Disclaimer: See chapter 1.
Review Responses:
Larien: I'm glad to see your reading this. If you get the opportunity watch the 2004 Andrew Lloyd Weber Phantom of the Opera. You'll get hooked. I had to warn them. You know how I am. About the French phrase. I see what you mean. I in no way speak French, but had heard the saying before and knew what it meant. But the French English dictionary I am using says that mon means my as does ma. So is it wrong because the phase commonly says ma petit cheri, or is it wrong for another reason. Please help me with this. You know how much I hate grammatical errors. Plus in later chapters I use the phase Mon Cher – (meaning My Dear, and the same dictionary gives that as a meaning.)
WildPixieChild16: Oh, oh, oh. Another Missouri girl. Me too. The Show Me State is so cool. Thank you for your comment. I will update often.
Remysgrl: I take it you think Erik is sexy. (Guess what, me too.)
PhantomPhanatic: Oh I'm blushing. You think it's beautiful. Really. Phantom of the Opera is such a beautiful, and sad story. It touches the heart, so it's easy to write for.
So Little Time
Lily cried out in frustration balling the paper before her up and throwing it into a pile in the corner. She reached up and rubbed her eyes, feeling the moisture seep from below her lashes. It had been two weeks since she was attacked, and still her eyes went from clear to blurry if she tried to concentrate to hard on what she was looking at. The swelling and bruises were gone, but there was a cut in the corner of her eye, which hadn't healed yet. She knew it would end up as a scar running from the corner of her eye to her ear. She didn't care much if it marred her looks, but the effect on her vision was more than she could stand.
She had not been able to complete any designs for the first performance, which was drawing closer, and she should have already started to make the costumes. She laid her head down on the desk before her wrapping her arms around her face. She would not cry. It wouldsolve nothing. But she had begun to see a picture in her minds eye of the owners firing her. What would she do if she had to leave the opera house? She had nowhere else to go.
"Life becomes difficult for the opera's costume designer." She heard a deep voice say into the night.
She lifted her head looking around not seeing anyone. "Where are you?" She asked calmly, even though her heart had begun to beat erratically.
"I am everywhere." He whispered, and it seemed as if he stood behind her.
"Why do you hide from me?" She challenged as her hands began to tremble.
"I am not hiding. You just have not found me yet." Was the whispered reply.
"You play games with me, Monsieur Ghost." She taunted using the name she had heard others speak of in the last couple of weeks.
"You have heard the tales then." His voice seemed to hold a slight tinge of mirth.
"I have heard much, but nothing from the person who would know best." She countered.
"What would you hear of me?" He asked with a slight chuckle.
"Only what you wish to tell." She said and then added as an afterthought. "As long as it is the truth."
"The truth is not always what is the best to hear." He suggested.
"Only if you fear it. I don't fear the truth." She whispered back.
"Then tell me what you would hear." The voice said directly into her ear. She felt the warm breath on her neck and was not surprised when a strong hand descended lightly upon her shoulder, caressing the tense muscle. She hadn't realized how tense she had become while speaking to him.
She turned in the chair she was sitting in looking up into the masked face of the Phantom. "I would hear your name first." She said taking his hand into her own.
He didn't speak for a moment. He had not said that name in years. Not even to Christine had he said that name. It was easier being the Opera Ghost, or the Phantom, or even the Angel of Music. It was so much harder to just be "Erik." He whispered the name.
"Erik. I like that. Erik I am Lily." She said smiling at him.
He could see the confidence in her face. He could see the genuine smile spread across her features. "Why do you not fear me?" He asked realizing her trembling fingers had nothing to do with fear.
"Why would I?" She asked him.
"They all do. Have they not told you of the monster that stalks the night in this house?" He asked in disbelief that she would not fear him.
"I have been told. But I see no monster here. I have seen true evil in my time. It is not here." She said placing a hand on his chest.
He saw something flash in her sapphire colored eyes, and for a moment he knew she did not lie. For a brief moment he saw pain that rivaled his own, but then it was gone as quickly as it appeared. He stared at her beautiful face noticing that she indeed would have a scar marring its beauty. He reached out stroking her cheek and thought to himself that no scar could mar the beauty in her soul. "Would you think the same if I was not wearing this mask?" He asked the question that was in the forefront of his mind.
"Erik, what I see of your face is beautiful, but it holds no comparison to the beauty I see in your eyes." She answered him.
"What do you see in my eyes, Lily?" He asked not believing her words.
"I see a heart that felt concern and compassion for a bruised and beaten girl, when he did not have to. Paris is a cold place. Most people revel in the pleasures of the flesh, but never feel the pleasures of the heart. Most of its people would have left me on that stage whether I lived or died. But I know now that someone carried me to Madame Giry's room to be cared for. I know that someone was you." She had been going over the events of that night in her mind for days, and had come to the only logical conclusion.
Her words seemed to make him uncomfortable. He dropped his hand and starred over her shoulder at the drawings stacked on her desk lit by candlelight. He could see where she was going with the designs, but her lines were not fluid. The designs themselves would be beautiful if only the hand that drew them was better. She noticed the direction of his stare and sighed a heavy sigh. "They are horrible. Please, don't look at them." She pleaded.
"Is this the first design job you have taken?" He asked not meaning to offend.
"No my drawings are usually much better, but my damn eyes are ruining them." She said turning back to the drawing on top meaning to wad it up and throw it away.
He placed a hand over hers stalling the motion. "What do you mean your eyes are ruining them?"
She took her free hand and placed it over her eyes rubbing them, and pulling back a damp hand in return. "I try to concentrate on the drawings, and the closer I look the blurrier the picture becomes, and my eyes water constantly. Madame Giry says it is from this cut. That eventually my eyes will go back to normal. But I am beginning to wonder. I don't know what I will do if I can not finish the designs."
"One moment." He said pulling a chair up beside hers and taking a seat. He pulled his cape off resting it on the back of the chair. He then picked up a blank sheet of paper, and started to draw the picture she had tried to complete earlier. She watched in fascination as the design she had wanted to sketch began to appear on the paper. Within a few moments the design was complete and he handed it to her. She blinked her eyes for a moment then stared at the sketch before her. It was exactly what she had pictured in her mind.
"One thing they say about you is true." She said in awe. "You are a genius."
Her compliment brought a smile to his lips. "What else do you have here?" he said pulling out the next design.
"Erik. I can not ask you to sketch all my designs for me." She said placing a hand on his.
"You did not ask. I offered." He said pulling his hand from below hers, and began the next sketch. They worked throughout the night with her explaining what she envisioned as he sketched what her words inspired him to draw.
She smiled as he began to hum a haunting melody that she did not know. "What song is that, Erik? I do not recognize it." She asked curious.
"I'm sorry. I had not realized I was humming." He said looking down at the table. "I have not sung in a long time. Five years."
'Neither have I.' She thought to herself. "I'm sorry, Erik. Singing must be hard for you." She knew that his relationship with Christine was based upon song.
"It was." He whispered. Then added. "Music of the Night."
"Pardon." She said.
"The song is called Music of the Night." He said beginning to hum the music again. Then his voice lifted.
Night time sharpens, heightens each sensationDarkness stirs, and wakes the imagination
Silently the senses, abandon their defenses
Slowly, gently night unfurls its splendor
Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender
Turn your face away from the garish light of day
Turn your thoughts away from cold unfeeling light
And listen to the music of the night
Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams
Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before
Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar
And you'll live as you've never lived before
She had closed her eyes during his song and let the music carry her away, but was disappointed as he abruptly stopped. "I'm sorry. I cannot continue." He said clearing his voice. She could see one single tear in the corner of his eye.
"It's all right, Erik. I understand." She said reaching up and wiping the tear away.
He turned to her, and the harsh words left his mouth before he could think to stop them. "How can you understand?"
She pulled her hand back placing it in her lap and then looked down at her hands. "I understand that one sometimes sings for one person, who means more to them than life itself. But when that person is taken from them they can no longer wish to sing for anyone else. It is too painful to even sing for oneself." She explained what she knew he must feel.
"How can you understand that?" He asked and then understanding dawned on him also. "Sing for me, Lily." He asked already knowing her answer.
"I can not, Erik." She whispered.
He reached out placing one hand below her chin pulling it up so he could look into her eyes. "You can not, or you won't?" He asked.
"I can sing for no one, Erik. It is no longer in me." She answered.
"Not even for yourself?" He wondered.
"Especially not for myself." She whispered her voice breaking. He saw the tears threatening to escape her eyes, but also knew she would not allow them to flow.
"Can I ask you a question?" He asked hesitantly.
"Yes." She answered.
"Was your voice beautiful?" He wondered.
She closed her eyes and pulled away from him standing and crossing the room with her back to him. "Erik, thank you for helping me." She whispered. "But please leave now." He could hear the emotion in her voice as the tears struggled to break free.
He stood pulling his cape on and then walked towards her. He was not used to being told when to leave, but he wanted to respect her wishes. He stopped right behind her reaching out stroking her hair. "If you need me, just call. I will hear you."
She wanted to lean into him and except the comfort he was offering, but could not. "Thank you." She said hoarsely, pulling away from him and making her way to the bed, sitting on it, facing away from him.
A moment later she heard a soft click as the false door behind the mirror closed. "I do need you." She said in barely a whisper, and then buried her face in the pillow wanting only to descend into darkness, but she knew that darkness would hold only nightmares. Why couldn't the darkness be just nothingness for her. She prayed for that nothingness as the tears finally began to fall on her pillow.
