Erik paced back and forth, glancing at the sleeping Amelia every so often. He was uncertain on how to attempt to befriend Amelia. It wasn't like they had gotten off to a rocky start or anything. Kidnapping the girl wasn't exactly the best way to go about this, but it was too late for that now. If he were to release her, she'd go running straight to the Vicomte. He couldn't exactly her let onto his plans either. If he were to be too obvious about his motives, Amelia would figure out his endgame.

Something small, that was probably the best way to go; just little things here and there to slowly earn her trust. Nothing too outright or extravagant. He would be subtle enough that Amelia wouldn't even realize what was happening.

After making sure once again that Amelia was asleep, Erik climbed into the boat and began to row across the lake. He took his time with the journey upstairs, double and triple checking to make sure he wasn't going to be discovered, even though it was early enough hardly anyone was awake yet.

He let himself into the costume closet to borrow another dress for Amelia since she had ruined the other one. At first, Erik grabbed a long sleeved one, since that seemed to be Amelia's preference, but then hesitated and grabbed one with short sleeves as well. If he could get Amelia comfortable having her scars exposed around him, it would put him leaps and bounds ahead.

Taking the dresses, Erik made one last stop in the Populaire's kitchen. It was already bustling with activity as they worked to prepare breakfast for the rest of the soon to be awake staff. He slipped unseen into the room, grabbed a nearby spoon and flung it across the room. It knocked over a bag of flour, which covered the whole counter in white powder. Once the staff was distracted, Erik swiped a plate of freshly baked croissants. A few minutes later, after the mess had been cleaned, one of the chefs realized that the plate was gone. As the baffled man began to search for the missing croissants, Erik made his way through the tunnels back home to his lair where Amelia was waiting for him.

For the first time since she had been taken, Mia woke up on her own, not to the Phantom slaving over his organ. She sat up and looked around cautiously, expecting the Phantom to be lurking nearby. To her surprise, Mia seemed to be alone.

Her stomach growled as her nose caught a whiff of what smelled like fresh, warm pastries. Mia tried to repress a groan. It seemed that either the Phantom had resorted to psychological torture or she was hallucinating since her diet since her kidnapping had consisted mostly of bread and what was probably, hopefully purified, lake water.

Looking up, she saw the Phantom returning in the boat. She watched him silently as he docked and climbed out. She leaned back and closed her eyes as she saw the plate of croissants in his hand. Torture it was. He was taunting her with what she couldn't have. So Mia was surprised when he dropped what looked like a couple of dresses beside her and handed her the plate. "What's this?"

"Clean clothes," he replied as he removed his cape with a flourish. "Seeing as you've managed to ruin the other dress."

"I meant this," Mia said, holding up the plate.

The Phantom glanced at her as though she were a simpleton before turning and draping his cape over the back of a chair. "Breakfast."

Mia glanced back down at the inviting, still-warm pastries. He was being uncharacteristically nice. Either it was due to pity or the food had been tampered with, and she wasn't about to take any chances. "Do you honestly expect me to believe you haven't put anything in them?"

He whirled back around and approached her suddenly. Mia cringed as his hand shot out, but instead of striking her like she feared, the Phantom merely snatched a croissant off of the plate and took a large bite. "Does that ease your mind?" he demanded.

She looked back down at the pastries then back up at the Phantom who was sitting back down at his organ. "Thank you," Mia whispered. His back visibly stiffened for a moment, before he shook his head, picked up his pen, and began to compose.

Erik sat at his organ, staring at his music in frustration. He had gotten the notes exactly how he wanted, which was a rare enough occurrence, but now he was stuck on the lyrics. Repeating the melody over and over again, Erik grew angrier and angrier as he tried to find the right words to express what he wanted. Finally he slammed his fists against the keys, stood, and began to pace, deep in thought.

Out of the corner of his eye, Erik saw Amelia stand and walk into the bathroom, a dress in hand. He wasn't too worried about her though. Last night while she slept, he had taken everything sharp or breakable in the lair and locked them away in his bedroom so she wouldn't have the ability to cut herself.

Murmuring potential lyrics under his breath, Erik continued pacing. Finally he thought he had something so he sat back down and was about to write it, when he realized it didn't match with the music quite right. "Dammit!" Erik shouted, pounding his fist against the top of the organ. The force knocked over his inkwell, dumping the black ink all over his lap, staining his shirt. He leaped to his feet, swearing profusely, and ripped his shirt and vest off in an attempt to keep the ink from getting onto his skin.

There was a sudden sharp gasp behind him. Erik glanced over his shoulder and saw Amelia staring at his scarred back with wide eyes. "What…?"

"Some of us didn't need to cut ourselves," Erik said staring hard at his music. "Unlike you, some of us had other people to do that for us."

"What happened to you?" she asked in a hushed voice.

He sat back down at his organ slowly, refusing to look at her. "If you must know, at the age of nine, I ran away from home, and was taken hostage by a traveling gypsy fair where I spent the next several years locked in a cage, being tortured and whipped like an animal for the amusement of crowds of people just like you." Erik kept as matter-of-fact as he possibly could trying to establish distance between him and his own past, although his voice still held an edge of bitterness.

When he was certain that he was still in complete control of his emotions, Erik slowly stood and turned to face Amelia. She was staring at him wide-eyed, her hands pressed against her mouth in shock. She didn't seem to be able to speak. Erik raised his chin, staring her dead in the eye. He raised his eyebrow, challenging her. "Is there anything else you would like to know?"

"No," she squeaked.

"That's what I thought."