Beneath the Porcelain Mask

10. Nothing More Dead. (1/2)

"He (Raoul) stared dully at the desolate, cold road and the pale, dead night. Nothing was colder or more dead than his heart. He had loved an angel and now he despised a woman."

 ~ Gaston Leroux, The Phantom of the Opera.

Also, Nikki banner. (You would not believe how difficult it is to find accurate info, or any info at all, about the acts and scenes in which Gounod wrote a ballet part in Faust. Therefore, if I'm wrong about the Danse de Phyrne, I am more than open to hearing someone who can tell me when exactly it takes place in the opera)

~•~•~•~■~•~•~•~

I didn't sleep a wink that night; instead, I spent six hours tossing and turning in my bed Up Top, staring at cracks in the walls and counting hundreds of thousands of sheep.

The entire day replayed through my mind. How was Erik? I'd left him sleeping at the organ at two in the morning with the Don Juan score open before him, a couple of hours ago now. And what about Jeremy? I'd never seen him so upset!

He'd be back. 

Wouldn't he?

I frowned and tossed again, facing the Angel of Music in the corner. He looked up to Heaven with a pious innocence in his eyes, hands clasped in eternal prayer. Was this Erik's idea of a joke? Not everyone could be as pure as gold.

As the clock in the square chimed six in the morning, I swung my legs out of bed and gathered my work clothes and bonnet. Hoping that this morning would be a better success than yesterday's, I fetched the ten francs I'd borrowed from the safe in the House and headed out to the foyer.

Jeremy was not there.

Never mind, I thought, pushing the doors open and walking out into the square. Perhaps he was already in the café. But as I walked past the window and glanced in at our usual seat, only my reflection stared back at me.

The cups and cutlery remained neatly set on the table, with the newest copy of L'Époque folded beside it, just like yesterday's breakfast. The only difference was the lack of a Jeremy. Something very small and very deep down within me sunk.

What had I done?

~•~•~•~■~•~•~•~ 

There were voices from behind the door to Box Five again that night. I gritted my teeth; not this time. I'd been shocked the other night, but no longer! I rapped thrice on the dark panels and walked in before they had a chance to complain.

"Good evening, gentlemen."

A slight pause. Then:

"Aren't you the demoiselle from before?" Monsieur le Comte said, standing from his - my - seat and straightening his jacket. I stood straighter in my dress, raising my chin at him. From Erik's seat, Raoul peered apologetically over his shoulder at me.

"The Opera Ghost has very clearly instructed that this is my seat for the performance," I replied, fixing my gloves nonchalantly. "Understand Monsieur, he's demanded this and threatened murder in the same letter. Ah, Monsieur le Comte, I simply fear for your-"

A hand caught my arm and gripped. I squealed and went to hit my captor on the nose, but my other hand was caught in another grip of iron. A guard stared back down at me and then up at the Comte.

Philippe de Chagny nodded and waved a finger towards the door.

"Wait—!" I cried, kicking against the guard as he picked me up by the arm and carried me out of the box. "Monsieur—!"