Desiree had finally fallen asleep that night after much tossing and turning. The first thing she did when she woke up was look at the mirror. Her reflection was accurate this time. Perhaps she had just been tired last night. Yes, of course that was it. A lot had happened and she was just stressed. She washed her hands and face in the clean water in the basin on the vanity. The black dress and the cape were lying on the chair, folded and seemingly clean, rather than draped over the back of the chair and mirror. She picked up the dress and looked at it. It looked as clean as it had before she'd worn it the night before. Erik was going through a lot of trouble to make her feel comfortable and supply her with what she needed. She'd have to thank him later. She changed quickly. The brush ran through her thick, dark brown hair, and she kept a very close eye on her reflection with its every stroke.
She left, looking back at the mirror over her shoulder. The reflection was normal. Still, she frowned. It didn't frown back. Her eyes widened, while it's stayed the same, like it was stuck on the past expression. She walked back to the mirror fearfully and tapped it. The reflection didn't move. Desiree whirled quickly and ran out of the room, slamming the door behind her and leaning against it, quite out of breath.
She walked into the only other room in the house that she knew. Erik was already there, sitting on a sofa and eating. She sat across from him, lowering herself slowly and shakily onto the other sofa.
"Bonjour, Mademoiselle," he said. He looked at her. "Are you alright? You look a little shaken."
"Oh, no, I'm fine. But out of curiosity, is there something wrong with that mirror in my room?"
He looked up suddenly from his drink. "What do you mean, 'wrong'?"
She shrugged. "I just mean… sometimes it doesn't exactly reflect what it should reflect."
"That's not possible, Mademoiselle. Mirrors only reflect what exists, different views depending upon the angle you are looking at it from."
"Right… right, of course, that's what a mirror does. It was late last night, and I was tired. It was a trick of the light, of course… and this morning, I was just in shock after last night and… imagining things."
He nodded and smiled. "Feel free to eat something, there's food on the table next to you."
She looked over at it and noticed what she hadn't before. "You do an awful lot here…" She picked up a piece of toast and took a bite out of it.
He smiled. "I'm sorry you didn't get to see the end of Faust last night. How was the part you saw?"
"I'm not too distressed that I didn't see the ending. I was more interested in the vocal abilities of the singers than the plot." She finished the toast, and then seemed to be thinking about something. He watched her. She finally spoke. "Are you sure there's nothing wrong with that mirror?"
He raised an eyebrow. This could be seen because the mask he wore was made of the same flexible material as hers, and fit just as perfectly. "I told, mirrors reflect only what is real. You were seeing things last night, and you were just tired and jumpy this morning. I assure you, the mirror is in perfect working condition." He smiled a little. "Perhaps Mademoiselle Phantomess is still suffering from an advanced state of shock and is seeing things?"
"I'm not seeing things- I mean, I am seeing things, but I'm not imagining them. They're there, they just don't exist, it- um… 'Mademoiselle Phantomess?'"
He ignored the question. "They're there, they just don't exist?" he said with a small smile.
"Yes, they're- er… well…" she sighed, and he chuckled.
"Clear as mud, Mademoiselle. Now, getting off the subject of that mirror, I want to work more on that song from Othello today. You're doing really very well with it; I think we could perfect it by tonight if you worked on it all day today."
It was her turn to raise an eyebrow. "It's a very difficult song, Monsieur; I think the word 'perfect' may be a little strong."
He smiled. "We'll come very close to it then. Your voice is pretty enough that any small mistakes with hardly go noticed."
"Noticed by whom?"
"By me, obviously. Who else would there be to notice them?"
She twisted her mouth to the side. "That's what I'd like to know."
He laughed. "No one, Mademoiselle." He stood up. "If you can entertain yourself in your room for about an hour, I would be much obliged if you would meet me back in here at the end of that hour."
She stood up as well. "Alright. Thank you for breakfast, Monsieur, and for the clean dress." She headed for the door, Erik slightly behind her, and, like not-so-long-ago, they both went their separate ways. Upon entering her room, Desiree flung her cloak over the mirror. She turned toward the bed, and something on top of the wardrobe. She paused and looked at it. On top of the wardrobe set a wooden clock, identical to the one in the main room. It, like that clock, seemed to be working. What was up with this room? It was now occupied by an empty coffin, a living mirror, a magically materializing clock, and a fugitive prostitute.
•
An hour later, Desiree was inspecting the clock on the mantelpiece in the main room when Erik came in. "Bonjour, Mademoiselle Phantomess," he said.
"Not yet I'm not. Are we going to practice?"
He smiled. "Follow me. I'd like to use the organ today instead of humming." He lead her by the hand out the door and back down the hall. In a similar fashion to how he had unlocked her door her first night there, he withdrew a small key from the inside of his cloak and unlocked the door now before them, and in they went.
This room was so poorly lit, that even after staying in the darkness of the rest of his house, it took a while for her eyes to adjust, and even then all she could make out was a small staircase leading up to a gigantic organ and the shape of something against one wall. She peered closely at it and narrowed her eyes. A… coffin? Another one? She blinked and looked toward the organ, where Erik was now seated. He motioned to her to come stand beside him. She did so, and without another word, he started playing the song. The organ playing sounded almost as good as his humming. Not to demote his playing, but no organ's music could match even his humming, even if he were playing it. His voice was that good.
After countless hours of singing (she had not seen a clock anywhere in the room), he stopped playing the organ again. "Let's play a prank on the opera."
Her eyes grew wide and her jaw dropped. "A… prank? A prank?! What did we do last night? That wasn't a prank?"
He grinned. "Oh, that was merely and introduction, the result of merciless and unbridled boredom. No, what I had in mind was- well, you see, they're playing Othello tomorrow. You know this song very well, and any mistakes made will not be noticed. Your voice, as I have said before, is quite astounding, and they'll be in such a state of shock that the Phantomess of the Opera has walked out onto the stage and sang a song as if it were her own part, that they won't notice-"
"Wait, wait, wait- what? 'The Phantomess of the Opera walked out onto the stage and sang a song as if…' You're not possibly suggesting that I just waltz out onto the stage, sing this song, and then waltz right back off?"
"Well of course not. I wouldn't dream of you waltzing. You'll drop down off the catwalk as an entrance, and drop down a trapdoor as an exit- an exit that will be made in just a few seconds' time in which I will get rid of the lights and shove the real singer onto stage to take her place back."
"Are you insane?" she hissed.
He grinned. "Perhaps. But it would be entertaining, don't you think?"
She groaned, but couldn't repress a small smile. She rubbed her face in her hands. "You're… insane…"
He grinned. "So you'll do it?"
She looked at him with one eye between two fingers. She was in way over her head into the Phantomess thing. There was no reason not to do this. So what if the idea was lunacy? It would be entertaining. "Yes, I'll do it."
He smiled. "Good."
•
About an hour later, Desiree was laying on her bed, one arm over her eyes, thinking about the decision she'd made. She had practically just signed a contracted declaring herself the Opera House Ghostess. She finally sighed and sat up. So her knew life was haunting the Paris Opera House. She looked around the room. The mask sitting on the vanity, the coffin at the foot of the bed, the clock atop the wardrobe, the cloak lying on the ground… was not supposed to be there. She'd draped it over the mirror. What was it doing on the floor?
She jumped up grabbed the cloak, then flung it hastily over the mirror. It slid off onto the floor. She grabbed it and draped it a little more carefully this time. It fell to the ground. She snatched it one last time, and then slowly laid it over the mirror. It stayed all of two seconds before it slid, once again, to the floor. She stared at the mirror. It stared back.
She blinked, and behind her reflection self stood a reflection Erik. She whirled around. He wasn't there. She looked back at the mirror over her shoulder. Reflection Erik was gone as well, and her reflection self seemed to be just as shocked as she was.
She spent the next hour pulling and pushing the wardrobe to stand between the vanity and her bed.