☼☼☼
Erik slept; it was something that seemed impossible to him. Before, he'd sleep very little because the past racked his mind and fractured his slumbers. For once since the decline of his rule over the Opera house, he felt somewhat blissful. It was far better than having none. He awoke with a start from his desk. Erik rubbed his face and felt something cold.
"Oh, for the love of--" he grumbled several indecent words as he searched for tissue to wipe off the ink which now dripped down his face.
In the midst of the mild catastrophe, Madame Giry descended the stairs. She heard scowling and was not impressed. However, Antoinette smiled when she witnessed the Phantom's dilemma of spilled ink. "I guess he will need more ink, then." Chuckling softly, she advanced and offered her tissue to him. He stopped and looked at Madame Giry.
"You better hurry on and clean yourself, or else you're going to need a new mask to hide that." she indicated the splashed ink on Erik's face. He etched a grin and took Antoinette's tissue.
"I owe you a new hankerchief."
"Don't fret about it."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm quite sure, M'sieur...in fact, I have a drawer full. Sometimes, I carry more than one with me."
"Are the dancers that pitiful?"
"There's that and then there's opportuned moments like this. It's not everyday that le fantome de l'Opéra decides to do a little bit of face painting."
Erik looked at her mockingly.
"I'm starting to understand why I enjoy your company so much Madame."
"How so?" she asked through her think Parisian accent.
"We're both sarcastic figures who strive to prove our ingenuity. Alas, we are trapped under this roof with little recompense."
"M'sieur, I do not think it is fair--"
"I think it is quite fair. You, the genius in choreography and I, the genius in music...but sometimes I believe that I patronize myself too much."
"Don't say that, M'sieur! You deserve every full right to that title."
"If only...sometimes, I feel unsatisfied, it is never enough. I couldn't keep hold of--"
He stopped wiping the ink off his face. Erik leaned over the writing desk, his hands flat against the surface. He shut his eyes, but it was no use...he saw her there, inside his mind. She was the cause of his downfall, the face that turned away and left him for good.
"M'sieur, I shall no longer burden you. I will return later, if you so please."
"Antoinette, I--" he turned around to speak to her, but he found himself alone. His heart rose a little, Madame Giry was imitating his movements. At least he still had a welcoming and kind soul that visited him. All he had in his head was Christine. She consumed his thoughts evermore. Erik sighed and retired to his chair, facing his scattered works.