A/N: Thanks so much for all the wonderful reviews! They really make slaving over the computer worthwhile! Anywho, I want to know what you guys are not liking so far about this story. Is it moving too slow? Want to see more (or less) of some characters? Let me know!
And now, without further ado...the next chapter!
For a moment, I felt my eyes roll into the back of my head and I prepared myself for the fall to the floor. Miraculously, I managed to regain my composure and I only slightly wavered on my unstable legs. I dared not open my eyes. I kept them squeezed shut, as tight as my eyelids would allow. Was it out of fear? Disbelief? Maybe it was out of hope.
Realizing that I probably looked like an imbecile standing there with my eyes so forcefully closed, I slowly pried them open with my will. The mask was no longer there. It was now replaced with a full figure striding out through the darkness. At first I didn't believe it was Him. This man, this thing appeared to be nothing more than a shadow. An apparition rising from the blackness of the hallway. He was the darkness.
I stood there silently, at the other end of the room, waiting. I dared not to make a sound, dared not to breathe for fear it would scare Him away. He was slowly advancing on my shaking frame. Slowly, ever so slowly! I wondered if my imagination was playing tricks on me, or if during those moments, time actually slowed its relentless pace.
He bent down, a large, voluminous cape shrouding his body. Picking up the broken pieces of glass, He examined them with great care. His head slowly turned upward, the mask catching the soft glow of candlelight in the room. His eyes, so piercing and powerful, turned to my hands. Embarrassed, I quickly concealed them behind my back. The remains of the mirror, still lodged in my skin, caught on my skirts and I let out a small whimper of pain. I had been completely ignorant, until now, of the intense throbbing of my hands. I couldn't bring myself to look at them, knowing that I had a low tolerance for those sort of things, and I desperately did not want to display any of my weaknesses to him. I snapped my head back to survey His reaction. He seemed to have none. Those eyes continued to examine me, scrutinizing my every feature. Finally, he spoke.
"Let me have a look at those," He said, gesturing toward my hands.
Timidly, I inched forward. He softly pulled them from behind me and cradled them in His. Large, muscular hands, surrounded in cool, black leather. He removed his gloves, not wanting to dirty them, and gently laid them beside my feet on the floor. I had to turn my head away at the sight of my mangled flesh, What had I done to myself?
I winced as He continued to inspect them, carefully picking out the larger chunks of glass and tossing them onto the floor. I did my best to disguise my discomfort, occasionally letting small squeaks of pain escape my throat. He sighed. Such a beautiful sound!
A realization suddenly dawned on me. He had been there when the mirror shattered. Surely he must have seen…
"Did you…how long were you standing there, watching me?" I questioned rather sheepishly.
His hands ceased their movement, but He did not avert His gaze from them.
"Long enough. And, yes, I did bear witness to that bout of rage earlier." His answer was simple, no emotion or feeling traceable in His voice.
Truthfully, I had already known the answer before I had asked the question. Of course He was there! He has probably been viewing you from that mirror for quite some time!
I scoffed aloud at my thoughts. Apparently, this somewhat surprised Him, as now His face raised to meet mine. Our eyes locked. I tried to look away, but those eyes! They would not let me go. Desperate to break this contact, I frantically tried to change the subject.
"That night, when you saved me…you called me Mademoiselle deCapriana. You knew my name. How did you know? Granted, we had never met prior to that encounter, but I still find it rather…" He silenced my drivel with a wave of His hand.
"I know of everyone that works here, at my Opera House."
I became rather curious of this man kneeling before me. His Opera House? My inquisitiveness taking over my common sense, I suddenly felt quite bold.
"Your Opera House? Monsieur, forgive me, but do not the managers own L'Opera Populaire?"
"Those fools know nothing about theater!" His voice boomed, eyes flaring specks of emerald fire, placing some fear back into my mind. My curiosity was satisfied for the time being. I decided to turn the conversation to a lighter nature.
"Oh, I see."
Silence.
"So, Monsieur…I'm sorry, I do not know what to address you as. Surely you do not wish to be called Monsieur le Fantôme. Or do you? I'm... " I was halted again. For a moment, just a brief moment, I thought I saw an inkling of amusement wash over His face. Was that the beginning of a smile?
"You may call me Erik."
Erik. My mouth formed the word silently. He was no longer some nameless figment of my thoughts, He was real. Standing in front of me, talking to me. Touching me. And, at last, I knew of His name. Erik.
"Erik, I am Alessandra," realization dawned on me, "Of course, how silly of me! You already knew that."
This conversation was not going as well as I had hoped. Over these last few weeks, I had mentally been preparing myself of what to say to Him. Wanting so badly to impress Him, wanting Him to notice me. Now, as the moment had arrived, I turned into a blabbering idiot. Nervously spouting the first words to enter my mind. He probably thought of me as some silly little girl, learning to play dress-up in His Opera House. This was not the first impression I wanted Him to form. I decided it would be best to let Him finish cleaning my wounds in silence, he seemed to prefer the solitude.
"These hands need medical attention, Mademoiselle. I'm afraid they could become infected if not properly tended to."
He released His hold, and strode over to the bed, picking up the tangled sheets I had inflicted my rage upon earlier. He tore a piece of fabric from it and gently began wrapping my hands. Blood soaked through the crisp, white cotton. He did not release my hands this time. He held them, so tenderly stroking my wrists with His thumbs. His gaze suddenly turning soft and wistful. I wanted so badly to say something, anything to seize the moment of intimacy I thought we were experiencing. I should thank Him for helping me. No, I should try to explain my rash actions of earlier. My thoughts were interrupted.
"Mademoiselle Alessandra, is everything well?" There was a knock at the door.
He quickly stood, releasing my hands from his own, obviously startled from the visitor. He returned to the mirror's threshold, His face sliding into that emotionless façade once again. I had been sure, absolutely sure that in those moments He had been caring for my wounds, I saw compassion sweep over His features. Any trace of that was gone now.
"Tell no one of what you saw." He growled, and with an elegant swish of His cape, he returned to the darkness. Becoming one with it again.
"Alessandra! What is the matter?" The voice was frantic now. I rushed over to the door and flung it open. Madame Giry's stern face greeted me.
"Oh, my," she gasped, surveying the room's damage, "what happened?"
Excuses, explanations, answers raced in and out of my brain, searching desperately for one that was passable.
"I, oh, I had an accident," I mumbled incoherently. I looked up at her, fearful of her reaction.
She only stared at the mirror frame, offering no argument to my impromptu answer. Walking around the room, surveying the damage, she stopped suddenly. Her eyes, wrinkled and withered from age, glazing over at the dark portal that now stood in the middle of the room.
"Yes, a rather unfortunate accident," She shifted her eyes from under her spectacles to glare at me. "That mirror needs to be replaced immediately. I shall do it myself, you are to tell no one of what you saw. Alessandra, is that clear?"
I nodded, my head bent in shame. What she must think of me!
"Oh dear," she was now peering down at my hands, or lack thereof, wrapped in bloody sheets, "I will call the nurse for you."
I thanked her and carefully sat down at my bed. Attempting to neaten the messy blankets strewn about was no easy task.
"This room is not suitable to sleep in tonight. Come, we will find you another place to rest. Your room will be ready in the morning."
I almost protested. I wanted to stay in this room, I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to leave Him. I thought it best not to argue with Madame Giry, however. Determination was set on her face. She led me out of the room, but not before I stole one last glance at the leather gloves that still lay on the floor.