Thank you Reltistic for your lovely review! It means a lot to me. :D Thank you also as always to Lynds. ;)
Chapter Two
Who Was That Shape in the Shadows?
Emmanuelle woke to the sound of music playing. It was a strange, enthralling music such as she had never heard before. The very air was alive with it.
She opened her eyes and found that she had been laid tenderly in a bed shaped like a black swan, upon red velvet cushions. She sat up, running her fingers through her mahogany curls, then got up and began to search her surroundings for the source of the enigmatic music.
She was surprised to discover that she was in some sort of natural cavern that had been furnished like a house. There were candles and draperies everywhere, and it was right on the bank of the underground lake. How very romantic, Emmanuelle thought as she followed the intoxicating organ music until she came upon its source.
A man sat at a massive pipe organ with his back to her. She watched him for a moment, fascinated by the rippling of his finely sculpted muscles through the back of his shirt as he played. He must have been a master musician.
Presently he seemed to sense her watching him and turned, then rose and approached her. She drew back a little in fear, her eyes widening and her mouth falling open, when she saw his face. Half of it she could not see, for it was covered by a smooth white mask, but the other half was gorgeous. He was built like a god, and he had glossy black hair and blue eyes like a stormy sea.
"Good evening," he said, in a voice that veritably caused her knees to melt, for it was surely as beautiful as he was. "Why have you come back?"
"What?" she asked, startled.
"Were you not happy with the Vicomte, Christine?"
"I think you must have mistaken me for someone else, monsieur," she confessed reluctantly, loath to cause the eyes that looked on her in such tenderness to change their expression.
"You are not Christine?" he asked, crestfallen.
"No," she said ruefully, "I'm her twin sister."
"Christine never told me she had a sister . . ." he said wonderingly, sweeping her over with his gaze, "You look just like her."
"I don't think she knows. Our parents divorced when we were but three, and I lived with my mother, Anne Daaé, until she died."
"The famous Swedish opera singer," he mused, "now I know where Christine got her lovely voice. She was an opera singer, too."
"Was?"
"She is engaged to be married now. It would be unseemly for the wife of the Vicomte de Chagny to appear upon an opera stage. And what do you do, mademoiselle?" he asked, changing the subject hastily as though it caused him pain.
"I'm an orphan," Emmanuelle replied.
"Do you sing, too?"
"A little," she admitted, "but I am afraid I am not very good. I have had no training."
"If you are anything like your sister, we may have to remedy that," he said with a mysterious smile. His eyes settled on the ruby rose pendant that rested upon her white chest. "Christine had one just like it," he said.
"Did she?"
"Yes, only hers was a diamond. She wore it on a black ribbon around her ankle. She had no tattoos, though, at least not that I was aware of."
A rosy embarrassed flush flooded Emmanuelle's face as she tugged the shoulder of her gown, which had slipped, back up. "It is hardly proper for a gentleman to be looking at a lady's shoulders in such a way, monsieur," she remonstrated.
"I beg your pardon," he apologised.
Emmanuelle fidgeted a little. In retrospect, she really had not minded his looking at her shoulders, and almost wished her dress would slide again. "I am looking for my sister," she said to change the subject from any improper thoughts.
"Once," he said sadly, turning his gaze from hers, and Emmanuelle's own eyes nearly filled up with tears too at the infinite depth of sorrow in that one small word.
"Could you help me find her?"
"She is engaged to be married to the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny now. If you go upstairs and find the ballet mistress Madame Giry, or her daughter Meg, they should be able to tell you of her whereabouts. I rarely leave my lair, you see."
"I shall do that. Thank you for your help, Monsieur . . ."
"You may call me Erik."
She smiled. "Monsieur Erik."
"It was a pleasure, Mademoiselle Daaé."
"You can call me Emmanuelle."
"Very well."
She picked up her suitcase again and he led her to the lake, where he helped her a little boat that waited for them and poled them quickly across the water. "Would you do something for me, Emmanuelle?" he asked as she disembarked.
"Anything."
"When you meet your sister, will you tell me how she is?"
"Of course." She retrieved her suitcase and returned upstairs, sensing that every step she took was bringing her one step closer to finding her missing sister.