A/N: The long awaited chapter! I hope it does not disappoint.
Thank you to new followers Alpha Vegetable & Savannah White!
icanhearthedrums: The fateful meeting is here! Enjoy!
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Swirlingdreamkeeper: To be honest, I haven't even though of what will happen! I'm just playing along as it goes. We'll see! (:
Spirit of the Opera: I know I would sell my soul for some candy, what more Erik? Hehehe. Thank you for reading!
Wild Concerto: Chocolate peppermints are one of my favourite sweets ever. Who could live without them? Hahaha. And pwahaha yes, you'll wait, I'm not going to tell you the answer to that! X)
Anna: No, of course I don't mind! I appreciate your support very very much! And I'm so glad you like the story so far (:
And... on with the story! I hope this chases away some of those Monday blues!
Chapter 12: The Opera Ghost's Lair
Paris, 1893
Amélie felt the phantom's hand close around hers, and then he pulled her along with him into the darkness. To her surprise, the chapel's solid brick wall mysteriously slid open to reveal a large, gaping hole, and the ghost stepped within, bringing her along with him. As the wall slid closed behind them, leaving them in the impenetrable darkness, Amélie felt fear rising up her throat, and tried her best to clamp down onto it.
Erik felt her hand tighten instinctively in his, and bit back a smirk. "Are you frightened of the dark, mademoiselle? Should we turn back now? It is not too late yet."
Amélie squared her shoulders and retorted, "I am not scared, monsieur. Kindly lead the way to your house now." Her tone was haughty, but her voice shook slightly, a tremor that did not go unnoticed by either her or Erik. She could have sworn she heard the ghost chuckle slightly, and frowned, reminding herself not to be such a scaredy-cat.
The ghost began to move, and she followed, clutching his hand nervously. She could not see anything in the dark tunnel, and it took immense courage to put each foot forward in another step, when she could not be sure of what she was stepping on, or where she was. She could feel the phantom's fine leather gloves in her hand, and the presence of his hand in hers gave her some comfort, though she still tightened her hold occasionally as she felt something brush past her arm in the darkness. The ghost led her through twisting tunnels, each as dark as the one before, until finally, finally, he stopped at a large opening, guiding Amélie forward.
It was bright at last. Amélie blinked her eyes, trying to let them adjust to the sudden brightness. She could hear the sound of water rippling, and she looked around, trying to find the source. To her great surprise, there was a large, glassy lake before them, its surface smooth and black, with slight ripples cascading across as droplets of water dripped from the ceiling. It was beautiful. Amélie stared at the lake, unmoving, until the ghost tugged once more on her hand, and she allowed him to lead her down a sloping path toward the bank of the river, where a large gondola awaited, tethered to a stake driven through the ground.
The gondola was a majestic contraption of black metal and wood, polished to a dull shine. Amélie ran her hands over its smooth surface reverently, admiring the intricate patterns carved into the wood and the gleam of the metal. The phantom gestured for her to enter the boat, and, holding onto his hand tightly, she gingerly stepped into the rocking boat, trying to find her balance. The interior of the boat was furnished with an exotic looking rug, woven in thread of a multitude of colours, and scattered around the boat were a few throw pillows covered in the same exotic embroidery. Amélie sat down on one end of the gondola, and the phantom bent to untie the boat from its tethers, deftly stepping into the gondola and picking up the oar from the bank of the lake.
It was only then that Amélie could observe him to see what he really looked like. As Madame Giry had said, he was very much a flesh and blood man. He was tall. Amélie herself was by no means short; in fact, she was the tallest in the ballet de corps, and yet she was certain that this man would dwarf her by almost a head. He was enveloped in a thick, black cloak, which covered what looked like impeccable evening dress. His face was impassive, and… Amélie frowned. Is that a mask upon his face? The side that was closer to her was white leather, yielding to the planes of his face. Amélie wracked her brain for reasons as to why he would be wearing a mask upon his face, and the only reason she could come up with was that he was trying to hide it. She doubted that the Opera Ghost would be ridiculous enough to wear a mask simply for fashion's sake. She craned her head slightly, trying to observe the other side of his face, when he looked down at her, raising an eyebrow. She blushed slightly, and sat back again, embarrassed at having been caught staring.
He said nothing, but continued driving the boat through the waters, pushing the oar through the calm waters with large, powerful strokes. As they reached a large portcullis, a metal trellis made of wrought iron, the phantom reached forward and pressed a button somewhere on the gate. Amélie watched in amazement as the giant lattice rose slowly from the water, dripping with water and moss, a majestic structure gleaming in the dull light. Amélie could see in the far off distance beyond the gate, cold metal structures emerging from the water.
The ghost simply took up the oar once more and pushed them forward beyond the gate's threshold. Amélie realized that the rising structures were large candelabras, flickering with the heat of a thousand small candles. They had been carefully engineered such that the candles remained above the water's surface, emanating light and heat in small, flickering pools over the lake, but now the candelabras were rising, bringing the candles higher up, such that they cast a warm glow upon the water's surface, beams of light reflecting off the smooth surface of the lake to rest elsewhere. Amélie looked around, seeing that they were surrounded by the magnificent candelabras, which now formed a large pathway.
It was magical. It was unlike anything she had ever seen before. Amélie was enthralled.
It was not until the edge of the boat bumped the opposite shore that Amélie realized that they had arrived. She looked up in surprise. The ghost had jumped off the boat, and was now tethering it to another stake. He held out a hand to her when he was done, and she took it, grateful for the steadiness he provided as she attempted to get out of the rocking boat. She stumbled a little, and ended up crashing into him. Amélie squeaked in surprise. He's warm. But the ghost said nothing, and merely righted her before quickly moving away, as though he could not stand to be in such close proximity with her. She watched as he swung his cloak off his shoulders and deposited it over the arm of a divan, before turning to her.
"Welcome to my house, mademoiselle." He bowed mockingly. "You wanted to see the Opera Ghost, and here he is before you."
Amélie looked around the room, taking in her surroundings. She could see now that she was in a large room, with a fireplace at one side of the room, flickering with the dying embers of a fire. There was a couch before the fireplace, and a rug thrown carelessly on the floor before the fireplace. A large table was placed some distance away, with high-backed chairs surrounding it. Amélie presumed that this was some sort of a dining table, as it had been set with glasses and cutlery, with a thin glass in the centre bearing one long-stemmed red rose. Amélie was facing a row of doors that led to other rooms, and at the wall behind the dining table, there was yet another door. Her fingers itched with curiousity to see what was behind the doors.
He noticed her looking at the doors. "All in due time, mademoiselle. You will see those rooms, if only to assuage your annoying curiousity."
Amélie shrugged, not ashamed of the fact that she was deathly curious about it. "It's not a sin to be curious, monsieur."
"Hmm." He made a non-committal sound, removing his coat and hanging it over a coat stand. Amélie took the time to see what he looked like. In the light of the room, she could tell now that he was indeed wearing a white leather mask over half of his face, but the mask did nothing to hide his piercing green gaze, framed by dark lashes. Amélie frowned, thinking of her own lashes, which she felt were rather short and inadequate. He had a straight, sharp nose, and a strong jaw, with a fuller lower lip. She narrowed her eyes, squinting. It seemed as though his lips tended to bloat a little toward the side of the face covered by the mask. His black hair was smoothed back and combed neatly. The Opera Ghost, Amélie reckoned, could not really be called a dashingly handsome man, not the kind that sent the ballet rats swooning, but there was something decidedly very attractive about him.
"If you are quite done staring, mademoiselle, perhaps you would like to see the rooms now." His voice cut through her thoughts, and she cleared her throat, a little embarrassed at having been caught staring again. She nodded her head quickly, and he led over to the doors, opening each one to reveal rooms that were mostly empty.
"I've only just built the house recently, and these rooms were meant to be bedrooms of some sort, but seeing as nobody except myself lives here, there is no need to furnish them." Amélie was not sure, but she thought she detected a strange sense of bitterness in his voice. He moved down the row of doors, until he reached the second last door. She made a move to open it, but he stopped her with a large gloved hand over her hand on the doorknob.
"This door leads to my room, and nobody except myself is allowed to enter." He said fiercely. Amélie drew her hand back at once.
He moved onto the last and final door in the row of doors. "I… do not like people to enter this room, but for once I will make an exception. Do not touch anything you see, is that clear?" He asked, but it was more a statement, an order, than anything else. Amélie nodded her head silently, and he pushed open the door, allowing her to step in.
It was easily the largest room out of the previous rooms he had shown her. The ceiling was high, and there were curtains along one wall, made to mimic windows. Of course there aren't any windows in here, what can they possibly lead to? She giggled a little at the thought. She scanned through the room, noticing the shelves filled with manuscript paper and ink pots, until her eyes came to rest upon the magnificent pipe organ in the centre of the room. Her eyes widened as she took in its glory, the polished wood, the burnished metal pipes.
"Do you play, monsieur?" She moved forward to admire it more closely.
"Yes." His response was short, but there was warmth in the statement. Amélie deduced that the pipe organ probably held a significant amount of meaning for him, judging by the way his face had softened as he had entered the room.
"Will you play for me?" She asked. He frowned.
"I should think not. I invited you down to settle your curiousity, not to perform for you." He said. Amélie pouted.
"Well, that's a pity. I've always wanted to learn how to play some form of music, as it amazes me so." She turned her puppy-face upon him. He stared at her, and she held his gaze for a few moments.
"A short piece, perhaps." He said haltingly, moving forward toward the pipe organ. Amélie grinned happily in response. It seemed that he, like many others, was not immune to her pleading expressions. She stood to the side, anticipating the music as he removed his leather gloves and placed his graceful hands upon the keys of the pipe organ.
As his fingers danced upon the pipe organ, bringing forth a lilting melody that was cheerful and bright, Amélie closed her eyes and let herself be enraptured by the music. His music was calming and soothing, and yet excited her at the same time. It made her want to dance. She had never heard anything like it before. When he stopped, Amélie clapped enthusiastically.
"What a brilliant piece, monsieur! Who was it by? I've never heard it before."
"I just wrote it as I played." He said simply. She gaped at him, and Erik almost laughed at her expression. However, his countenance darkened as he saw that her gaze had drifted down to the scar tissue surrounding his exposed wrists, now that he had removed his gloves. When she lifted her head again and he met her eyes, her gaze was questioning. He angrily snatched up his gloves from where he had placed them on the organ bench, and pulled them on quickly.
"Ask no questions, and you will be told no lies, mademoiselle." He snapped, just as she opened her mouth. She closed it. "I dislike questions, mademoiselle. You will not ask about the mask either. Yes, I have seen you staring at it."
He had not meant to sound so angry, but her questioning look and her stares had brought back memories of being exposed in a dirty cage, gawped at by strangers, laughed at, pointed at, ridiculed. The emotions were often too much for Erik to bear. He regretted it, however, when he saw her face fall slightly. Perhaps it is only human nature to be curious.
"Well, you played amazingly, monsieur. It is perhaps even more amazing that you composed it on the spot." She offered, in an attempt to pacify him. He looked somewhat mollified, and nodded, beckoning for her to leave the room with him. As they left, she noticed another door that she had not noticed, somewhere next to the fireplace.
"What's that door, monsieur?" She asked, realizing too late that she had asked yet another question. She clapped her hand over her mouth, and Erik looked at her in amusement.
"I will not kill you or torture you simply because of a simple question like that, mademoiselle. You have nothing to worry about." He said dryly. "If you must know, it leads to my library. However I have not had time yet to complete it."
Her face brightened. "A library? I love to read!"
He raised an eyebrow. "Do you, mademoiselle? Trashy romance novels, perhaps?"
She frowned at him. "I will have you know that there is nothing wrong with a trashy romance novel, monsieur. Some of them can be rather quite good. However, I do read other books. I enjoy books on travel, books which talk about other countries, among others. I enjoy fairytales. I enjoy fantasy. In fact, I read just about anything." Her tone was imperious, and Erik felt a strange pang of sadness as he remembered the little girl who had spoken to him in that exact same tone so many years ago in the storeroom, demanding that he tell her a story. "Shall we have tea, now?" She walked back to the dining table, setting a brown paper bag onto it.
Erik looked at it curiously. "What is that, mademoiselle?"
"It's the surprise I mentioned!" She exclaimed gaily. "I hope you will enjoy it. Perhaps it will convince you to let me visit another time." She said cheekily, handing it to him.
He peered over the top of the bag, and the sweet scent of chocolate wafted up his nose.
"It's chocolate croissants." Amélie said nervously.
"I… thank you, mademoiselle." He was staring at the bag as though it was something new and amazing that he had never seen before.
"Is there something wrong? Do you not like them, perhaps?"
"I've never had them before, mademoiselle. I do believe that I will enjoy them."
"Oh. Then why are you staring at them like they're something strange?"
"You're probably the second person who has ever given me a gift in my life," he said simply, almost nonchalantly. "It's the second gift from you, no less. I'll put these onto a plate and bring out our tea, mademoiselle, if you would just wait here."
With that, he disappeared into the room behind the dining table, leaving Amélie to stare, a little dumbfounded, at his disappearing form. I'm only the second person to have given him a gift?
A/N: Please read/review/favourite/follow/let me know you like it! Have a happy week ahead! xx hazel