Touched by an Angel

Aminta felt the cloak being laid over her, and woke without opening her eyes. Whether or not her eyes were open made no difference anyway. She wondered who was there watching her. At first she thought that it was her father, since the cloak smelled faintly of a cologne that he wore at her mother's request. But her father didn't generally wear a cloak, and this was too long for him anyway. It was warm, as though someone had just been wearing it. She knew that that selfsame someone was still standing near her, so that made sense. But who was it? She heard movement, someone coming closer to her, and she stiffened involuntarily. Doing so caused her to move her head slightly, and she felt it stick to her arm by the blood that was still running down her face. Her shirtsleeve was ruined, doubtless, but that was a small matter. For all she cared, she could just cut the sleeve off and wear the shirt anyway. What she wanted to know what who it was watching her. She could feel his eyes on her, contemplating her.

'Why would someone be spooking around the opera house at this hour?' she thought. 'Maybe the chief of the flies, preparing the scenery for tonight? Or maybe…but no, he disappeared sixteen years ago…didn't he?' She was struck by the idea that it might be the Opera Ghost, but Christine had told her that he disappeared. Then again, Aminta couldn't help but think of that night when she lost her sight…just before, at her mother's performance, she had seen a dark figure in Box 5. And Meg, despite Christine asking her not to, had told Aminta everything she knew about the "strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera", and that was considerable. She had also said that mysterious notes still popped up occasionally (though they were not cast aside so easily now). Maybe He was still there.

"Strange…she reminds me of Christine," mused a deep voice from above her. Aminta couldn't suppress a small shiver at the sound of his voice. She suddenly realized that her eyes were opening slowly. Seeing as she was lying with her back to the door, and she couldn't see anyway, this wasn't really a problem. It was just unnerving to never know when your eyes are open or closed. Her neck was beginning to hurt from lying in the same position for so long, and she shifted slightly. In doing so, however, she had to unstick her cheek from her sleeve, which hurt more than she had anticipated. She made a small sound, and heard whoever it was behind her move back a little.

'Damn,' she thought. 'Well, he knows I'm awake now. I might as well get up.' Slowly, she pushed herself up, shaking her head a little to clear it. As she sat up the cloak slipped off her. Unconsciously she reached for it again and pulled it to her, pulling it around her, taking in its musky, masculine scent. Her eyes flickered around instinctively.

"Who's there?" she said softly, rising to her feet. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, signaling that someone was watching from behind. She spun around with a slight gasp. Whoever was watching her took a step back. "Monsieur le Fantôme?" she asked softly. She heard a deep chuckle.

"Good evening," came that voice again, very politely. "And what brings one so young as you alone to the theatre at this hour? And in my private box, no less."

"Excuse me, I intended to be out of here by the time the performance started tonight," she said. "I didn't think that you would mind."

"I don't. I just didn't expect to find anyone here," the Phantom replied. "Good God, what happened to you?" Aminta frowned, wondering what he meant, then felt a throb in her cheek.

"Oh, that," she said, lowering her eyes. "That's actually the reason I came here."

"Were you attacked?"

"Not exactly. I had a…a bit of a falling-out with my father. I said things I knew would upset him, and he struck me. Unfortunately, he had somehow forgotten that he was holding a penknife in the hand he struck me with."

"Your father did this?"

"It was an accident…"

"Well, it needs attention or it'll become infected."

"Who cares?" she asked sullenly. Cold but gentle fingers brushed a stray strand of hair off her cheek near the gash. She shied away instinctively, having had no warning of the touch.

"I'm sorry," said the Phantom. "Cold hands, I know."

"Cold hands, warm heart," replied Aminta absently. Sensing his surprise, she added, "It's what my mother always says. And I moved away because you surprised me, that's all. I'm sorry for my rudeness."

"I surprised you?" he asked, confused. "I thought you would have seen-"

"I'm blind."

Silence.

"Is this a problem?" she asked, fighting the instinctive, defensive urge to be sarcastic.

"No, not at all! I just didn't realize-" the Phantom's voice trailed off, and Aminta was aware that he was studying her more intently now. "I suppose I should have realized. Your eyes are stunning, but cloudy."

"Thank you?" said Aminta, unsure of what to say. She felt blood dripping from her cheek, giving her the feeling that she was crying blood tears. She brushed at her cheek absently, the way she would to brush away a strand of hair, and hissed when she was rudely reminded of the wide open slash there.

"Careful." Aminta was surprised to hear genuine concern in the Phantom's voice. Why should he care about her, a mere girl who happened to wander into his box?

'Then again, if he knew who you were…' hinted a devilish voice in the back of her mind. Aminta promptly shut it out.

"Here, let me take a closer look," said the Phantom. Aminta nodded, and stood unmoving as he tilted her head gently, examining the wound. "It's deeper than I thought. You're lucky you weren't cut all the way through."

"I suppose." She didn't know why, but she suddenly wished her parents would come rushing in and see her. This would be the ultimate defiance…the ultimate betrayal. She found herself feeling lightheaded and out-of-sorts. Red pain suddenly exploded in her head, causing her to stumble back with a cry. She felt as though she had been slugged in the stomach and stabbed through the skull. Nausea overtook her, but not enough to make her be sick.

"Oh God…" she whispered. "No, not again..."

"What's wrong?" asked the Phantom, moving closer.

"It hurts…" she whimpered. "It's horrible."

"Then tell it to me."

"Don't leave me alone." In response, she felt two strong arms wrap around her. The room was spinning out of control.

"Don't be afraid. Let me help you."

She took comfort in the gentle, musical voice that wrapped around her as surely as the arms that held her. She fought to regain control of her breathing, and the room slowly righted itself. The nausea and pains subsided, leaving her breathless and tired. She fought both feelings and straightened herself. There was silence for a time.

"Are you all right?"

"I will be." She paused for a moment. "Thank you," she added.

"You're welcome." Another pause. "If you wish, I'll tend to your injury."

Aminta was surprised, but secretly thrilled. "I would greatly appreciate that," she replied politely. She could sense the Phantom's smile as he took her hand. She followed him easily, more sure of her footing than she had ever been since she lost her sight. She was more aware of everything than she had ever been at all. Most of all, she was aware of the blood dripping down her cheek and soaking into her sleeve, which was rather unpleasant. But then she became aware of the most beautiful singing she had ever heard. It actually took her a moment to realize that the Phantom was singing softly. She smiled somewhat foolishly, and let the music fill her mind, clouding out all other thoughts. She became aware that the singing had stopped, which made her feel oddly sad, and she heard the sound of cloth scraping on stone.

"By the way," came the Phantom's voice casually, "what is your name, child?"

"Aminta," Aminta replied. The Phantom dropped her hand abruptly. Everything stopped, simply stopped. There was no sound but their breathing. Discomfited by this, Aminta ventured to speak: "You are familiar with the name? As I understand, it's not very common."

"No," he said softly. "I mean, yes, I am familiar with it."

"My mother named me after a character she portrayed once in a magnificent opera many years ago," she continued lightly. "Maybe you are familiar with it? It was called Don Juan Triumphant."

"You're Christine's daughter?" he asked softly.

"I am," whispered Aminta, wondering why her voice had been reduced to a whisper. "Christine's and Raoul's." There was a very pregnant pause.

"So…they will have told you about me?" he asked.

"Not really, actually," Aminta replied. "Father didn't want her to. He didn't even want her to tell me about the Angel of Music. I don't know what he was afraid of. Possibly the fact that I have the bad habit of falling in love with fantasies has something to do with it. I do know of you, though, through Meg Giry."

"Yes…she would tell you, wouldn't she," commented the Phantom.

"If you want me to, I'll go…" said Aminta.

"No! No, stay if you wish. Forgive me, I just never thought about Christine having children. All I thought about was her. Besides, I said I would take care of that gash, didn't I? And I will, unless you don't want me to."

"No, I do. That is, if you don't mind."

"I don't." Those cold but always gentle fingers closed around her hand once more. And Aminta followed him without question, descending into the deep darkness with him.