A/N: Thanks so much to all my reviewers! Muah!
The hour passed quickly. Realizing that I had forgotten to take a pocket watch, I could only guess as to what the time actually was. The sun had set and night had fallen over the streets of Paris. Stars, innumerable and infinitesimal, sparkled with radiance against the dusky sky. The wind had increased and brought with it snowflakes, so light and feathery they tickled my skin as the settled atop my nose and forehead. I shivered. The temperature had dropped drastically since I first settled on the roof. I had not taken notice of the chilly breeze earlier, my mind was elsewhere.
Stories below me, I knew the final preparations for tonight's premiere of Aida were being made. I grabbed the note that rest on my lap and tucked it away within the pockets of my coat, patting it to make sure it was secure. I rushed down the windy, iron staircase afraid of what would happen if I neglected to show up on time.
I burst into the dressing room, panting from my exertion through the hallways. Madame Giry cast a disapproving look in my direction, and doing my best to ignore it, moved over to the vanity where Charlotte and some other cast members were seated. Apparently, I had spent too much time on the roof. Apologizing for my tardiness, I immediately absorbed myself into my work. The girls chatted away as I moved over them, powdering their petite noses and rouging their lips. I saved the more complicated looks for last. The other dancers and vocalists had left to take their positions on the stage until it was only Charlotte and I.
"Alessandra, where were you tonight?" Charlotte questioned as I set a bold streak of kohl upon her brow.
"Hmm? Oh, I was just taking in some fresh air atop the roof. It really is quite lovely up there," I sighed dreamily.
"I see," was that a hint of anger rising in her innocent, little voice? "And would this brief recess have anything to do with the note I found in your room?"
I froze. How could she…how did she…? I felt faint, my stomach churned nauseously, my hands dampened with perspiration. I swallowed hard, and drew in a shaky breath.
"Whatever are you talking about, Charlotte? I do not-"
"I read the note! I know about this 'O.G.'! It is Him, is it not? The Pha-" I waved my hand wildly, silencing her. We stood there, my eyes concentrating on the large mirror in the corner of the room. I half expected Erik to come bounding through the glass, furious with me for letting our secret slip out. Our secret…
"What are you thinking, Alessandra? Corresponding to a mad man!" Her eyes, now stern and unyielding, locked onto mine. I tried to think of an explanation, my mind blanked, emptying of all reasonable answers. She knew, and there was no avoiding that.
"What were you doing in my room, reading my personal letters?" I shot back, what right did she have to rummage through my belongings?
Her small frame shifted uncomfortably in the chair. I turned my back to her, not wanting her to see my flushed expression.
"I did not go there with the intent to search through your things, Alessandra, believe me! I only came in to fetch you for Madame Giry, you were needed early in the dressing rooms. I saw the letter, laying there on the floor. I picked it up so you would not misplace it, I thought perhaps you would forget about it with it concealed near your bed," she paused. Her voice wavered, "I saw that seal, that horrible seal!" she cried, shaking her head as in disbelief. "I'm afraid curiosity got the better of me and I opened it. I'm so sorry, please forgive me! I am only concerned for you, He is dangerous Alessandra! He is a murderer!"
I simply stood there. Not knowing what to say, not knowing what to do. Thankfully, Madame Giry strode in and beckoned Charlotte to the stage, it was nearly time for the curtain to rise. I felt her tiny hand rest on my shoulder. I tensed under her touch. With a sigh, Charlotte left, Madame Giry lingering only for a moment to stare at me, and set off after Charlotte.
I stayed there a few moments, I wanted to wait until the performance had begun so that I could return to my room unseen. As soon as I heard the symphonic swells of the opening chords, I ran down the hall to my room, fidgeting with the door handle until it clicked, inviting me back into my domain, my lair.
Before I could pull the door open, it slammed shut. I gasped, jumping back in fright. My body slammed into something hard and I fell to the ground. I slowly turned my gaze upward, my eyes drinking in the shadowy image that stood above me. His stance was strong, ever-ready, always prepared to attack. His hands formed into tight fists, positioned at the side of his waist, elegantly cloaked in formal evening wear. His mask seemed to glow, seemed to emanate light in the dimness of the hallway. I crawled backward until my shoulders hit the wall, afraid He was going to punish me.
Upon seeing this, His mouth turned from a harsh scowl into that of a sensual smirk. Obviously He took pleasure in seeing me cower before Him.
"Good evening Mademoiselle," His voice was like rich velvet, wrapping its comforting texture around me. Hearing Him speak, hearing those words, plunged me into a trance. I became oblivious to the world around me, He was my world. I was no longer afraid of His actions, my mind couldn't conceive such an angel inflicting harm upon me.
He offered his hand and I took it. Sparks of electricity ran up my arm as I wrapped my fingers around His. He pulled me upward as if my weight was nothing. I steadied myself, placing a palm upon his broad chest for support. All at once I realized what I was doing and jerked my hand away, securing it to my side. For fear of what might happen if I looked once more in those eyes, I resorted to staring down at His feet. Black leather met the tip of my jaw, thrusting my head upwards to meet His. Our faces were parted by only a thin sliver of air, my cheeks flushed and my breathing turned heavy. I desperately tried to keep my eyes open, but I already felt them fluttering closed, against my will. His hand traced my cheekbone, following the curve of my face down to my lips. He parted them, and I could feel the soft grain of His glove upon the sensitive skin of my lower lip. I stood there, anticipating His next move. Silently I prayed for this torment to cease, and for His lips to take my own.
I nearly cried out with impatience when I felt His hand move down to the column of my throat. He increased the pressure, His grip tightening against my fragile neck. My eyes snapped open, His grasp was so tight I could no longer breathe! My senses flooded back to me and I clawed at His arms, fighting for Him to release His hold on me. I tried to scream, but my voice was stifled. My legs flailed wildly about and He thrust my body into the wall, lifting me off the ground. My hands groped at my neck, trying to pry the death grip off of me.
Colors began to fade, my vision turned blurry. A strange sense of calm washed over me before the blackness came. It was dark, the only sounds were harsh breaths being drawn in and out. They were not my breaths, however. Slowly I sank deeper and deeper into the darkness, accepting its enormity, its sheer vastness.
Suddenly, my sight returned, images coming into focus. I felt the pressure on my neck lessen and I weakly took in some much needed oxygen. My lungs burned with satisfaction. I saw Him scowling above me, His hands still lingered dangerously close to my throat. His chest heaved and the strong scent of candle smoke rose to my nostrils, bringing me back to life.
"I thought I had made it perfectly clear that no one was to know of me!" His voice was not as nearly melodic as it was moments earlier. It was harsh and demanding. Our faces were still very close, but I realized that it was not an act of intimacy, as I thought it had been. It was an act of control.
The first thought that came to my mind was to run. To simply pick up my legs and run as far and as fast as I could. Away from Him. Away from those eyes.
How could I have been so stupid? I spent my days lusting after that voice, craving His presence and now I finally knew the truth. He hated me! He had to have despised my very being. I tried to control my emotions, to bury them under the surface as I had been used to doing for so many years, but it was useless. When I was with Him, I had no control.
Tears welled up in my wide eyes and began to fall freely, my mouth quivering in sobs. I turned my head away from Him, not wanting Him to see. Muffled in between my cries, I whispered "I'm sorry…I'm so sorry," over and over again, chanting it like some sort of strange mantra. When my eyes finally ran dry, I gathered up the courage I needed to face Him again. He had moved away from me, His head downcast, His glossy black hair catching the candlelight. We stood for several minutes, I had no idea what to say or what to do. It seemed silence was all we would ever share. Finally he spoke:
"Aless- Mademoiselle," His voice was shaky and unsure. My brow furrowed, trying to read His actions. His stance was not refined or proper now, His shoulders hunched, for the first time since I had met Him, He looked weary, He looked old.
Before He could finish His sentence, my mouth opened and words came flying out, "It was not my fault, Erik, forgive me! She…she found your letter in my room and read it without my knowledge. I would never tell your secret…never."
He looked up from the floor, His eyes coming to rest on my neck. Bruises had already begun to form, I'm sure they were quite noticeable now. He walked toward me, and I flinched. It was an involuntary reaction, subconsciously, deep down, fear lurked. Though I tried to be brave, to convince myself that He did not mean to really harm me, I knew that I would always fear Him in a way. He saw this and stepped back, turning away from me.
"Do not let it happen again. I think you will find that the Phantom of the Opera," He spat the words, "is not an enemy you wish to make." He started to move down the hall. I panicked, He could not be leaving…not yet!
"Erik!" I called, "Wait!" I ran after Him, my breaths speeding up. It hurt to breathe so harshly under the strained muscles in my neck. He stopped and allowed me to approach Him. I swallowed, trying to wash the pain away. Struggling to form audible words, I added, "Please, Erik, know that I am on your side. Know that I would not deceive you." My voice was pleading, as if asking for something in return.
His hand stirred from underneath His cape and came to rest, once again, on my neck. This time His touch was soft and tender, gently caressing my bruised skin. I leaned into it and relished the feeling of the leather on my delicate skin. I brought my own bandaged hand up to cover His. Our eyes met. His were not angry or irritated, but filled with that same emotion I had seen weeks earlier in my stateroom. A look of longing, subdued desire flared in those hazel specks boring into my own chocolate ones. I felt His other hand reach up to my cheek, gently exploring the left side of my face. I wanted to feel Him, wanted to know Him, wanted to map out the own contours of His face. My other hand timidly contacted the unmasked flesh, my fingertips grazing over His brow. He shuddered under my touch and backed away from me.
I realized that the Phantom of the Opera was not use to the feeling of someone else's embrace, much less human affection. I knew of His torturous past, She had broken His heart. I found myself wondering: Did Christine ever have the courage to touch Him so? I was determined to distance myself from any parallels to Mademoiselle Daae, I advanced upon Erik, my steps small but determined. With a look of surprise, He allowed my hands to settle once again upon His face.
I delved further, tracing the outline of His eye, His upper lip. His eyes closed, I could almost feel the icy façade melting under my hand. My ears were soon filled with His beautiful music, His voice, low and hypnotic, began to hum a haunting tune. I felt trapped again, completely under His control.
Some men manipulate women with money, some with charm. Erik manipulated me through His voice, through His song.
Suddenly I needed to know what lay under that mask. I wanted to know every part of His face, every detail. I was not afraid of what He hid under there, though I had heard many horrid descriptions. Beauty, was not one of the traits I regarded anymore. He could not have been more beautiful at that moment. Standing there, His hands upon my face, softly humming to me. He was a damaged man, some would argue beyond repair. Still, I was drawn to Him, drawn to His pain. Seeing Erik's deformity would only heighten my affections for Him, that much I was sure.
Slowly, I forced my hand over to the mask. I looked for any kind of reaction from Him as my fingers came into contact with the plaster surface. There was none, He was still bathing in the comfort of my touch, completely oblivious to anything else. I slipped my thumb underneath it, gently prying it from His skin. With a swift motion, the mask peeled of His face, revealing to me His true self. In the darkness I could only make out an outline, a fuzzy outline of the right side of His face. He snapped out of his reverie, and let out a rough snarl. Even His growls were melodic. I did not have long to reflect upon it.
He broke into fury. Shoving me away, I fell to the ground, the mask landing near his feet. His hand immediately covered the cursed flesh, hiding it away from my prying stare. He furiously bent down to retrieve the mask, placing it back upon His face. He stood, fully erected, towering over me, with such anger, such despair. I knew that this was one action He would not soon forgive.