Warmth now filled Amelia's bones as she awoke from a rather cliché experience that she had only ever imagined in her mind. Despite remembering being soaking wet, she realized she was dry up suddenly. Her previous apparel had been removed and she sat now in her completely modest underclothes. Still, she felt very vulnerable.
Blinking in order to clear her vision, Amelia realized that she was in a very different variation of a room that had been a constant in her memory. She now found herself in what she believed to be the guest room in the Lake House. She had always imagined a more decadent setting but the walls were a simple dark stone. There was little light in the room except for several candelabras attached to the wall.
The bed in which she lay was made of a rich wood and the headboard contained beautiful carvings proper for the period of time. An armoire of similar age and beauty hid in a small corner and Amelia's dress hung over a small wooden chair with a velvet cushion—much less extravagant than she had imagined but still perfect.
Looking around for signs of her captor, Amelia slid her legs over the side of the bed and shivered at the feel of more stone, cold stone, on her feet. She tiptoed over to her dress and slipped into it as quickly as she could. Missing her cozy velour sweatpants and favorite Prima Donna t-shirt, she sighed as she fastened her dress up. Amelia remembered the reason of her sacrifices and knew she had come as close as she could ever come to her goal.
She paced around the room, unsure of whether she should wait for her captor or seek him out. Pacing around she looked around a bit, not finding anything incredibly amazing but having to curb her temptation to swipe a small stupid souvenir. Amelia then realized her feet were freezing and that she had not put on her slippers. However, replacing them on her feet did not warm her toes up much.
Amelia felt like a discomforted child but she resigned to slip her dress off once more and huddled under the warm blankets that had been provided her. She still felt a bit feverish and a little panicked at the idea of becoming ill in such a dark aged world, or so she perceived.
It was not long until the comfort of the bed and warmth took over her senses and allowed her to drift off to sleep again. Amelia drifted in and out of sleep and felt shivers overcome her and sweat. She cursed herself many times for putting herself in this situation. She could not keep her eyes open for very long and when she did, she saw the world through fuzzy glasses.
At one point, she saw a dark shape enter the room and approach her bedside. She knew who it was and wanted to make contact but she could not speak. As she tried, a hand covered her mouth gently and eased her back down. She longed to hear a voice, that voice who no one she knew had ever heard and that no actor could ever imitate to perfection. However, her captor remained silent and simply put a cool cloth on her head which made her realize that she had a fever. He forced a warm herbal drink through her lips and then left.
Amelia tried to lift her head to catch another glimpse but she felt more tired than ever and soon rolled her eyes back and continued to dream dreams that were almost realities.
Her fever lasted a week and in that time, when she had conscious thoughts, Amelia felt certain she would die and her journey would end unfinished. In a moment of delirium, Amelia managed to make herself smile at the idea of becoming a real opera ghost and staying with Erik. Of course, these types of thoughts came in droves in response to her body fighting off an infection.
She barely remembered anything real from her time of serious impairment, but vague memories of someone replacing the cool cloth on her forehead several times and attempting to spoon feed her a herbal broth that tasted like cilantro. A forceful hand gently cared for her and allowed her to get well. Amelia never anticipated him doing this for anyone.
Eventually the fever broke and she awoke one day, cool and alert once more. She sat up as if from and dream and stretched like a cat hearing the contenting sound of her back crackle a bit. Looking around the room she started as she looked in the direction of the velvet chair in the corner. She audibly gasped.
There Erik sat, clad in his black dress suit and staring out at her through a white mask that covered his entire face. His hair color, a mystery among phans, appeared sleek and dark as in the stage show, but Amelia had reason to believe that it might be a wig. She clutched the blankets on the bed up over her chest and found herself in an eye lock with the object of her affections. She did not even know him and yet she found herself spellbound in fantasy.