A/N: Next chappie! Yay! I am just on a roll here. Hope everyone enjoys. Disclaimer: Do not own POTO. However, I have screamed my little head off on account of this and hope ALW and Leroux's ghost will relent.
Erik awoke on his silk sheets, with Giry's love note clutched to his chest. With a sigh he kissed the paper fondly, pretending it was his own, lovely Antoinette. He placed his black mask on his face, and went out from his bedroom and lit a portion of the candles. He found the opera, Juliette Lost, and began to thumb over the pages, playing indistinct snippets of its melodies.
"Antoinette would love to hear this one last time." He said in a low voice. "For it must come to an end. Why, it has been running for four years!" he laughed sarcastically and closed the folio. "I must begin a new work."
Silently he found a sheaf of papers in a forgotten part of his bedroom. They were old and grainy, but still worth much with the work of genius upon the pages. He titled it meditatively, slowly.
"For Antoinette." He murmured. "My angel." He just had to think of a logical plot, and a logical title.
He cursed inaudibly, jamming his fist against his open palm. With light steps he prowled around his home, stopping only once to take a sip of a day-old glass of red wine, half empty, but still tasting smooth. He continued to purse his lips in thought, and finally one fleeting idea dawned upon him. He would visit Antoinette, in the early morning hours. With her by his side he would find inspiration and imagination.
Restlessly he pulled his black cape around himself, and buttoned up his white shirt carefully. He made his way into the gondola, and pushed it along with the stick. The lake was dark but it gleamed with a phosphorescent light in Erik's eyes, giving them a dim glow that was both beautiful and terrible to look upon. With one, agile step he got out of the gondola and trotted up the flagstone. He decided he would take his path along the rafters of the Opera House, jumping from board to board with the fleet-footedness of a cat. He had done this upon many occasions, sometimes watching operas from the rafters, with a pleased smirk on his face. He dodged up onto the rooftop of the Opera House, staying balanced despite the ferocious wind that was blowing. Silently he scaled the spires that the Opera Populaire was renowned for, and opened up a trapdoor he had built in his youth, just large enough for a grown man to slide into.
Erik smiled; he had foresight in those days. His trapdoors never failed him. Silently he made his way deep into the complicated maze of rafters in the opera house. He knew the path like he did his own face, both being wrought with deformities. Some rafters had indeed come loose, their splintered ends hanging askew. The ropes that held up the sets were old and unraveling, often by Erik's doing. In the early hours of the morning, he would cut them and make many of his Punjab lassos, tying the intricate knots of his felon-like craft. He knew for a fact Giry slept in the ballerinas' dormitory, in a bed of ragged, torn sheets, just like the others. He had never been truly inside the dormitory, but had seen it passing through, the limp, dazed, slow-witted ballet rats fitfully asleep, subconsciously aware of his forbidding presence.
He stole down the rafters and landed on the stage with no more than a mild thump from his black boots. Erik crouched low, aware of the swinging ropes and the eerie screech they emitted when rubbed against the metal hooks. He pawed his way into the dormitory, looking into each bed until he found his Giry.
Giry was sleeping off to one side of the room, on a lumpy mattress and ordinary wrought-iron bed frame. The sheets graced her figure gently, and her threadbare black nightgown gave Erik a tormenting view of her voluptuous body. Her long brown hair was tied in a braid; she had forgotten to remove it at night, and her chest heaved slightly with every breath.
Erik took great care not to wake her, and sat down at the foot of her bed and began to write the opening scene to his opera. With a skillful hand he wrote the title.
"Divine Heaven" he murmured, as his eyes roamed Giry's sleeping form carefully. With a small flutter he touched his hand upon her cheek, she did not stir, but slept on.
In the morning Giry awoke, finding the sleeping Erik at the foot of her bed. In his limp hand he clutched a sheaf of papers. With a vigilant eye she preformed a minute examination of the title page, and read the title and dedication with wonder.
"So he loves me." She whispered. "I was afraid it was a dream."
She poured over the overture of the opera, imagining the music, the notes appearing before her eyes in one cataclysmic roar of sound. It was so beautiful, so passionate, it was, in truth, divine. With a slight paw of her hand, she poked Erik in the shoulder, startling him into daylight.
"You must get out of here." She said in a secretive, hushed voice. "The ballet rats will be up soon, no doubt."
"You read my opera?" he asked slowly, "Why?"
"Erik," she said quietly. "I thought it was a dream. All of it."
"It could never be a dream." He said quietly. "I know that."
"How?" she persisted.
"I just do." He said fiercely. "Don't question me, Antoinette!"
"I was not questioning you." She said stubbornly. "It is not a dream? That is all I want to know."
"I am not an illusion." Assured Erik calmly. "Come forward, feel my face."
She lifted her hands in the intention of removing his mask, but he caught her wrists in a vise-like grip.
"I do not want to wake the rats' sleeping with your screams of terror." He said.
"Erik, I am not afraid of you." She said. "Your face holds no horror for me."
He let her hands fall, and allowed her to remove his mask. She looked at him questioningly, and embraced his face with her fingertips.
"Quickly," she whispered, handing him his mask. "You must go. You must. Or they will find you."
"Goodbye, mon ange." He said slowly.
"Goodbye, mon ami." She replied. "When I come next, play me your opera."
"I shall need more of your inspiration." He said, and smirked. "Tonight, for dinner?"
"Yes." She replied. "Go now."
He slipped away into the darkness, and she could hear him climb the ropes of the backdrops. With silence she dressed herself, adorning her figure in a ballet dress, white gauze, and tiptoed out of the room and onto the dark stage. She did not dance, but sat with her feet dangling, and toyed absentmindedly with her hair. Admiring her hair was a past time she had no joy in, until now. Giry knew Erik adored her gorgeous locks, and with what rapture he stroked them. Satisfied with the braid she now pinned at the back of her head, she retreated to the back of the stage, and leaned against the barre that was screwed into the wall. As prima ballerina, she made her moves exquisite, holding her head high with pride. She alone was to lead the ballet rats on stage, and give them instruction.
Her arabesques faltered suddenly as she felt the firm grip of a hand on her arm.
"Erik, please. I am rehearsing."
"Antoinette," he pleaded, "One more minute of your presence is all I need."
She smiled coquettishly, and watched as Erik withdrew his stare from the low neckline of her dress. Instantly she ran and fetched her black shawl, draping it about her shoulders self-consciously.
"Then I will come with you." She said, "But only for a moment."
She followed him down into his lair, running her hands through the cold lake waters. He kissed her hand gallantly, and led her out of the gondola.
"Will you converse with me?" he asked slowly. "It is lonely often."
"Of course Erik." She said, and sat down on the floor, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. Erik sat beside her, and cradled her in his arms.
In fact, they did not converse, just sat there for hours, watching their reflections on the lake's water. Giry leaned up against Erik, letting her head rest against his chest.
'Erik," she said, her mouth dry. "Do you love me?"
"Yes, my angel, how could I not?"
"Then I love you too."
A/N: Pester me if you have requests on the romance front. I want to delay a few things (dun dun dun) until later chapters, but am open to ideas. I always take requests if delivered in a polite manner.