The carriage stopped and the door opened. Philippe of course descended first, turning to hand out his fiancé and his fiancé's sister. Erik watched from inside with horror as the three approached the door, allowing the driver of the carriage to handle the luggage. Of course the three planned on staying at the house for a time; the voyage to the estate had been a long one and heading back right away was out of the question.
Erik cursed their presence; he was learning to tolerate more, but this was out of the question. However, thought he would not admit it, a deep part of him was glad; as he watched the figures of Clair and Adrienne, a secrete part of him was glad. Without taking his eyes off of the two women, Erik moved to the door to fulfill his duty as a host.
Clair was impressed with the house as she surveyed the work which was being put into it. From what she remembered of her last visit, the estate had been bleak and almost frightening. Now it appeared lively and welcoming. She saw a figure at the window and watched as it disappeared toward the door; had that been Monsieur Beaumont?
Adrienne alighted from the carriage with her normal air of indifference. However, as she raised her dark blue eyes to the estate, she felt a shock. In the midst of all the construction, the laughing men, the bustle of it all, Adrienne felt something that frightened her to the very core. She did not want to take one step closer to the manor, but she saw that her sister was walking to the door, and she would not be frightened while her sister walked calmly forward.
Erik opened the door and Clair saw him for the first time; to say she was a bit disappointed at first glance would have been an understatement. She had envisioned a handsome prince, and she was greeted by this odd looking man. However, she supposed as she surveyed him further, he was not so bad; he was tall and lean, and his skin was tanned and his body fit from labor on his house. The only thing which truly concerned her was the white half mask he was wearing.
"You must be Mademoiselle Dior," Erik took Clair's hand and she felt the calluses on his palm from his work; it was unlike the baby soft hands of the aristocrats she normally met, and something about the texture seemed better to her,
"Are you Monsieur Beaumont then?" Clair asked, and suddenly her attention was caught by his shinning eyes; there was something about them which caused Clair to stare,
"Yes, but please call me Erik, and what is your name?" He was surprised these words fell so easily from his mouth, but he supposed he was becoming more used to social situations,
"Oh!" Clair exclaimed and she wrenched her eyes away from his and forced her mind to concentrate, "Clair Dior,"
Erik nodded and then turned to Adrienne; he opened his mouth to speak but there was no time. The moment his eyes locked with Adrienne's, she felt a sudden rush as thought a great wind had just blown over her. And then, for the first time in her life, Adrienne fainted dead away on Erik's door step.
Clair felt caught between the sudden thrill of watching her normally strong, defiant sister succumb to weakness and fall to the ground and the slight jealousy of her sister quickly becoming the center of attention,
"Adrienne?" Philippe spoke in a panicked voice as he bent to inspect his fallen fiancé,
Erik suddenly felt very nervous as the whole situation; bringing these people to into his home and he thought this sudden rush of emotions strange; one second he was steadfastly introducing himself and accepting the fact that he would no longer be able to be a recluse, and the next second he wanted to shout at everyone, including the workers and Nadir, to leave him in peace.
"We…should move her inside," Erik suggested despite his sudden desire to be all alone again. He did not know from where this need to revert to old ways came, but he refused to give in to it,
"Of course," Philippe bent to pick up the body of his limp bride to be. He was grateful she was so light because he did not think he could handle much more weight,
"She is your sister?" Erik asked Clair as Philippe set her down on a sofa in the now finished living room,
"Yes," Clair said, and in the tone of her voice she did not hide her resentment of this fact, "This is Adrienne Dior, and her fiancé Philippe de Chagny,"
Philippe turned to Erik and extended a hand. Erik felt like completely ignoring the gesture, but he knew he could not and he resented now more than ever his obsession with the ghost in the music room.
Erik was saved from having to touch the hand of the brother of his arch enemy by the sudden moan which came from the couch; Adrienne stirred and everyone's attention, including all the workmen in Erik's household, was turned back to the waking beauty,
Adrienne opened her eyes and stared up at the faces around her. She had never felt worse; her head was pounding and she felt as though someone was suffocating her, as though she could not breath or speak or scream. She felt as though she could not speak and so she was surprised when her body sat upright and she said in a calm voice,
"I am fine," But I am not fine! She shouted in her own head, though the voice of her thoughts seemed to sound soft and far away from her.
Clair stared at her; Adrienne never said things like 'I am fine," she sniped things like, 'who is the idiot that let me fall?'
Erik watched Adrienne with great intent as well; there was something wrong with her, he could read it in her dark eyes. Suddenly these navy blue jets looked directly into his amber eyes. Erik saw in her a kind of inner struggle and he wondered at it; what could this girl possibly be fighting?
Adrienne concentrated every fiber of her being on speaking what she was thinking, she forced her suddenly uncooperative body to do as she asked. Adrienne blinked, and Erik saw the expression in her eyes clear and suddenly she gasped for breath, as though someone had been preventing precious oxygen from entering her lungs.
"Adrienne? Speak to me," Philippe regarded her with concern,
Adrienne stared back at him, she felt normal now, and completely in control of herself, "I am not fine," she snapped, "My head hurts; I want water,"
Erik nodded wordlessly and went for the kitchen, glad to have an excuse to leave the strange girl and the man he hated. To his surprise, he found that Clair had followed him as well,
"I am sorry about my sister, she is often quite rude," Clair apologized,
Erik nodded while he filled a glass with water brought inside from a well that was normally used for the workers, "She is rude, but that is not my concern so much as it is her fiancé's,"
Clair laughed slightly, "Indeed, but I do not think he will mind,"
"No, most likely not," Erik said coldly, not understanding why his mood had changed so drastically so suddenly, "Beauty often negates all flaws,"
Clair quietly murmured her agreement, slightly angered that he had called her sister beautiful. She knew she was developing a dangerous obsession with wanting to be better than her sister in every man's eyes, even in the eyes of men she did not particularly care for.
Erik walked back to the living room and handed Adrienne the glass of water, "Where did you get this? It is filthy!" Adrienne snapped as she stared at the liquid in the glass, "I refuse to drink it!"
"Than may I suggest another way of emptying it? perhaps to cool your hot head," Erik said dryly, insinuating that she dump the water onto her own head,
Clair smiled slightly at his suggestion. If he did think she was beautiful, at least he still reserved the power of his own facilities to snipe at her. Most men simply became piles of mush around her.
After the awkwardness of the day, everyone welcomed the night. There were enough rooms in the newly furnished house to accommodate everyone, however Adrienne and Clair had to share a room.
As Clair drifted off into a pleasant sleep, Adrienne felt every sense in her body tingle. She had never felt more uneasy in her life and she looked around the shadows of the darkened room suspiciously. She heard her sister drop off to sleep and she wondered how on earth that was possible; she felt wide awake.
Erik was pacing in his room. He and the Persian no longer had to sleep in the music room, they now had space of there own. He felt something was off; something in the dynamic of the house had shifted uncomfortably. He felt ill at easy like he had not felt in a long time. Something was seriously out of place and he had no doubt that it had something to do with his new guests, and his old guest; the ghost in the music room.