A/N: Dang, It took a few days to log in! I don't know what happened but now everybody is updating, and that includes me. Hope you like!
Erik stumbled into his lair, a dazed expression still on his face. She kissed him. She willingly kissed him, and did not hold any fear in her eyes when she did. Never had he been shown such affection! Oh, this woman would eternally surprise him! And then their was the way she had run her fingers along his mask. The light touch had reminded Erik of the way that Christine had curled her fingers around the edges and pulled it away. Indeed, he had expected her to pull the porcelain away and scream in terror, and had steeled himself thusly. But surprise of surprises, she had stepped back, watching her curiously with those amethyst orbs. Erik sat at his organ, touching his cheek where she had kissed him with those tender lips, and smiled. He recalled the way Antoinette Giry had looked at him when he was a boy, her young face full of pity and empathy, and he had thought for the longest time that that was the sum of affection he could expect from anyone. Calliope had watched him attack and murder that pig, Bouquet, and had still thanked him, called him an angel. A gentle smile rested on his face as he began to play, thinking of those beautiful eyes gazing at him in grateful happiness.
"I don't understand. Why were you on the catwalk?" Christine asked. She and Calliope were dressed for bed, sitting facing each other on the bed. Calliope was brushing Christine's hair and explaining again what had happened. Calliope sighed, feeling her own hair slide over her skin, and felt heat flood her face when she remembered the way the phantom's eyes had darkened slightly when he had faced her that night in her nightclothes.
"When Carlotta began to croak, things backstage began to go crazy. I was standing right next to the ladder, so I went up to avoid being trampled. No one ever notices me, Christine. That's why I went up. I was stupid, and let my guard down. That pig was waiting for it, and he tied my hands and forced a rag in my mouth before I could think. I couldn't fight back, no matter how hard I tried. Christine, the rag was soaked in ether. I would have died if your angel had not attacked Bouquet. He saved me." she said. Christine turned to face her friend, a scared look on her face.
"Roux, he cannot be an angel. I have seen his lair, and it seems to be a dream made real, but it's all an illusion. I've seen his face. No angel would look that monstrous." she whispered. Calliope slammed the brush down, her eyes flashing as anger flooded through her.
"Christine Daae! How dare you make such assumptions! Your angel taught you when no one else would take the time. He did everything in his power to make you a star like you dreamed, and he saved my life! I never imagined you could be so shallow! A pretty face can hide the truly monstrous, never forget that!" she snapped. Christine blinked, her eyes wide in surprise at her friend's anger, then she found her voice again.
"Roux, he drugged you! For all you know, he could have stolen your virtue that night, and be no better than the man he killed." she shot back. A sad look crossed Calliope's face as she looked away, staring unseeing into the fire.
"He did not. I have no virtue to steal." she whispered. Christine's eyes went wide with realization. She reached out and took the costume mistress' hands in hers.
"One of the stagehands?" she asked gently. Calliope shook her head, lifting the edge of her nightgown, revealing a scar on her thigh, where her dagger normally hid.
"I'm sure by now you have noticed that I am not like other women. My father was French, and a great supporter of this opera house in his day. My mother was from Persia. Her beauty was envied throughout the land, and many men were envious of my father. As a child, my parents brought me to Paris once. That was how I met Madame Giry and her husband. If you ask her, Madame will tell you how I loved to dance to the songs of my homeland that my mother would sing. Father died when I was ten, and Mother and I had to work to earn money. Mother would sew, and I would dance. Christine, you must understand that the dances of my homeland are much different than the dances you perform here. There was a local tribal leader, a rather handsome man, who would often hire me to dance. I was naïve, and I thought he did so in order to help my mother. When I was twenty-two, my mother died from illness. That night, the chief's men came to my house, and dragged me out. I was taken to his home where he told me I had been chosen for his harem. I refused. My mother had often told me that due to my bloodline, I had the right to refuse any man. The chief did not like my answer. I fought the entire night against him, but it was no use. The chief and his advisors all took their turns, and when they were finished with me, the chief took a dagger and cut me, marking me as undesirable. That was when he made his fatal mistake. He turned his back on me, and I took the dagger and drove it into his heart. I fled to my home, gathered my family treasures, and ran away. It took me two years to reach Paris, and when I arrived, I found Madame Giry and told her of my parent's deaths. I never told her what had happened to me, or what I had done. I don't think I could bear the shame if she knew the truth of what happened to me. That is why I never feared the phantom, Christine. Why should I be afraid of a ghost when I have faced true monsters?" she asked, tears sliding down her face. Christine was silent, tears flowing down her own face. Swiftly, she flung her arms around her friend, the pair crying together for the pain in Calliope's past, and Christine silently thanked the heavens she had been spared such pain in her own life.
Calliope sat up in her bed a few hours later. Christine slept the peaceful sleep of the innocent, but Calliope's mind was reeling. She stood and fetched the small chest that was hidden beneath her bed, drawing out a small bundle of black material. Moving on silent feet, she went into the back rooms of her domain, the costume rooms. Her mind would not rest, and she wanted to put some of her past to rest. She swiftly changed into the black belly dancer's outfit she had carried from Persia. The tight black top ended just below her breasts, leaving her middle bare. The low slung harem pants hugged her hips and the sash of coins sparkled in the candlelight. Calliope looked at herself in the mirror, turning this way and that as she took note of the fact that the outfit still fit perfectly. In her mind, she heard the music of the dances, and she began to sway, loosing herself to the memories, never realizing that a familiar pair of green eyes were watching her from the shadows.
Erik had not expected anyone to be awake at that time, and had slipped into the costume rooms to purloin some fabric. He had heard the door and retreated into the shadows as Calliope stepped into the room, a black bundle in her hands. She stepped behind a dressing screen and Erik was assailed with images from his memory, the skin of her leg as she sheathed her dagger, the smooth expanse of her arms as she held that same blade against his throat. When she stepped out from behind the dressing screen, it took all his will not to gasp out loud. She wore an outfit that was similar to the costumes from Hannibal, but was unique. The black top barely covered her chest, leaving her middle completely exposed, and the pants hung low on her hips, a sash of gold coins wrapped over those same hips. He watched as she approached the mirror, looking over the fit of the outfit. Then her eyes slid closed and she began to sway to music only she heard, and he had to bite back a groan. God above, his muse would be the death of him! She swayed and arched, her movements sensuous and graceful, the kind of dancing that drew men to take a woman to his bed. Indeed, Erik was tempted to step from the shadows and sweep her into his arms, and he was hard pressed to resist. Finally, her movements slowed, and she stopped, her chest heaving slightly as she gasped for breath, a light sheen of sweat glimmering on her skin, her hair loose and flowing down her back.
"Had I known you could dance like that, I would have insisted you join the corps de ballet." Madame Giry's voice broke the spell of the dance, and Calliope jumped in surprise. Erik pulled deeper into the shadows so as not to be seen.
"I would never be as good as your dancers, and would not see their performance suffer because of my ineptitude. I know only the dances of my homeland, and I will not dance them again." Calliope said briskly, moving behind the dressing screen. When she reemerged in her nightgown and dressing robe, Madame Giry came forward and took the younger woman's hands.
"Petit, I do not know what happened to you when your parent's died to make you hide yourself away, but know this. If you were to show even a small portion of your nerve, you could easily outshine Christine. Perhaps if it had been you in her shoes, none of this would have happened."
"If I had been in Christine's place, I would have throttled Carlotta years ago." Calliope answered, a smirk on her face. Madame Giry laughed at this, and moved to lead Calliope out the door. Erik smiled as well, inspiration flowing through him.
"Thank you my muse. You have given me such inspiration this night." he whispered, pitching his voice so only she could hear him, the smile growing when her head snapped up, her amethyst eyes darting around the room, but he was gone, down into the depths of the opera house.
Over the course of the next three months, there were no more messages from the opera ghost. The managers had decided not to begin a new opera until after the New Years Masquerade Ball, but that did not mean that Calliope had any rest. She had to prepare the costume's for the ball, and Carlotta was being even more insufferable than normal. Every few days, the diva had called for her, shrieking about something that wasn't right or that the gown was too tight. Finally, it was the week before the ball, and Calliope had finally entered her rooms. It was late at night, and she was exhausted. She collapsed into her chair, sighing as her muscles protested. This close to the ball, she had no time to prepare her own costume, and she suspected that Carlotta knew it.
"Ah well. I just won't go. Again. I swear that banshee plans this every year. It definitely explains how she manages to gain ten pounds right before the ball, and lose it just as quickly afterward." she said to the empty room. She looked down at her book, and shook her head, groaning as her neck protested the movement. A pair of strong, gentle hands rested on her shoulders.
"Something is troubling you my muse. You have been working so very hard lately. I hardly see you leave the costume rooms." the phantom whispered in her ear. Calliope sighed in delight as his hands began to knead the stiff muscles in her neck and shoulders gently.
"Carlotta is being more unreasonable than usual this year about her costume for the ball." she replied, relishing in the feeling of her muscles loosening under his touch.
"Are you excited for the ball, dear muse?" he asked, and she turned her head to gaze into the fire.
"I will not be attending. I have no costume, and I have no time to make one, nor the money to order one made." she replied, her eyes growing heavy as the weeks of work caught up to her.
"You deserve to go to the ball more than anyone. It doesn't seem right that you be denied."
"I never get to go. Why should this year be any different? Hmmm, you never told me your name, angel." she whispered, her head lolling forward in exhaustion. She felt his arms sweep her up and lay her in bed, pulling the blankets over her body. The last thing she heard was his silken voice whispering in her ear.
"My name is Erik."
Erik smiled gently at his muse as she lay in her bed, a serene expression on her face. Turning, he hurried through the tunnels to the hidden door in Antoinette's rooms. He swiftly knocked, and a moment later, the ballet mistress opened the door, surprise evident on her face.
"Erik? What is it? I haven't heard a word from you in almost three months." she said, stepping back as Erik entered the room and pressed a money purse into her hands.
"Antoinette, I need you to arrange a costume for Mademoiselle StClair for the ball. Carlotta's overindulgence of chocolates has robbed the poor girl of the time to make her own." he said, moving over to the desk and writing down several details for the gown and mask with his muse in mind. He turned back to Antoinette, who was glaring at him, suspicion plain on her face.
"Why are you doing this? Is it not enough that you torment Christine, now you would torture this poor girl? A-Calliope has been through enough in her life, she doesn't need you adding to this." the ballet mistress accused. Erik rose to his full height.
"The girl has granted me inspiration, and I am in her debt. Every year Carlotta robs Calliope of the chance to attend the ball, and I wish her to attend this year. Antoinette, she deserves this more than anyone else." he said. Antoinette's face softened, and she took the sheet of paper gently from his hands.
"Very well. I will do this because I agree with you. She does deserve this." she said. Erik smiled and squeezed the woman's hand gently.
"Thank you, my friend." he said, stepping through the hidden door, missing the shocked expression on Antoinette's face.
A/N: Well, next chapter is the Masquerade Ball! I should have it up in a day or two. Meanwhile, please review!