The light in the room turned a sickly pink, as the sun pushed through the curtains, but it was not quite as garish as before.
Unable to return to sleep, Aveline regretfully pulled out one of her precious dresses from the wardrobe. She donned a burgundy dress with black and ivory trimmings, brushed the tangles from her hair, and set her tresses in intricate twists around her face. She needed to be out of her room quickly, being unsure of Madam Durand's state of mind.
Her parents were already in the parlor, dressed finely and waiting on more company.
"Aveline! You're up already? Are you anxious to spend every minute of our visit together, Princess? Or has Madam Durand's instruction brought forth yet another miracle?" her father teased.
"Hilarious, Papa," she teased back, sticking out her tongue. Her father laughed, but her mother shook her head in disapproval.
"Good morning!" Francine's voice rang out. "I see that I am the last to join in the fun. Well, no matter, I know you are eager to hear your daughter play."
Aveline's brows rose in shock. Was this the same woman who had cried in her room last night?
"We are," Christine replied tentatively, "but perhaps after some breakfast?"
"Of course, where are my manners? I am so excited for you to hear how she has improved, I forgot all about food!"
The housekeeper ushered the four of them to a small dining table and the cook brought out their prepared courses. After breakfast and light conversation, Aveline was practically pulled to the madam's grand piano by her supposed instructor. Her parents sat on the sofa in the same room, while Francine stood alongside the piano bench.
Aveline wasn't nervous, which was odd. She knew Madam Durand would be judgmental and her parents would be expecting to hear significant improvements in her playing. But, with such extensive practice in the last three months, she was not perturbed by any of her surroundings. No matter how unfamiliar.
She played her favorite composition by Octave Genereux. The one she had begged her parents to find for her, after hearing the great Madam Durand play it in concert. They had heard her play it many times, but never with such fluidity and passion. Her fingers flew with ease over the ivory keys, and her head and shoulders moved in rhythm with her arms. She danced with the music as her partner. Before playing the final chord, she impulsively added a glissando for dramatic flair.
Her parents applauded her loudly, bursting with pride. Francine smirked.
"I'm not sure Monsieur Genereux would appreciate the improvised elements you added to his work."
Aveline smiled back, conspiratorially. "I'm sure he wouldn't."
"Another!" "Encore!" Her parents called out. Aveline looked back to Francine.
"Perhaps you can play something for us that is original?"
The challenge was there. She thought about the composition she and Erik had just finished. It was magnificent. If Madam Durand felt threatened by Aveline's ability, showing off a newly-created piece might alienate her further. An idea suddenly struck her.
"This is unfinished, as I still have yet to compose the final movement, but I am happy to share it with you."
Aveline played her work in progress. The fearful first movement was a stark contrast from the jubilant piece she had previously played, which served to show how much she had developed in weaving emotion into her craft. The second movement brought them to a happier mood, with its playfulness and excitement jumping off the keys. She paused at the end, then dropped her hands in her lap.
As expected, her parents gushed their support for their only child. Aveline looked at Francine, hoping for a more truthful assessment.
Francine nodded cordially, the smile on her face only evident from the slight creases at the corners of her lips. "How will it end?" she asked seriously. The double meaning clear to only herself and Aveline.
"I don't know, yet. But I am excited to get there."
The day dragged on, with a light meal at lunch, a walk in the neighborhood, and her parents finishing their packing.
"Are you sure you don't want to come with us, ma fille précieuse?" Christine pleaded, pressing the last items into their trunk for Raoul to close. "This was too short a visit!"
"I can escort you back in a week, if you'd like to come with us," her father added, then grunted, as he fought to close the overflowing trunk.
"I'd rather stay here, but I'm so excited for Cadiz in only four months! I hear August is the best time to enjoy the beaches in Spain. And, by that time, you will have been there for two months. You should be able to show me all the best sights and beaches that the area has to offer!"
The chatted more on the subject of their upcoming trip, until the carriage arrived to take her parents to the train station. The heavy trunk was loaded, and Aveline and her parents made tearful goodbyes.
Once the carriage was out of sight, Madam Durand gestured for Aveline to go inside. The young pianist hesitated, wondering what to do now that she was once again alone with her. She held her hand to her brow and looked toward the sun. It couldn't be more than two hours before sunset. Aveline had to get back to the opera house. She bit her lip and followed her fallen idol into her humble home.
"You did…well," Francine complimented.
"So did you," Aveline pointed out, folding her arms. "Where did you get my clothes?"
"I've had your trunk since the morning you arrived in Paris. Octave…Erik had a coach bring it to me with a brief letter to let me know that I was to hold onto it and that he would meet with me later to give me further instructions."
"He asked you to place them in a wardrobe as a decoy, in case my parents ever came to town?"
"No, that was my doing. I couldn't bring ruin upon myself. Telling them of the Phantom's involvement or giving them any hints to the truth of what happened would have landed me in prison for conspiracy."
"Ah," Aveline rolled her eyes. Another thought came to her mind, and she blurted it out without pausing. "In my first weeks here, there was a day that Erik came to see you. He was gone all day, leaving me alone in that dank underground. What happened? What all did you talk about?"
"That was the first time I saw him, after you arrived." She narrowed her eyes at the pretty young girl. "I found out you were still with him, and I was unhappy to hear that news. Let's leave it at that. You aren't entitled to know more."
Aveline nodded in acquiescence, not fully satisfied, but wishing to be on better terms with a woman that her heart still admired. She abandoned her defensive stance, letting her arms fall to her sides, then clasping her hands behind her back.
"What did you think of my playing?"
Francine scoffed. "Why do you still care about my opinion? I am not your teacher."
Aveline was disappointed, but she didn't say anything. She crossed to the closest chair and sat. She was surprised when Francine joined her, being seated on a chaise adjacent to Aveline's position.
"This is not easy for me," Francine admitted. "You understand that I have many reasons to dislike you, don't you?"
Aveline nodded, staying silent.
"I cannot believe…I never dreamed he would find someone else. His memory of your mother infected every aspect of him. But, as the years passed, he mentioned her less and less. I thought that was because…" she trailed off. In the next second she shook her head and once again spoke in a steeled tone. "Never mind what I thought. We parted ways, and I assumed we would both lead amicable, solitary lives."
Francine looked down, then. "And then your father's- well, your fateful letter arrived." She tilted her head up, looking toward the ceiling. "I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I had never shown it to him…"
She took a deep breath, closing her eyes, then calmly looked toward Aveline.
"You play beautifully."
Aveline's jaw dropped at the immense praise from the woman who barely deigned to give a compliment.
"Three months with him, and your talent…" she shook her head. "Has he compared us?"
"No," Aveline lied. She would be devastated if she knew the things he said.
Francine gave her a knowing smile. "You lie. But no matter, your good breeding wouldn't allow you to repeat unkind words or place yourself on a pedestal."
Aveline blushed and nervously wrung her hands in her lap.
"What did he have to say about your composition?"
"Not much," Aveline frowned. "He said that it was obviously unfinished and not worth listening to until it was complete. He said he could hear the music on the pages. Rather condescending, actually."
"That sounds about right. I liked it. I will look forward to hearing the final movement," she rose from her seat and walked toward the stairs, stopping before ascending. "If it ends how I imagine it will, I may want a copy. The feelings it stirs are more than a little familiar."
She walked up slowly, never turning back, while calling out with louder and louder words.
"I've ordered a carriage for you, for an hour from now. He'll take you there. If you would like to take any or all of your possessions, feel free to do so. If not, I suppose I can hold onto them a little longer. I am going upstairs to rest, and I won't see you off. Farewell, Aveline."
The hemline of her skirt lifted away from view, and Aveline heard Madam Durand cross the hallway on the second story to her room and the door close sharply behind her. Aveline walked back to her room, wondering if she should take or leave her belongings. She used the powder room one last time, relishing the amenity. She took the gold lace mask she had laid on the vanity in one hand and walked back to the parlor, to be seated in front of a window.
The carriage came, delivered her to the Opera Populaire, and left. She looked up at the rubble that blocked the entryway, then turned toward the exit path Erik had used to bring them out the night of the masquerade. Only one day ago. It was twilight now, though, but the only men out on the streets were the lamplighters. She hurried to stay away from their attention, pleased that she had worn a dark-colored dress.
She shivered as she circled the large opera house. Past a large pile of rocks that looked like it blocked the alleyway between buildings. Through the wrought iron gate that she had once run through to find freedom. Around the various obstacles in the overgrown conservatory, and through the glass corridor where she had spied the useful bag of sand. Various panes of glass were still broken or cracked, and wind whooshed through the tunnel, chilling Aveline.
She made it to the performance hall, passing the small room where she had used four black knight pieces on a chessboard to conquer the white king. When she glanced to where the gameboard had been, she saw no trace of its existence. She hurried past the library, remembering to stop by on another occasion to browse its contents. Through the hallway, past rooms she had once explored, through the hallway entrance, and, finally, into the grand foyer.
Nothing around her was lit, and she wondered if she should call out for Erik or wait for him to find her.
"Welcome back, Aveline."
She turned toward the voice and saw him walking toward her from the tunnel under the large staircase. He held out his hand. A familiar gesture.
More than a little familiar, she thought.