Ang awoke to a loud buzzing in her brain, a sure sign that she'd just experienced a faint - something not nearly as uncommon in her life as she wished. As the buzzing receded, the sound of nearby trickling water took its place, like a fountain or water feature. For a moment, she thought she may have gone blind, for although her eyes were open, she could see nothing at all. By and by, as her eyes adjusted, those fears were calmed. There was a dim, eerie bluish glow that came up from the floor in front of her; upon further study, she realized the floor was actually water that stretched out in front of her like a wide, rippling, and oddly lit dance floor. With a wince, she slowly sat upright, assessing any possible injuries she may have suffered in her fall; there were none, although her right hip, leg, and shoulder were sore where she landed. One hand reached down and tentatively felt along the prosthetic attached below her knee. It didn't seem broken; Lord knew she couldn't afford a new one even if it had. Looking around, concern and confusion mounted. The floor she'd been lying on was made of massive square stones, laid out to make a room. No, on second thought, not a room. Where was she, anyway? Were underground canals a thing? It couldn't be a sewer; the smell didn't match what she'd always supposed a sewer to smell like. All around her yawned large, dark angular stone corridors, one looking exactly like the next, each faintly glowing like there might be some sort of night light along the way. There was no other sound but the continuous trickling of water from some unknown source.
Her hands still stung a little from the burn received by the heated metal of the stage light, and so inching to the edge of the stone floor, she dipped her hands and wrists into the illuminated water, finding it pleasantly cool, and let the burns soak for a few minutes while she struggled to make sense of her sudden change of location. She must have fallen through the trap in the stage floor. Thank God they'd been open, otherwise the fall – or rather, the landing – would have likely broken most of her back if it didn't kill her outright. Fortunately, there were permanent catch pads and mats under the floor for safety, but she didn't remember falling into them. In fact, all she remembered was falling past the broken metal rail of the catwalk, and then... nothing.
Although she was fairly certain no one would answer, she still had to try. "Mac?... Mac!... Peter! Stitch!... Anyone?... Please?" Only her own voice echoed back at her before she was swallowed in relative silence once more.
Gently shaking her hands dry and tentatively standing to her feet, slowly just in case there was an injury she hadn't perceived, Ang chose a random direction and started walking – well, hobbling – with all senses alert and taking in as many details as she could. There weren't many. A turn here, a turn there, another turn. There was little point in staying in one place since she was sure no one had any idea how to find her. After all, if she didn't know, how could they? When the cold, dank hallway led to a dark, lightless staircase leading in a gradual spiral downward, she hesitated. While she might find help up ahead, at least where she'd already been was vaguely familiar and safe. With a deep breath she took to the steps, creeping along the wall, looking over her shoulder every few moments as if expecting to see someone rush around the corner after her.
The light ebbed then faded entirely from the corridor behind her, plunging her into darkness blacker than midnight. For only a few moments did the sound of water fade, but soon it returned and was more like a distant rushing waterfall. I hate the dark, I hate the dark, I hate the dark, she chanted inwardly. In the blackness, one hand was stretched out in front of her while the other felt along the rough stones at her side, feet carefully testing each stair before proceeding downward. With her sense of sight momentarily taken from her, all other senses were heightened, and so she noticed the faint hum of music wafting through the stairwell immediately. Alice's iconic line "Curiouser and curiouser" came to mind as she descended toward it, each step bringing the music closer and clearer.
Dim light gradually re-entered her vision, and by the time Ang reached the bottom, light illuminated every inch of space spread out before her, though what she saw was of little comfort. It resembled an abandoned and long-forgotten antique shop or museum. The cavernous space had everything from old costumes of eras past to statues half covered with drop cloths, Renaissance and Grecian style furniture, hundreds of vases, dozens of mirrors, even some broken instruments. Someone had been here recently enough; mounted to the stone walls were old oil lanterns and iron sconces, all lit with a dancing flame and each emitting a snake of smoke into the air that hovered about the high ceiling.
While the music lured her enough, the mysteries of the collection of antiques intrigued her more, and so she stepped to the nearest piece – an old wardrobe that turned out to be full of coats and mid-Victorianesque gowns – and thus began her journey through the ages of dust and other people's memories.
With no one around and such lovely items at her disposal, she let herself indulge in the fancies of a child that were never realized in her own life: playing dress-up and make-believe amongst the treasures she'd found. Her favorite find, and what she quickly slipped into, was a stunning dress that seemed like it was created just for her: a ball gown made of silk dyed a deep emerald color, a white satin sash to tie about the waist and just a small amount of lace to accent the low scoop neck and the shoulders. There was no zipper sewn into the back, which she found odd, but because the back fell so low, she was able to lace it in front of her then twist it round and snake her arms through after. She'd then uncovered more than a couple jewelry boxes and small chests filled with necklaces, earrings, tiaras, bracelets, arm bands, rings, and bodice decorations, the most elaborate costume jewelry she'd ever seen! Each was lovingly examined before she replaced them carefully in their boxes. The only piece she did slip round her neck was a delicate gold chain that turned into a vine of gold leaves with a gilded lily hanging from the middle. She then moved to one of the large, standing mirrors, dusted the glass off a bit, and scrutinized her reflection. She sighed heavily; she was utterly unremarkable. Her head tipped to one side, then the other, regarding herself with disappointment. What would her co-workers think of her if they saw her now? A tom boy by her outward appearance, yet here she was, playing dress up as if she was Cinderella dressing for the prince's ball. She scowled at the scorn she directed at herself. No one was here to judge her. No foster kids were around to laugh at her or pull on her false leg; no co-workers that would poke fun at her when she tried to be cool or tough. She was alone here, and she could pretend to be a princess just once; no one would be the wiser!
Glancing through the nearest open jewelry box, she picked up a bejeweled comb from the array of sparkling pieces and tugged the rubber tie from the messy knot that secured her hair out of her face. Long wavy hair was unwoven and draped over one shoulder, and she gently worked the comb through to untangle the knots that had been acquired during the work day. With her ginger locks shining and smooth again, she pulled a few pieces back from around her face and wound the rubber band around them again, leaving the rest to hang down to the middle of her back. She never let her hair down; it was time to give herself permission to be just the tiniest bit girly.
The music in the air caught her attention again, though its presence had never ceased. Self-reflection was forgotten, the comb replaced, and she wove her way through the nonsensical array of collectibles toward the unexplored side of the room.
She wasn't surprised to find that there were three other hallways that began at the room's opposite end, and after following each for a minute or two, she picked the second of the three, finding the music louder there than in the others. It continued to grow in volume and power, and after ten minutes, Ang discerned it as notes made by an old fashioned church organ. It was an odd instrument to have stored down here, she pondered, and had to be fairly large to make the air vibrate as it did. By the time the hallway ended and opened up into yet another large room, almost cave like in appearance but for the gigantic tapestries and lit candelabras that decorated it, the music was so strong that she could feel it reverberating through her chest. Ang was even obliged to press one palm over her heart as her insides pulsed with each chord. An odd, out-of-place lake stretched out to one side of the room, but for the moment, it was overlooked. More Romanesque statues stood partially covered by dusty sheets, more mirrors and discarded antiques lay scattered about the room's floor and various staircases, one of which was wider and shallower than the others. Curiously, timidly, she made her way up the stairs until she saw what she'd been expecting: a huge pipe organ, set up along one wall at the top of the stairs that stretched out into a large platform, and a dark-haired figure sat at its bench, fingers and arms flying up and down the keys.
She stood mesmerized by the music, perfectly content to watch and listen. When at last the music ended in a brilliant crescendo, she finally began breathing, unaware that she'd even held her breath. "Incredible," she mused quietly to herself.
The figure stiffened for a split second before ducking his head and covering it with one arm while his other stretched and fumbled for something just out of reach on the organ. "Comment-êtes vous descendu ici?!" he bellowed at her.
Ang jumped and scuffled backwards a few steps, palms lifted before her in surrender. Dread dropped into her stomach like a boulder and she struggled to swallow back the lump that had risen in her throat. "I-I'm so-I'm sorry. I followed the music and—"
"Personne n'est permis ici!"
"I'm sorry. I—"
He finally whirled around on the musician's bench, eyes full of hate flashing at her, the majority of his face behind a plaster mask. "C'est interdit!"
The sight of the mask froze her in place, her heart slamming against her chest in realization, mouth agape and gray eyes wide with disbelief. "Holy crap. It's you."
The man swooped at her, seizing her by the arms and shaking her, roaring into her face. "Êtes-vous qui?"
Her head spun. Never mind that she was standing face to face with a fictitious character, but even if he was real, he died over a hundred years ago, neither of which was possible. And there was one other thing that finally registered in her mind. "I'm sorry. I- I don't speak French."
The man caught sight of the necklace nestled in the hollow of her throat. Whatever he spoke came out in a harsh bark before one of his hands fisted the lily and ripped the piece from her, the chain giving way with a soft snap against the back of her neck. With surprising strength, he dragged her down the steps and to a large sheet covered box. Tearing the cloth back revealed a human sized bird cage into which he propelled her with a rough shove.
Catching herself and swinging around just as the barred door clanged shut, she reached between the iron bars in desperation and grabbed at his sleeve. "Wait! Don't leave me here. I know you!"
He wrenched his arm away from her fingers and stormed back toward the stairs, yelling back at her over one shoulder.
"What? I told you, I don't-"
"I said, you are a thief and a liar! No one knows me," he spat, his words heavily accented.
"No, I do. Erik, please. Listen to me."
He stopped abruptly and turned slowly back in the cage's direction. "What did you call me?"
Ang stepped closer to the bars and peered through them. "Erik. That's your name, isn't it? You were born like that, with your face all– all– like that– and-and it was your mother that made you believe you were ugly and should be hidden away from the world. She made you wear a mask so she wouldn't have to look at you. You live down here, stories below the Paris Opera House, composing music, and you helped train a young chorus girl in the ballet named Christine Daae—" Ang was rambling now, but in her desperation, she couldn't stop herself.
"Who?"
She couldn't stop herself before, but that did. Ang felt silent and stared at him. "Christine. Y-you taught her to sing, and you fell in love with her–"
Erik growled and changed direction, retreating to a different hallway instead of continuing back to his music. "Devils do not love." With that, he was gone.