They walked in silence for several minutes, during which time she became more nervous with each passing moment. They were decending into the bowels of the opera house, an opportunity which she would have gladly given her left arm for in different circumstances. He had taken one candle, and she the other, but while he seemed to have no trouble keeping the thing alight, she was struggling mightily with it.
"What year is it, madamoiselle?" He startled her by asking.
"2002," she answered warily. Gathering her courage she blurted out, "Look, who are you? Not that I don't appreciate the getup but I'd like to know why."
He bade her stop walking, then walked to her front to study her face. "I believe that the answer you seek lies within your book, I daresay you've read it?"
She found herself blushing and staring at the book in her hand, which chose that moment to shed another page. He retreived it from the ground with a flourish. "
Yes, I know who you are dressed as. I want to know why." Usually timid around people, she was unusually calm considering the situation. The bizarre lack of reality was leaving her with a disconnected feeling and lack of fear towards this apparently mentally unhinged individual.
"I will not attempt to explain now," he said and again began walking. "You shall understand in due time."
It was rather damp and chilly in the cellars, a direct contrast from the upper levels of the building, which were kept in a museum-like state despite the continuing functionality of the theatre. He noticed her shivering and solicitously suggested that they take a shortcut.
"Good plan," she said somewhat acidly. She immediately regretted baiting this stranger, but he seemed to take no offense.
"This way," he commented whilst opening a previously invisible door in the stone wall.
She shrugged and followed him through this door and several others until he stopped abruptly and looked back at her. His amber eyes burned, but not malevolently. They were searching her face, for what she did not know. It felt, however, that her very soul was being exposed in this moment. He turned back to the wall again and with a swish of air a bizarre panorama was exposed through yet another door. The lake. She'd read numerous histories and biographical accounts of the life and work of Charles Garnier, but nothing had prepared her for this moment.
Grey stone was to the sides with a modest shore of dirt in front. The water itself was iron-grey and murky, reflecting eerily in the feeble light provided by the two candles. The man, whom she was beginning to refer to in her mind as Erik, try as she might to rebel against it, stepped into the dirt and gracefully began the short walk to yet another wall roughly ten feet away.
She hesitated. What was going to happen? She knew this man was not Erik, the notion was simply impossible. Yet who was he? This hour of the night and so deep underground, no one would be around to hear her scream. His manner had not seemed sinister in the least, but her innate fear of fellow human beings held her back.
He had noticed when she ceased to follow.
In his beautiful voice he spoke to her in French, enticing her not with words but with sound to follow him, trust in her safety. The words he spoke she did not understand, but the melody woven without notes drew her across the short distance and she waited beside him for the wall to reveal what lay behind.
*~*Author's Note: Yeah, I know my chapters are short. That's mostly because I'm evil. :) Please, please r&r! I'm sorry to a few of you that I had conversations going with...long story short the marching band stole my soul and I just started at a new school. No excuse, I know. On a more story-related note my character is going to ^gasp^ reveal her name and the plot may or may not actually develop...Sorry if this doesn't format right. I only act like I know what I'm doing.
"What year is it, madamoiselle?" He startled her by asking.
"2002," she answered warily. Gathering her courage she blurted out, "Look, who are you? Not that I don't appreciate the getup but I'd like to know why."
He bade her stop walking, then walked to her front to study her face. "I believe that the answer you seek lies within your book, I daresay you've read it?"
She found herself blushing and staring at the book in her hand, which chose that moment to shed another page. He retreived it from the ground with a flourish. "
Yes, I know who you are dressed as. I want to know why." Usually timid around people, she was unusually calm considering the situation. The bizarre lack of reality was leaving her with a disconnected feeling and lack of fear towards this apparently mentally unhinged individual.
"I will not attempt to explain now," he said and again began walking. "You shall understand in due time."
It was rather damp and chilly in the cellars, a direct contrast from the upper levels of the building, which were kept in a museum-like state despite the continuing functionality of the theatre. He noticed her shivering and solicitously suggested that they take a shortcut.
"Good plan," she said somewhat acidly. She immediately regretted baiting this stranger, but he seemed to take no offense.
"This way," he commented whilst opening a previously invisible door in the stone wall.
She shrugged and followed him through this door and several others until he stopped abruptly and looked back at her. His amber eyes burned, but not malevolently. They were searching her face, for what she did not know. It felt, however, that her very soul was being exposed in this moment. He turned back to the wall again and with a swish of air a bizarre panorama was exposed through yet another door. The lake. She'd read numerous histories and biographical accounts of the life and work of Charles Garnier, but nothing had prepared her for this moment.
Grey stone was to the sides with a modest shore of dirt in front. The water itself was iron-grey and murky, reflecting eerily in the feeble light provided by the two candles. The man, whom she was beginning to refer to in her mind as Erik, try as she might to rebel against it, stepped into the dirt and gracefully began the short walk to yet another wall roughly ten feet away.
She hesitated. What was going to happen? She knew this man was not Erik, the notion was simply impossible. Yet who was he? This hour of the night and so deep underground, no one would be around to hear her scream. His manner had not seemed sinister in the least, but her innate fear of fellow human beings held her back.
He had noticed when she ceased to follow.
In his beautiful voice he spoke to her in French, enticing her not with words but with sound to follow him, trust in her safety. The words he spoke she did not understand, but the melody woven without notes drew her across the short distance and she waited beside him for the wall to reveal what lay behind.
*~*Author's Note: Yeah, I know my chapters are short. That's mostly because I'm evil. :) Please, please r&r! I'm sorry to a few of you that I had conversations going with...long story short the marching band stole my soul and I just started at a new school. No excuse, I know. On a more story-related note my character is going to ^gasp^ reveal her name and the plot may or may not actually develop...Sorry if this doesn't format right. I only act like I know what I'm doing.