"Are you afraid of the dark?" My captor asked me, as if that were a perfectly normal way to begin a conversation.

I had been knitting peacefully for quite a while, and this had come out of nowhere.

"You know I am," I replied, looking over at him.

"But why?" he inquired.

I continued my knitting. "One can't see in the dark."

"Do you always want to see?"

"Well, yes," I averted my eyes for a moment before glancing back up. "Anything could be hiding in the dark. Anything at all."

"So it is not darkness itself that you fear, but what it hides?"

"No. It is darkness... I simply want to know what is in front of me, and that conceals it. The things inside are never particularly frightening, just unknown, which makes them frightening. I want to know what is there."

He thought for a moment again. "And if I took away all the light in this room, what would you do?"

I trembled. "You wouldn't do that."

"Not for no reason. But what would you do?"

"What do you think? I would cry."

"Would you give anything for the light to come back?"

"Not... a-anything."

"But what?"

I shut my eyes harshly for a moment. "Any of my belongings, I suppose."

"Anything else?"

"Why do you ask these things?" I demanded weakly.

"It's enlightening. I understand your fears better now."

"Will you put out the light, then?"

"No, my dear, of course not," he said, failing to reassure me. "You have nothing to fear down here with me, not if you're well-behaved. And you've always been so kind and good, haven't you? You haven't even asked for anything yet, like a polite little guest. But you don't have to be like that down here, about asking for things. What would you like? I could buy you dresses, jewelry, flowers, chocolates... Most anything inanimate and tangible."

I looked down at the knitting my lap, then over at him, wondering whether or not he would allow me the one thing I had strangely desired for the longest time.

"The monkey music box," I told him softly.

I was certain he would refuse, but instead he tilted his head in surprise. He then rose to retrieve it for me. The hidden door shut behind him as he left, and I blinked in confusion before picking up my knitting again to occupy myself.

He returned rather quickly, seeming oddly pleased with himself, and set it on my nightstand. It was such a strange oddity, but the tune it played was lovely and comforting. The monkey was made of painted lead, its eyes black glass, and these seemed slightly tilted to give it an almost a sad look. The cymbals were bright and golden, and the creature even had its own Persian robes. The box it sat upon was dark wood with gold about the edges, and it contained what played the music.

"How do I make it play?" I asked.

"Wind it up," he told me. "That's what the handle is there for... but, of course, it plays by its own sometimes. I've toyed with it too much and seemed to have given it its own will. But also, if you want, I can make it play without need of that."

He swept his hand in front of it, and I let out a gasp that seemed to amuse him when it began to play. The hands at my mouth fell slowly back to my sides as the music continued, and I stared at it, intrigued.

"Do you like my tricks?" he asked as the tune ceased.

"No," I replied honestly.

He chuckled. "None of them? Do they frighten you?"

"Yes."

The light in his eyes faded. "They shouldn't... Do you want to see another? It won't frighten you."

I shook my head. "I don't want to see."

"If you insist... How is your knitting?"

"It's... fine."

He took out his watch. "I ought to leave soon. Can I trust you to be good?"

"I'm locked in a room," I replied miserably. "What can I do wrong?"

"What indeed... You're much more intelligent than you give yourself credit for, more than anyone gives you credit for. I assume you can find a way to free yourself, then promptly fall into a trap or have the siren eat you, no matter what precautions I have taken."

"What?" I squeaked. "What's the siren?"

"I don't know myself. She resides in the darkest parts of the lake... I'll be back in a few hours, then we can have dinner."

"Will you... tell me when I don't have to be down here anymore?" I asked shakily.

"It depends. It very much depends. But you won't last more than a few months down here."

"Last?"

"You would go insane being locked up in the darkness. It's terrible enough you're here now."

"And you?"

"I'm accustomed to it," he replied simply. "Do you need anything before I go...? Oh, don't cry, why are you crying?"

Why was I crying? There were too many reasons.

"Did I frighten you with the siren?" he asked, his harsh demeanor giving way to true concern and pain. "Come now, my dear, you mustn't cry like this, with no reason... Do you want something? Is that why you cry?"

"I want to go h-home," I said tearfully, shying away as he attempted to touch me. "That's a-all I want."

I looked up at him. His figure was blurry through the welled up tears in my eyes. I couldn't tell what he was feeling, whether he was feeling, unless he spoke.

And he did.

"I wish that very much as well," he told me, sadly, then his voice turned cold. "It's a shame, what you did, or else you would be at home this very moment."

He turned to leave, and I exclaimed, "Is it my fault that I loved?"

His hands tightened sharply into fists as he turned to me, and I pressed myself further into the sofa cushions, my tears retreating back into my eyes. However, he remained standing a distance away from me.

"I don't think you did love," he told me coldly, each word calculated. "I'll let you speak about the patron now so long as you do not avoid my questions, understand...? Tell me, why do you love him?"

Was this some sort of cruel trick?

"You need to reply," he said bitterly. "Don't you want to talk about your love?"

"What if I say something you don't like?" I asked.

"We'll find out. You're honest, reply honestly. Why do you love the patron?"

"I knew him as a child," I said softly.

"And?"

"He was with me with my father. We were very close friends, in fact, he was really my only friend, I suppose..."

"Surely not just that."

"Why do you mock me?" I asked, pained.

"I don't. Continue."

"He's kind to me... and he comforts me... He looks after me when I'm frightened, and he never lets me be alone. I don't fear him at all. He wants to protect me and... and he loves me."

"Now describe him to me. What does he look like?"

"You've seen him-"

"I don't have your eyes. Describe him."

I rose angrily, my voice trembling, "What do you want me to say? He's handsome, yes, I think he's the handsomest man I've ever seen and I love him! He has eyes like the sea and golden blonde hair and I think he is wonderful! And I'm sorry I don't love you, but it's not because of your face-"

"Then why?" he demanded sharply. "Sit down. Why?"

I averted my eyes. "I don't want to sit."

He took a step towards me, and I forgot my resolve entirely and hastened to return to the sofa, feeling very broken up inside.

"Why," he said slowly, sharply, "do you not... love me?"

"You murdered Buquet," I trembled out. "You've blackmailed the managers... ruined poor Carlotta-"

He laughed, "Say that again, poor Carlotta? From the girl who called her an evil woman and finally confronted her for her lack of respect for your voice?"

"I was wrong to do that. She's as frightened as I-"

"Stop speaking of her," he snapped. "It's bad enough I have to hear her sing your part now everyday, the part written precisely for you, not a crow who can hit a few notes... Tell me, what else have I done to be unworthy of your love?"

I put my head in my hands for a moment, taking a breath, then looked up at him again. Oh, why did he have to be so tall? I was trembling before a bear. He could pick me up and toss me around with relative ease, and I... I could do nothing. I had no more power than that covered up doll.

"Why am I unworthy?" he demanded again.

"What more is there to say?" I said painfully. "You lied to me, manipulated me, and you've killed a man. How can I love a murderer?"

"Wasn't the patron in the navy for some time?" he asked strangely.

"What? Yes, h-he was. But what does that-?"

"What's the difference?" he interrupted. "In war you can murder as you please, and diseases are not locked behind bars or beheaded, are they? And they kill multitudes... What is one man, besides? Buquet was not a young man, he would have died eventually of his own foolishness or some disease."

"You admit it, then?"

"Admit what? I didn't murder him."

My forehead knitted. "But you just said-"

"He murdered himself. He went around talking about the phantom after being warned by Madame Giry on multiple occasions. It was his own fault he wasn't more careful up there in the flies."

"I know you killed him. I heard you l-laugh."

"Well, it was rather humorous, wasn't it?" he smirked.

"No," I told him, shaking my head in horror. "He died. A man died, angel."

"You called me angel again. Why call a murderer an angel?"

"Because the murderer has not told me his name."

"Call me what you please."

"Erik," I replied readily.

His half-masked face lit in amusement. "What a strange choice. Why that name?"

"It suits you."

"See, you are more intelligent than you give yourself for. It's remarkable, your intuition."

"What do you mean?" I pleaded. "What are you on about now?"

"Why, Erik is my name. My real name."

"You're making fun of me again," I moaned.

"No, no, in all honesty. It's a funny coincidence, is it not?"

"Prove it."

He chuckled, "My word or nothing..." He glanced at his watch and exhaled through his teeth. "I'm late now. Oh well, no one expects ghosts to have watches, do they?... I'll be back in a few hours. Behave and I'll bring something down from your dressing room for you."

"I don't want anything from my dressing room," I lied.

"If you insist."

He left, shutting the door behind him with a wave of his hand. I fell upon the sofa, broken from the way he had spoken, and began to sob. What miserable existence was this, being toyed around with and frightened? Always frightened...

I should have just continued playing music with him. He was so kind when we played music, like an angel...

When I had cried my fill, I decided I ought to see what he meant when he said I could free myself. What ingenuity did this require? I wanted to show him some form of spite. It was worth it to have that moment of satisfaction.

I had to find out how to open the door.

It had nearly invisible seams in the stone wall, so there was no way of prying it open. It moved out and then around, on a hinge of some sort... It moved out and around...

Was there a way to push it open?

I pressed my hands up against it, with all my might shoved against the cold surface, but, of course, it did not budge. So I tried another angle... Nothing. Knowing that I was being ridiculous, I tried the other side of the hidden door. There was the grating of rough stone.

It went out! It went out barely at all, but I was so excited and surprised by my success that I attempted again. I kept pushing and shoving and I began to realize that the door was actually quite thin, and also how strange it was that I could force it open.

Oh, was this to torment me? Did he want me to run around and get lost in the darkness, then beg for him to rescue me? Why would he have set this up so poorly if not?

Then I realized my grave error. I had it now pushed out enough to be noticeable, and I couldn't shut it again. It only went out, so I had to either hope he didn't notice, make up some excuse, or continue in my endeavor.

"If he's going to treat me like a child," I mumbled, "then I shall disobey like a child. After all, I'm curious, aren't I?"

I took the chair from the desk and propped it up against the door, trembling at my own daring. But I wanted to do this, I needed to do this. And besides, the siren was in the lake. I wouldn't be in the lake... But what about traps? Would those kill me? Surely not... but he was a murderer...

The door was already almost pushed out entirely, so there was no changing my mind. I gave one last shove and it swung out on its hinge, making a screeching metallic sound.

I stared at the gaping hole in surprise, then put my hands over my ears as a loud, hideous noise ricocheted through the maze of tunnels. It sounded very much like a bird was being torn to pieces and squawking horribly. Oh, it made me sick...

Terrified by this, I went back into the room. What if I did die?

Maybe it would be best...

"No," I moaned, letting out a sob. "He'll let me go eventually..."

The noise ceased, and a terrible silence fell over the place. I took a breath and a candle before venturing back out into the darkness.

I didn't truly know what I meant to prove. Perhaps I only wanted to do something myself, for it was exhilarating to be figuring out how to free myself. Unless... was I thinking about this wrong? Was this a way not to amuse him, but to amuse me? Then why had he frightened me about it?

That was when I heard the door to the room slam shut, and in my surprise, I dropped my candle, which was instantly suffocated. I inhaled sharply in fright as the darkness drowned me. I was blind and entirely alone.

"I'm not so intelligent at all," I said aloud, sitting down against the wall and burying my head in my skirts. "Not at all..."