andersm: Spunky! I never thought of that word to describe her! Thank you for your compliments, and for being my first reviewer once again!

Phantomforever: Thank you! Hope you like this chappie!

xxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx: .hands you the Golden Muffin of Gratitude. Thanks, Mrs. Destler :) I appreciate your help muchly.

phantomgoddess34: Thanks! I tried not to make Nadia some girl afraid of her shadow like some charries you see. I think they'd make a cute couple too, but, then again, I'm the author. Much thanks!

Kristiana Marie: .hands you another Golden Muffin of Gratitude. Thanks a lot! By the way, Kristiana's an awesome name. Is it really your name, or did you make it up for your signature?

wingedfirefly: Thanks! I'm so glad you liked it!

Ok, lovelies! First of all, I'd just like to say THANK YOU! When I saw all the compliments and encouragement, I had the biggest smile I've had in years. As a matter of fact, the people in the library were staring at me...BUT, who cares? Thank you for encouraging me to continue to write my worthless drabble!

Second of all, I have gotten over my writer's block for the moment, but it likes to return and slap my muse around quite often. Plus, it's Easter break for me (Happy belated Easter for all who celebrate!), and I'm trying to relax. But I will try to come on as often as possible. Au revoir for now, and enjoy!

Chapter 5 - Reflections

Erik pushed his boat off the shore. His encounter with the girl Nadia hadn't gone quite as planned. She was supposed to be terrified of him, just like everyone else in that place was...or most, not counting Antoinette. But it seemed she had some courage to try and knife him like that. And she had some sense too, because she didn't immediately accept his deal, but instead told him, with much confidence, that she was only going to try it out. That had been quite a surprise.

Actually, once he thought about it, she had been scared in the beginning. When she had been stepping away from him, a look at her eyes told him she was terrified. And when he had advanced so close to her, just before she decided to try and stab him, her eyes had gone so wide he'd thought they'd pop out of the sockets. When he had whispered in her ear, she had started to shiver, but then again right after that she had whipped out a dagger. For some reason, right in the middle of his offer, he'd noticed that she smelled vaguely of roses. He liked roses, but Christine liked the scent of the delicate flower honeysuckle better.

This girl was quite different from Christine, he thought to himself as he rowed himself closer and closer to his home. Not only in looks, for they were quite different in that area. Christine had an innocent, wide-eyed look, with almost ethereal features, and those long, chocolate-brown curls tumbling down her back. Meanwhile, this Nadia looked like what he'd always imagined a fairy would look like: pretty, but not gorgeous, with a sparkle in her eyes, and wavy black tresses. But she was different from his angel in many more ways as well.

First of all, she was a brave girl. Christine, although beautiful and kind, had been rather faint-hearted, to put it kindly. When he had been showing her around his home, and she had seen the sculpture he'd made of her, she'd fainted. Most people didn't faint when they saw their likeness, even if it was incredibly lifelike. He'd had to pick her up and carry her to the swan bed he had had made for her. Of course, he hadn't complained. He'd gotten to carry his gorgeous one true love, even if the circumstances were rather odd.

Second of all, he thought as he leaped out of the boat and sat down at his organ, Nadia was probably not the kind to fall for his many tricks. Christine, lovable and perfect as she was, was quite gullible. He could understand a child believing in her "Angel of Music", but a grown woman? Most people would have been very suspicious after 9 years of lessons from someone who never showed their face. And she really should have realized the connection between the Opera Ghost and the Angel of Music long before everything happened.

He fingered the organ's keys lovingly. Christine, his muse, his inspiration, his perfect, flawless angel! How he longed that her choice had been different, or even that he had forced her to stay and killed that foolish boy. Once again, his eyes closed tightly as he shook with anger and anguish. His own mother, that useless whore, couldn't love him, and he'd expected Christine to? That idiot viscomte, with his clothes and hair always perfectly in place, would of course be the logical choice instead of him. Why had he even hoped for the child's love?

No one could ever love him.

Nadia woke up in severe pain. She had a raging headache, and she had twisted her back somehow in the night. She had kicked all the covers off the bed, and had had horrible nightmares, which she couldn't quite remember. However, she had the strangest feeling that these things weren't her only problems.

Groggily, she staggered over to her small window and peered outside. The sky was that dark blue that isn't the night's blue, but heralds the coming of dawn, so she figured she didn't need to rush to get ready for her first day of work. As she shuffled back to her bed, she glanced at the gilded mirror, still trying to remember exactly why she felt so miserable.

And then it hit her.

She sat at the edge of the bed, staring at that horrible mirror which led to that lunatic's home so far below the Opera's floors. How did she seem to get herself into these messes? Everywhere she went, she seemed to attract trouble. But of course, never this much trouble. Really, she thought to herself, there's not much more trouble than having the Phantom of the Opera decide to pop out of your mirror and say, "Hello! You're going to deliver messages for me, and I'll give you voice lessons! Won't that be fun? It better be, or I'll hang you from the chandelier. Cheerio!" Exit Phantom.

Erik, she believed Christine had said was the man's name. The name fitted him, she thought as she stared at her bed's canopy. The name Erik had always conjured thoughts of swirling darkness, eyes that pierced your soul with their burning intensity, that annoying self-confidence that could be seen in every movement...

It described him perfectly.

Christine had spoken of him with tears shining in her large eyes. She admitted that she cared for him; but she couldn't love him. She was grateful that he'd saved her from the crushing solitude of her first years at the Populaire, but she couldn't be a wife or a lover to the temperamental legend. When she had told of the deformity that his white porcelain mask covered, she couldn't even put it into words; she had just shivered, and one of the tears that had lingered in her eyes for the entire story escaped down her pale cheek.

Nadia remembered the variety of feelings she had had last night: the fear when the renowned phantom had emerged from her mirror, the anger when he had scorned her, the triumph when she had seen that look of surprise on his face when she had not acted like a frightened kitten. But the feeling that stood out the most in her memory was that treacherous tingle she had felt, first when he had been so close to her and had been staring down at her with that threatening smirk, then when he had had his hands on her shoulders and had been whispering in her ear.

Of course, Christine had told of his seductive spell. All who had seen him at the performance of Don Juan Triumphant had felt that overpowering enchantment. So, thank goodness, it wasn't just her.

Maybe, she thought, as her eyelids drooped and she felt sleep slowly overtake her, this whole go-between thing won't be so bad. Maybe he'll be rather nice to me, or at least cordial, and he won't have too many demands, and he'll help me along the road to fame...

With those thoughts swirling about her head, she dozed off, with dawn's first golden rays streaming onto her face.