Darling. (Erik/Phantom x Reader)

Five.

Dormitory of the Opera Populaire.

***

The three stood in her new room -- the prima donna suite of the Opera Populaire. It consisted of a decently sized bedroom, small sitting area, walk in closet, and an attached bathroom, and had three large windows facing into the streets of Paris. The walls, thankfully, were white, and the only furniture thus far was a bed. 

While the room was meant only to serve a Prima Donna during a production run (roughly three months), Monsieur Carriere had told her he expected her to be its occupant for a long while -- therefore justifying the amount of money her father was about to put into it. 

"Well, this simply won't do," Her father announced, motioning to the barren suite, "Charles, we will need a dresser, two nightstands, a desk, and a large bookshelf for right here," Her father detailed, motioning to where furniture would go, "At least they gave her this mirror!" He sarcastically waved to a large, golden mirror attached to the wall. 

"It's beautiful," Y/N smiled, gazing out the window to see Parisians walking and biking past. She could -- and would -- spend hours people watching at this window, especially during times of day like this, when the sun was setting and the street seemed to be painted gold. 

"Alright, now -- Charles and I are going furniture shopping, but we can have the driver begin bringing in your things if you'd like to stay and unpack a bit?" Her father spoke, rocking back and forth on his heels the way British men tend to do, and placing a brimmed hat on his head. 

"Yes, Papa -- that sounds wonderful. You know my taste," Y/N smiled, waving her father off with a smile. 

***

By midnight, her room was full of boxes and new furniture, which Charles and her father had just finished setting up in her room. Their trip had taken only a few hours, but her father had insisted they arrange the furniture perfectly before leaving, so Y/N would not attempt it herself. 

"Well, Darling, we are ready for bed. Do you want to come home with us or spend your first night in the opera house?" Her father asked, sitting beside her on the bed, still bare of sheets. He looked so happy, she noticed. 

"I think I'll stay here, and unpack a bit more," Y/N smiled, hugging him tightly, "Get me tomorrow for breakfast?"

"Where is my hug, Teddy?" Charles asked, carrying a box of her books into the room and dropping it on her coffee table, which sat in her small seating area -- now consisting of a blue carpet, a small sofa, two chairs, a coffee table in the center of the seats, and in the corner her desk. Beside either side of the sofa was a bookshelf, just waiting for her to fill with books. 

"Bugger off, Charles!" Y/N laughed, releasing her father so he could stand, and make his way through the maze of packed belongings on his way to the entryway.

"Make sure to lock this door," Her father commanded, exiting the room after Charles, "Goodnight, Teddy!"

"Goodnight, Papa!"

***

Y/N spent the next hour unpacking books and organizing them onto her shelf. Finally, she couldn't handle it anymore. There were too many boxes, and her room was too cluttered for sleep, and she needed to sing. 

She carefully lit a candle and grabbed her music, then began walking through the opera house -- which was silent and dark, except for the cleaning crew. At this hour, however, they would be in the main entryway, polishing the marble floors. 

She made her way into the auditorium, and climbed onto the stage. In the darkness, the room felt endlessly large -- almost like she was sitting on the boat in the middle of the ocean. She sat down on the floor of her boat, allowing her legs to dangle off the stage, and began to sing. No words, just a vocalization. She allowed her voice to carry out, and silence all of her inner thoughts. It was only her and the melody for those sweet moments. 

Just when her mind was clearest, and her voice soared into the higher notes in her register, a sound from the orchestra pit prompted her to stop suddenly. She opened her eyes and turned to see a man standing in the pit, just a few yards from her. He was a large figure, whose face was entirely concealed with a mask. The only features she could discern was his auburn hair and light blue eyes.

She wanted to scream. But she didn't. Her breath was caught in her throat, and all she could do was look at him. 

"Please, Mademoiselle, do not be afraid -- I am only an admirer," He spoke, and his voice seemed to coax her into calmness. It was soft and soothing, and she listened intently as he continued, "I heard your audition today, and your voice is the thing of the heaven's -- your talent is immense -- however, at the risk of causing you any offense, I would like to offer my services to aid in perfecting your performance." 

"My singing... needs work?" Y/N asked in a whisper, a little taken aback. She thought she had done well today. 

"Not the voice itself," He corrected quickly, nervously playing with his hands, "Rather, your pronunciation and dictation. You are from London, yes?" 

"Winchester."

"The English have a funny way of holding out certain syllables, which can leave the resonance of a sound to clash with the orchestra's music," He began explaining with a certain level of professorship, "It is a small error, but if you fixed it -- and polished up your acting -- I think you would be the finest performer in history."

Y/N was silent, staring intensely at the masked man, "And you are... who, exactly?" The question was asked softly, out of pure curiosity. 

"I am a musician, of sorts... a composer, a director -- largely, I consult with Monsieur Carriere, who I presume you have met?" His French accent was so light, Y/N realized. His English was perfect. 

Y/N nodded, "Yes... and why the...?" Y/N motioned towards her own face, not sure how to politely ask the man why he wore a mask as though he were Jack the Ripper and she was a young woman in the streets of London. 

"To conceal my identity, of course -- I prefer to remain unbothered by the outside world. I have never had reason to go out of my way to work with someone individually -- until now, that is." He seemed a bit nervous, Y/N could sense, as if he suffered a bit from social anxiety. She could tell, however, that this man did know his way around music. 

"And you want to give me... vocal lessons?'

"Let's call them 'performance enhancing' lessons, shall we? What do you say?"

Y/N looked down towards him, and part of her wanted to say no. After all, logically speaking, he could be a madman. A bigger part of her, however, willed her to say yes. 

"Where can I find you, for these lessons?"

"I will leave instructions for you under your door in the morning," He responded, sounding happy, "Thank you, Mademoiselle."

"Y/N," She piped up, "Please, sir -- call me Y/N." 

She expected him to respond with his name, but instead he quickly turned away and seemingly disappeared into thin air. 

Taking that as a sign to leave as well, Y/N scooped up her sheet music and scurried back to her room, where she promptly locked her door and changed into her night gown, falling asleep.