A/N: I'm sorry I didn't tell you all that I would be gone. I was at camp! And now, without further ado, Chapitre Six!

br"I'm so sorry Reb Erik!" Charlotte, who was Tikva now, at least in this dark place under the Opera, straightened herself out on the floor and picked up his mask. "It wasn't my intention."

br"Give me my mask." She stood up and held it to him, all the while looking away at what she was sure she didn't want to see. "Look at me, child."

brShe moved her face up so that she was looking at him. Her mouth dropped open in a silent scream. It was so hideous. A face that would haunt her in nightmares. She started to back away from him. She didn't care about her necklace now.

br"Stay where you are, and close your mouth please, it's highly unladylike."

brHer mouth shut with a click. She stopped. She didn't know exactly why she was listening to him, but his voice was so hypnotic, and his grotesque disfiguration just made her keep staring.

br"Would you like your necklace back, Mlle Tikva?"

br"Y-y-yes please, Reb Erik."

brHe held it out to her. "What does Reb mean, Mlle Tikva?"

br"It means teacher."

br"Ah. Tikva, I'm not going to hurt you." He moved toward her, making no effort to put his mask back on. "May I ask your last name. Perhaps you could formally introduce yourself."

brTikva smiled slightly. It was all so odd. "My name is Tikva Maneshevitz. I lived in Denmark."

br"Dear Tikva, may I ask why you decided to call yourself Charlotte DuBois?"

br"Don't you already know? It's because I'm Jewish."

br"You don't like being Jewish?"

br"No."

br"Then why did you assume a false name?"

br"Because if I didn't, I would be hated."

br"What is the reason you came to Paris, Mlle Maneshevitz?"

br"So I could write a novel."

br"Ah. Come here, Mlle Maneshevitz." She walked over to him. He still wasn't wearing the mask, but if she looked at him in a certain way his face was hid in shadow.

br"Yes, Reb Erik."

br"When you are here, Tikva, I will protect you. Because you could look at me and not faint. And while I know it unnerved you, soon you will grow to look past it. When you are here, Tikva, you can be Tikva, and no one will know."

br"Yes, Reb Erik."

brHe slid his mask back on. And slipped her necklace back around her neck. "There. I should take you back now, and then pen those managers an angry letter. What they did to you was not right."

br"No, Reb Erik, it wasn't."

br"Now, Tikva, because I will protect you, I ask you one thing in return. You give up your novel, and focus entirely on singing. Will you do that for me?"

br"Yes, Reb Erik."

br"I know that you don't like boats. However, it is the only way to get you back. I know this is a terrible thing to ask, but would you rather be chloroformed so you don't have to worry about being seasick, and you won't have to be worried about endless questions as to where I reside?"

br"Yes, Reb Erik."

br"Fine then. Stay here. I will be ready in but a moment."

brHe left the room, and a few moments later, returned carrying in his arms a white handkerchief and a chair.

br"You know it hurts me to do this." He said softly. "I don't want to be like them." He spat out the last word with distaste.

br"Yes, Reb Erik."

brHe gestured toward the chair. She sat down, carefully, spreading her skirts around her. They were still a bit wet. Especially on the corners. She reacher over and squeezed some water out of the hem.

br"Sit still, please."

brTikva stopped moving and sat very still. Her entire well-being in Paris stood in this man's hands. His thin, pale hands, which, when they were placed up by her face along with the chloroform, mingled with the drug, causing it to smell like death itself.