His footsteps were smooth and silent over the aged wood of the catwalks. Erik paused. His ankle was caught on something that made a nasty tearing sound. Upon examination, he found that an old nail had ripped the bottom of his fine, black pants. Another tear this theatre has produced, he thought to himself, another thing I must mend.
As he examined the tear closer, something caught his eye. The young ballerina walked below him, aimlessly wandering across the stage. Madeleine. He had memorized her name and almost every feature about her. She was a common young lady and a common young ballerina. To him, nothing could compare to his soprano.
Quietly she began to hum something as her feet nervously moved beneath her. Erik watched curiously as she walked across the stage with perfect balance upon her toes. She must have found some old Pointe shoes; Erik thought to himself, watching silently as she gradually began to dance.
Silently, he crossed the catwalks and climbed down the ladder into the wings of the stage. His hand caressed the wall, finding the small passageway which led to the orchestra pit and climbed down the small set of stairs. He sat down on the piano bench, gently turning the knob of an old oil lamp and placed his fingers on the keys.
Erik hesitated. With every dance, there should be music, and with all music there must be dance; he knew that. Without thought, his fingers traveled over the keys, playing out a sad melody.
Above him, Madeleine paused.
"Monsieur?" she asked quietly. Erik grinned.
"Dance." His voice rang out around her, echoing up through the balconies.
She paused, and began to dance.
His gloved fingers began to flutter over the faded keys as her feet floated above him on the old wooden stage. The Phantom's finger's stuttered for a moment in aggravation; he could not see her dance. He peered over to his side where a small record player sat. He lifted his left hand and, while still playing with his right, he turned the lever which gave power to the player and allowed it to play, lifting his hand from the keys.
The music was quiet, but still sounded familiar. Erik could not quite place where it was from. He did not care, however, as he climbed back up to the darkened wings where he watched the young ballerina dance.
She was beautiful and elegant as she twisted and turned to the sound of the music. He recognized parts of her dance from an old routine the ballerinas once performed. She must have loved that opera. The song ended and she paused, looking curiously around. The record began to play another song, and Erik froze. Someone must have recorded the music from his opera, Don Juan Triumphant.
The dark music of the ballet began to play from the player in the orchestra pit. Madeleine paused and listened for a moment.
"It was you, monsieur," she breathed, looking curiously around. He watched as her eyes scanned right past his hidden figure and around the other side of the stage. She took three steps back, pausing in the center of the stage. Her eyes were wide with a mixture of fright and curiosity, but she did not run away. Instead, she shut her eyes, took a deep breath, and began to step forward on her toes.
"She must have been one of the ballerinas," he thought to himself, "the ones in the final scene…"
Her arms moved with an invisible partner as her legs twisted and lifted to the sound of the dark, sensual music. Erik knew those steps as well as he knew the music, but the urge to join her scared him. The song met the halfway point, and as the music grew to a crescendo, he stepped out onto the stage. She was not facing him, but as she stood on her toes, reaching her delicate hand out to her nonexistent partner, Erik grasped it gently, making her jump.
"Monsieur!" she gasped, stumbling backwards, "Monsieur, you frightened me!" Erik grinned, taking her hand in his.
"You dance beautifully," he said, spinning her to the music. Madeleine smiled shyly and continued to dance with him. They stepped and turned, dipped and spun to the intense music until it turned slow, and Erik stood behind her with his gloved hands resting on her delicate hips. The music faded and the record shut off, leaving them in a dreamy state.
"Monsieur…" she began, but he silenced her.
"Do not call me monsieur," he said as he turned to face her, "My name is Erik."
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A/N: What did you think? Sorry its taken me so long to update, I've been really busy with school and my novel. :) R&R please!!!