Chapter 2

Eponine woke to the soft, haunting strains of a violin piece. The music sounded so heartbreaking she nearly began to weep again. That is, until her gaze focused on the violinist.

A tall man with dark hair and wearing black played the instrument with expert precision from across the room. Eponine sat up, finding herself in a luxurious bed with satin sheets. A faint thud echoed from the ceiling and Eponine's brain snapped into action.

"Who are you?"

The man faced her and she gasped aloud. He wore a mask on half of his face.

"I don't mean to frighten you, mademoiselle," he said. "I am Erik."

Eponine blinked. "I'm sorry monsieur, but us common folk aren't used to seeing people with masks and such."

Erik set down his violin. "Believe me, mademoiselle, not many are accustomed to this."

She digested that, then asked, "Where are we?"

"Seven floors below Paris, where it's safe."

"But how did I get here?" she persisted.

"I brought you out of the rain last night. You'd passed out."
Eponine sighed.

"I've lived on the streets for nearly two years. It's… odd… to be in a house again."

Her host chuckled. "You'll find this is no house, mon cherie. Welcome to the Paris Opera."

Eponine retrieved her hat from a bedside table. "Merci monsieur, but I shouldn't intrude—"

"Nonsense. If you were intruding, you'd know it."

Erik poured himself a liberal amount of scotch, considered, and did the same for her.

"I'm afraid you never gave me your name," he said conversationally.

"Oh… it's Eponine," she replied, gazing at the amber liquid as if hypnotized. "What shall we drink to?"

"Lost love," said Erik promptly. She raised an eyebrow and he looked slightly abashed. "The woman I loved ran off with a fop – a viscount, no less."

"I'm sorry," said Eponine quietly.

"Ca va," he replied. "Je suis desole aussi… for calling that topic so quickly."

"Ca va," she reassured him. "I overheard the man I loved declaring his love for another. But I don't understand… he was my best friend for nine years, how did he not notice me? How did I remain invisible for all those years?"

Erik downed his scotch.

"Perhaps the boy was just dense."

She eyed him. "Well then, what's your excuse?"

Erik shrugged. "She wanted money and good looks."

Eponine took stock of the room, noting once again the satin sheets on the enormous bed, the gargantuan organ, and the numerous works of art scattered about the room. "But you most definitely have both… and to a great extent, I might add."

She flashed him a teasing grin.

But he shook his head gravely. "This face is that of a demon."

"You mean to say it's worse than Quasimodo?" she asked, leaning forward eagerly.

"I won't show you!" he snarled, the perfect side of his face contorting with fury.

"But—"

"No! You don't understand, Eponine," he growled. "I don't want you to run, therefore you will not see my face."

Eponine sank back in her chair and pouted.

"Fine."

Three or four more thuds echoed down to them in rapid succession.

"What's going on up there, anyway?" she asked.

Erik sighed heavily and glowered at the ceiling.

"The revolution has begun."

"What are you talking about?" she said sharply.

"Last night, barely after we got inside, the shooting began. Soon the bombshells accompanied it."

"That can't be!"

"I assure you, mademoiselle, that it is true." His brow furrowed in concern. "I went up to check the condition of the streets early this morning. There is nothing left."

"But Enjolras! Marius! Gavroche! All of them are fighting!"

"It is a lost cause."

Eponine began to weep again. His words sounded so heartless.

"But they are my friends!" she sobbed.

Erik moved to her side to attempt to comfort her but she jerked away.

"If it's such a lost cause," she said bitterly, "why did you bring me here before it started?"

Erik gaped at her in astonishment. "Do you not see?"

"See what?"

"How beautiful you are."

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A/N: Tell me if I'm going too fast! I know where I want this story to go, but if any of you have ideas, let me know! Thanks lots!

Phantomfreak07