A/N: Just wanted to say thank you Guests and Arianna! Your reviews mean the world!
Hand-in-hand they went.
Body still numb and hollow, she stumbled along with him in the dark cavern. Tugging her gently but firmly, he constantly looked back at her, hardly believing it.
The sounds of their footsteps echoed against the dank walls, old lanterns barely held onto the brick, threatening to fall.
It still had not hit her. The events taking place were surreal, in denial. The tragic side of his face hung mystically, shimmering oddly as it bobbed up and down, it captured most of her attention. Dreamlike, something like that should not exist in the real world. Its permanent golden wail reminded her of a soul attempting to break free from the gates of Hell. Angel or demon?
Terror was clawing its way to her, he could see her face pale progressively. When she had accepted his hand, he had stopped singing, for he had not actually believed she would willingly accept.
Now, however, he was filled with anxiety that she would wake up from the trance and begin to scream. He must attempt to alight her spirit, must distract her from his hideousness.
"Sing once again with me," he encouraged softly, and the brilliance of the tune instantly blanketed her fears with an uneasy calm.
His cataclysmic eyes smoldered into hers, even in the dark they blazed. Her knees went weak, and she stumbled, but he was quick, and steadied her easily. Although lanky, there was also an unseen strength, another mystery to unravel. At the touch of his other hand on her thinly-veiled arm, she trembled. Voltage passed between them.
"Our strange duet," he continued, and they had halted their progression.
The chill of his breath sent a current of shock from the tip of her spine to her toes. Unconsciously, she leaned into him.
"My power over you grows stronger yet."
At this obvious warning, she glanced tentatively over her shoulder.
"And though you turn from me, to glance behind."
She connected their gazes once more, his arms cocooning her loosely. The mask stared through her soul as it closed in, but she could not react, could only dumbly follow his lead.
"The Phantom of the Opera is there. Inside your mind," he whispered in her ear.
She had once asked him if he was friend or phantom. Resigned to his fate, this was his answer.
The cogs in her head spun too quickly for her to understand, but the draw of his invitation overrode all sensation. His mask, voice, aura, everything about him seemed to be a black hole that was continually pulling her in. Withdrawing, he then heaved her to a wobbly standing position and continued his slow pace down the midnight hall.
The tingle of his skin set a fire within. Angel or not, he was real, and it comforted her that she could actually interact with such a peculiar being. He was concrete, right in front of her, not an immaterial spirit that existed only in her mind.
Focusing all energy, she responded:
"Those who have seen your face, draw back in fear."
Though his back stiffened, he did not stop.
"I am the mask you wear."
He gave a tight nod and turned half-way, his observable face saddened as he sang:
"It's me they hear."
Compassion gonged, and an instinct to protect this poor creature surged. Face softened, she felt the crushing terror ease in her chest.
"My spirit and your voice, in one combined."
Now perplexed, she saw his cold, jet black brow raise in disbelief.
"The Phantom of the Opera is there," she agreed with something between a grimace and smile on her lips. "Inside my mind."
His oddly light eyes widened. There was hope!
With a sharp intake of breath, he doubled their speed. Clinging to his arm like life-support, she managed to keep her balance as her feet fumbled.
"In all your fantasies," he sang, almost laughing, sending a quirky vibrato into the air. "You always knew that man and mystery..."
"Were both in you," she completed sagely.
Suddenly he turned a corner and then stopped again. Letting go of her carefully, he made sure she was able to stand when he hauled a large, loose piece of rock out from the ground, exposing a seemingly endless hole.
Placing the boulder to the side, he hopped down. Gone for a second in the shadows, she then saw his long, bony arms stretch through the floor.
Understanding that he wanted her to jump, she crouched apprehensively and eased into the gap. Falling for less than a second, his uncannily muscular hands caught her. The same spark ignited at his touch. It was certain he felt it too, for he didn't let her go. She took that moment to breathe in his scent: A mix of incense, ink, and worn leather, it was more proof that he existed.
Then resigned, he set her on the floor with a sigh, still holding her satin hand.
"And in this labyrinth..." he started again when they continued walking.
"Where night is blind," she finished.
"The Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my/your mind," they sang together, each note mingling with the other in a haunting embrace.
The acoustics were far better now, she could hear his divine birdsong echo forever. Nonetheless, it was even darker here, bordering on pitch black. Perhaps that added to the resonance, enhancing the other senses.
It was clear they were declining, she heard pebbles bounce as they cascaded into the depths. Spasms of dread would force her to cling all the more to her guide.
Somewhere in the back of her mind she concluded that they were going further underneath the Palais, into the pits.
"Sing, my Angel of Music," he ordered when silence threatened.
Noticing the switch of roles, she could do nothing but submit to his will.
"He's there, the Phantom of the Opera."
It was good, subtle and harmless, but he knew she could do better. There was more power to be discovered.
"Sing."
Letting go of lyrics, she only began to test her range, letting the soprano out.
"Sing!"
Determined to impress him, she expanded her lungs and abdomen, climbing into the peaks. Like tinkling bells it reverberated throughout the cavern, fading into loving tones only to be heightened by the second wave.
There was still more.
"Sing, my angel! Sing!"
She had never ascended so high before, she could not go down. Yet her gift did not betray her as it carried her beyond the clouds, toward the zenith where only birds went.
"Yes...yes..." he prodded.
It felt as if her soul was trying to escape through her mouth, resurfacing. She held the note devotedly, but one more notch would certainly do it. The entrance to his lair was coming into view, he saw the velvet curtains.
Blissfully unaware, her eyes were shut as she poured all of her trust on him. Completely engrossed in her efforts, she was only vaguely conscious to the fact that they had slowed down.
"Sing for me!" he shouted suddenly.
Resembling an exquisite but murderous scream, she finally hit the note and ceased. There was no more air to give, the altitude too much. The unmistakable touch of carpet swayed softly against her open toes, she opened her eyes.
A place out of time, but with a few modern commodities, she marveled. Light bulbs hung dimly from the high ceiling, she could not see the top. It had the effect of making it seem as though the bulbs were levitating, like magic.
A grand, pristine piano sat front and center upon a cobbled stage. Everything else was centered around it: The simple, black cot, the quaint desk that had hundreds of music sheets clustered on it, and the hand-made shelves that leaned casually against the eastern wall.
Trinkets and Gothic, dramatic candles were scattered everywhere. Following the wick trail, she noticed that a silent lake sat beside them, reflecting the ambiance. Surprised, she shifted closer to him. He put a comforting hand on her shoulder, his arctic skin piercing through the thin blouse.
It certainly wasn't an angel's den, but was nonetheless intriguing.
Moss clung to the stones, she wondered how long this place had been here. Centuries, no doubt, maybe longer. It was a piece of the past, an ancient island below the steps of the modern world above. Turning to face him, she tried to figure out his purpose for living in such a place.
No answers twinkled in his eyes or were given away by his poignant, half-exposed face. He stared at her as if waiting for something.
Perhaps the only key to the secret was the mask.
Stretching on her toes, she attempted to peer closer at him. Rigid, he allowed her to come within a few inches, but then leapt away from her. Stung by his rejection, she could still feel the inferno of his eyes and the frost of his touch. Her face blushed a deep red.
"I'm sorry," he said softly, head bowed.
She hadn't noticed, but his regular voice was just as baffling. When he sang, it was powerful, displaying a mastery of range and precision. Yet his normal oration tended to be extremely light and airy but strained, like he wasn't sure how to speak correctly, or at least was out of practice.
Unsure how to entertain guests, especially this one, he went to the familiar.
Passively she followed as he strode toward the spotlighted piano. One of the few bulbs was swinging right above it as he sat gracefully upon the bench. If she thought his singing was miraculous, his skill on the piano was just as good, if not better.
Yet, it did not have the same effect. Whereas the former sent her flying, the latter sent her back to the nest. A powerful weariness crippled her remaining resolve, the experience overwhelming. The strikes on the keys only worsened the feeling, a perfect lullaby.
Vision darkening, mind sinking, she managed to reach him and place a slender hand on his back. Instantly he whipped around, just in time to catch her as she swooned. Not surprised, he nonetheless took a moment to bask in her beauty as she lay helpless in his arms. His murkier instincts snarled, but she was too important to betray.
He did content himself with lightly fingering her chin, and then lightly brushed the neck, stopping when he hit the collarbone.
It was softer than he thought.
Restraining himself, he scooped her legs up. He effortlessly lifted and carried her to an unseen compartment hidden by a luxurious drape. Pulling the rope, the elegant shroud parted, revealing a comfortable burrow with soft blankets and a bundle of feathered pillows.
It wasn't a bed, but it was just as good, he mused.
Setting her down like a precious child, he studied her lovingly as he placed her upon the cushions. Her rich hair sprawled artistically, creating a halo. In sleep, her inhibitions and worries were wiped away leaving her expression serene. Resentfully, he wished that he could have such an effect on her when she was awake.
Closing the curtain slowly, he stood, peering through the veil.
"You alone can make my soul take flight," he serenaded.
At his voice she sighed contently and succumbed to a deeper slumber.
"Help me make the music of the night."