In the morning I woke, still alone in the small room. I felt in my hand something slightly prickly. I found a red rose, tied with a small ribbon of ivory lace, and attached a note.
"To Mademoiselle Raine,
Thank you for the conversation.
- Erik"
How did he get into my room? The door had been locked. No windows were near my boudoir. Anxious to meet him again, I hurried down to the basement, first reporting to Madame Giry that I felt ill, that I should not take part in practice today.
I sat down once more between two old props from Faust, this time with a book and began my reading. I sat impatiently for about an hour until the breeze of a cloak rushed by my face.
"I see you are back." The voice said. I eagerly lifted my candle to get a look at the man's face. A dark hand quickly doused the flame between two fingers.
"You are not to see Erik, Mademoiselle." His voice was suddenly stern and deeper than normal. I dare not question him or fight his will. Fear returned within my stomach, and I quickly ushered it down. "Do not be frightened of me, miss." His voice had returned to its soft state. "As I said, I will not harm you as long as you leave Erik's face in the dark." I felt him sit beside me. No warmth was felt from him.
"Why did you return, child. That was unwise. You know not who I am."
"I know that you are Erik of the Opera, and that you wish not to harm me."
A silent laugh escaped his lips, seemingly muffled behind something, now that he was closer. "Indeed. Are you not frightened anymore?" I looked over into the darkness. I could see nothing, my eyes had not yet adjusted to the dark. "No, Erik. I am not. I am curious."
"About what?"
"About you."
I could feel he was deep in thought. I opened my mouth again. "Why did you leave me that letter."
"I just wanted to thank you. I have not spoken to anyone in a long while…"
"How did you get into my room. The door was locked and there are no other entries."
"I am the master of the Opera, dear. I need not doors to enter rooms." A brief pause. "Now it is my turn…why are you curious about me, a man with hands of ice who dwells beneath the glory of the Opera in darkness. Whose voice starts nowhere and ends nowhere. Who most fear to even think about."
"I am not sure." I did not know that other people knew of him, but I left the subject alone. "You…intrigue me. You notice my art…how, I do not know. You are kind."
"…kind?" He was new to this concept. "Yes. Have you not watched me and seen my popularity among the other girls? They dislike me. Though I am fine with that, I find it strange that such a man as yourself would take an interest in me, nonetheless my art."
"You find the appreciation of talent odd?" I shook my head. "No, no Monsieur. I…" He cut me off. "You may not have a voice of an angel, or the legs of grace itself, but you are unique. You hold talent most cannot fathom, especially from a girl your age." I could not hold back a smile at this. "Please, it feels strange speaking into nothing. Let me see your face." My hand fumbled for my candle and another match out of my pouch, but my hand was grabbed before it could get anywhere. "You will not see Erik's face." His voice grew loud and frustrated, like a young child throwing a tantrum. I squeaked, fear returning. His hands were so cold they almost burned. He wore no gloves this time, and I felt his hands were not but bone. He saw my terror and his grip loosened and left. The atmosphere changed, he felt bad. "Good bye, Raine." I realized I had been holding my breath and let it out. He was gone.