Author's Note: So I got this out earlier than expected because I managed to write several chapters in advance. You can see that I'm getting ready for when the time comes that I'll no longer have time to write because of school. I may have taken a few creative liberties with a part in this chapter ― you'll know what I'm talking about when you see it, but it was all done to suit this story. Also, I'm feeling a bit excited because I've begun writing a new story! And, yes, it's for PotO.

MarieUni: Oh my, the thing with the Arcana and tarot cards is such a great coincidence! And yes, we need all the luck we can get, so good luck with this semester to you as well!

Playlist:
04. Burning Bridges by Bea Miller
05. So Close by Jon McLaughlin

( twenty-eight )

ICARUS AND THE SUN

Another New Year, another Bal Masqué.

The longer Jovan stayed at the Opéra Populaire, the more the annual celebration became a nuisance to her and less of a of a joyous occasion. Though Jovan had held a certain degree of curiosity regarding the ball, it had never been enough to drive her to actually want to be invited. After all, she'd seen her fair share of parties and balls prior to living at the opera house, and had even witnessed her own parents attend the Masquerade themselves twice before Mila had died. To say the least, Jovan was far from enchanted when it came to the Masquerade, and more of that little charm only wore off when she had learned how much work it took to prepare for that night before New Year.

"I don't see what's so damn exciting about the Masquerade," Jovan sighed in exasperation as Tess pulled her away down the upper ring of one of the opera house's ballrooms. "Don't people get tired of it?"

"It's tradition! And an exciting one at that," Tess argued as she finally let go of Jovan's when they came across a small group of ballerinas. The girls were huddled in a shadowy part of the corridor, in front of the balustrade so they could overlook the masked sea of people below.

"It's repetitive," Jovan snapped as her eyes ran over Christine and Meg among the group, the girls chattering excitedly while Meg pointed at someone or something down them. Jovan tried not to roll her eyes ― the only aspect of the Masquerade that she could care enough to grace with an appreciative thought with had to be the consistently inventive costumes that the guests wore, but that was about it. Jovan saw little else to fuss about, hence why she could hardly stand the sight of the girls before her now who were gawking at the colorful sight below them.

"Only if you wear the same costume twice," Tess threw back with a chuckle as she leaned over the marble balustrade. "You see, part of the Bal Masqué's charm lies in people being able to hide who they are, in being able to become someone else. It's an escape from reality for them."

In another life, Jovan could see herself agreeing with Tess' words, but at the moment, all she saw was the irony of people pretending to be someone else for fun while she had to do it for her survival. After all, Jovan Rousseau was a girl that she had created from scratch for her own sake, for her own protection. She needed to say goodbye to Nathalie Sauveterre and had to become someone else so that she could live again.

Then there was the man residing beneath the opera house, a man who wore a mask as a barrier from the world that shunned him, feared him.

And Jovan finally understood why Erik chose to shut away himself whenever the holidays came around the corner.

It was the same as last year, the same irritability and choler that Erik caught whenever preparations began around the opera house. This time though, Jovan had noticed a more striking sense of melancholy around him than the previous year, something that seemed to lie deep in his bones as Jovan watched Erik grow less volatile but more quiet and brooding. If he had been quick to throw his scathing remarks about the holidays last year, he now kept them to himself, preferring to mope around in the silence of his home.

This development was hardly a favorable one as it only served to make Jovan worry more. She would rather have Erik grumpily ranting and being vocal about his thoughts than have him quiet as the dead, an attitude that bore a disturbing resemblance to his previous cold treatment of her several months ago. Though Jovan had been unable to find out the reason behind that, at least she now had an inkling as to why he behaved moodily during the holiday season.

She was barely aware of her own feet moving away from Tess and the other ballerinas as Jovan began to walk, back into the direction that she and Tess had come from. She walked deeper and deeper, letting her feet drive her to a destination that she had yet to acknowledge. Before she knew it, Jovan found herself in the corridor of the dormitories. The space was thankfully empty but with only a few lit candles showing the way. The darkness that pervaded the corridor made Jovan confront her own desire to venture beneath the opera house, to a place where she knew a kindred soul resided.

When she unlocked the door to her dormitory, she was relieved to see that it was empty. Jovan proceeded to put on her cloak before she took a spare candle from her nightstand. After lighting it, she went straight to the mirror in the wall.

The air that greeted her in the dark passageway was cold.

When Jovan had first came to Erik's home, one of the things that she first noticed were the numerous candelabras that stood tall around the cavern. During all of her visits, the many candles that they held were always lit, scattered around the space so as to furnish the lair with light since it was a place that was well out of the sun's reach.

When she stepped into the cavern that evening, Jovan immediately noticed the absence of the distinct smell of candle wax that had always greeted her. The dark space before her took her surprise next, a quick sweep of her new surroundings letting Jovan know that not a single candle was lit in the lair. She strained her ears, but all she heard was deafening silence ― no music, no movement. Though startled by the unusual change-up and alarmed by how it reflected Erik's present state of mind, Jovan conquered her unease and walked deeper into the darkness.

A small gasp of surprise slipped from her lips when her foot hit something that let out a metallic groan in the dark. Clutching to her skirt as she lowered her candle to the offending object, Jovan saw that it was a fallen candelabra. Eyebrows creasing, the first conclusion that her mind jumped to was that Erik had thrown a tantrum. But as she proceeded to inspect the cavern further, she saw that the candelabra she had stumbled upon was the only thing out of place. With a sigh, she returned to the fallen object and stood it up. She was about to light one of its candles with the flame of the one she held in her hand when a low voice made her still.

"Jovan?"

She wondered how Erik could have recognized her despite the darkness before she realized that the candle she held had most likely highlighted the red hue of her unbound hair. Abandoning the candelabra, Jovan turned to look behind her, towards the source of the voice, where she caught the faint outline of Erik's lean form in the distance. He stood tall in one of the deeper recesses of the cavern, beneath the archway leading to one of the rooms. There was a faint source of light to Erik's left, illuminating the unmasked half of his face while the other half, the side where his porcelain mask usually sat, was obscured by the shadows.

"Erik," Jovan called out in response as she began walking towards him. She was stunned, however, when Erik left the archway and retreated back into the room he was in, the red curtains falling behind him. But that didn't deter Jovan as she continued, her curiosity raging and her feet moving until she was before the curtains which she pulled aside. The sight that greeted her flummoxed her as she realized that she had stepped into what was clearly Erik's room, a space that she had never thought of intruding before since she usually left the other rooms in Erik's home untouched out of indifference.

Ignoring, with great effort, the dark bed at the center of the room, the shelf to one side, and the papers and sketches that were stuck to the other wall (wait, was that a drawing of her?), Jovan's eyes fell on Erik's still form before his desk, his back turned to her as he moved carefully. She wondered what he could be doing at first when she realized that he was putting on his mask.

As she felt her blood run heatedly, Jovan quietly backed out of the room, ashamed of herself for intruding on Erik's space uninvited. As she turned over the thought of almost seeing Erik without his mask, she began to pace around the lair, patiently waiting for Erik to leave his room. A brief moment later, she heard the rustle of curtains behind her. Turning, Jovan saw Erik moving in the dark, carrying with him his usual air of grace and assuredness. His mask glinted, its white surface caught in the light of Jovan's candle.

"What are you doing here?" he asked sternly.

When he was a mere foot away, Jovan raised her candle to the level of her eyes, a sign for Erik to stop before he could get too close unless he wanted to be burned. At the same time, the candle illuminated his face, assisting Jovan in discerning the dark glint in his eyes. She almost shuddered at the way his eyes gleamed at her.

"Am I not allowed to check on you?" was Jovan's simple answer. Her voice was soft but filled with muted determination.

"I'm fine," Erik ground out, sounding as if he had said the same thing too many times for his liking. Jovan could only think that she was not the first person to have visited him recently, the only other person most likely being Madame Giry. "Now, go."

She watched, dumbfounded, as Erik then turned his back to her, slowly making his way back into his room. Suppressing the urge to reach out to him, Jovan instead raised her voice, loud enough for her words to resound in the cavern.

"Not without you."

Erik froze. As Jovan felt ice trickling down her spine at the eerie silence, he slowly turned on his heel, and he only turned his masked side to her, his amber eye meeting hers in the darkness.

"And what makes you think that I want to be up there?" he challenged with a sneer.

"Erik, I will not have you wallow in the dark while those above you revel in the light." Jovan swiftly answered as she approached Erik in one long stride, her resolve evident in the way her green eyes stared piercingly at Erik.

"You will not have it?" Erik echoed, disbelief coating his tone, as he arched a brow at Jovan.

"Yes. As someone who cares for you, I will not have it," Jovan replied evenly.

"And what do you plan to do about it?" Erik pressed, almost growling out his answer as he fully turned to Jovan.

A beat passed before Jovan gave her reply, one that clearly surprised Erik as his eyes softened at her words. "You're coming with me," she said, trying to sound final as she began to move around Erik's home, her eyes traversing the dark spaces while she held her candle in front of her. She felt Erik take a few steps towards the area she was currently rummaging through, confusion contorting his features as he wondered what it might be that she was looking for. He had not given a reply, and Jovan could only guess that she had stunned him into silence. She finally found what she was looking for when she spotted Erik's cloak draped over a settee. Grabbing it, she marched back up to Erik with an undaunted look in her eyes.

Erik looked like he was about to say something as she approached him but she beat him to it. "I will not take no as an answer, Erik," she remarked. Erik had stopped near a candelabra, and Jovan proceeded to remove one of its candles before replacing it with her own lit one. A soft pool of light surrounded them as Jovan dropped the unlit candle before she proceeded to wrap Erik's cloak around him, something that took much effort on her part given how tall he was. She could feel his surprise at her actions radiating off him as she fastened the dark fabric around his neck, his calculating eyes running all over her in a way that made her heart stutter.

Once she had firmly fastened his cloak, Jovan found her hands traveling upwards until they found the lines of his jaw. A long time ago, she wouldn't have dared to do such a thing, to touch him in such close proximity. But Jovan found that the darkness gave her a courage that she didn't have before, and it was intoxicating. A flash of heat traversed her body as her fingers glided across the pronounced lines of his jaw in a careful caress, her eyes never leaving his in the darkness. When she spoke, the words escaped from her lips low and warm.

"You are coming with me."

When they arrived at the rooftop, Erik didn't know whether to be surprised or not. He had come to realize a long time ago that it was one of Jovan's favorite places in the opera house, if not her very favorite, hence why she always frequented it. On the other hand, he'd thought that Jovan might have had a different and more intriguing destination in mind when she had dragged him away from his home.

As they stepped out into the cool December air, the music from the Masquerade was the first sound that Erik's ears picked up on. Shaking his head, he let his feet follow Jovan as the redhead walked near the edge of the rooftop, beneath a looming group of marble statues. It was a spot that would hide them well out of sight from any eyes that might happen upon the rooftop, yet it would still provide Erik and Jovan an unreserved view of the street below.

A crowd of costumed highborn men and women covered the steps leading to the Opéra Populaire. Erik eyed them with disdain as his eyes swiftly ran over the feathers, jewels, and carved designs of the masks they wore, a stark contrast to the plain white porcelain mask he wore. This was why he tended to avoid the Masquerade at all costs as it was, for him, a biting reminder that what they wore for mere amusement was something that he wore for protection.

Not for the first time since he left his lair, Erik questioned the virtue of Jovan's decision to bring him out of the depths of his melancholy on this night of all nights. She was not about to suggest next that he join the attendees of the Bal Masqué while citing that he would perfectly fit in because of the mask he wore, was she? She wasn't about to pull him in into another conversation about how happy the people looked from above their spot in the rooftop, was she? Because they had already done that―

"When I came down, you weren't wearing your mask, were you?"

Jovan's words brought an abrupt stop to Erik's cynical train of thought, catching him off guard. His brows furrowing in surprise, he lifted his gaze to her and met her soulful eyes, a sight that made his chest tighten.

"I wasn't," he answered stiffly, remembering how close she had come to seeing him unmasked, a scenario that caused a small hitch in his breathing as the first outcome that came to his mind was that of Jovan screaming in horror.

Then Erik remembered Léon, and he was no longer short of breath. No, Jovan would not run away in fright nor scream at the sight of his defect. He hoped. He wasn't sure.

"I just..." Jovan continued, pressing her lips into a thin line. "I want you to know, Erik, that the next instance that I drop by and you find yourself in the same state as you were awhile ago, you need not put on the mask."

Erik wasn't sure, but she sounded so sure and all that he dearly wanted as for the implications of her words to be true ― that she would not afraid or disgusted of whatever he hid beneath his mask. But how could such a thing be true when his own mother could not stand the sight of his deformity?

A dull ache blossomed in Erik's chest. "Why not?" he answered in a quiet voice.

"Because I want you to know that you can trust me. People may have screamed, laughed, or ran away at the sight of your face before, but know that I will not do the same. You can trust me, Erik, with this part of yourself that you hide from the world."

His eyes fell shut, the cool wind brushing against his bare cheek helping to soothe his mind. Trust? He trusted her, alright. But he was also frightened. Frightened that in the end, Jovan would be unable to keep the words that were escaping her lips at that moment, words that sounded very much like the prayers he used to whisper when he was a child.

"What lies behind this mask isn't the only thing of horror that I hide, Jovan." Erik found the words slipping from his mouth before he could stop himself. But, alas, he had only spoken the truth. Jovan might not run away from his physical defect, but what about when she learned of the distortion that lied deeper beneath his scarred skin?

"Then tell me." The way she said the words with unflinching resolve only made Erik's heart race faster, made something warm course through his veins.

"And have you run away from fear and disgust afterwards?" He sneered. "I think not."

Jovan didn't even care to conceal her annoyance when she replied, "Have a little faith in me, Erik. I'm not some wide-eyed innocent who will run away at the first sight of something terrible."

Terrible? Erik thought darkly. Terrible didn't even begin to describe the sins that he had yet to confess to anyone, save for Antoinette. But then a quiet voice in his head told him that if there was anyone who could listen to him recount the crimes he had committed in the past, it was Jovan. She would listen. Maybe she would choose to look past his crimes. Maybe. Just maybe.

And then there was a spiteful part of Erik that wanted to see if Jovan would indeed keep her word, wanted to know how far she willing to fall down the rabbit hole before she screamed back for the light.

Erik took in a deep breath.

"The word terrible barely succeeds in justifying what horrors my own hands have committed in the past," Erik began, turning away from Jovan to spare himself from seeing the spark in her eyes disappear and be replaced with revulsion when he was done. "By now, I presume that you must have gathered that I did not remain here beginning the moment Antoinette saved me."

"A man who speaks Farsi, tells stories of a person called the Daroga, and who has Persian curtains in his home could have not stayed in the opera house his whole life," Jovan replied smoothly. "You've been to Persia, haven't you?"

"Yes," Erik breathed. He had been to many places before he came to Persia, but it was there that the darker parts of him were carved into the very crux of his being, now forever a part of him.

"I arrived in Persia when I was seventeen, and there I stayed for five years in the service of the Shah of Persia. It was the Daroga who had reached out to me when word of my talents had spread far and wide. For five years, I became servant to the Khanum, the Shah's mother. To entertain her, I performed tricks and illusions for her ― I became the court magician. But the Khanum's appetite was not to be easily satisfied as she was also bloodthirsty.

"For her amusement, I built traps for her, ones that were far more intricate and far more painful than the ones I have lying around the opera house. For her, I was made to build devices designed for pure torture. These hands that have created so much beauty through the way of notes and words... first created horrors that shouldn't have even seen the light of day."

Before him, Erik spread his hands with his palms facing upward. When Jovan had brought him out of his home, he had neglected to put on his gloves, and now the callused skin of his palms and fingers stared back at him. For the briefest of moments, he saw them smeared with blood, blood that wasn't his own. He blinked hard, drawing in a steadying breath, and his hands were clean again. He dropped them back to his sides.

"But that wasn't enough. Having also recognized my talents as an architect, I was commissioned to create a palace for the Shah, one that was elaborately designed with numerous traps, hidden passages, and secret rooms. At the same time, I was employed as an assassin for the court. The lives I took, the people I tortured during that time..."

Erik's arsenal of words ran dry for a moment. Beside him, he could feel Jovan standing deathly still, her silence indecipherable. Swallowing the thorn lodged in his throat, Erik carried on, his hands clenching into fists as the darkness of his past shrouded him in a shadow of guilt.

"Eventually, I became too involved with the politics of it all. I knew too much, and I became more of a danger than an asset. I became a target myself and lived through a handful of assassination attempts. It didn't take long for me to recognize that I had to leave. The Daroga assisted me in my escape, helping me return to France. It was the year 1871."

"1871? That was the year the Palais Garnier caught fire," Jovan remarked, and Erik was grateful for her response.

"Indeed. I had arrived just in time to make several modifications to the blueprints of the opera house during reconstruction. France never held any good memories for me, and I had no desire to live among those who would not hesitate to scorn me once more when they learned of what I hid behind my mask. So it was in the bowels of the new Opéra Populaire that I made my home, away from the cruel eyes of society."

A few seconds passed where mere silence followed. Erik drew in a calming breath, finally finished with his tale, as he braced himself for whatever reaction he would receive now. He could not yet find it in himself to look at Jovan, afraid of whatever he might see in those sharp green eyes of her. Would he see fear? Anger? Disgust? Erik didn't want to know, but he had to...

"So?" Erik snapped, his apprehension rearing its ugly head in the frigid tone of his voice.

"What?" came Jovan's reply with a softness that sent Erik's hear rate accelerating painfully.

"You have my permission to run. Scream. Go. Now that you know what I truly am, there's no reason for you to pretend that I'm not a monster in your eyes." Erik's voice began to rise and he found himself turning back to Jovan, his eyes ablaze with a fire that had been lit by Jovan's unreadable response. How did she feel about him now? Damn it, he had to know. In his heart, he could only hope that his words would not indeed send her running away ― he had merely spoken them to rouse a reaction from her aside from this unbearable silence that she was giving off.

Erik froze. Was this how Jovan had felt when―

"Would you judge me by the sins of my past, Erik?" Jovan's low tone stole Erik's attention as he found himself staring back at a fire that similarly burned brightly in her stare. But she wasn't angry, no. It was the same fire that Erik glimpsed in her earlier in the evening, the flames of sheer determination and a steel conviction that he couldn't help but think looked perfect on Jovan.

"No," Erik answered truthfully. But maybe it wasn't the truth that applied to everyone, but only to Jovan herself.

"Good. Because I would not do the same to you, Erik."

Once upon a time, there was a boy named Icarus, who flew on fragile wings made of feathers and wax.

Having lived in isolation all his life, when he first felt the warm caress of the sun's rays during his first flight, Icarus found himself yearning for more of the sun's warm embrace. And so he flew closer and closer...

Erik felt a warmth wash over him as he watched the beginnings of a smile pull on the corner of Jovan's lips. At the sight of it and with her words still on repeat inside his head, Erik found himself wishing that the feeling wouldn't end. The voices in his head had long fallen silent, replaced by Jovan's distinct voice with its husky, low, warm tone.

"I said that I wouldn't run. So I won't," she then said.

No. Jovan might not run, but she would leave, sooner or later. Erik knew well enough that her place was not in the Opéra Populaire, but out there, as Elea's parting words had implied before. He gave her a grateful nod to acknowledge her words, the most that he could do at the moment. Oh, Erik wanted to do so much more ― to hold her in his arms, to brush away the hair from her face, to run his fingers along the line of her jaw ― but he held himself in place, knowing that he couldn't let himself get too close.

He remembered Icarus once more, how the boy had allowed himself to get too close to the sun and how he had fallen afterwards.

No, Erik couldn't let himself get too close unless he wanted to fall too.

For now, he would let the emotions stirring in his chest remain nameless as he relished the simple pleasure of having Jovan by his side. The world below them continued with their celebration, oblivious to the revelations that happened just moments ago between the two pariahs on the rooftop. Out of the corner of his eye, Erik saw the wind caught in Jovan's red hair, sending her locks wildly blowing away from her face while her cloak billowed around her figure.

He watched her as he saw the peace written in the lines of her face, and he knew that his expression mirrored hers at that moment, something that he could thank Jovan for.

Once upon a time, Erik only had his music to soothe his soul and to awake the fire in his veins.

But now, he saw that the young woman beside him had the very same effect that his music evoked in him.

And it unnerved him. He had never felt this way before.

What was happening to him?

Author's Note: Where are you, my lovely readers? It's getting quiet in here and I miss you guys...