"I miss my brush," Tiffany croaks. I hear her, but I don't turn my neck to look because it hurts to move, so I can only imagine the bush that is Tiffany's hair.

"Don't you have it in your bag?"

"Yeah, but it's not like I reach for it."

We all hurt.

"Who gives a crap about the brush! I want a martini or a Sex on the Beach." Sam clears her groggy throat.

Lee sighs. She is the only one who hasn't seemed to have freaked out about all the recent happenings. The worst part is that I haven't told them that I know where and when we are. I woke up soon after I passed out, and I was able to talk to the man who told me about my surroundings. He explained to me that he and his daughter were travelling to Persia to perform at their music festival. They were riding in their cart when they found us, and because they weren't too far from town, they decided to set up their reasonably sized tent and help us. That's all he said. While I have not yet asked for his name, I do remember that his daughter's name is Christine, who he sometimes calls Little Lotte-whatever that means. I also remember him expressing his delight that I understood Swedish. He said it has been lonely and tough for him and his daughter, who only have a limited knowledge of Farsi-the Persian language. There is something about all this that brings a strange sense of déjà-vu, but I can't put my finger on it. I know he has his questions, too. I mean, one man and three women are travelling together, that is barely heard of at the time. Despite his curiosity, he promised that he'll wait to be relieved of his queries once we're better.

It was only yesterday when all of us were awake; however, most of us wish we were still asleep, as we are severely sunburnt, flaking and peeling, and in serious pain. I've tried to convince myself that this has to be nothing but a dream…

A dream...that all of us are having.

Simultaneously...

But that's not possible. I must accept reality-as crazy as it sounds!

"I hate getting sunburned," Sam adds, groaning in pain.

"Well, maybe you'll get that tan you've been complaining about."

"Friends, haven't any of you considered that this is a weird hospital?" Lee finally perks up. Her voice sounds just as bad as ours, which is sad because her voice is normally sleek.

Sam and Tiffany remain silent.

"Rick?" Lee directs her question at me. "You've been more silent than me. What do you know?"

I sigh. "Too much."

The silence is deafening.

"Do you know anything about Crystal, yet?" Tiffany pitches in, her voice subdued with worry.

"No," I swallow hard. "I-I do know where we are though."

"Where?" Sam perks up.

"We are in Persia."

Sam chuckles sardonically. "I don't think we are in a joking mood right now, Rick."

"I'm not joking." And there is more.

"But-" stutters Tiffany, "-Persia doesn't-"

"We are-" I scoff, interrupting her from my still-existent disbelief, "-in the year 1851."

I wish I could provide some kind of verb, adjective, noun, any kind of word to describe the silence that penetrated the room, but there simply isn't anything I could give to describe it.

"Rick…" Sam's tone is derisive and pensive. "Has that sunburn of yours gone to your head?"

I roll my eyes. "No. We are not in a hospital, we are in a tent being inhabited by two people: a father and his daughter. They have been nursing us."

Silence.

"You know…" Tiffany mumbles. "I actually believe it."

"What?" croaks Sam. "The tent thing I believe-I mean, I can see it! But I haven't even met these two people Rick just talked about."

"Just think about it," pushes Tiffany, "Everything has been super weird. Sometimes the most logical explanations are birthed from the unimaginable."

"'Kay, Sherlock," retorts Sam. "Lee, are you with me on just how weird this is?"

"It is weird," confirms Lee, "but I must agree with Tiffany that it is the only thing that makes sense."

Voices from strangers are heard, and the man and his daughter enter.

"Ah! Everyone is awake for once!" the main exclaims happily. Christine shadows behind his leg, a little shy.

"Who are you?" Sam asks before I could move my lips. "And what language am I speaking?" Her eyes widen, suddenly truly frightened.

Aw, shit! I forgot about that.

"I'm not sure, I think these are the people Rick was talking about," whispers Lee to Sam.

"Shut. Up."

The man chuckles. "You've got an eclectic and eccentric group of friends here, Rick. I am Gustave Daaé. And this is my daughter, Christine. Please join us on our journey to the music festival as Christine and I would enjoy the company, and it would be of no trouble at all. Excuse us as we grab some water for you; no doubt you all are thirsty." He and his daughter walk behind the flap, disappearing.

"Seriously, Rick!?" Sam coughs from raising her voice. "What the hell?"

"I'm sorry. Apparently, we can speak Swedish."

"Excuse me?!" Tears are running down her eyes. "I can't believe this!"

"Oh my God!" cries Lee. "I just recognized something. Don't you all recognize those names? But it can't be… They don't exist!"

"Who?!" I demand, suddenly eager. "Something about them does ring a bell, but I can't recall for the life of me."

Lee stamers, obviously besides herself. "Crystal would talk about these...characters all the time."

"What..." It was beginning to dawn on me. "You can't mean…"

"Yes!" hisses Lee. "That is Christine Daaé with her father! The characters from The Phantom of the Opera!"

Once the basin was ready, I cleaned my hands one more time. When I wash his face, I want my own hands to be fresh rather than have the leftover scum of what was left on those dirty dishes. I return, placing a bar of soap on a spotless dish next to the basin.

"May you lean your head over the basin, please, Erik?"

He follows suit. This is the most humbled I've ever seen him. He licks his lipless lips, slightly nervous. I stand behind him, leaning my chest onto his back gently. Erik sucks in a breath, his muscles stiffen. "Relax," I coo into his ear. I grab the soap, dump it into the warm water and lather it between my palms. Gathering enough suds, I place the bar back and carefully place my hands on his cheeks, my fingertips meeting each other at his chin, making an upside down triangle on his face. I slide up and down his cheeks, my fingers slippery and creating an easy path. I can feel the tension in his face as his lips tremble. Something warm drops on my thumb. A tear. Now I can feel the shudder in his shoulders. I continue doing my best to heal him. I carefully scrub his chin and cheeks, the area around his nose, wary of getting any suds inside. I rub his forehead and the area around his eyes. I massage him attentively. There is a steady flow of tears with soft whimpers escaping occasionally. I return to his forehead, pushing his head back so his scalp is resting against my chest. I circle his temples, and I hear him sigh. I look down and his eyes are closed. I wipe the leftover tears away with the pads of my thumbs. I massage him a couple more minutes before finishing the task by rinsing and drying him off.

It is a bit awkward after that. I don't know whether he liked it, appreciated it, or if it was just torture. He doesn't give me any indication of which one it was. The only thing he does, after replacing his mask, is look at me as I put away the basin and the soap.

"Are there any other chores you'd like me to do, Master?"

"No," he sounds...starstruck, in a way. "No, you are free to do as you please." He gets up from the chair and goes to his piano. "Just let me be for a moment...do you like to read?" he asks abruptly.

I nod.

"There are many books on that shelf that are in your language," he points to the shelf opposite of the piano. "Please enjoy."

I try to be quiet as I peruse his small gallery of books. I chose a collection of gothic tales. I pick a chair by the shelf and curl up into a small ball and read. I don't look at him, but every once in a while I can feel him turn to stare at me. There would be a note from the piano, maybe two, three, or a great succession of them, before silence would take over. Some of the notes made me relaxed, others would scare me or make me happy.

An hour passed before Nadir knocked on Erik's door to announce the Shah's sudden intrusive appearance.

If my eye sockets could pop out of my sockets they would have. Oh crap!

Nadir enters. His eyes grow almost as big as mine when he sees me. "Allah! Erik!"

Erik grabs me roughly by the shoulder, opening the door to his bedroom. He throws open the door to his dresser, and shoves me in. "There is a small lever to your right. Lift it up and enter through it; it is a secret door and will keep you hidden until I come and get you." He shuts the door without another word. Knowing that this is no joke, my fingers fumble for that lever. I find a smooth surface that is adjacent to the dressar's wall and lift. Wood slides up, and a small door is revealed; it looks like it goes into the wall next door. I crawl through and it shuts automatically.

One of Erik's crafts, I see.

I was surprised to find that Erik's grandiosity has not punctured this room. It looks like it is just used to hide in case of an unexpected visit. There are a couple of books in here-I counted ten-but that is all. Besides the one wall that is wood, the rest in this section are cobblestone; something I have not seen in the architecture around here. I wonder where he got it. Did he make it himself? I lost track of how long I was there, but it was beginning to feel stuffy, and I was beginning to crave milk of all things.

Uh-oh. That must mean it is getting close to morning! Oh, how time flies!

I wrap my arms around my legs, burying my face into my thighs. I clench my hands, my fingernails digging into my skin.

I must stay human until Erik releases me.

Sweat drips down my temples. I've never resisted transforming before; it's painful.

Just as it is beginning to become unbearable, Erik opens the door. "Our delicate flower of a ruler is gone; you're free to come out."

My legs shake as I distangle myself. My joints pop due to staying in that one position as long as I have. "What did he want?" I ignore his sarcasm, wanting to get straight to the point. What do I need to help protect him against?

"He wanted to talk about that blasted fair!" Seeing my difficulty, Erik, with great uncertainty, extends his hand. I take it.

"Oh. What about it?"

"He mentioned some decoration ideas. It all felt suspicious. I wish I know what he and the Khanum are planning."

The Khanum always has some tricks up her sleeves.

"You like to be sneaky, Master, maybe you'll be able to find out."

"I will." There is a predatory tone there." Erik doesn't like to be unprepared."

Erik does not like to be the prey. "Be careful."

Erik scoffs. "A skeleton doesn't need to worry about such dastardly things; evil forgoes him; evil forgives death."

I sigh, slightly roll my eyes. "Still. Be careful, Erik."

Now it's Erik's turn to sigh. "If you wish."

It's easier to walk now that my joints have realigned themselves, but I can still feel myself on the edge of transforming. I won't be able to last much longer.

"What about Na-that guy who saw me?"

Not catching my flub, Erik sits on the piano bench. "The Daroga had to go with the Shah, but he'll be back to scold me-his favorite pastime; however, he will not expose you to anyone."

I know.

"What time is the festival?" I ask.

"It's an all-day event, but most of the festivities will occur when the sun sets."

"When is it?"

"You don't know? It's the most talked about event in town." I assume Erik raises his brow based on his tone.

I shrug. "I live indoors most of the time. I've only heard splashes of conversation about it."

"It will happen in a week."

I nod. "Well, I love music, so I'll have to try to make it. I guess nighttime will be the most festive time."

"You like music?" Erik eagerly picks up this fact.

"I do."

"What kind of music?"

"Anything that my ear and soul tune in to."

Erik swallows, nodding slowly as if contemplating. "Night would be best. You'll need to wear something elegant, if not more."

"Oh."

Erik catches my tone. "Do you not have something along those lines?"

I shake my head. "I wish I did. Ugh!" I keel over. Why does this hurt so much?

"Crystal!" Erik yanks himself off his piano bench. "Are you okay?" He is by my side, hand on my shoulder.

"Yes," I gasp, straightening myself up. "I should probably get going."

"Are you sure?"

"Mm-hm." I stumble to the door. "I'll come back tomorrow night," I rush.

"Okay." Erik still looks tentative about me leaving. "Maybe I should come with you, to help you avoid the guards. The Shah should not be anywhere near here anymore."

"No!" I bark, then I lighten my tone. "I'm very sneaky. I should manage." Please, Erik.

Erik blinks. There is no suspicion etched in his figure. "Fine. You've proven to be rather sneaky yourself, so I trust you."

I lift my eyes to his. Somehow, I can just tell that he is telling the truth: he does trust me. Maybe that face wash was more beneficial than I realized. The corners of my mouth lift into a slight smile. "Thank you, Master. Thank you, Erik."

His whole countenance melts into the picturesque form of tranquility. "More appropriately, it is I who should thank you."

Warmth spills throughout my gut. "See you soon." I slip between the open door and close it gently.

Where do I go now?!

I begin running down the hall. The hallway gets bigger and bigger as my size starts to shrink. I feel itchy as the fur grows on my skin, and there is a small weight added to my neck because of the necklace. My robe-Erik's robe-flutters to the floor. On all fours, I gaze back at it, my tail flicking with anxiety. I might as well bring it back to him. It's not like he can expect an actual answer from me.