A/N: Never expect two updates in a row from me. This plot bunny has word fleas, though, and is itching for me to write.
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone but Abby.
The break of dawn in my lair has never been any different from the night. But this morning, it is indeed different.
I got up an hour earlier as the music box rang out. Christine's song has played through my mind all night, and I finally have the last harmony decided. So before I even consider eating or dressing, an hour is dedicated to my music.
As I finish, a scream rings out.
I stand, fixing the mask as I run outside. The girl is standing at the edge of the lake, looking around. When her eyes land on me, however, she backs into the water.
"You're safe." As she shakes her head, I pull up my sleeve. "Look. I escaped." She freezes, coming out of the water very slowly. Lifting her own arm, she cocks her head.
"Yes. It's faded. I've been here for years. You don't have to worry." The girl approaches me, tapping the mask with one hand in a questioning manner. I kneel down, knowing that she'll have seen far worse in the circus. Slowly, as her hands slip under the mask, it lifts up. I allow her to remove it fully, and she smiles slightly upon seeing my true face.
"What about you?" I whisper. She shakes her head, slipping the mask back into place. "Tell me," I urge her.
She looks me in the eye. Walking over to the organ, she opens Don Juan Triumphant-or at least, what I have written of it. Her hands move quickly over the keyboards, and music far more complex than what I have written for the simpletons in the orchestra resonates in the cavern. She plays a few minutes' worth of the music before I stop her.
"So that is the good of it. What, then, is the bad?" She stares at me for a full minute. Suddenly, it clicks as she raises her hand to her lips. "You're mute."
She nods, looking at the keyboard. She plays four notes: a, two distinct b's, and an e which she holds for four beats. She then looks at me.
"Your name?" I guess. She nods. "Hello, Abby. My name is Erik. Can you write?" She nods, smiling. "Follow me. I have paper." She runs after me, back to the cave.
As I sit down, she climbs up into my lap. Once I dip the pen in the ink, she takes it from me and begins writing.
My name is Abby Williams. I was born in London, but my parents knew I was different. They gave me to the gypsies after finding out that, even though I was only four and could not speak, I could already play the piano when my mother was rehearsing her music. The gypsies then discovered that I had already taught myself to write. They put me on display, and I was with them for four years. I finally escaped last month just before they left Paris. I wandered, knowing they had left scouts to try and find me. When I saw the Opera, I snuck past the doorman. I saw your tunnel and followed it down here. However, as you now know, I cannot swim. You understand.
It shocks me that a child is writing with such precision and vocabulary. However, I just witnessed it. I can barely remember when I was so young-I believe that was around the time the gypsies started to punish me if I did not perform. It was only a few years later, however, when I built the maze of mirrors. If I were to give little Abby an education, I can't imagine how advanced she may someday be.
But current matters are far more pressing. The green dress Abby is wearing is wet at the bottom, and the shoulders are ripped. "If I could find some of my old clothes, Abby, would you mind wearing them for a day or two?" She smiles, shrugging. I excuse myself as she waits patiently.
A few minutes later, I return with my clothes from when I was younger. "You're lucky I was small, Abby. These clothes will probably fit you pretty well." She smiles, and I step outside as she changes. When she exits after a few minutes, I redo a couple of the buttons on her shirt before getting some bread for us to share.
When we finish, Abby sets off on her own for a few minutes as I put the finishing touches on Christine's song. I finish, and look around for her. She's disappeared, though, so I call for her. After a few seconds, she comes back into sight carrying three rats. She stops at the keyboard, playing F D. Food.
I doubt she's ever had any good-quality meat.
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