I don't really enjoy writing as the Phantom, so you'll pardon me if I don't very often. He is just such a mysterious character that it is hard for me to feel worthy of getting into his mind and writing from his point of view. But I hope his character comes through through Silvia's eyes and when I delve into his mind – and in a way that is satisfactory for you all. Leave me a note and let me know what you think! Sorry this one is so short, but I think it does what is necessary, for now.
She could not see beyond the perimeter of light that her candle provided, could not delve the darkness with her eyes. The voice of the self-proclaimed ghost sounded on her right side, but in all the tales of him it had been often whispered that he was a talented ventriloquist. She took a faltering step forward, holding the candle higher in order to increase the area it illuminated, but no one was revealed.
"Have a care," he whispered, now on her left, the beauty in his voice underlined with harsh malice. "The edge of the stage is near."
And he had her hemmed in behind, she knew. Anger began to stir within her, although not insistently enough so as to overrule fear.
Turning, she lit the ground before her, her candle held as a token to ward off evil. "What do you wish of me?" she asked, her mind desperately considering how to escape.
"Finally you ask the correct question, child," he returned, his cold breath fanning across the back of her neck. She stifled a shriek.
Suddenly she became aware of footsteps, as if he were pacing before her in consideration of his next words. As he had been silent before, this was certainly intentional, and the sharp click of his shoes on the hard surface of the stage jarred her thoughts.
"What do I wish of you, my dear girl? That you will limit your singing to odes to flowers and the weather, and that you carry on only when outside of my Opera. I do not appreciate upstart ballet dancers thinking so much of themselves as to assume they have free reign of the facilities."
"I am not a dancer," Silvia responded quietly, vehemenence creeping into her tone.
"Prop-maker, seamstress, scene-shifter, what-have-you…this may not continue." His tone was firm – final.
"I beg your pardon, but sir…I am the new soprano. Carlotta is retired and gone, and they have hired me in her place." This was spoken with deliberate politeness, her ire provoked with his heavy-handed orders.
Silence stole across the stage, a great pause during which Silvia's fear manifested itself again. Her eyes were weary from having nothing to gaze upon, for the darkness was so thick that no mortal's sight could adjust itself. Hysteria was threatening to rise, clambering for control in the back of her mind – it would be easy to give in, to cry and sob and beg for her freedom or to run blindly in hopes of escaping. A tremor wracked her body and a single tear escaped her stubborn hold on sanity and coursed down her cheek. "Please," she whispered, into the blackness.
Shoes clicked again, tapping over the stage, nearer and nearer. Suddenly they clove into view in the dim circle that her candle illuminated, two shiny dress shoes beneath black trousers. Silvia's eyes traveled from the shoes, along the leg of the pants and the elegance of the coat to the face of the ghost before her. A porcelain mask covered most of its surface, although beneath it the lips were fully revealed and twisted into a grin of spite.
"Thank you for the news, my dear." The Phantom leaned forward, leering at her. "You are free to go."
And so saying, he reached up with slim fingers and pinched out the candle in her hands.