Sorry this isn't as long as the other one. I had to cut this one. Now I'm just kind of waiting to be able to get back into my account so I can update.

No reviews, I see. Eh. Oh well. Perhaps I will get them later? Maybe not. Right, well okay. I can always hope for later.

Also, if you think the title of my story is something I got off Shakespeare, you are correct. It's for sure his. Just to let everyone know that.

So yeah…enjoy, and please review, but no flames. Yeah, I don't like to deal with fire. Thanks.

The very next day, Beatrice woke up and looked around at her surroundings. The room had a pinkish tint, with many pictures. Although, the only thing that was most odd, was an overly sized mirror on the wall, near her sleeping slave.

She got up, and washed her make-up from the day before. She looked into the mirror and sighed. She turned, and looked at her servant. Loath fully, she looked upon her servants face. Even sleeping, the stupid girl looked beautiful. How she hated 'Jezebel'. She lifted her long nightgown a little, and kicked at her neck. Monique awoke quickly.

"Wake up you pathetic excuse for life. I wish for you to do my make-up today. And do not mess it up, or your consequences will be dire." She said with a deep glower. Monique brushed off the stare, and got up to get her mistresses bag. She retrieved the bag, and sat next to Beatrice looking at her face for a moment. Without all the make-up she usually wore, her age was a lot older then guessed. Beatrice noticed her stares.

"What? So I don't have a youthful face anymore like you do. I'm not as young as I use to be, you know. At least I don't look like that phantom." Beatrice said with a shudder. Monique awoke from her daze.

"You have seen the phantom?" she asked curiously. Beatrice casted her look downward.

"Well…no…but I have heard many stories from the victims of the tragedy. Salene Rashell was almost murdered by that chandelier he let down!" she told Monique. Beatrice told her all about how he loved and longed for a chorus girl, Christine she said he name was, but she went with another suitor.

"I believe she made a fine to choice. That Roual is a dashing young man, and is very rich. There is nothing more to ask for in a man then that." She said dreamily. Monique just rolled her eyes.

"What an outlook you have on men. To your standards which are, oh, let me guess, handsome, dashing, doesn't have to have that large of an I.Q, but his money must make up for it? With those standards, you'll never find anyone." She said mockingly. A second after she said it, she instantly brought her hand to her mouth and looked at Beatrice's expression. She instantly regretted what she had alleged. Beatrice looked to look at her.

"Oh? And I suppose YOU, of all people, will marry before I will? You are a gypsy. No one wants to marry a disgusting, dirty gypsy like you. You may have your beauty, but it will not last forever. Once its gone, you will have nothing left. You won't have any suitors at all; they will all cower in fear at the sight of you. Be happy with your beauty now, for when it is gone, the legend of your face will be far worse then the phantoms!" she exclaimed. Monique's angry rose.

"I did not ask to be the way I am, I did not ask to be a gypsy as well. But where I was raised, no one cared that I was what I am. No one cared I was a gypsy. And for your information, before I was even born I was arranged to marry someone, but how unfortunate for his part to be murdered. I am damn glad he was. From what I heard, he hurt little boys and girls for his profession. If I ever meet his murderer, I will thank them personally." She said getting up. She opened the door, not looking at her mistress. Beatrice got up and walked to the door. Before going forward she stopped and looked at her servant.

"By the way, as far as beauty goes, you shouldn't criticize the phantom. I personally have never seen him, but I've seen you without make-up. Personally, I don't think anyone could be as worse as that." She said flatly. Beatrice huffed and angrily walked out of the room. Monique smiled, but it faded a little. She closed the room, and went back to sit in her chair. She stared at the ceiling for a while. She turned her head the bed instead, perhaps a little be more interesting. With her back turned to the mirror, a certain phantom was trying to put a letter on the desk next to it. Monique heard the mirror open a little, but she didn't move. Slowly and carefully, she turned and grabbed the hand that was sticking out of the mirror. She raised an eyebrow.

"Well…this isn't something you see everyday." She said to herself.

On the other side of the mirror, Erik didn't move. This was the first time he had ever gotten caught, and he didn't know what to do. He began to feel a tug at his hand. She probably wanted to see if he would show himself. 'No…its to early…' he thought to himself. But what could he do? He couldn't just simply make her let go, and run back to his home. She would certainly find it and find him anyway. As much as he didn't want to, he decided to show himself. He closed his eyes lightly, took a breath, and stepped out of the mirror.

He opened his eyes, and looked at her. Her eyebrow lowered from its pervious place, and her eyes where now scanning him. She backed a little away, but not from fright, just that she was so close to him. She went to the door to lock it.

"And whom might you be?" she asked curiously walking back. He turned theright side of his face to hide his mask somewhat. He began to inch slowly to the mirror.

"Well…I don't really know what to say. This is the first time that I've been caught in the act of giving the letter—" he was shortly cut off by Monique.

"Are you the phantom of the opera?" She asked curiously. He sighed deeply, and nodded. She smiled a little and walked closer to him. She brought up a hand, and gently moved his face to where their eyes met. She scanned his face a little, looking at the details in his face, and the mask. Then, she brought her hand down. Erik wished she didn't, but he didn't want to say that out loud. Risking an already embarrassing first impression with a side of creepiness wouldn't be good.

"You know…you are not at all at what I expected. I pictured you be to a little shorter, pale, and maybe have a very bald spots. Seeing you now just proves me to be quite wrong." She chuckled a little. He eased a little, loosing some tension in his shoulders. He looked at her, still with the right side.

"Other then Bayard, you are the only one here who has actually seen me. I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable at first, I was eventually going to show myself to you, but I thought now would have been to early. I suppose it's a little late to go back now." He said with a nervous laugh. She smiled.

It's quite all right. As you have never been caught, I've never seen a hand stick out of a mirror. Is the mirror a door?" she asked getting up. He stood in front of it now.

"Well…yes. I have many doors through out the opera house." He said with a tiny smile. She gave a fascinated look.

"How interesting. Who knows, maybe I'll ketch you with those ones too." She said winking at him. He blushed a little at the wink.

"Its unlikely, but perhaps. Well, I should be going…I wanted to see the new singers and crew. Will you be attending?" he asked changing the subject.

"I do not know…'Madame' Beatrice would not like me to do so. She thinks I will bring her bad luck if I were to show." She said turning away from him. He took her hand, and she turned to face him again.

"Then perhaps you can come with me, then. I can't show my face around the set for obvious reasons, so I hide either in the shadows, or darken box five so I may watch and not be seen. Would you like to come with me?" he asked with a tiny bit of confidence. Her smile reappeared.

"I would love to, monsieur phantom." Now officially holding his hand.

"Please, you do not need to call me the phantom anymore. Between us, you may call me Erik." He said with a slight smile, leading her through the mirror.