Two in one night. I'm spoiling you all.

See you down below.


For nearly two weeks, the only times I left my room were to go to the library, the bathroom, and the kitchen. I hardly spent any time out in the garden, or in any open areas. I kept to myself. Madame Giry did not seem to have a problem with this, as she came by infrequently to do bits of cleaning.

Whether Archer came by or not was not something I was concerned with. My mind constantly went to the voice. The man who had been in my room. To my own shock, I did not feel threatened by him at all. He did not seem like an unsavory type, seeing as he had the chance to take advantage of me and instead chose to give me flowers.

Was I comfortable with the fact that this person could enter my room when he wanted? No.

He had not written to me during that time. I could feel him watching me in the library as I struggled to read the French books (with the assistance of a translator on my phone), but he did not do anything. It was like he only wanted to keep an eye on me.

It was not until Friday that we spoke again. Dad had called and let me know that he was on his way home, which I had to discern between copious amounts of apologizing and I love you, no really, I do's. To show him that he was in fact forgiven, I had decided to greet him in the foyer. As I passed my bedroom, I noticed a sheet of parchment hanging on the wood.

Mademoiselle Minta,

Your room upstairs is prepared for you. Do not worry about moving your things. That has already been handled.

I remain your obedient servant.

The image of that great dark mass moving my clothes sent an eerie chill down my spine. I cracked the door open to find that sure enough, everything had been stripped from the room. No bed, no bureau, no nothing.

I cautiously went up the stairs. The upper walkway led to door on the far left and the far right, with none in the middle as that was where the theater-auditorium things was. I felt my nerves start to bundle when another note caught my eye down to the right. I approached it as though it was going to bite me and swiftly plucked it off the door.

The note was brief, a commonality now with the stranger's messages. Here you are, Mademoiselle. I opened the door and felt the oxygen in my lungs vacate in return for surprise.

The floors were carpeted in a shaggy beige, the walls painted a lovely deep purple. A four-poster bed with draping rested diagonally to the corner it hid in. A large white vanity sat on the wall across from the bed, a little matching stool tucked underneath it. Two big portrait windows flooded the room with moonlight and the greatest view of Paris I had seen to date. Tiny lights outlined the arrondissement and the areas around it. Sitting dead center of one of them was the Eiffel Tower, all aglow in its lights.

A little door just to the left of the vanity snagged my curiosity. Behind the white door was a large bathroom, complete with a tub that rivalled hot tubs, a shower nestled behind floral curtains, and a tiny room for the toilet and sink. It was honestly the cutest bathroom I had ever seen.

"All this is for me?" I whispered on a breath, stepping backwards out of the bathroom.

"Who else, darling?" I turned directly into a hug from my dad, the light scent of his cologne soothing my mind. "Do you like it?"

I threw my arms around him and buried my face in his neck. "I love it, Daddy. Thank you."

He pulled away and drew a key from his pocket. "So you can keep nosy guests out." The cold iron was pressed into my palm. I flipped it around in my hand for a second before sliding it into my pocket.

We walked down to the kitchen, exchanging the usual chit-chat. How was the trip? How were the two weeks alone? Have you done anything cool? Did everything get resolved at that factory? It was the right type of conversation, but it was empty. We were not talking so much as we were just…checking in.

Dad opened several cabinets and drew out three dangerous components: chocolate chips, peanut butter, and powdered sugar. "Daddy, what are you doing?" I asked, slinking over his shoulder.

He looked me right in the eye and said two words that made me laugh. "Muddy Buddies." Slowly he raised a box of chex mix and I knew he was serious. What ensued was a giant bowl filled with food that gave us both a heroin like high.

As Dad and I stuffed our faces, I felt those eyes on me again. I stepped up to one of the cupboards and retrieved a small bowl. "Minta?" Dad leaned back in his chair to look at me better. "What's up?"

"Nothing." I answered quietly as I placed a handful or two in the bowl. I walked over to the hallway and placed the bowl just beyond where the door swung before closing it. Just like that, the feeling was gone. "What do you know about the ghost around here, Dad?"

That sobered him right up. Dad got this very serious look on his face as he pressed the pads of his fingers together. "Not much. He's old, been here since the mansion was built."

"What does he look like?" I sat back in my chair, leaning my elbows on the table.

"I don't know. He's never shown himself to me." Dad leaned in. "Why? Have you seen something?" His eyes were dark, prepared for the worst news, I guess.

The image of the man in my room came back to me. Tall, shrouded in black. "Maybe. I don't know." The conversation tapered off there as a yawn shook my body. "I think I'll head to bed."

Dad wrapped his arms around me and kissed my head, just like he always did when I was little. "I love you, Min-Min."

"I love you too, Daddy. Good night."

Once in my room, door locked and key laying on the vanity, I quickly changed into my pajamas and flopped onto the bed. It sunk a good two inches when I did, smothering me with softness. "I hope you like the treat, sir." I mutter before falling asleep.

The next morning, and I woke to find the bowl sitting on my vanity beside the key. I thought nothing of it and took it back down to the kitchen. Dad was there eating cereal when I arrived.

"Did you take that back to your room?" He asked, shifting his attention between the newspaper and myself.

"Yeah." I was not going to tell him. The room felt a bit awkward with us both silent, the only noise being the running tap water. "Is my tutor going to arrive today?"

Dad folded the newspaper into his lap. "They didn't come while I was gone?"

"Nope." I said, popping the p. Opening the fridge, I pulled out an egg and a little pad of butter. I pulled out a little skillet and dropped the butter in first, waiting for it to melt before cracking the egg with one fell swoop and dropping its contents into the frying pan.

Dad muttered something in French before responding. "I'll call them today." A chair scrapped the floor with a loud screech, and I felt Dad's hand rest on my upper arm. "Do you want anything while I'm out? I'm meeting with a couple of executives for lunch, and – "

"Nope, I'm good." I gave him a quick one sided hug. "Have a great day, Daddy."

He rubbed my arm with his thumb a bit before dropping his hand completely. "You too, baby girl. Listen to your tutor, study hard, I love you!" With that, he was gone.

A sense of loneliness filled me. As happy as I was that Dad had a job to keep him busy, the large mansion was a rather desolate place with just me.

And the ghost, but he really did not count in my mind.

I ate my egg quickly before fleeing to the library. Deep was I in the history of the Civil War that I was unprepared for the library door suddenly swinging open.

A short man, only about as high as my shoulder, waddled into the library. "Mademoiselle Dubois, no?" He had a gruff voice, like a person who had smoked too many cigars.

"Please, call me Minta. You're the tutor, right"

"Oui, you will call me Monsieur Bernard." The man shuffled over to the desk on the other side of the room and beckoned me over with a finger. "Are you aware of your schedule?"

I shook my head, which was definitely the wrong choice. Monsieur Bernard quickly went about berating me for my insolence and "American manners" that so horribly offended his sensibilities. With a heavy sigh, I buckled down for the long day ahead of me.

To punish me, Monsieur Bernard forced a book about proper etiquette into my hands. Along with three beginner French, two history, an arithmetic, and a philosophy textbook. Most puzzling of all, he handed me a book on vocal singing. Those ones you find in music stores that have tips on practicing and training your voice. "Monsieur, I appreciate all these books, but why this one?" I asked, handing him the singing one.

He gave it one glance before indignantly huffing. "This building was once a glorious opera house." As he spoke, he made these grand gestures that really demonstrated to me just how short he was. "Monsieur Dubois told me a theater still stands in this hall. Is that correct?"

"Well yes," the memory of being trapped in there made sweat form on my brow, "but – "

"We must fill the place with music!"

The rest of the day was filled with this tiny psychopath ranting and raving about whatever topic I dared to bring up. By the time he left, I was ready to burn each book into cinders. I grabbed the majority of them, barring the vocal and etiquette books as it was physically impossible for me to carry all nine at once. I made a quick trip up to my room, storing the books on the vanity before heading back down for the other two.

Imagine my shock when the vocal book was missing. I searched the whole room for it, throwing pillows across the room and scanning every shelf. The book had taken itself out of the room. "Monsieur, did you take my book?" I asked the air. He was listening, I knew he was. "Well I need it back. Please?"

Behind me was a very loud and sudden drop. I spun around to find the vocal book tied to several sheets of parchment. As I looked over the gift the ghost had left me, I was astounded to see the precise straight lines and perfectly formed music notes. "Thank you." I called out, gathering the music and the books and fleeing up to my room.

Before I entered my room, I heard the faint echo of you're welcome echoing through the halls.

Honestly, I don't know why my brain does this. I don't write anything for months, and then I get hit with a muse right when I need to go to sleep because I've got a four hour car drive that I have to make tomorrow.

Also, happy belated birthday Child of Dreams. I hope this next year will be a good one for you.

I love you all.