TINK8812: No, it's not purposefully funny. Well, bits of it here and there, but, overall, it's meant to be drama. I never really take anything too seriously, so it might have come out sounding a little comedic. Particularly in chapter seven. I love making Winifred uncomfortable. I don't mind if you find the whole thing funny, though. As long as it's entertaining! ...And as long as I know I've got at least one consistent reader.
CHAPTER RATING: PG13
DISCLAIMER: "Kyrie" is by Franz Schubert. I'm not sure who wrote the lyrics that I stole from the play. Either Charles Hart or Tim Rice, and of course music by Andrew Lloyd Webber.
When she reached the stables, she came upon a single black horse in a pin. She put a saddle and bridles on it, climbed on, and road it onto the street. Winifred felt rather self-conscious riding a horse sidesaddle through the middle of the city street, but it was better than getting a cab every day. When she returned the next day with the horse, there was a boy waiting in the stables.
"Thank God!" he cried, reaching towards her. "I thought she'd gotten out."
"I'm sorry. I was told I could borrow it," Winifred said, sliding off. Had she gotten the wrong horse?
"By who?" the boy asked with a curious expression on his face as he began loosening the saddle.
Winifred almost replied, "The Phantom," but caught herself and said, "The owner. Who do you work for?"
"Oh, I work at the inn a block away," he answered. "One day I got this letter with some money in it saying that I'd get paid for looking after the horse here. It was signed O.G., but, besides that, I don't know anything else."
Winifred explained to the boy her arrangement with the horse, and then made her way to the secret passageway behind the mirror. When she got there, she was pleased to find that all the candles and torches were now lit and she no longer feared falling to her death while descending the stairs. Then, when she reached the lake, an even more pleasant surprise awaited her: Erik was waiting there for her, pole in hand. He was no longer wearing the ripped shirt of before, but now looked neat and dignified in a black jacket, cloak and gloves.
When she approached him, he held out his hand to her and said, "A lady should not be forced to drive a gondola."
"Thank you," Winifred said gratefully. Smiling, she took his and stepped into the boat.
Winifred felt odd looking through this new point of view in the boat. Now that she was sitting and not struggling with the pole, the ride was actually relaxing. She was suddenly noticing how beautiful the water looked with the candlelight reflecting off of the black surface. She looked up at Erik, who was not looking at her, but had his face turned to the waters ahead. When they reached the shore, he helped her out of the boat, escorted her to the organ, and seated her on the bench.
"Would you like to start with 'Surely He Hath Borne Our Griefs'?" he asked as he removed his cloak and sat down beside her.
"No," Winifred replied, a little too quickly. "Um, how about 'Kyrie'?" It was the only Latin song with lyrics she was able to learn right away because it repeated the same two phrases over and over again. They meant "Lord, have mercy on us" and "Christ, have mercy on us."
Winifred got out the music, Erik played the first note, and she sang softly and fluidly:
"Kyrie eleison.
Kyrie eleison.
Kyrie eleison."
Then she sang louder and more powerfully:
"Christe eleison!
Christe eleison!
Christe eleison!"
"Wait," Erik interrupted her. "That is good, but you need to enunciate more. 'Christe' should be verybiting and with a hard k sound. Christe. And try to roll your r's. The k in 'Kyrie' should be harder as well, but still have a soft feeling." Then he began to sing gently.
"Kyrie eleison.
Kyrie eleison."
His voice was absolutely sublime.
"Kyrie eleison.
Kyrie eleison."
Winifred felt the music moving through her body and she couldn't help but close her eyes.
"Kyrie eleison."
She felt a hand on hers and he began to caress her fingers.
"Kyrie eleison, eleison."
His hot breath was brushing against her neck. She wanted him to get closer.
"I am your angel of music.
Come to me: angel of music."
At this sudden change of words, Winifred's head fell back without her command, exposing her throat.
"I am your angel of music."
She was absolutely intoxicated with emotion.
"Come to me: angel of music."
His lips were brushing against her neck, his breath growing deeper. Winifred lifted a hand, touched his neck, and whispered his name: "Erik."
He stopped and pulled away. Winifred opened her eyes in a daze.
"Leave me," is all that he said. He did not look at her.
"What?" she asked, confused.
"Leave me. Now. You may return tomorrow, but you must leave me now." With that, he rushed into another room, the curtains that served as the door sweeping down behind him.
Baffled, Winifred left the Phantom's domain. Had she done something wrong? She couldn't understand it. And why had he chosen that exact moment to become upset? Was there something wrong with her? His touch felt so good...
Winifred found herself walking down the street to the Parnell Operahouse. She wasn't sure why she had gone that way, but then realized she needed to see Madame Giry. Yes, Madame Giry would help. She seemed to know how the Phantom's mind worked.
When Winifred reached the operahouse, she was instructed to go to the dorms, where she found Madame Giry in a room helping the blonde ballerina from before into a stage costume.
"Miss Deschanel," Madame Giry greeted Winifred courteously as she entered the room. But Winifred's emotions must have been showing on her face because Madame Giry's expression became serious and she told the ballerina as she buttoned her last button, "Go to practice, Meg. I'll be with you in a moment."
"Yes, Mother," the girl replied and left, closing the door behind her.
"What is the matter, darling?" Madame Giry asked, sitting on the bed.
When Winifred tried to respond, she did something that she was not at all expecting: She burst into tears.
"Winifred!" Madame Giry said, shocked. "Come, sit. What happened?"
Her hands covering her face, Winifred sat down on the bed beside Madame Giry.
"Tell me, girl. What happened?"
"I- I don't know!" Winifred managed to gasp out through sobs. "He's mad at me. We were fine, but then he told me to leave." Oh, this sounded so dumb now.
"Shhh," Madame Giry said, taking Winifred in her arms and stroking her hair. "You should not be so upset. He is onlyyour teacher. Unless..." Then she released Winifred and looked her in the eyes. "Unless you are beginning to have feelings for him. Do you?"
"What do you mean?" Winifred asked in a weak voice, but she knew exactly what she meant.
"Do you love him?" Madame Giry asked gently, almost a whisper.
Do I love him? "No," she said defiantly, then, "Yes. I don't know..." Winifred was so confused.
"Listen to me," Madame Giry said hastily, as if she thought someone might be spying on them. "You may be under his spell."
"His what?"
"His spell. Christine Daae was under it as well. The Phantom is able to hypnotize with his voice- to seduce. I thought you would be safe from him, but apparently I was wrong."
Winifred started to panic. This was very bad, though she wasn't even sure if she believed it. "What do I do?"
"There is one way to break the spell. You must remove his mask. He will not be happy with you for doing this, so guard yourself." She stood. "I must go now, Miss Deschanel." Winifred rose and Madame Giry kissed her cheek. "Good luck."