The Phantom of the Red Mill

by LiltingBanshee

He sat at the piano, his gaze wandering from the ivory keys to the dancing girls.
He had been watching dancers for years. How the little ballet rats had moved with grace and certainty over the stage. He had never taken much interest in the ballet routines, except when she had been a part of them.
But as he watched these girls perform he couldn't help feeling drawn to them. They moved with the same grace and certainty in their steps as the little ballerinas always had, but unlike what he had seen back at the opera house there was nothing chaste and innocent about this performance.
The daring moves were most certainly mean for catching the attention of the male audience and he chuckled at how easily the girls succeeded in doing just that.
Their skimpy dresses didn't leave much to imagination either and he believed the men were having a great time.

After the routine finished the girls began to mingle with the costumers and the band played dance music so they could ask them to the dance floor.
He didn't find it difficult to follow the music; he had after all always had a perfect ear for music and found himself enjoying playing some rather cheerful music for a change.
A few minutes later he felt someone sit down next to him on the piano bench and turned his head to find Adora smiling at him.
She was sweating from having danced and a few damp curls had escaped the velvet band that held her hair away from her face. The dress she wore was quite different from the old one he had seen her in this morning.
It was black and had a long sleeve that covered her right arm while only a little strap over her left shoulder held it in place on that side. The bodice was covered in several pearls and sequins and she was wearing make-up that made her look nothing like the child she was.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" she asked with a happy smile.

"Yes, I'm fine. And you? You seemed to be having fun out there" he said and gestured at the dance floor.

"Oh yes, I love to dance, it makes me feel so free" she said dreamingly.

He could easily picture her as a ballet dancer on the stage of the opera. She still had that innocence that all the other girls here lacked. He smiled at the thought.

"My mother used to dance. She always told me how much she liked it and she even taught me a few steps when I was little. She had to stop when she married Papa. He said that dancing was no better than prostitution and was only meant for making men look at your body" she sighed.

"Don't believe that Adora! Dancing is an art form and there are many well respected dancers in this city" he said, once again feeling anger towards her useless father.

"Thank you Erik, you're a good man" she said and touched his arm lightly. "I must go to my bed now; I have to get up early and clean. Enjoy the rest of the night" she left and he watched her as she skillfully avoided the drunken costumers and walked upstairs.

Many hours later in the early morning he made his way upstairs to his room. As he walked down the corridor he stopped in front of the door to Adora's room. Carefully he opened the door and peeked inside. She was sound asleep in the bed, tightly hugging the blankets close to her body to avoid the chilly draft from the little window she had forgotten to close.
He walked silently across the room to close it. On his way back he stopped beside the bed and looked down at her.
She looked awfully sweet. With all the make-up removed and her little form curled up in her sleep she looked so fragile and seemed much younger than 15.
He had always liked children, but knew he was very unlikely to ever be blessed with one of his own. Not that he would ever wish to curse a child with his face anyway!
He remembered many years ago when little Meg was born. Antoinette's husband had died shortly after the birth of their daughter and she had been raised at the opera house alone with her mother. Some nights Antoinette was so tired after rehearsing with the ballet girls and taking care of her young child that he wouldn't hear the baby crying at night. On those nights we would enter the little apartment she had at the opera house and scoop the wailing baby into his arms. He would sing to her until she quieted down and when she was again asleep he would affectionately kiss her forehead and put her back in her crib.
When Christine had come to live at the opera house his earliest feelings towards her had also been those of fatherly love and protection.

He smiled weakly at the memories. Was this what she would have looked like if he and Christine had ever made a daughter together? Like this little angel sleeping before his eyes? Her long dark curls tangled around her face and her little pink lips slightly parted as she was breathing evenly. She probably would – except those hideous scars would have covered the right side of her face!
This child was blessed, her face sweet and beautiful, just like Christine's. He reached down and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She stirred a little and a smile formed on her lips.

"Sweet dreams little angel" he whispered before he left.

Back in his own room he undressed and settled under the blankets. As he had done every night for more years than he cared to remember he kissed the sparkling diamante ring before he drifted off to sleep.