She groaned quietly as she woke, the pain in her side bringing her to an unhappy half-consciousness. The fine linens wrapped around her body were foreign to her, and she struggled against their mummy-like encasement. She refused to open her eyes. Whatever reality or unreality she was in was good enough for the moment. She released herself from her bed clothes and rolled over on the bed. Her head landed on a long, firm pillow, and she let herself relish in this comfort that was so foreign to her.

---

He woke from his stupor slowly, the whiskey leaving its sledgehammer mark on his head. He took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling. It took all his willpower to control the pain, but control it he did. He sighed, trying to remember what had caused him to drink so much, and whiskey at that. It was a wretched drink, and usually he drank wine. He only had the whiskey for health purposes. Health…surgery…the girl! He had forgotten about her. His mind was still fogged in liquor, but the feel of weight against his torso cleared it rapidly. There lay the girl, as content a look as he had ever seen. She was still mostly asleep, and she lay against him in a way that let him know that it was not a conscious effort that brought her to that position. He started when she let out a sort-of purr and placed her hand near her head on his stomach.

By heaven and hell, this woman was going to drive him mad. He remembered that she was still without a dress, and felt the impulse to scurry out of the room. The other, more primal half of him took too much pleasure in the feel of her body against his to leave. It was this half that won, and he lay there, silent, watching his unknown patient sleep.

She had brown hair that reflected a deep auburn in the candle light, and her face was pale, but not alarming so, as it had been the previous night. Freckles were lightly sprinkled around her nose, and there was a small pockmark between her eyebrows, but few other blemishes. She carried scars from a time unknown on her right shoulder, and her pale, even skin continued down her collarbone to her chest, which was hidden by the sheets and her position. She was built like any other chorus girl at l'Opera, but her frame was bent at extreme angles, and it seemed to him that every joint in her body must be working to produce the strange figure she presented on the bed.

"Who are you?" he wondered softly, wiping a wisp of hair behind her ear.

"Mmmm, the Phantom…" she mumbled in her sleep.

He laughed, a warmer laugh than the previous night, but everything about him was much warmer at the moment. "I think you may have the two of us mixed up, little one."

Her hand drifted lower, and he hissed. If he didn't entangle himself from her soon, she might well drive him beyond his limits. He rolled out from under her, his anger rising within him. Who was this simple chorus girl to torture him like this?

He stalked off into the darkness, leaving her to wake up alone.