𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑷𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑻𝑶𝑴 𝑶𝑭 𝑩𝑳𝑶𝑶𝑫 (𝑯𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒎)

Chapter Seven

To say that Frederick Chilton was infuriated by the contents of the letter was somewhat of an understatement.

Well, perhaps the word infuriated wasn't entirely fitting after all. Chilton's expression was something between anger and fear that Will couldn't quite place within those margins. It was clear that the man was trying to stifle his reactions out of pride, and even so, the emotion read clearly on his face in the way his jaw worked, teeth grinding, lips pressed taut. The way he held the squared paper between his fingers, almost trembling, knuckles bared and bleached pale white with the tension caused by the underlying bone. His upset was so terribly obvious that his efforts were useless. Will found that to be embarrassing, but then again, when was Chilton ever not?

Naturally a crowd had formed around him. The letter had stolen all of their attentions, violent as something imposed by force. Dreadfully similar to how the Phantom's voice had a way of lingering indeterminately like an echo in one's mind, Will thought. Amidst the group's shared anticipation he stood close, drawn in by the mystery just as everyone else. Chilton revealed nothing. He spoke not a word for a long while as his eyes darted between written words and his jaw clenched even tighter, tense like a spring about to jolt forward in a biting snap.

Despite hoping to go unnoticed, Will couldn't help but lean in just a bit closer. Though he tried, he couldn't even hide his intentions from himself, wishing to stand close enough so that he could read what the letter spoke of and marvel at the Phantom's words. To know his handwriting by sight alone and observe each detail that characterized it. The intent behind his phrases, the flick of his wrist and the curvature of his letters written at the angle of a quill once held by his hand. Skilled, delicate, brutal fingers wielding not the deadly weight of a reaper's scythe, but the lightness of a feather tipped in dark ink. Swirls of darkness, calligraphy over pale white stained and glinting similarly to blood under the moonlight and the manner in which Will had been slick with it… just below the moon, just nights before this and in the presence of death himself. Oh, how strangely alluring of a thought that was… Will ought to have loathed himself for it.

A week it had been, and he couldn't even begin to understand why he was still so hopelessly intrigued, consumed, obsessed. He could understand it before, with the shock of it all, but everything that he'd been forced to endure that fateful night had faded into a low buzz of nerves that Will knew would always remain, for the experience had changed him, after all. Still, his recollection of it felt as though reduced to mere fractured reflections of haunting memories he'd both lived and envisioned. All of it faint and dulled and yet, the Phantom's voice remained just as strongly in Will's mind as it had when he'd first heard it, tainting each thought, each maddening reverie. Whispered devotions, melodic wants, demands, desires… None of it made him afraid, and Will wondered if it ever once had. He remained unanswered within the turbulence of his own thoughts.

"I see you too, Will" was where his mind often seemed to settle, turbulence turned to a sudden static at his core. Perhaps his subconscious was searching for understanding against any and all better judgement he had. And now, Will was being just as continuously unwise, caught in his trap time and time again, as he almost absently approached Chilton to get a better view of the letter and soon came to regret it. These past few weeks he seemed to have gained a habit of being noticed, after all.

He didn't need to wonder why that was.

The instance their eyes met was fleeting. He lowered his gaze in utmost avoidance upon realising the mistake he'd made and felt Chilton's glare burning holes through him regardless. Will lowered his eyes to rest over the letter in his hand instead, noting a tension so great in the way the edges crumpled that he was certain Chilton would rip the folded page to shreds any moment from now.