A/N: Hi! It's me again. Just wanted to say a special thank you to MasqueradingThroughLife for her very nice reviews (I know, I wish I could hug him, too). I appreciate it very much. Thanks also to Emma-J-Riddle for her reviews. And for those of you who haven't reviewed: review! Thanks again.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, save my two characters. But, you knew that.

Chapter 8: Dreams, Dinner, and Three Weeks

Three rather uneventful weeks went by after my audience with the Phantom. July came on, hot and somewhat stuffy. It wasn't nearly as bad as where I had come from, though. The coast line of Virginia is very humid and Paris is nothing like it. But, the dresses I had to wear (plus the corsets) made me hot and grumpy. I despised them above everything else. I was tempted to go buy a pair of pants and make them into shorts. Of course when I suggested this to Louise, she looked at me in horror.

"Is that the fashion in the United States when you were still living there, before the war?" She had asked me. Not knowing what the fashion was in the United States at the time (I'd always done terrible in history), I said yes. She shook her head and muttered to herself.

"No wonder they had a civil war. Women in men's clothes. That would definitely start a war." I felt like correcting her about the reasons for the war, but didn't. What was the point? So, I went on being hot and wishing for shorts. Needless to say, this was a problem for the rest of my stay in the 19th and early 20th centuries. I just dealt with it.

I took Erik's advice and helped Louise with the chores and cooking. It helped take my mind off of all the things going on around me. Louise soon had shown me how to get from place to place outside. I enjoyed going to the market to buy farmer's products and other such stuff. However, I was never allowed to go alone. Louise always went with me even when I had the directions down pat. I would never have gotten lost. Erik was concerned for me, though. He figured if I could be attacked once, it could happen again. And what if I had gotten lost? Who would have helped me? I appreciated his kindness, but I thought it rather unnecessary.

My longing for home and family did not subside as the weeks rolled by. I missed them more and more. I would wake up in the middle of the night with tears streaming down my face after having a dream of them. There was one dream in particular that was especially horrible. I was in my house, the one in Virginia. All my family and friends were there. We were having a party of some sort. It was a lot of fun. I was laughing and whole again. Not torn in two. Suddenly, I felt something tugging on me. It was pulling me away from everything I loved. All my family and friends had just stared at me in sadness as I was dragged, kicking and screaming, away. I woke up then and found my bed drenched in sweat and tears. The next morning, Louise had been very concerned about me and wondered what had caused me to get the bed so wet. I never told her. She wouldn't have understood.

My "purging of thoughts", then, was not going as well as I would have liked. Memories of home drifted into my head when I least expected, and wanted them, to. There were also so many new things to get used to. But, that was less of a problem than my missing home.

The bright spot of my day was going to dinner with Erik. We always had it in the dining room across from the downstairs parlor. I wasn't allowed upstairs anymore. Erik told me he wanted his privacy. The downstairs was my domain; the upstairs was his. And I respected that.

I can't say we had lively conversations at dinner. He wasn't much of a talker, but he did occasionally ask me questions about myself and my home. I lied more often than not. Though I had a sneaking suspicion as time went by that he wouldn't think the truth crazy, I wasn't willing to tell all yet. He seemed to understand this and asked general questions without wanting too much detail.

A week and a half after the audience, we were sitting at the dinner table and I decided to ask about his past. I wanted to know if he would tell me the truth or if he would lie like I had been doing. We were having some sort of chicken that night. I didn't know quite what it was. But, it was good. Louise had just poured me a glass of water (I could never get used to drinking wine), when I popped my question.

"I've told you a great deal about myself, but you have told me nothing about yourself. Where do you come from? What have you done for a living? What's your past like?" The part of his face I could see turned a pale white. I knew I had touched a soft spot. Would he tell all? That was what I was wondering.

"There's not much to tell, child. I grew up not unlike most children, though I grew up faster than they. I built things and drew things. I composed music and even once I taught someone to sing. That is all there is to tell about my life." He took a bite of the food and I knew the conversation was over. He would tell me in his own time. Don't rush him. He'd tell. Two days later, he asked me to refrain from asking questions about his past. I agreed.

So, three weeks went by. Nothing exciting happened. Life seemed to be going on in a good and steady way. August was fast approaching. But, is in it always that when you least expect it, something happens? That something happened right after dinner in the middle of my sixth week there. I soon learned some other things that Erik the Phantom did not like.