Amelia found herself thrust into Erik's world headfirst. He seemed so eager to show her everything, his more treasured possessions found their way into her heart from his. As she had suspected there was so much more to his lair than her imagination. The amount of props and sets from shows that had been dumped into Erik's domain was enough to boggle the mind.

Erik seemed to take pleasure in showing her every little trinket they came across. Amelia delighted in his enthusiasm. She had not yet permitted him to call her "Amelia" so every time he called her Amelia she had to remind herself of her birth-name. The way "Amelia" rolled off his tongue was so lyrical and beautiful; his voice truly was angelic. She could not wait to hear him sing, but she refused to push him, he must come around in his own time.

When the tour concluded, Amelia felt overwhelmed. They stood at the bank of the lake and stared into the murky but bluish waters silently. The echoes of their steps flowed through the caverns and vast beyond. It was so hard to believe that they were miles underneath such a controlled and beautiful opera house. Yet somehow Erik managed to beautify his own world and make it just as elegant as the world above,

The best part of the tour had been seeing the organ. Amelia neared passed out from excitement and nearly overstepped her bounds by touching the keys. She remembered herself quickly and played the part of the gracious host. Erik almost had the intuition of her true feelings but yet did not offer her a seat at the infamous instrument. It was more real that way; they had to get to know each other before trust could be completely solidified.

She stood on the banks of the lake now, and Erik stood slightly behind her. So many questions poured through her brain as she stared off into space day dreaming. It was strange now that her most vivid day dream was a reality. Well, almost. The questions that bombarded her mind mainly concerned the fact that Erik had not met Christine Daae yet. Was that a fabrication of Leroux's? Did Leroux know for certain that there was a man down in the depths of the opera house or had he perhaps met him?

Erik had somehow shuffled his way right next to Amelia, and was gazing at her through the barrier of his mask. He spoke to her and started her a bit, "Where do you go when you do that? That's not the first time I've seen you look that way."

"What way?" Amelia hated that she couldn't seem to hide anything from him.

"You look far away, deep in thought. I suppose it would be hypocritical for me to pry but I can't help but wish to understand what goes on behind those eyes of yours when they look like that."

Amelia sighed louder than she meant to, "I want you to know everything that I'm thinking... but I can't tell you everything right away. Not yet. Just as I'm sure you don't want to tell me everything yet."

Erik shifted uncomfortably next to her, "I may not tell of you all of my secrets, Amelia, but I suppose it would be more fair of me to reciprocate honestly with you. If you tell me what you were just thinking at this moment." He was tricky and Amelia found herself smiling in response to his flirtations.

She turned facing him, staring into his eyes, "You want to know? I was wondering if you knew a man named Leroux."

"Is that his first or last name?"

"Last."

"Well, as social as it is down in here, I'm afraid I don't get out enough to meet that many new people."

Amelia murmured in agreement. "Do you know a man named Leroux?" he asked gently.

"Not personally, he's a writer. I believe he'd find all of this inspiring," she said carefully.

Over the next couples week Amelia and Erik had many conversations like this one. She'd look questioningly at something and Erik would get frustrated and demand more information. He never yelled at her but Amelia could tell that he was getting a bit annoyed with her lack of divultion. Not to say that he was any more forthcoming in his information but despite this small rues, they enjoyed each others' company immensely.

Erik would tell her stories as if she was a little kid again and half of the time she could not decide if these stories were true or not. Some of them were almost too fantastical to be real and yet, that though contradicted her current situation. She knew rumors of his alleged time in Persia but Erik confirmed them with his many tales of the Shah who he served under. He made no mention of the infamous character of "The Persian," a policeman whose life he supposedly saved in the book. Amelia supposed that to be a sore subject and thought it best for those subjects to be broached by him when he was ready.

The most difficult part was when he would inquire about her background. Almost everything she told him was a lie. Where she studied, her parents' occupations... it's not like she could tell him that her father was a computer engineer and her mother was a pediatrician. He'd stare blankly at her then laugh. She tried to brush off her childhood as an orphan in a girl's home, learning all she knew there, playing on the headmistresses' piano in secret, and running away and seeking work, never knowing her true family. That seemed to satisfy him, since he had not spoken of his childhood yet.

Weeks turned into a month, Amelia barely noticed the time. Erik seemed to have all that she needed to exist in his world and Amelia could barely contain herself when one day he revealed the purchases of truly authentic clothing from the era. He claimed that it would be more preferably than her costume-like gown and that these clothes were made better. She did not argue and was glad to finally get rid of the last material possession that continuously tied her to her old life.

Even the underclothes that Erik had purchased were infinitely more comfortable than the ones Amelia had bought from the vintage shop. (At no small price.) There were enough dresses to last for awhile and shoes that were more practical for exploring the cool depths. Every once in awhile Erik would surprise her with a little treat. One day a silver handled hand brush with smooth bristles, another day a bottle of floral scented eau de toilette for after her bathes, a pair of enameled combs with roses on them. He had amazing taste.

His taste translated over to food as well. At first Amelia had been tentative eating foods which were prepared so differently than what she was used to. The first week she had been ill almost every night from the food, not because it was poor quality or poorly prepared. Erik never knew since she was always in the privacy of her room, or at least if he did know, he said nothing about it. The one room in the house which Amelia had still not seen was Erik's bedchamber. She did not request to see it.

Once they had fulfilled a need to ask the essentials of each other's lives, Amelia felt a pressure had been lifted off her shoulders and could just be herself... almost. They spent time talking about things like music, art, food, and sometimes even philosophy. Amelia had to be careful when discussing some of these things to make sure she didn't express delight in a novel or piece of music that hadn't been written yet. Clearly the Leroux novel as well as its Broadway equivalent were out. She considered the absurdity of evening mentioning it.