Of Masks And Roses

The Lake

Erik groaned and shook his head as he crumpled up yet another failed piece of music. He tossed the paper behind him, throwing it into the large pile of other crumpled up sheet music, filled with sour notes and tunes that never quite fit with the rest.

He shook his head, burying it in his hands. He just didn't understand. Why was he like this? Where did his inspiration go? Did it fly away with the rest of the summer air, heading south for the winter? Or, perhaps he is just being dramatic? Scarlet did say something about that a while back, about him being a bit too dramatic and that he should, 'Just close his eyes and take a deep breath.'

"I am not dramatic!" he responded and spun towards her, his cape billowing behind him.

She rolled her eyes with a smile, shaking her head at him, "Oh come on," she laughed, gesturing vaguely at him, "Even that was dramatic!"

He half laughed, half scoffed, crossing his arms, "W-Was not!"

"Yuh huh!" she argued, crossing her arms as well.

"Was not!"

"Yes it was!"

Erik shook his head again, willing himself to ignore the memory and return to the task at hand. But he just couldn't. There was something on his mind, something that just wouldn't leave him be and it wasn't his opera or Christine.

It was that red music box that Scarlet owned. The one that gave him his inspiration in the first place. Hundreds of beautiful music, along with quite strange music, seemed to just sit inside the small package. Erik didn't quite understand the thing that much, but he did know that those songs helped him write his own.

With a short nod of his head Erik stood up, an idea forming in his mind. He needed his inspiration. He needed the thing that wouldn't leave his thoughts.

But a flicker of what happened the last time he took one of Scarlet's things ran through his mind and he sat back down, burying his head in his hands with frustration. What would happen when he took it? Would she never find out? Would she come for it? And if she did, what if she got hurt by one of his traps again?

"But what about Christine?" Erik asked himself, "You're doing all of this for her. You're writing this opera for her. She's the only one who truly matters right now." And with that, Erik stood back up.

With a sweep of his cape he turned towards the boat, "Oh come on, even that was dramatic!" suddenly rang through his head as he did so. But he shooed it away just as quick as it had come. But as he stepped into the boat and grabbed the long oar he couldn't help but feel extremely guilty, and he couldn't figure out why.

The feeling stayed with him even as he started paddling, even as he climbed the stairs, and even when he reached her empty room. After a quick look around to make sure that he was truly alone he opened the hidden door and slowly stepped inside, eyeing the small bedside-table as he shut the secret door behind him. He knew that he was not going to be disturbed. Everyone was in the auditorium receiving news of the new opera. The stagehands, the dancers, and even the managers were there.

He was alone.

With quiet, yet quick steps, he made his way to the small drawer, reaching forward and opening it slightly. When he spotted the red music box, or the 'MP3 Player', as what Scarlet called it, sitting atop of her black art book he stopped and let his hands drop to his sides. As he stared at it, the feeling of guilt grew stronger in his chest. When he finally willed himself to move his arm and grab it it felt like the weight of the whole opera was resting on his hand. When it was finally in his grasp he sighed with relief and slowly closed the drawer, shaking his head.