The last thing I expected to see leaving my room the next morning was Erik sleeping at his desk with his head resting on his arms. His normal evening wear had been mostly discarded, his waistcoat and jacket draped on the chair behind him. Around him, the candles had burned low and were flickering gently. Balled up pieces of paper lay on the floor, and on his desk, and he still held a pen in one hand. He looked so tired and helpless I could feel my latent maternal instinct rising, begging me to cover him with a blanket and brush the dark hair out of his face. Having been so often led wrong by my instincts, I didn't give in, for fear that I might disturb him. He looked like he could use the sleep.

I, on the other hand, felt delightfully well-rested and alert. I rummaged around in the kitchen area to find myself something to eat, and returned to the table with some fruit and some dry biscuits. I was beginning to think that the monotony of the food would drive me insane before the darkness did.

I devoured my meal quickly, and got up to walk around. I hadn't had the opportunity or the inclination to explore very much of Erik's home, and as I walked around, I realized how extensive it was. So far, I had seen the main living area comprised of table, chairs, desk, and food storage, the music area dominated by the organ and the surrounding candles, and the bedroom that I now occupied. Walking the edges of each area, I realized that hidden behind turns in the natural stone walls were two smaller chambers, one that was filled with crates and another that was completely empty except for a tall mirror mostly covered with a red velvet curtain. Behind the organ was another small staircase, and descending it, I found another table, this one holding a large model of a stage, and lined paper filled in with hastily scribbled music. Next to it was a small cupboard, carved with ornate designs, with a small key resting in the lock.

Moving back towards my room, I found another small room, also blocked with a curtain. This one contained a large wardrobe, and a small sewing kit. Moving farther in, I saw a large bath tub, which was surrounded by a series of pipes.

My exploration was interrupted by a low moan from Erik. Walking towards him, I could see that he was still asleep, but the earlier peacefulness was gone. His head remained on his arms, but his back tensed and, and he shivered like he had been dowsed in cold water. He must be dreaming, and from the looks of it, not a pleasant sort of dream. Knowing that I preferred to be awoken when I had nightmares, I placed my hand lightly on his shoulder, feeling the damp sweat through the light fabric of his shirt. I whispered his name gently, so as not to startle him, but apparently he was a jumpy sort of person.

With no warning, his head flew up, and one of his hands reached around to grab my wrist, and with one swift motion he was standing behind me, twisting my arm painfully, with his other hand wrapped around my throat. I froze for the minutest moment, then reacted with instincts that would have done atavern brawlerproud.

I stepped down hard on his left foot while simultaneously elbowing him in the ribs with my free arm. He released me and stepped away, as I whirled around to face him, my heart beating faster than it should. He stared at me for a brief moment, confusion written all over his visible features, before putting up his hands to cover his face andbrush his hair back in one smooth motion.

"Forgive me, mademoiselle. I did not realize..." His voice trailed off, his eyes watching mine with a mixture of shame and concern.

"You are completely forgiven. It wasn't your fault, you were only dreaming." I tried to reassure him, but he looked right through me, obviously still holding on to the conjurings of his subconscious. For the first time, I took notice of the circles under his eyes, which rivaled my own, and it dawned on me that mine was the only bedroom I had found.

"You look so tired, I did not want to wake you, but it looked like you were having a nightmare." He didn't bother to respond, just continued to stare off into the darkness.

"Is that the only bedroom?" I asked, gesturing towards my room. He nodded, but did not speak. I felt the strangest sense of being alone even with him standing so close. I wanted badly to pull him out of his lethargy, to make him notice my presence and respond to it.

"Then where do you sleep?"

Finally, he inclined his head in my general direction. "Out here."

"I'm sorry that my presence has been such an inconvenience to you."

"I do not require much sleep. And I could hardly expect a lady such as yourself to sleep on a cold floor."

There was a mocking note in his otherwise polite words; he must not think very highly of ladies, or of noblewomen, and I knew that my demonstrated helplessness could not have improved his opinion of me. I was struck by a sudden desire to prove to him that he was wrong, that I was, in fact, a very capable person, not some simpering, swooning aristocrat.

"I beg your pardon, but I am not such a lady that I can not sleep on a floor, or on the ground. In fact, I do believe that there are many people who would tell you I am no lady at all."

"Really? And why would that be, pray tell?" He lifted one eyebrow, and smirked at me, as if I was some amusing child. That smile was all it took to open the gates that usually guarded my speech, and let loose a secret I had been forced to keep since I was sixteen.

"Because my mother was a gypsy dancing girl."

For some reason, he didn't look shocked,and his nonchalancewas something of a disappointment. I had thought that telling one of my deepest secrets would get some kind of reaction. "I lived with the gypsies until I was sixteen, traveling in the circus." He looked almost bored. "I even trained to be a dancer myself."

"And what happened when you were sixteen? Adopted by some rich nobleman, I assume."

"What?" How did he know that? What had I let slip? "Apparently, my secret-keeping skills have worsened."

I saw him smile at my wry comment, and felt enormous pride in the achievement, small though it may have been. Revealing my secret had been worth it, to see him become so utterly human when he smiled.

"Why should you bother to keep it a secret? There is no one here to either impress or to shock." The smile disappeared. "Surely you did not think I would care?"

"No, not at all...it has just become habit, I suppose, to hide it. My grandfather never let me speak of it to anyone. It would have disgraced him if anyone knew what I really was."

"If he was so concerned about his reputation, why did he adopt you in the first place?"

Normally, a question like this would offend me, but I was so pleased with the apparent interest he took in the topic that I didn't really mind.

"My father was a nobleman from Alsace. He met my mother in Paris, where he was visiting friends and she was performing at the fair. He claimed to be in love with her, and promised to marry her, and they...well, you know. Anyway, I was the result of that little romance. She never saw him again and he did not appear at their next arranged meeting. She left him a note when the circus left Paris, telling him where they were going next, but he never came to see her." My mother had never spoken of this; I suppose it was too painful for her to recall her abandonment. "When she discovered her pregnancy, she sent another letter to his address in Paris, but he never came to look for us. I never actually met him."

"What kind of fool would abandon a woman who loved him?" I was amazed at how outraged Erik sounded, the strength of his reaction to a story that I had never really thought of as sad. The other gypsy womenalways told me that my mother was better off without that kind of love, and I heartily agreed.

"The kind of fool who has richer women seeking his attentions. In any case, my mother was far too good for him. Apparently, he spent his entire life chasing pleasure, never accepting any responsibility. He died about ten years after he met her, in what I am told was a tragic riding accident. I have never thought it too tragic."

That comment made Erik smirk was once more, and I was glad that he shared my opinion on my father. My mother had always tried to make excuses for him, as had my grandfather, and it was something of a relief to know that someone agreed that he got what he deserved.

"My grandfather was distraught, because my father was his only child, and he was now without any family at all. While sorting through my father's letters one day, my grandfather found the letter my mother had written him, telling him that she was pregnant. He spent the next six years searching for my mother. He had a difficult time of it, because there are so many gypsy clans all around France, and we moved so often."

Now came the painful part of the story, the part I had tried to push from my memory.

A/N: Sorry to leave you hanging like this, but I promise the next chapter will be here soon.