Author's Note: Sweet baby Jesus, I AM BACK. School was an absolute fucking bitch (let a girl cuss, this ain't the 19th century anymore and I deserve it), but now that summer's here, I got all the time in the world again! You guys might notice that this seems a bit clunky at some parts so please forgive me for that, my writing is affected by the material I read, and having nothing but essays and a thesis to chew over all semester did not certainly help. A big, fat thank you to everyone who stuck with me after so long! I'm always floored every time I read your reviews and it never fails to stun me how much love you guys give to my work! Hopefully, after this chapter, I can finally return to a consistent update schedule. Also, I like to think this chapter as a pivotal one, but I'll leave you lot to read it and make up your minds. Enjoy!

( twenty-two )

ROSES HAVE THORNS

A pink rose in full bloom sat on Christine's nightstand, a black ribbon tied around it.

Across the Swedish ballerina's bed, Hana stared at the flower as if it could bite her at any moment. Venom swam in her blue eyes as her arms were crossed against her chest. Christine had a secret admirer? This fact did not sit well with the strawberry blonde as she considered throwing away the rose, or, better yet, burning it. She couldn't take it for herself; who knew if Christine had already received a rose like this one before? Then she would just recognize this one right away.

Speaking of the Devil, the door to the dormitory suddenly swung open, and Christine and Meg slipped in. Smiles lit up their features while laughter radiated off them. Hana couldn't be in a fouler mood than at that very moment. She watched as the two girls walked towards Christine's bed while the blonde chatted with her friend about opening night which was only a week away.

"Do you think Madame Lavigne's going to leave after this one production?" Meg asked.

Christine shrugged. "I'm not sure but I certainly won't mind if she stays."

Hana couldn't even be bothered by the fact that they didn't notice her, or, even if they did, greet her. She was too busy watching them as they neared the Swedish girl's bed. She saw that Meg was about to reply to Christine when her eyes landed on the rose that sat on Christine's nightstand. Her eyes widened as she clapped her hands over her gaping mouth. Christine immediately followed her friend's gaze, wondering what could've rendered her silent.

"Christine!" Meg shrieked excitedly. "You didn't tell me you had an admirer!"

The brunette's eyebrows furrowed as she approached her nightstand, eyeing the pink flower atop it. After a beat, a smile crossed her lips, a warm, knowing one that emitted gratitude. Hana felt her pulse quicken and her temper simmer at seeing it, wanting to wipe the smile off Christine's fair face.

"I don't have one, Meg," Christine answered as she gently picked up the rose, careful not to touch any of its thorns. Hana frowned ― who gave roses without having their thorns removed first?

The way Christine was holding the flower was as if it was made of glass, her eyes glazed over with wonder as she held the rose close. Closing her eyes, she inhaled its sweet scent before letting out a deep sigh, the smile never leaving her lips.

"Then who left it?" Meg wondered out loud. She turned to Hana who shook her head, already knowing what the blonde would ask her.

"It was already there when I got here," she answered with a lackluster tone, shrugging her shoulders. Meg's mouth formed an 'o' before she turned back to Christine.

Hana knew that Meg was trying to lower her voice but her attempt failed. Her tone was hushed, but Hana still heard what the blonde whispered to Christine as she bent close to her friend's ear. Hana felt her throat go dry at the words that left Meg's lips.

"Could it be your Angel of Music?"

Christine swiftly pulled away from Meg with parted lips while the blonde giggled. Then the Swedish ballerina lifted a single finger to press it against her own lips, motioning for her friend to keep silent. Immediately, Meg stopped bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Hana barely knew what she was bearing witness to, but she had a feeling in her gut that there was something sinister at play.

Hana was fuming. She was trying so hard to hide her anger but it was growing harder to do so with each passing second. Red clouded her vision as ahead of her stood Christine, a smile gracing her features as Madame Lavigne showered praise down on the Swedish ballerina.

How dare she! The moment was supposed to belong to Hana, hers alone while the rest of the ballet corps stood behind her to lend her the spotlight for a mere five seconds. Five seconds to perform a jeté before she would take back her place among the background dancers while the older ballerinas took back the spotlight. And Christine had stolen the moment, her moment!

Hana couldn't even fathom how that managed to happen, how Madame Lavigne's attention was stolen by Christine during her moment. Wasn't the focus supposed to be on her for those five seconds? Yet, somehow, the ballet mistress' eyes had managed to wander from her and to the Swedish ballerina at the back, noticing the 'exemplary grace' that Christine had exhibited, as Madame Lavigne had put it.

Lunch break couldn't come fast enough after that, and Hana spent the remaining time before lunch sulking behind a facade of calmness. As the ballet corps performed the last seconds of their number, Madame Lavigne gave a clap of her hands while Madame Giry sat in one of the velvet seats of the auditorium, observing in silence.

When the performers and the crew finally began to disperse to make their way to the cafeteria, she found her feet leading her somewhere else. Her mind was a hurricane that was torpid with whirling thoughts of resentment towards her competition, and her hands were balled into shaking fists at her sides. Christine Daaé, Christine Daaé. God, she wanted nothing more than for that girl to just leave, not when everyone around her seemed to adore the girl. And now, after the rose she had received from her so-called secret admirer, there were now those who were also envious of her.

Hana's mind was in a red haze when she made her way into the costume workshop, unoccupied by the costume headmistress and her seamstresses. But their work was left out for anyone to see as Hana walked towards a table where a dress was laid out, in the middle of being repaired, while a needle, thread, and a pair of scissors lay not far from it. Huffing, she walked next towards one of the many racks in the room which held the costumes that were to be used during their performances.

The rack that Hana stopped at was the one which her own costume hung from. She reached out a hand to caress the baby blue chiffon of the garments as she did her best to return her breathing back to its normal pace. Stressing about her competition was not a way to go when there was nothing she could do about it in the end. Hence, if she were to make any progress with beating the Daaé girl, Hana realized she would have to take action.

At the thought that crossed her mind, she noticed that Christine's costume hung next to hers. Hana looked behind her shoulder to spot the silver glint of the scissors that lied on the table. Inhaling sharply, she walked towards the table and grabbed it before returning to the clothes rack from before. She grabbed the chiffon of Christine's costume with the scissors in her other hand.

She'd never had to resort to sabotage before, but the thought of it had an undeniably delightful appeal to it. And Hana was in need of something to vent her anger out on; the chiffon seemed to be the perfect prey for it.

Erik had to remind himself to breathe when the rumors reached him.

It was quite simple really... not. For Erik, it was no simple matter, and the same could be said for the costume mistresses as well. A few days ago, some moronic wretch had somehow found their way into the costume department and proceeded to ruin a few of the costumes belonging to the younger minority of the ballet corps. Had the circumstances been different, Erik wouldn't have wasted another breath at the brewing trouble. But then one of the sabotaged costumes had to belong to Christine, and that's where Erik drew the line.

Her dress, along with two other ballet rats' whose names Erik didn't bother to remember, were the unfortunate victims of some rascal's pathetic idea of a joke, if it could even be called a joke. From a single glance, Erik was almost immediately able to identify the emotion from which the crime had stemmed ― envy. How could he have not recognized it when he was all too familiar with the feeling itself? With that in mind, it should've been fairly easy for Erik to spot the suspect next. Unfortunately, that was not the case.

Erik was very much aware of the false faces that surrounded Christine. He knew too that the Swedish ballerina herself was aware, but, being the angel that she was, she was too kind to outright tell to their faces that she could see through their acts before sending them away. Instead, she played along with them, an arguably more peaceful way of handling things than causing a ruckus by calling people out. It only served to endear Christine more to Erik, but it was a double-edged sword too ― the more that Erik saw a few of her peers forcibly offering her support with feigned mirth and schooled smiles, the more convinced he became that these people were undeserving of Christine.

He prided himself on being quite adept at spotting whether people were being true or false ― he'd grown up surrounded by theater people after all ― but there were just too many of those fake lot surrounding Christine that it was proving to be quite difficult to spot the culprit behind the costume mishap. He then decided to decrease the age range of the suspect to be around Christine's age and not any older by more than two years. After all, what did a seventeen-year-old have to fear from someone several years younger than them? (A lot, if Erik was being honest, but that could just be his ego talking).

After narrowing down his list of suspects, only then did Erik finally spot the suspect, and when he did, she stuck out like a sore thumb. He distinctly remembered Hana Vidal frowning down on Jovan on her first day in his opera house, a grimace accompanying her question of whether Jovan would be staying with them. Since then, it seemed as if the girl always carried a sour taste on her tongue that never went away. A pity, Erik had thought, since even he could concede that she had innate grace and talent.

But then he noticed that the scowls marring her face always seemed to deepen whenever Christine was around. A grimace never went unmissed whenever Madame Lavigne had a comment for Christine. There was an ever-present glint of disdain in her eyes, in every side-way glance that she gave the brunette. Any other person would've have failed to notice these tells, as Hana was actually good at concealing her contempt to the ordinary eye, but then Erik not just any other person and he did have an eye for details.

With all these observations in mind, Erik then knew that he wouldn't push it past Hana to have a jealous streak. Additionally, only such a gripping emotion could compel a person to commit such an act of atrocity. Well, cutting up baby blue chiffon into pieces was not atrocious enough in Erik's book, but, at the very least, it was annoyingly childish.

So when the whispers reached his ears that he was the culprit behind the sabotage, Erik lost it.

Sure, he could admit that he could be a child at times ― Antoinette was all too happy to remind him of that every so often ― but he would never stoop so low as to cut up children's costumes into pieces. Whatever wrong could the children have committed against him? None! It certainly didn't help that Christine was involved in this sick excuse of a 'joke,' but when Erik saw her take the blow gracefully without any violent reaction, he considered letting the offense slide, seeing that it was just a girl her age that turned out to be the suspect.

But all thoughts of forgiveness were buried and forgotten when the following afternoon came.

Perched at her post, Jovan generously lent her eyes and ears to the scene below her. The ballet corps were performing a number while Madame Lavigne stood to the side with Madame Giry beside her, the two ballet mistresses exchanging criticisms between themselves regarding the routine unrolling before them. However, to Jovan's untrained eye, the ballet rats were doing spectacularly. She may have spotted a stumble or two from the older ballerinas, but, overall, from her perspective, things were going as smoothly as they could be.

The music then came to a halt, forcing Jovan to resurface from her idle state, and Madame Lavigne began to spout, not unkindly, the quibbles she and Madame Giry had spotted during the rehearsal. The rumor mill supplied Jovan with the reckonings that the younger ballet mistress would soon be leaving after this production, her husband having been called away to England and her duties as wife forcing her to follow. While Jovan had developed no attachment to the woman, there was something quite dismal about seeing an employee leave, especially when they hadn't done any wrong or were undeserving of being sacked, but then again, Madame Lavigne was leaving of her own accord. There was nothing anyone could do about that.

The ballet rats were shuffling their clothed toes here and about as they listened to Madame Lavigne list off their improvements and failings, with Madame Giry nodding every now and then in the background. Jovan waited patiently for the woman to finish, leaning her arms parallel to the railing before her then placing her forehead against them. She should be done any minute now, Jovan thought as she bit her lip in thought. Any minute...

But the moment never came. Instead, Jovan had to listen to Madame Lavigne be caught off by a cry of surprise. Roused by the sudden outcry, Jovan straightened up and tapered her eyes at the scene below her, her gaze drawn in by the break in uniformity. While the rest of the ballet corps stood in place with a little scuffling, Hana Vidal stood a little far in the back with an arm outstretched before her, her finger pointed at the girl before her while her other hand covered her gaping mouth. When Jovan's eyes darted to the girl in front of Hana, the redhead's insides turned.

It was Christine, the light fabric of her leotard bruised by a blooming stain of red behind her.

A chorus of gasps followed Hana's exclamation while the nearest ballerinas, the younger ones, visibly backed away from Christine. Jovan watched with bated breath as Elea then rushed towards the Swedish ballerina, a cloak in the older girl's arms that she had snatched from a nearby actor in costume. Christine stood wide-eyed, confusion and panic flickering across her pale face, as Elea proceeded to wrap Christine up with the cloak before hastily leading her away to the dormitories, the two ballet mistresses in tow. When the four were out of sight, only then did Jovan allow the air to return to her lungs as she took a calming breath.

A giggle or two rose from below just before Monsieur Reyer barked at the ballet rats to return to their formation. Jovan felt her temper spike at what had just transpired, her ire specifically focused on a certain strawberry blonde. Maybe it wasn't exactly admirable for a person of her age to get mad at someone so much younger, but Jovan's anger wasn't misplaced. The outcry and the pointing was very much unneeded as it only served to further Christine's embarrassment. Hana could've handled things more sensibly. But then again, Hana was practically only a child, indelicate and prone to misconduct which were all key traits of a someone who had yet to mature.

But something told Jovan that things were not that simple.

When Hana woke up the next morning, the first thing she noticed was Madame Giry resting on the edge of Christine's bed. It was not a peculiar sight, considering what Christine was going through, but dark satisfaction coursed through Hana when she learned that Christine would be taking a break from rehearsals on that day. On any other day, Christine would've been lucky, but Madame Lavigne had just told them yesterday that she would begin teaching the new routine that day, something that Christine would now be forced to miss.

As Hana prepared for the day ahead, her eyes darted occasionally toward the brunette's curled up form beneath her sheets. Christine's back faced the rest of the room and she was still as death as she slept, obvious signs that she preferred to be left on her own at the moment. With a small smirk threatening to pull at her lips, Hana grabbed her ballet shoes from the top of her chest trunk before sauntering out of the room, more than pleased with the fruits of her little crime.

Madame Lavigne's voice rang out in the auditorium as she called for the ballet corps to fall into formation for their warm-up routine. While the other ballerinas began to powder their toes with rosin, Hana was just about to put on her shoes. Setting herself down on an elevated platform, she began to pull up on her ballet shoes while flexing her toes.

A scream left her lips when she felt something sharp embed itself into her toes.

When Madame Giry entered the dormitory that day, Jovan was alone.

The ballet headmistress had immediately rushed to the brass-framed mirror in the far wall with the intent of unlocking it, a dark air of anger surrounding her. Jovan simply watched from her bed as the irate woman fumbled with the mirror, her fingers running down the ornate design of the frame in search of the mechanism that would reveal the hidden entrance to the Opera Ghost's labyrinth. With every second that passed that Madame Giry failed to open the entrance, the more frantic her searching became. As Jovan observed in silence, she wondered what could be taking the woman so long. The mechanism was fairly easy to locate if you already found it once, and Jovan didn't think that Madame Giry had yet to use her dormitory's mirror for the first time.

After a few more moments, Madame Giry proved to be fruitless in her efforts. She straightened up with a huff just as Jovan stalked closer to the mirror.

"The wretch locked me out," Madame Giry supplied with a hiss when Jovan stopped before the mirror. "He knew I'd come for him after what he did to Hana."

"You've tried the other passages?" Jovan inquired. At that point, the woman looked like she would rip the mirror off the wall if it were possible.

"All of them. At least, the usual ones that I use. The ones in the dormitories I only use as a last resort, but it seems that he was very thorough."

Jovan wouldn't expect any less of Erik. For a man who liked to cause trouble, he was also quite proficient at avoiding it. Madame Giry was seething when she left the room, muttering under her breath words that would make a sailor blush, and Jovan was once again left in the heavy silence. Not that the quiet was blatantly uncomfortable, but it simply reminded her of the most recent incident at the Opéra Populaire, one that had seemingly come straight out of a nightmare.

It was Sunday but only Madame Giry and Jovan had elected to stay behind in the opera house this time, Madame Giry for the obvious reason of wanting to find a way into Erik's lair and Jovan because she couldn't care less for mass. Everyone, including the less religious folk, had gone to church in light of Hana's chilling dilemma. Since the incident, Jovan hadn't had any contact with Erik, but it was not like she was avoiding him. She was just... there. In fact, it seemed that Erik was the one avoiding her, perhaps in fear that Madame Giry would use Jovan as a way to get into Erik's home, and a furious Madame Giry was something Jovan knew that Erik didn't want to deal with if possible.

An hour swiftly flew past Jovan as she found herself sitting before the mirror on the floor, cross-legged. Her green eyes were not on the mirror, but they rested on the wooden boards instead, her finger tracing abstract patterns on the wood. There was not much to ponder about, even regarding a certain masked genius, that Jovan was already aware of. She already knew of Erik's vicious temper, one that rivaled hers, and the lengths he was willing to go to quell it. Upon hearing of what happened to Hana, Jovan immediately knew that Erik was the culprit. She didn't even dare point a finger at Christine ― no, the girl didn't even have it in her to hurt a fly unless necessary.

The number of times that Erik's actions truly scared Jovan still fitted in the number of fingers she had in one hand, but Jovan didn't really want to have to count up to ten or past that. But she reckoned that the need to do so may rise in the future, seeing as she indeed liked to play with fire and didn't seem to mind at all when she got burned. The guilt of not telling Elea about her connection to the Phantom already gnawed at her every single day, but she supposed she just had to lie in the bed she made. Past the point of no return, indeed.

Rising to her feet, Jovan ran a hand through her unkempt hair and she stepped closer to the mirror. Absently tracing the intricate carvings of the brass frame with her hand, Jovan found herself wondering if Erik stood on the opposite side of the glass at the moment. But as she stared into the mirror and saw her own green eyes staring back at her, Jovan knew that he was not. She knew this now from how empty the place felt, something that would not be possible if Erik were there. There was just something inextricable about Erik's presence, something strong and magnetizing, even intoxicating at times, that just pulled the attention of those around him toward himself. Instead, at the moment, Jovan only felt hollowness and a deafening silence to accompany it.

Deciding to press her luck, Jovan's fingers then traversed the swirls and spirals until she found it. Pushing down, she felt an odd mixture of sweet satisfaction and surprise wash over her as the mirror shifted, revealing the hidden passage behind it. Her lips thinned into a small, controlled smile as she realized that her first instinct was to call for Madame Giry. However, she suppressed that urge after contemplating the consequences of that action. She was still on shaky grounds with Erik, and bringing trouble to him was certainly not going to help. Deciding to be selfish this time, Jovan stepped through the brass frame and shut the mirror close behind her.

After a successful evasion of all the traps in his tunnels, Jovan found herself arriving at an eerily quiet lair. Only the soft lapping waters of the lake reached Jovan's ears as she began to explore Erik's home, the Opera Ghost suspiciously absent from his haunt. Jovan wasn't quite sure why she found it to be unsettling but it unfortunately was. Papers and music sheets were still scattered about the cavern's floor and over the organ's keys, and many of the candles were still lit which Jovan took as good signs and clues that all pointed to Erik being within the vicinity just recently. But the most glaring pointer had to be the one on his desk.

Jovan's feet pulled her closer to Erik's desk as she eyed the mass of red that covered it. The scent of candle wax now battled with the fragrance of the roses that lay across the table, each one in full bloom and as dark as blood. Eyebrows creasing as she stared at the flowers, Jovan carefully reached for one of them, not caring to look where she placed her fingers.

When she felt something sharp prick her finger, a small whimper escaped Jovan's lips as she let go of the rose. Blood beaded from the small cut on her thumb as Jovan stared at the torn skin before she brought her finger to her lips, sucking the blood from the wound as a metallic tang spread on her tongue. Pulling away her thumb, Jovan couldn't help but silently berate herself for her carelessness, having been too entranced by the rose that she forgot about its thorns.

What reckless fool didn't remove the thorns from their roses anyway? Without Erik around to explain, Jovan had to simply settle with labeling such as another of his oddities, something that Erik didn't seem to be short of. Bringing her thumb to her lips once more, the taste of blood reminded Jovan once more of Hana and her misfortune, a chill running down her spine when her eyes landed on the thorny roses laid out before her.

When Hana screamed that morning days ago, it was because of the pain that bloomed forth from her toes. Pulling out her feet from her shoes revealed that frighteningly large thorns had stuck to her toes and quite deeply at that. Far from the thorns that a rose possessed, they were the kind that you were only supposed to find in the deepest parts of a forest, with a length of half an inch. As the blood had sprang from Hana's toes, Jovan remembered being unable to help it when a gasp of her own slipped from her parted lips.

The scene was kindling for nightmares but also that for the Phantom's already fearsome reputation. Even for all of Hana's faults, Jovan still felt a semblance of pity for the girl. If one thing was sure, it was that a prolonged period of time would have to pass first before she could return to honing her passion, to dancing. That was, Jovan believed, a tragedy in itself.

That was, she also believed, why Erik was due for a scolding. Maybe not the tirade that Madame Giry was itching to give him though because that would only result in a fight, but Jovan promised herself that the next time she'd come across Erik, she wouldn't be so light on him as well.

Roses had thorns, after all.

Author's Note: Better watch yourself, Erik. And now I leave you all to get philosophical about what truly embodies justice. What is justice indeed? Don't look at me, Philosophy was biting my ass throughout the semester. Also, I know there aren't any interactions between Erik and Jovan here, but I promise that the next chapter will make up for it. But for now, this is where we stop. Don't forget to drop a word or two below!