Kerri was on air. The legendary Opera Ghost was in the very next room. This man had sparked fear into so many, and yet…that's all he was; a man. Heartbroken, vulnerable, but a man none the less. She laughed trying to picture her brother Raoul's face if he ever found out.
"Ma'am…if I may…"
"Come in, Marie. Have a seat. I was just about to start painting." Kerri sat at an easel, pulling the sheet off that served as a dustcover.
"Milady, that man…" her voice trailed off.
"Finished your sentences, Marie. Unfortunately, I am not a telepath."
"That man in there….he scares most of the girls."
Kerri stopped mid brush stroke.
"And does he scare you?"
"May I speak freely, ma'am?"
"Always."
"Yes."
Kerri rose from her stool, and sat with her maid on the bed. Kerri took Maries hands into hers.
"Marie, I have known you since we were children. You are my confident, my sister, and my only friend. I trust your judgment. Do you trust me?"
"Of course!"
"Then do not fear him."
Marie wanted to say something, Kerri knew. But she did not. Kerri rose, pulling her hair back into a loose ponytail and tying it with a ribbon.
"Would you mind putting on the phonograph? Something dark, if it's not too much trouble."
Marie nodded, finding the appropriate record at setting it up to play.
Erik was pacing. What was he doing here? This girl had rescued him, so what? He didn't owe her anything. And yet, there was something about her, something he couldn't pin down. And the way she looked at him…she looked at him like he was a real person. But still, she was so young….and so beautiful. She was not at all like her brother. She had long, jet black hair and intense green eyes. She could say one thousand words with just one look from those eyes. She had done so already countless times.
Erik smiled, remembering their conversation. She was not as he'd come to view a normal girl. Typical girls were so subservient and naïve and gullible. She had butted heads with him two times, and taken obvious sarcasm in stride. Furthermore, she was amazingly trusting of either him, or her ability to protect herself, because without even knowing his name, she locked herself in a room with him. A bedroom, no less.
And she had actually called the Vicomte a sissy.
"Sir, would you like me to draw you a bath?" The girl from earlier stood in a corner, obviously afraid of him, but not enough to keep her head down.
"No, thank you."
She turned around, anxious to leave.
"How old is Kerri?" He asked. She stopped, slowly turning around.
"Seventeen, sir."
"She seems older." He mused.
"Most men say that, at first." The girl smiled.
"And then they say she is incredibly childish for her inability to keep her mouth shut."
"Indeed."
"Is that all, sir?"
"Could you bring me paper? And some ink, and a pen?"
"Yes, sir."
Through the thin walls, Erik could hear a phonograph playing. He didn't recognize the composer, but the music was oddly inspiring. He needed to write.