Author's Note: You guys... the reception to the last chapter was so great. Thank you. I'm glad you guys liked it and that it even resonated with some of you. Yes, such content may be hard to read ― even I had some difficulty writing it ― but I do think that it deserves to be shown to the world nevertheless, especially to bring awareness that such things do happen in real life to real people. As for this chapter, I finally have a new record for the latest one I've ever posted. For that, I am so, so sorry. I'm not going to delay this any longer now so... enjoy!

P.S. A belated Happy New Year to everyone!

( twenty-one )

UNTOUCHABLE

"You deserve to have the world at your feet, my dear."

These were the words that her father had always spoken to Hana Vidal, on nights before he tucked her into bed, on days after her lessons with her tutor were finished. She'd heard of nothing else her entire life until those words were finally emblazoned into the back of her mind, and she refused to believe otherwise since then. So when her father sent her to learn at the prestigious Opéra Populaire, how could Hana say no? It was one step closer to her dream of having the world at her feet, of achieving her fantasies of dominating the stage with everyone's eyes on her, of having a life where she only had her passion to live for.

But as she stood from her spot a few feet away from the rest of the ballet corps, it became clear to her that the way to the top would not be without obstacles. Marguerite Giry chatted the day away with the girls surrounding her as Hana's wary eye rested on the blonde. When rehearsals had started, Hana had expected compliments to be abound her regarding her flawless technique and her unequaled grace, but they never came. Instead, such comments were directed towards Meg and her Swedish friend, Christine Daaé, and, since then, Hana couldn't help but feel dismay burn up inside her whenever she crossed paths with the two.

It didn't help that Meg was the ballet headmistress' daughter, Madame Antoinette Giry. It was probably the reason why most of the ballet corps loved to flock around the blonde, always showering her with attention and compliments where they were deserved. It was not long after that that Hana came to the conclusion that Meg Giry was untouchable. She couldn't bear to share the stage with another person but it seemed that she would have to deal with the Little Giry. But there was only so much space for competition and there was the fact that there was anote person in the equation.

Christine Daaé, with her chocolate curls and doe eyes, was the epitome of sweetness. She truly looked harmless but to Hana, she was merely another threat. While she was one of the opera house's darlings, that didn't mean that she always had someone paying attention to her, unlike Meg. From the start, Hana noticed that while Christine kept up with the company of the other dancers and performers, there were also moments where she chose to keep to herself, silent and sure. Clearly, this girl liked to spend quality time with her own thoughts which, Hana noted, was frequently spent within the walls of the chapel.

The Swedish ballerina was staring at the lit candles before her when Hana walked into the place, instantly making her presence known to Christine as she cleared her throat.

Her eyes shot up to the new arrival as her lips broke into a warm smile. "Oh, Hana! I didn't realize you were there."

Hana shrugged her shoulders. "It's fine. Were you praying?"

"No. Not exactly... I was... talking to―"

She cut off Christine with a roll of her eyes, not having the patience to deal with the girl's pauses. "Your father?" In her short time in the Opéra Populaire, Hana was made aware of Christine's father, Gustave Daaé, a famed violinist, who had passed away not long before she arrived to the opera house. When it was made known to Hana how her father was a musical prodigy, it only fueled the distaste the she felt towards Christine. Who knew if the girl had inherited her father's skill with the violin as well?

Christine gave a shake of her head. "To the Angel of Music."

Hana raised a brow at her. Did her ears correctly hear the words that had left Christine's lips? The Angel of Music? Amusement bubbled up inside Hana as she stared at the girl before her, her legs tucked beneath her as she sat before the chapel's altar. The urge to mock Christine for such laughable delusions came to Hana, but she pushed it down, favoring a far more clever way to go about this new information. Clearly, this girl has lost her head. After all the talks of an Opera Ghost and now an Angel of Music, Hana's view of the people around her could no longer get any better. But perhaps she could drag down their opinion of Christine if Hana could reveal her for the nutcase that she was.

Putting on a coy smile, she rushed over to Christine before she sat herself beside the brunette. Christine looked unsure as Hana spoke.

"Your Angel of Music?" she inquired. "Is he your tutor, Christine? Is that why you always come down here to the chapel?"

"Well, yes. He comes to me, here, and in my dreams too―"

"Could I perhaps meet him?" Hana exclaimed. The thinly veiled challenge hung in the air as Christine's brown eyes widened at her, panic flickering in them as Hana resisted the urge to smirk before the girl. Here's to seeing if your Angel of Music's real.

Christine gave her surroundings a quick glance before she softened her voice into a whisper. "I'm really sorry, Hana, but the Angel of Music is strict―"

Hana feigned shock. "Is he?" Next was hurt. "Or do you simply want to keep him to yourself?"

The Swedish girl looked taken aback by her words as her mouth fell open. "Hana, it's not like that―"

Hana cut off the girl for the fifth time as she rose to her feet, her skills with acting coming into view as she put on a convincing expression of distress. "I knew it! That's why you're so better than the others, aren't you? Because you've a skilled teacher all to yourself who you even refuse to show to me. Why won't you show him to me, Christine? Isn't he here at the moment? In this very room?"

"Hana, please listen to me―" Christine stood up and tried to pacify her as she reached out to Hana but her hands were slapped away.

"Why? So you can explain yourself? Your teacher's absence perhaps? Or the fact that he's not real?"

Hana knew her words hit a sweet spot within the brunette as Christine pulled back from her with the smallest spark of anger flickering in her gaze. Fear glinted in her brown eyes as well, but from what, Hana was unsure of. She watched as Christine's jaw clenched before she spoke.

"He is real, Hana. As real as you and I, and I doubt he will appreciate your―"

Before Christine could finish her sentence, a gust of wind hit Hana in her face before it snuffed out every single candle on the altar, killing their flames and leaving little light for her to see her surroundings. The temperature dropped. Hana tried to ignore the chill the ran down her spine but failed as she found herself trembling in the darkness of the chapel.

In front of her, Christine's features twisted into an expression of concern as her eyes darted to the ceiling above them. Wasn't she frightened? What was happening? What happened to the candles? Hana felt like screaming as she demanded answers her mind could not fathom while the Swedish girl before her stood calmly in place, her eyes running all over the walls around them as they paid attention to... to what? Hana narrowed her eyes at Christine before she realized that it was as if the girl was listening... to someone. Someone only she could hear because Hana's ears were picking up nothing save for the deafening silence.

Hana's heart throbbed painfully with dread as she stared at Christine. Her Angel of Music couldn't be real, could he? She dearly wanted to believe so, but it was becoming hard to fight away her disbelief, not after what she just witnessed with the candles. Because in a sealed room such as this one, there was not a single spot where a wind from outside the opera house could've entered the chapel.

Christine's angelic voice pulled her back to reality as the brunette stared at her with worry. "Hana, you need to leave."

Hana obeyed without another word, running out of the chapel as if her life depended on it.

Jovan's skin was cold when she woke up that Sunday morning. There was a slight tremor to her fingers as she stared at them, her lips parted as she retrieved herself from the clutches of her nightmare ― no, it wasn't a nightmare but a memory. She quietly cursed to herself as she balled her hands into fists to steady her trembling, sucking in deep breaths to help regulate her pulse back to its normal pace. Her hair and her nightgown stuck to her skin, slick with sweat as she sat in her bed, alone once more in the dormitory while everyone else was out for mass.

Her eyes darted to her lap where she saw a book lying on top of the sheets that covered her. She glared at it, her eyes narrowing down at it as her sleep-addled mind roared at her to hurl it across the room. Her dream had began with her clutching a book as she sat by her window, similar to how she'd been reading the book on her lap last night just before she fell asleep. She held it with both hands, about to give in to the voice, when something stilled her. Wait. This was a book she held right now, and she had always revered books for the treasures that they were. Shaking herself out of her trance, she glanced down once more to the book she held before she realized that it wasn't hers. It was Erik's.

A sigh left her lips as her mind brought up the image of the masked genius. It had been a month since their argument, since the last time she spoke to him and the last time she went down to his home. A month since they began keeping their distance from each other like the stubborn fools they were, as much as it pained them to be away from each other. More than once, she had contemplated visiting him down in his lair to use the excuse of returning his book just so she could be near him again. More than once, she had also caught his shadow lingering not far from her post in the rafters or the catwalks. But before she could approach his dark form, he'd slipped away once she was a few feet away from him.

It was probably for the best, she tried to convince herself once, to stay away from the Opera Ghost, the subject of the numerous grim tales that circulated among the opera staff. But no matter what she tried to tell herself, that she was playing with fire, that she was flirting with danger, she could not put out of her mind even just his shadow. No, she couldn't, not when it was not the Opera Ghost that had captivated her attention, but Erik, the brilliant man behind the dark facade. And whether she liked it or not, Erik had left his mark on her, a stubborn stain that she could not wash out even with the best distractions. He always lingered there, at the back of her mind, ready to take the spotlight of her attention the moment she was left alone to her thoughts.

Jovan became aware of the way her thoughts whirled around that mystery of a man a few days after her argument with him. And she knew there was only one way to put a stop to the uproar in her head, and that was to talk to Erik once more.

She heaved a sigh as she tore the sheets off herself before climbing down from her bed to get ready for the day ahead.

One of his alarms went off as Erik's fingers stilled over the ivory keys before him, his piece interrupted by the blare of the alarm. Glancing behind his shoulder, he tried to figure out from which tunnel the alarm had come from before he saw that it came from the passageway that led to Jovan's dormitory. A sigh slipped from his lips as he stood from his bench. While there was chance that it was some fool who had tripped the alarm, that chance was slim seeing how it was Sunday which meant that most of the opera staff were out for mass. Which left Jovan as the one who had triggered the alarm.

He'd already seen this day coming, although he was amazed that they had both let the rift between them go this far. Yes, they had gone much longer than this without contact, but that was a long time ago. That was before she gave him her trust, before she gave him her friendship. And, like a child, he had thrown those gifts away with his callous words during the last time they met. He should've known better than to push her when he didn't want to be pushed himself. Hadn't he done enough when he interrogated her in that chapel a year ago? Hadn't he learned his lesson with conjuring up assumptions and presumptions? Did he ever learn?

Erik walked towards a nearby mirror as he fixed his wig and his mask. He buttoned up his shirt to give the illusion of composure when in fact, he had been stressing himself over that night for days on end. After his last meeting with Jovan, guilt made lovely perch on his shoulder as it whispered to him of his errors on that night. But it wasn't only that night that refused to relent its hold on his mind. Jovan was there too, the memory of her bruising his every thought whenever he found himself with nothing to do. Whether she knew it or not, the girl had burned herself into the back of his mind, where he could recall every detail of her with perfect clarity. From her flaming hair down to the necklace she wore. Her beret and the clothes she wore. Her low, grating voice and its husky tone...

"Erik?"

Her voice which he now heard at that very moment. With aching slowness, Erik turned away from the mirror and towards the passageway where Jovan stood at the mouth of the tunnel. He couldn't help but stare at her as she stood there, exactly as he remembered her.

"Jovan," he simply answered, welcoming her with a nod after which she stepped into his lair.

Uncertainty played across her features as she made her way to him while Erik stood still. In her green eyes, he thought he saw longing glimmering in them, but he couldn't be sure. He could see that was doing her best at the moment to put on a blank face to mask her emotions, a mask that served as a barrier between them as much as the one that Erik had on his face. A mask which he longed to pull away so she could once more be at ease around him and be able to let her emotions fly freely whenever they were together.

He was sure he resembled a statue what with how still he was and how his face was devoid of any emotions that could betray his thoughts to her. Jovan stopped when she was a few feet away from him, and it was only after she reached her arm out to him that Erik noticed that she had brought something with her.

"I came to return this," she quietly said. "I didn't realize I had taken it when I did."

In her hand, she held his collection of Greek myths in the same state that it was when he'd last seen it. Truth be told, he hadn't even realized that Jovan had taken his book with her until a few days after their argument. He gently took it from her before her hand dropped to her side.

"Is this an excuse?" he asked.

She gave a nod. "I'm glad to have an excuse." An intake of breath before she continued. "I came to talk to you about... last time. I should apologize―"

"No," Erik cut her off before she could continue. "I should be the one to apologize."

His tone dripped of sincerity and was soft as he spoke. He lowered his voice so only Jovan could hear him even if it was only the two of them.

"I'm sorry... for what I said. It was not my place to tell you, ask you of such things. By now, I'm mindful of the fact that your past is a sensitive subject for you, as mine is for me. And I tried to drive it out of you through unsavory means, twice now. Will you forgive me?"

The words felt terribly foreign on his tongue; Erik never had to apologize for his actions before. He was not used to apologizing to Antoinette for his antics on her dancers nor did she try to force him to apologize. But as he stood before Jovan at that moment, Erik realized that apologizing was just one of the many things he was willing to learn for the girl before him.

With bated breath, he waited for her response. It came in the form of a small smile and a nod.

"You're forgiven," she began. "But allow me to apologize as well. I shouldn't have stormed off like that. It was rather childish of me. If I hadn't done that, then perhaps we would've mended this much sooner than later."

Erik shrugged a shoulder. "There's nothing to forgive."

He watched as Jovan's smile widened until her attention was stolen by the feline curling around her legs. Their eyes darted down to see Ayesha rubbing herself against Jovan. The sight brought a grin to Erik's lips. Ayesha had finally warmed up to Jovan though she was still reluctant to be carried by the stagehand. Erik bent down to pick the Siamese cat up, cradling her gently into his arms while she purred without complaint.

Jovan stretched out a hand to caress the top of Ayesha's head. "You know, I think prefer Ayesha's company over yours."

He arched a brow. "Oh, really? And why is that?"

"You know what they say. Silence is golden."

Erik saw through her words and spotted the challenge hidden behind them. He glanced to Jovan to her eyes sparkling with playfulness. A smirk tugged at his lips.

"Silence is golden, you say? Then you must have never heard of the music of the night."

An alarm rang in the distance once more. Erik gave out a groan as he dropped the plates into the sink of his kitchen as he marched out of the room. It was lunchtime (he and Jovan had actually just finished eating) and who on Earth had the gall to wander his opera house and trip an alarm in the process? Erik passed by Jovan who was lounging on the settee before he rushed to his desk to look for the bottle of chloroform he hid in one of the drawers.

"No, the four cardinal virtues are wisdom, temperance, justice, and courage!" Jovan exclaimed from the settee, oblivious to the alarm. Somehow, the two had caught themselves in a discussion about the philosophy of Stoicism and were testing each other's memory about the matter.

Erik snarled as he slammed a drawer shut. "It's clarity, not courage," he retorted.

"No, it's not. Where did clarity even come from?"

"With Stoicism, aren't we supposed to face daily obstacles with clarity and integrity?" He opened one final drawer where he finally spotted the chloroform. He snatched it up before closing the drawer. He quickly pocketed it, unwilling to let Jovan see the bottle.

"Yes, but don't you remember what Seneca said? 'Sometimes, even to live is an act of courage?'"

In one stride, Erik was towering over Jovan's form on the settee. "It's clarity, not courage," he answered with a tone of finality.

"Courage."

"Clarity."

"That's not even a virtue!"

"Oh, heavens. Do just keep penning down belles-lettres because philosophy is evidently not your area of expertise."

"I'll try not to be insulted, but I'm calling ad hominem!"

"What in God's name is going on here?"

Erik's narrowed eyes widened into saucers at the new voice, but he was quick to recognize it after a split second, his heart skipping a beat. He quickly composed himself, erasing all traces of emotion from his face as he put on a blank expression. He straightened before the settee where Jovan simply sank deeper into the padding in hopes of hiding herself from the intruder. She placed a hand over her mouth as she stared intently at Erik, questions swimming in her green eyes.

He gave a subtle nod of his head before turning away from the settee and towards the intruder. Erik tried not to be stunned when Antoinette's small frame, still clad in travel wear, stood near the edge of lake. Her features were twisted with incredulity and mild irritation.

Erik was thankful that the settee Jovan was lying down on was faced away from where Antoinette stood. He began to walk toward the ballet headmistress.

"Antoinette, I see that you cut your vacation short," he commented, giving her appearance a quick scan. It was evident that she had just arrived back at the opera house, but Erik didn't know what to feel about the fact that she had quickly come down to check on him after her return.

"And I see that you've been busy in the time that I've been gone," she snapped. Erik tried not to grimace at her clipped tone.

"I'm right where you left me, Antoinette," he answered as he stopped before her. He saw that her gaze had wandered from him and was scouring his lair for any signs of another presence. He resisted the urge to follow her gaze as he feigned weariness, giving a roll of his eyes. In all honesty, he didn't care whether Antoinette would discover his connection with Jovan. He wasn't going to keep it a secret from the ballet headmistress but he won't be the one to reveal it to her either.

"I can see that; you're not the one who's out of place."

"Whatever could you mean?"

Antoinette arched a brow at Erik as she strode past him and began to pace around the lair with a studious eye. "Do not take me for a fool, Erik. You were speaking with someone when I arrived." It was a statement, not a question. "Do you have someone in here with you?"

Erik quietly trailed behind the ballet headmistress as he shrugged his shoulders. "So what if I do?"

She brought a halt to her steps as she glanced at Erik. "Did they come of their own accord or did you force them down here with you?"

Erik felt his blood boil at her words, a sharp retort awaiting on his tongue, when the sight of Jovan peeking from the inside back of the settee silenced him. Her loose red tresses were visible behind the settee and her fingers were wrapped around the edge. Her piercing green eyes were the only visible part of her face. Erik didn't realize he'd been staring until Antoinette followed his stare. A shocked sound escaped her lips.

"Jovan?" she shrieked as she ran towards the settee. Jovan finally sat up with a wide-eyed gaze at the ballet headmistress. She tore her glance from Antoinette for a second to shoot Erik as confused look before she climbed down from the settee to greet the older woman.

"Madame Giry? What are you doing here?" Jovan wondered with genuine curiosity, her tone unsure and full of bewilderment. It slipped Erik that the girl didn't know of his connection to the ballet headmistress. He could already feel a headache coming as he stood frozen to his spot, his eyes glued to the scene unfolding before him.

Antoinette proceeded to check Jovan's appearance before he realized that she was looking for injuries. Erik seethed; she didn't think that low of him, did she? While he was well aware of his temper, he didn't think he had it in him to intentionally harm a female unprovoked, especially Jovan of all people. Unless they happened to be someone who was in the same line of business that he used to be in, Erik being a former court assassin and all.

"I should be asking you that, child," Antoinette answered before her voice grew stern and full of ire, her hands clutching tightly those of the redhead. She turned to Erik, daggers in her eyes as she glared at him. "What is she doing down here? Did you kidnap her?"

Erik narrowed her eyes at her. Kidnap her? What?

She turned back to Jovan. "He didn't hurt you, did he? How long have you been down here―"

Jovan's eyes were wide. "What? What? No, I―"

"He better not have laid a finger on you―"

"Madame Giry, he didn't―"

"SILENCE!" Erik roared, matching their rising volumes as he rushed towards them. The two instantly fell into a hush as Jovan flinched, almost making Erik regret raising his voice. Almost.

"Try jumping to another conclusion, Antoinette, and you might as well jump off the rooftop," he hissed towards the ballet headmistress whose eyes widened the moment the words left his lips. She was about to argue back when Erik raised a hand to silence her. "No, I didn't kidnap her. She came down here of her own decision. I didn't even know she was going to visit today. She isn't hurt in any way. If she is, I've nothing to do with it."

A moment of silence passed in which Antoinette merely stared at Erik while he held her gaze. Beside them, Jovan was equally quiet, but he could feel that she was on the cusp of wanting to break the silence. But something was holding her back, as if she knew that it wasn't her place to speak. After all, this quarrel was between Erik and Antoinette.

The older woman finally broke eye contact with Erik before turning to Jovan. "Does he speak the truth?"

Erik tried not to roll his eyes. Jovan cleared her throat. "Yes, madame."

He watched as Antoinette's hold on Jovan's hands loosened until she finally let go of the redhead, her hands falling to her sides. Antoinette straightened and composed herself as she glared at Erik. He felt a smirk pull at his lips as he stared back at the woman.

"Oh please, Antoinette. I did tell you months ago that we'd already met," he sighed.

"Indeed, but you said that it was to interrogate her."

Erik noticed Jovan cough as he arched a brow at the sound she made. "We've moved beyond that."

"Madame, as hard as it is to believe, we're good friends. We had quite a rough start, but we're sailing on smooth seas now," the redhead piped up as she stared at Erik. He saw in her green eyes that she was demanding an explanation, but for what, he didn't know. He had a strong feeling that her curiosities regarded his relationship with the ballet headmistress.

"I see," Antoinette answered but the small smile that suddenly pulled at her lips was something Erik wasn't expecting. "I didn't know you knew how to make friends, Erik."

Erik groaned. "Antoinette, I swear I will be the one to drag you all the way up―"

"No, Erik. I will be the one to drag you all the way up to the rooftop if you ever dare to use that tone with me again," Antoinette bit back before Erik could finish his sentence. He shut his mouth as he found himself giving her a stiff nod, albeit quite reluctantly. The venom that flashed in her eyes was just one of the fewest things in the world that could manage to incite even the smallest dash of fear within the Opera Ghost.

The woman turned to Jovan. "You and I will talk once you return upstairs, young lady," she simply stated while redhead stammered her consent. And with that, Antoinette marched away from the pair, nearing the passageway that she'd used earlier, but not before pausing to turn towards the two one last time before she could enter the tunnel.

"Erik, just how busy have you been in my absence?" she asked with an arched brow.

"Worry not, Antoinette. Your girls are safe and sound. I am, after all, the Angel of Music."

Content, Antoinette slipped away into the darkness of the passageway as Erik and Jovan were left on their own once again.

A beat passed before Jovan spoke up. "Angel of Music? Is that what you call yourself?"

Erik walked away from her and towards his organ as he answered cryptically, "Not me. Someone else."

"Who?"

"That's a story for another time," he answered as he ran his fingers over a few keys before pausing to scribble something on a music sheet before him. He felt Jovan seat herself beside him on the bench as she gave a sigh.

"What about you and Madame Giry? You never told me about her."

"That's because you never asked."

"So how did you two come to know each other?"

"Another story for another time as well." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jovan throw her hands up into the air with a sound of frustration. A stray thought entered his head, and he realized that with the stagehand's red hair and black boots and trousers, she certainly didn't seem out of place in his home, contradicting Antoinette's words earlier. Erik shook his head as he returned his focus to his music.

"Do you even have a story that you're willing to share at this specific moment?" Jovan sighed, her tone beat with a hint of indignation in it.

He gave a chuckle. Erik had an idea. "Have you ever heard of a man called the Daroga?"