The walls were singing.
Silvia opened her eyes slowly, disoriented. Beneath her back was a mattress and above her were the wooden boards of her ceiling, not the lofty heights of the Opera theater. And the walls were not singing: it was only her mind, echoing with that angel's song of the prior evening.
She sat up, leaning on her elbows, glancing around her small quarters. Would that I could recall what happened, she thought in silent frustration. She remembered only darkness and song, and the ghost's apology for leaving her on the theater's stage.
Which led her to conclude that someone else had stumbled upon her. Her cheeks flamed in embarrassment as she suddenly realized in what state she must have been found. Had word spread to all of the company of her strange night's rest?
"Are you feeling better, my dear?" The words came from the shadows in the corner of her room, and Silvia started violently. "I would be most appreciative if you refrained from screaming…I only came to ascertain if you were in good health."
Her mind was thrown into chaos for a moment – to be addressed so casually by one who called himself the Opera Ghost had never been a daily occurrence for Silvia. "I am well," she finally ventured. "No thanks to you."
She clapped her hands over her mouth as soon as the words had left her lips. Snide remarks were not her usual fare.
He chuckled in response, moving slightly so that she could discern his form among the shadows. He was once again in dress clothes, his heavy cloak settled on his shoulders and a mask of white gleaming dully in the darkness. "You will – must – learn quickly that this is my domain. I require no thanks. Merely obedience.
"But now I am upsetting you, and truly I had only come to ease my mind as to your wellbeing." He examined his nails for a moment, as was the habit of many men who cultivated elegant ennui. "And perhaps to extract a bit of news from you."
"Thank you for your kind consideration," was Silvia's dry response.
He waved a hand to dismiss her thanks as if they were genuine and came forward another few steps. Silvia noted for the first time how tall he was, particularly when leaning over her as she sat in her bed. His slender frame loomed over her, his shadow smothering her. Involuntarily she sank back against the wall, ignoring the increased beating of her heart.
"La Carlotta – where did she go?"
His question was so abrupt it took Silvia a moment to formulate an answer. "She was weary of singing, so they say, and retired to the country." She paused, tilting her head to gather her thoughts. "There was something else as well…Madame Pericot mentioned a Piangi and his death. He was, perhaps, a lover?" She could not recall details.
The Phantom's eyes narrowed, his lips thinning into a satisfied smile. "So," he said under his breath, as if to himself, "that was all it would have taken. How simple!"
"I beg your pardon?"
The gentleman shook his head and took possession of her hand. "Nothing, my dear. Do not trouble yourself. Let me thank you once again for the news," he bowed over her captured hand, "and bid you farewell."
With quiet grace he withdrew into the shadows, halting only to display a sign of warning. "Remember, there will be no singing on my stage after the official rehearsals have ended."
He turned to depart, but paused and glanced at her once more. "And any mention of my presence would be very damaging to your health and career."
His warnings delivered, he melted into the darkness from which he had come.