A/N: Yes, I am still alive! I'm so sorry for the recent lack of updates – but I have had an absolute horrible time with this writer's block. You see, I know what I want to do with the story and where it's going to lead – but I just don't know how to get there! And I guess I pretty much worked myself into a hole with that last chapter!

Though I've also been swamped with school work (AP exams) and then some other activities that I do outside of school – so it's just been hard for me to actually sit down at the computer and type away! Though luckily I own the sacred DVD and I've had a good dose of some really good Phantom phiction!

Once again, my praise goes out to my loyal reviewers – if it wasn't for you guys I most likely never would have continued working on this story!

Alright – story time!


Chapter 7

A Talent Not Often Used

I awoke the next morning, feeling as if a carriage had plowed me into a cobblestone street. I tried valiantly to open my eyes – yet only found that they were near plastered together with sleep. I groaned, one hand fishing for a match, while I attempted to raise myself from my slumber.

My brain seemed to ache as I pulled, with much effort, myself into a sitting position. My hand had found the match and a bright flame leaped into the oil lamp beside my bed. I guessed that it was nearing midday – though I could never be too certain – as my room remained windowless.

I slowly placed my bare feet on the hardwood floor in my room, and stood up, my reflection casting into the mirror. For one sick moment I felt as if someone was staring at me from behind the confines of the mirror – and I prayed that he wasn't there. Since his near rape of me last night I wanted nothing more to do with this man. This man whose touch radiated warmth, yet felt like ice against my skin.

I had just pulled my robe over my sleeping garments, when suddenly there came a rap at my door. "Carolina, are you awake?" I immediately recognized the voice to belong to Madame Giry.

"Madame," I said through the closed door, "I have only just awoken," I carefully undid the key that kept the door locked and opened it a sliver.

I found myself confronted with Madame Giry's relentless blue eyes. The woman was the exact image of pride, her well boned face, lined with years of thought and discipline gave way to a noble brow. Her hair, long, and the color of moaghony streaked with grey were pulled back into its normal long braid that cascaded down her back. She was wearing a black dress – normal for her – but never before had I seen a woman who could wear the dark color as well as her. It seemed to match her personality, the strong, nearly masculine color and look.

Her eyes scrutinized me for a moment to see if I were really telling the truth, though eventually she seemed to accept my story and nodded. "Sorry, my dear, it is just that it is nearly one in the afternoon – and there is much to be done, rehearsals are beginning for the new performance of Carmen," she said.

My mind flew – it was one in the afternoon? This was a disgrace on my part, not to mention that it was downright embarrassing! What would the manager's think of me? I turned away from the door, apologizing to Madame Giry. "I'm so sorry; I was up late last night…" I stammered, as I threw out some clothes that I could quickly change into.

"No, no, dear, there's no need to rush," Madame exclaimed, entering the room and putting a steadying hand on my shoulder. "It does seem as if you were busy…might I ask what you were doing…?" she questioned.

I didn't turn around; knowing that if she saw the guilt in my eyes she would immediately know I was lying. "I was drawing," I lied, pointing at my bedside table which was littered with old sketches I had done. I had never been one for drawing – but I found that I could draw landscapes and animals, just nothing that was human. I could never draw humans.

"Drawing?" Madame Giry questioned, picking up a drawing that had been discarded. "You are quite talented," she said, her keen eyes scanning the paper. I looked up, trying to see which of my few miserable portraits she was looking at. She was looking at the one that I liked the call the 'Valley of Dreams'. It was an old portrait, one that I had scribbled down uselessly one day waiting for something to happen at rehearsals.

"It is nothing, Madame," I said sheepishly, averting my gaze downwards to the wooden floor.

Madame Giry carefully set the drawing back on the table, before turning to me, "What other secret talents do you have, Carolina?" she asked, one of her finely penciled eyebrows rising.

"None," I admitted, though from the tone of my voice I could tell that Madame Giry knew better than to question who I was any farther.

"That's interesting," she said simply, turning around and heading towards the door.

"Madame," I said, catching her as her hand was turning the brass knob, "Would it be possible for you to pick me up some food…?"

Madame Giry turned around and pointed towards the stuffed chair by the mirror. "It seems that someone was already thing ahead of me," she said, before turning around and leaving, the door swinging shut behind her with a soft click.

I found my eyes transfixed on what was in my chair: a single woven reed basket, filled to the top with jam and rolls. I walked over, my hand gently caressing the soft fabric linen stuffed in it, when my eyes fell upon a note stuffed into the basket among the food.

My heart fell when I immediately recognized the sprawling red pen and handwriting – I thought I might be sick – this food, this basket – was from him! With shaking hands I detached the seal, the all too familiar wax seal. It was the skull that was forever etched into my mind, the red wax skull with his luring grin that seemed to tease you.

I took the note out, my eyes grazing over the handwriting the note read:

I couldn't allow my best errand runner go about her day without any nutrients, now can I?


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