She stepped off of his boat, and onto the cold stone of his lair…
The walls were covered with old tapestries, cracked and carelessly covered mirrors. Parchment, used and blank, was spread out around the organ which sat up two levels from the water. A small pathway was outlined by rows upon rows of candelabras with small, white candles whose wax was dripping steadily onto the damp stone beneath them. Statues, unfinished carvings and paintings were strewn about the rest of the lair. There was an other-worldly feeling to this mysterious place. The faint smell of sandalwood and roses floated from somewhere beyond the face of the Phantom's mysterious world.
The Phantom watched from behind as she slowly made her way through the rows of candles, her hands folded at her breast in fear that her overwhelming curiosity might break this mystical spell which surrounded her. As she climbed the small stairs up toward his organ, she paused, allowing her eyes to take in the mysterious beauty of his lair.
"What do you think?" The Phantom asked, watching her with mild amusement.
"It's amazing…" she breathed, turning to face him. "You made all of this?" He nodded silently. She wandered up the small stairs and up to his swan bed, looking with curiosity through the translucent black curtain. Her hands trailed across the curtain, and over the stone wall beside it. "It seems like something from a fairytale…"
"This certainly is not from any Cinderella story I've heard," The Phantom replied, appearing silently behind her.
"No," she smiled mischievously, turning to face him, "it's like the stories the stage hands used to tell. They were the darker fairytales. The ones where the heroes were defeated and the witches and goblins devoured small children."
"You are like no other ballerina I've come across," he smiled, watching as she wandered over to his organ, allowing her fingers to gently caress the keys. A strange feeling overwhelmed him, taking his breath away for a moment.
"This is yours?" she asked, turning in disbelief. "All of this is yours?"
"Yes," he replied, smiling to himself, "It's been mine since I arrived." Her eyes wandered across the visible areas of his lair. Across from his organ sat the bust of a desolate man. Slowly, she reached her hand out to the bust and touched the deformed half of the statue's face.
"Why do you have this?" she asked curiously, keeping her hand on the bust's cheek as she gazed curiously up to his mask.
"It holds my mask," The Phantom replied "when I do not need to wear it." She nodded silently and turned back to the bust. "Why are you so fascinated by this dungeon?"
"This is no dungeon, this is your home," Madeleine answered, "Only…this place is much more beautiful than the rest."
"The rest?" The Phantom asked, walking slowly up to where she stood.
"Yes," she replied with a smile, "The entire opera house cannot compare to this." The Phantom shook his head in disbelief. Her eyes reached his and locked, drawing from them the curiousity each held for each other.
"Come, night is falling. I will take you back to the dormitories," The Phantom began, but Madeleine's hand landed on his arm, stopping him.
"I don't want to go back up there," she said, holding onto the soft material of the Phantom's jacket. "Please, don't make me go back up there. It's so desolate…and it's so quiet."
"Madamoiselle," he tried, but she stopped him.
"Erik, please," she began… Solomnly, he nodded.