The Phantom Ascending |✔| [Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction]

The Masks We Wear

The change in Erik was evident. He was wary, cautious, tense.

"I cannot leave you unguarded," was his opening line, laced with steel.

"Did I ask you to do so?"

His eyes narrowed.

"No."

"And I won't. I am happy that Meg is here, and I know it will be difficult... Yet surely it can all work out, all three of us here, for a couple of days."

"So you won't leave with her?"

"No," I said softly.

He gave a curt nod of approval.

I shifted uncomfortably. It was difficult breaching some topics.

"Do you have a problem with Meg? Something against her? You wouldn't harm her, would you?"

"No!" was his swift response, a growl that silenced itself into a whisper. The house had thick, sturdy walls, but now that we weren't alone, we had to be careful. For a moment, the only sound between us was the crackling of the fire. Flames danced in the fireplace, making Erik look diabolical, thanks to his ever-present mask.

"Miss Giry is a piece of my Paris life reaching out to me. Both the good and the bad, it all comes rushing back," he spoke then, his usually proud bearing slumping a little.

"Have a seat," I offered, and he took a chair and pulled it away from the window, to stare at the fire. He seemed tired and pensive, now, and some of the tension dissipated.

"I didn't intend to burn it down, not really, but I wasn't thinking much beyond my anger."

It was a delicate topic, one that left me in turmoil, so I got up and poured some honeyed lemonade that I kept at hand.

"I could fetch some wine," I offered.

"I don't drink. I never drink."

I passed him a glass and sat down, sipping my own drink. The sharp taste of lemon kept my senses alert.

"How come, if I may ask?" It was odd to hear him talking about his past.

"I was kept in a cage as a sideshow when I was a boy. The man who used to beat me was fond of the bottle. He reeked of gin all the time. And if alcohol can turn people more violent..." he trailed, his implication clear. "In any case, I don't drink."

"That sounds awful. Not the non-drinking part, but the... abuse," I whispered.

He looked up, his eyes hardening.

"It was, but what is done is done. He is paying his dues to the devil now. Forget that, and forgive me for soiling your ears with my tale."

"No, it's fine. I'm glad you told me."

He laughed darkly.

"You wouldn't be glad if you knew all of my secrets, but thank you," he finished the lemonade and set the glass on the table, then came over and crouched before me. His proximity was intimidating, for tonight there was something of the old Phantom of the Opera in his attitude, something dangerous and oddly alluring.

"I just want you to promise to be careful, Christine, as I won't be at liberty to keep a close eye on you these days."

I nodded and he smiled.

"Good. It pleases me to have you obey me as you once did your Angel of Music. I will do my best not to abuse your compliance," he smirked.

I tried to decipher his gaze.