I collapsed onto the bed in a heap, drowning in a puddle of my own tears. When Erik left the room, I heard Him turn the lock, which was very interestingly located on the outside of the door. I knew that simply leaving to wander through the confusing networks of caverns and passageways was not an option. I had barely been able to see more than a few feet in front of me when Erik and I first traveled down the darkened hallways, and I was certain that although my eyes had become slightly more accustomed to the lack of light, I would most likely never find my way out alive, as Erik so bluntly put it.

I sighed, pushing my tears back into my throat, and turned to face the ceiling. I stared up at it, all the while contemplating my options. Crying did not seem to have an effect on Erik, but the screaming had certainly gotten me somewhere. He turned into a completely different person when I was shrieking, His harsh exterior vanishing and a look, of what I could not yet define, replacing it. He even went as far to mistake me for Christine. How many hours I could spend examining that little oddity! I wondered if I had inadvertently brought back some horrible, repressed memory of Erik's. Reminiscences of past days with her. I found myself pondering the content of their doomed relationship. Obviously Christine did not love Erik as He loved her. Perhaps it was more than love. Perhaps Erik's desire twisted into some more menacing form of fascination. Fixation. Obsession.

I laid there, staring numbly at the few flickering candles that lit the small room, for what must have been hours, absorbing everything that had happened within the past day. How dramatically things had changed! The very persona of the man I was so infatuated with was gone, melting before me like the wax slowly sliding down the body of the candles.

I now became aware at the dull throbbing that pounded against my sinuses. I pressed my ailing hand to my forehead, the cloth bandage soaking up beads of perspiration that still lingered. The pain in my jaw had receded, the ache exercised away from my bout of hysteria. I cautiously slid my fingers down to my neck, gently inspecting the bruises. My brow furrowed as I fingered the contusions, stinging from the slight pressure of my fingertips. I noticed that Erik had at least been thoughtful enough to leave a pitcher of water and a wash basin in my new boudoir. I rose from the bed, and slowly made my way over to the vanity. I grasped the handle of the carafe, then set it back down, realizing that the cup I was looking for sat back by the bed, perched atop the nightstand. I poured a glass and drank it down in one gulp, my chest tightened as the water, now unfamiliar to my body, slid down my throat.

I decided it was best to get some much needed sleep, perhaps things would be clearer when I was fully rested. I would accept my inevitable fate later, not now. Now, I needed to delay that unavoidable doom that lingered over my presence, spreading dread like an infectious disease.

I meandered over to the wardrobe, rummaging through its contents. A few simple, but still elegant dresses hung next to several fancier, more stylish ensembles. Did He always plan on company? Shrugging, I spied exactly what I was looking for. A white linen nightdress hung in the corner, a luxurious azure silken robe accompanying it. I removed my dress, tossing it aside, and frantically tugged at the clasps of my corset. It snapped open, and I triumphantly threw the damned thing next to my dress on the floor. After changing into the comfortable nightgown, I returned to the bed, fully willing to continue with my senseless brooding.

I had imagined, that after the disastrous events that had taken place mere hours before, that sleep would not come easily. Once again, I was proven wrong. Seconds after my head hit the soft cotton pillows, I was whisked away into the numbing bliss that only the unconsciousness of sleep could bring. I was not one to succumb to flighty dreams in my slumber, my nights had always ended as they had started; alone, silent. So this night, much like every other night, commenced in that fashion. How long I lay there, imprisoned in that little bedroom, I did not know. But, when I woke, no longer was I alone.

At first, I simply laid there, blinking away the restful hours of satisfying sleep. His presence did not startle me right away, I suppose that I had become rather accustomed to His unabashed company. My mind was still foggy, not fully alert of anything yet. Those few blissful moments when you first wake and the world seems hopelessly perfect descended, and I gave Him a rather awkward smile, but nonetheless innocent. However, when I realized that I was scantily clad, my body twisted in the mounds of sheets, my demeanor certainly changed. I quickly untangled my bare legs, shoving them furiously under the duvet, and snatched the blanket up to my chest, clutching it as I caught my breath.

"What are you doing?" I demanded, trying to prevent the deep flush that was creeping its way up to my cheeks.

He gave no answer but continued to stand at the foot of the bed, staring at me with such strange expressions. He was still dressed in formal evening attire, and although His cravat was crooked and His shirttails hung un-tucked, there remained an air of elegance about Him. I only realized now that I had never seen Erik dressed in anything else, anything below that of the finest couture Parisian dessinateurs had to offer, it seemed to be His second skin. My eyes traveled from the suit's masculine silhouette to His face, my gaze temporarily resting on the garish mask before I averted it lower to His neck. I did not want to evoke His temper especially when He seemed in such a docile mood. Docile. I almost laughed at myself for thinking such obscure thoughts. Still, I knew I had to be very careful in my vocabulary choice when it came to conversing with Erik, one wrong move and there would be heavy repercussions.

"Do you intend on gawking at me all day? Could you at least wait until I am decent, Erik?" I asked, trying to add a hint of humor to my voice. My plastered smile faded when He simply nodded and retreated from the bed, His mouth still set in a harsh line of observation.

"One-half hour should be sufficient. I expect you in the great room when you are ready."

The door clicked shut and I breathed a sigh of relief. At least this encounter did not end in shouting matches or fits of hysteria. I left the bed and ventured over to the wardrobe where I grabbed a simple dress of a placid yellow shade. I had not been a woman who constantly fretted over selecting the proper gown for an occasion, but with its modest neckline and flattering bodice I couldn't help but feel satisfied with my choice. I found the adjoining toilette and freshened up with a lilac scented soap that beckoned to me from the table where a wide variety of parfum was displayed. It seemed that the Opera Ghost was indeed a clean one, who had a penchant for lavish soaps. I hastily threw my waves into an untidy bun at the center of my head, and sensing that my thirty minute time limit was near, gave myself a quick look-over in the room's vanity. Scoffing at my colorless face, I smoothed out the fabric against my abdomen and nodded in approval. With only a few minutes to dress, I had managed to make myself somewhat presentable.

Standing in front of my bedroom's door, my hand hesitatingly resting on the handle, I suddenly found myself torn. I knew that Erik was expecting me, but there was a side of me that wanted to displease Him. Wanted to make Him angry. It was almost a game that we played, reflecting off each other's nerves, daring to take that final step, to cross that ultimate line to send the other spiraling into chaos. The tables had turned, however, and I was no longer in a position to call the shots. I had never been anyway.

Squaring my shoulders, I opened the door and vigilantly stepped out, closing the door softly behind me. The cavernous room seemed rather ethereal at that moment, the waves of the underground lake gently lapping against the stony shore set against a backdrop of colorful rocky walls aglow with candlelight. Erik sat stiffly at the table in the corner of the room, hands folded neatly on the glossy surface.

"I thought you would not show up at all, mademoiselle. I am so pleased that you decided to bestow your presence on me," His voice dripping with cynicism, He swept a gloved hand over to the empty chair that sat in front of His.

I approached the table, but did not sit right away. Instead, I stopped a few feet from the chair, a questioning look splashed across my features. Erik rose and pulled out the chair from under the table, looking back at me expectantly. I sighed and took my seat, relieved that He wanted nothing more of me than my company.

"You are hungry," this was said as a simple stating of a fact and not so much a query, "Unfortunately, I do not keep much food down here, but I can offer you some bread and wine."

It annoyed me how light and trivial He made the situation out to be. Before I could think about what I was saying, I retorted, "Well, if you intend to keep me alive down here, to be your prisoner, I suggest that you find some."

His eyes widened, apparently He was surprised at my crude remark, but I was not willing to apologize for my rash comment. I forgot that I was dealing with the Phantom of the Opera for a moment, for He quickly replied with an intimidating comeback.

"You would rather starve then? Perhaps that can be arranged!" He shouted, eyes glaring at me from behind the ascetic mask.

I had been defeated. Again.

I shook my head and He left, disappearing behind one of the many doors. He reappeared moments later, clutching a bottle and a loaf of bread in His hands. He set the bread down in front of me and began pouring the wine.

I knew then that we would never fully agree on something, I would always eventually give in to His demands. He suggested I eat, so I ate. He told me to sleep, I obeyed. He told me to sit, stand, speak, I succumbed. With all the obedience and intelligence of a trodden dog.

Remembering my manners reluctantly, I asked if He had already eaten. Shaking His head He replied, "No, I do not eat much. The prospect of food is so boring, there are much better ways to fill one's time."

I ignored the odd comment, and turned my attention to the wine. Excluding my dim-witted repartee earlier, things were going remarkably well. No fights or death threats were being thrown across the table with the intent to act upon them, and for that I was thankful.

I sat there, thinking of how to delicately bring up the not-so-delicate predicament of our situation. I wanted to explain my actions of earlier, I wanted Him to clarify His as well. But most of all I wanted to apologize for removing His mask, it was impolite of me to do so without permission. I knew that it was a tender subject, one sure to spark conflict, so I refrained.

"Tell me, Erik, what do you spend your time on then?" I asked, hoping to trigger some light conversation.

"My music, mostly," He gestured to the obtrusive organ that sat in the center of the room.

I waited for Him to continue on, but He had answered my question, and I could see that was all that I could expect of Him. After I finished eating, I drank down my glass of wine. Erik offered me more, but I politely declined. We sat, almost as an old married couple would, neither speaking, just sitting in each other's company. The silence seemed to suit Erik. I, however, was a woman. And a rather talkative one at that.

"Erik, I wanted to apologize…" I began but was abruptly cut off. He stood from His chair and came over to position Himself behind me. I arched my neck back to see what He was doing, but the gloves caught my shoulders gently placing them back into their previous position. I dared not to move any more, I even forgot what I had been trying to say.

I could feel His chest tapping onto my back with every breath, His long fingers resting on my décolleté. My first reaction was that of repulsion, I nearly cringed at the prospect of His murderous hands tasting my delicate flesh. I remembered berating myself for being so taken, so naïve when He touched me, even now I could not deny the electricity that coursed through my veins. Still, I knew what He was capable of, what He had done to me, and I would not soon forget it.

In a breathy voice, He murmured, "Alessandra," I shuddered at the sound of my name on His lips. "Is there something that you wanted to say?"