It was like drowning. She could not see, had no firm sense of direction, could not find her way to out. There were, besides, numerous props and trapdoors barring the way between her and the exit. She could not distinguish them but knew they were there, laughing at her, beckoning her mockingly to run their gauntlet.
She floundered for a moment, uncertain what to do. The voices tittering in her mind clawed for freedom, starting to overwhelm her. With weakened knees she sank to the floor, letting the candle and its golden holder fall and spin away from her. Her breath came in ragged hiccoughs as panic stole over her mind.
Silvia had never been one to fear the dark, but it had never felt so solid before, nor threatening. She felt as if she were choking on it, and sweat beaded across her forehead. Dimly she understood that it was her panic that was personifying the dark – an instictive human emotion that, once recognized, she should be able to detach herself from. But its grip was too strong.
Even from the depths of madness she could sense the Phantom's presence when he knelt beside her. "I've no time to play nursemaid, child," he told her, annoyance evident in the timbre of his voice. "Returning you to your room would be the death of me, and you will admit you brought these consequences upon yourself," he explained, as if she were a child, and his slim hand smoothed her hair. "Nonetheless I shall give you peace, and perhaps you will thank me for it sometime."
With those cryptic words he began to sing, his voice as an angel's out of heaven. The demons of Silvia's mind paused to listen and then fled, leaving only calmness. Her eyelids fell over drowsy eyes and her breathing evened into the pattern of one asleep, and Erik finished the song quietly and left her to her dreams.
……………………………………………………………………………………………
It was a scene-shifter who found her the next morning. His duties required his early presence in the great auditorium, for in addition to moving the scenes during the operas he worked on their construction as well, and there was a great deal still to be done for 'Faust'. His eyes were bleary with sleep when he entered the hall, his jaw continually cracked in a yawn. His mind was yet fogged with drowsiness – enough so that he questioned his sanity when he espied a huddled white form in the middle of the great pieces of Faustian backdrop.
He could recall working on nothing of that particular shape and size. Perhaps the fellows thought it necessary to construct sheep? he wondered, still misinterpreting the form.
When finally he stood near enough to divine details, he recognized that the black hair, twinkling gown, and slender ankles belonged to no sheep but a woman. Specifically, the new diva, Mlle. Silvia.
His mind absorbed this information slowly, for it was not often that the singers of the Opera slept the night on the auditorium stage. Indeed, he had never heard of such a thing, and such a circumstance stretched his mental faculties to their limit. Crouching beside her, he nudged her as politely as he was able, unsure as to the procedure in such a situation.
"What in heaven's name!" A sharp voice had him turning to seek its source, and he heaved a great sigh of relief when Madame Giry stepped into view. "Marc, what have you done with Silvia?" she continued, and the relief faded.
"It wasn't me, Madame Giry," he protested. "I found her here like this just now, I swear it."
The lady in black pursed her lips in cold consideration, her eyes of steel fastened on him. "As you say," she finally relented, although she thumped her cane heavily on the stage when he made to stand. "As her rescuer, I am sure you will do your duty by her and carry her to her room. I'll accompany you to ensure you know the way."
Or to watch an' make sure I do what you've said, Marc thought sourly to himself, lifting the singer from her prone position and settling her in his arms. Madame Giry nodded with satisfaction, turning on her heel with an imperious gesture indicating he should follow, and strode towards the quarters of the Opera denizens.
When Silvia had been deposited on her bed and Marc dismissed, the great lady Giry sat at her side and studied the pale features of the Opera's newest member. She seemed a frail creature outwardly, but Madame Giry had to consider that she spent the whole of the night in the black and echoing auditorium with no obvious explanation. Questions whirled in her mind, but there was no use asking them of one who was asleep.
Leaving the diva to her rest, Madame Giry made a mental note to catch up with the woman later that day. If the suspicion she was entertaining were true, the child at least deserved a word of warning.