Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of the Phantom of the Opera, and owe all credit to Gaston Leroux. Certain elements of the story have also been borrowed from Susan Kay's The Phantom as well as Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical.
I awoke with a start, and bolted upright from wherever I had been lying down. Before I was even allowed a moment to collect my thoughts, I found myself staring directly into the dark sockets of a white mask.
Suddenly there was a horrible clash inside of me as I became aware of my surroundings as well as my own body. Too late I noticed the bile as it rose in my throat, and I was forced to relieve the contents of my stomach onto the floor beside me.
Disgusted with myself, I kept my head hung over the side of the sofa, doing my best to avert my eyes from both the floor and my host. I instead contented myself by inspecting the bits of vomit that had stuck in my curls, trying to ignore the acrid smell that was now rising to meet me.
"Well, I'm certainly glad that you've found a way to forever immortalize your sentiments for me on my rug," Erik said in a curt tone, "However, I wonder if I'm only flattering myself by thinking there's some other reason you're here?"
Pushing my hair away from my face, I leaned back into a reclining position on the sofa, careful to direct my stare at the ceiling.
A chill ran through my body, and I instinctively wrapped my arms about myself. My hands met cold, damp cloth and I realized that I was still wearing the garments that had accompanied me into the lake.
I started to let out a bitter laugh, but I choked on it and quickly became a sputtering cough.
"I've come to invite you to my wedding, Erik." I croaked, finally turning my gaze on him.
He looked the same way I had always seen him in my mind's eye—looming over me as he stared through the white porcelain of the mask that gave him an air of constant collectedness. However, this time he looked upon me as though he were seemingly dead behind those golden eyes.
If my statement had stirred anything inside of him, he was not about to let it be known to me.
Surely, he would not have forgotten the promise that earned Raoul and I our lives the last time I was before him?
"I—we had promised you a hand written invitation, you know…for your collection," I added lamely, hoping this could rouse the memory.
"Ah," disinterest blatant in his voice, "I don't suppose it survived the lake."
"It never got the chance. I'm afraid the invitation was not able to survive Raoul."
A smile touched the corners of my mouth and I shrugged, hoping I could keep my emotions just as well covered as Erik.
My eyes wandered towards the ceiling once again, and a shiver coursed through me. I hugged at my chest, hoping that it might help me to keep warm.
"I know your clothes must be making you quite cold, but I did not want to take you out of them—I would not wish to impede on the rights of your fiancée."
I stared at him in shocked offense.
"That is not a right," I retorted angrily.
"The privilege then," he said waiving his hand at the matter.
I picked myself up off the sofa, not willing to take this slander lying down.
"Would it kill you to be civil? Do you at least have something I could change into?"
A slight smile made it's way to Erik's lips, and I watched as amusement entered his expression for the first time, fueling my outrage. He quickly turned away from me and glanced about the room.
"As you can see, the mob succeeded in destroying most of my possessions, and I'm afraid the dresses I kept for you were among those. I didn't see a reason to replace them."
I looked around the room, surveying my surroundings for the first time.
While most of the loose debris had been picked up, many of his belongings where gone, and the ones that remained were severely damaged. The furniture held deep gashes, the flesh of the wood standing out starkly against their stain.
My heart pained when I saw the number of chipped and missing keys on Erik's organ. The pipes snaked up to the ceiling a mess of twisted, ravaged metal.
Even the sofa I had been lying on was covered with gashes, its stuffing pouring out onto the floor.
Frustrated, I knitted my brows together and gave a slight pout of my lip. I had grown so accustomed to being cared for and pampered, I wasn't sure what to do. I looked at Erik helplessly.
He ignored me, completely uncaring, and busied himself by removing an invisible piece of dust from the lapel of his eveningwear.
"There's nothing I could change into?"
"The only clothes I have are my own."
We stood in silence for a moment, and I bit down on the tip of my tongue. I would not be the one to suggest such a thing.
He eyed me up and down for a moment, before he decided to speak again.
"I have clothes you could borrow—if you wouldn't be too disgusted to wear the skin of a monster."
My eyes dropped to the floor, but I did not reply. I felt, rather then heard, as Erik let out an exasperated sigh.
"I'll set them out on the bed in the other room."