The Phantom of the Opera sat slumped in a fine red Victorian chair. His fine long hands dangled listlessly as he sighed. It reopened tonight, the grand Opera de Populaire. The place that had been his entire life that had been destroyed the night his life had been destroyed. He was hidden in a side room of his underground maze, he could no longer bear to return to the sight of his organ and what remained of his music. He barely even knew why he bothered to dress himself elegantly anymore. Perhaps it was the thought of all the beautiful people above him, all so perfect, that he had to have something to remind himself of the beauty he himself had once possessed. Money, he had learnt long ago, could buy many things.
He heard the soft click of a heel on the stone floor and his fingers twitched to where his Punjab lasso had once hung. "The ball is back the other way," he said in a dull monotone. Adriana opened her mouth to speak, then closed it when she realised she had nothing to say. The Phantom turned to look at her when he didn't hear retreating footsteps.
"I said leave!" he snapped, glaring at her masque. Adriana straightened and crossed her arms, improvising on the spot. This was her one chance, she had to make this work.
"There have been half a dozen men demanding things of me all night," she retorted evenly, "From marriage proposals to crawling into bed with them. Now what on earth makes you think I'd listen to you as well?"
"Then return to those who so crave your company," the Phantom murmured, passing a hand over his weary eyes. "At least you are wanted." Adriana looked at him evenly, when she realised he couldn't see her raised eyebrows behind her masque.
"I am craved for my body and my face," she snapped, throwing her arms out wide, "Not one of those fops with their high and mighty fashions or privileges could give a damn whether or not I have a brain, or whether I may just need something more than wearing pretty dresses and waving to the people on public holidays."
The Phantom stared at her; her movement had drawn attention to her dress, which was not cut within the bounds of propriety or the day's fashions. He stood and stalked over to her, looking down imposingly at her figure. She stared him in the eye with a steely glint in the grey whorls of her eyes as he walked around her, taking in every detail of her body.
"An interesting dress mademoiselle." He said softly, the silky purr of his voice sent shivers down Adriana's spine and she fought to keep breathing slowly and through her diaphragm.
"I've always liked it," she replied, turning for him to admire her.
"And so did they, from your melodramatic indignation." He jerked his head upwards to the ballroom above them, where five floors above, violinists struck and strummed their bows across their strings. "Tell me, my dear, if it is not foppish attention you so desire, what is it that you crave?"
Adriana blushed slightly, then mentally shook herself, "Music," she answered in hushed tones. "All I want is music, its power sets my soul free." The Phantom started, this was not the answer he was expecting. "Why?"
She swallowed nervously, "I've looked into the hearts of other men, and they have no idea of what true beauty really is, the only thing that excites them is a bottle of wine and a saucy maid."
She sighed, then glancing up at the Phantom's mask, continued, "But when I hear the powerful notes that lie in a theatre, the disfigurement of all the shallowness and facades disappears, and the only thing holding me to my body is the lump in my throat and the beating of my heart." She knew she took a gamble in those words, but they were true, every one of them.
The Phantom tried to control his curiosity and admiration for this passion of a masked girl. So she knew music did she?
"Then why are you not upstairs, dancing?" he asked, a hidden question in his tones. A sour note screeched down to them, and they both winced.
"Because of that?" Adriana offered.
The Phantom's lips twisted into a faint smirk, "Come," he said, holding out his hand to her, "I will return you." He was suddenly reminded of another girl he had offered his hand to, Christine. But unlike his lost soprano, this girl did not hesitate, but firmly entangled her fingers in his. Swirling his cloak, the Phantom led Adriana through a dark tunnel, and up rounds and rounds of stairs. He heard the rustle of satin and the quick step behind him, he turned back to look at the girl, her skirt held up from the floor and revealing a glimpse of her ankles and strange strapped shoes. He mentally shrugged and glanced at her face, she was watching him with a strange expression, curiosity, fear, elation and desire all mixed. He paused to trip the levers on a secret doorway, considering her.
"What is your name, child?" he asked, she blinked in surprise, then lifted her chin,
"Adriana, and I'm eighteen years old, what's yours?"
The Phantom drew in a breath, "Erik" he answered shortly, "this way."
On and on he led her, Adriana's heart was beating wildly. This was real, she kept reminding herself, this is real.
They halted at a secret doorway, built into a column, which led to the ballroom.
"Oh!" Adriana exclaimed softly, stiffening, the sounds of a tango-waltz drifted through the door, playing in a minor key, Adriana closed her eyes. The melody was only meant as filler music, not many knew how to dance to the haunting strains of viola, but Erik could see her running over the steps in her mind as the music entranced her soul.
"Come," he said softly, Adriana opened her eyes, the faint gold blazed in the grey depths with a passion that made him catch his breath. Hardly knowing what he was doing, Erik undid the catch on the door and slipped though, Adriana followed. Everyone was talking, but no one occupied the dance floor. His mind still in a haze, Erik swept the mysterious girl into his arms and led her to the dance floor. Holding her gently, they began to move in time to the beat, swirling and gliding.
Conversations died off as people stopped and stared at the strange couple dancing in a world of their own. Erik saw Christine, but ignored her, concentrating on the dance.
The beat changed, and Adriana caught a glimpse of an improvising violinist. She saw the conductor waving his baton angrily, but she decided to take matters into her own hands. She spun away from Erik and stopped herself with a stamp of her foot, the ringing click bounded off the walls. Erik watched her in amusement, then moved towards her, grasping her in his arms, spinning, circling, the passion was strong and tension high.
"I thought you said it was music that you loved?" he murmured, spinning her out, then forcibly pulling her back in. She grasped the front of his shoulder as he dipped her backwards, "Why do you dance as though your soul is on fire?"
"It is!" gasped Adriana softly, "Music is the spark that ignites my soul, and dance is the celebration of that flame." With a final almost panicked flourish from the violinist, the music ended and Erik pulled Adriana back into a fierce embrace, one arm encircling her waist, and the other trailing around her throat. The audience started clapping and cheering, evidently they thought the dance was a part of the night's entertainment. Only Christine and Raoul looked pale and shaking, while an impassive Madame Giry looked on from the shadows.