The Man Clad in Black (Phantom of the Opera)

Leave - Chapter 3

You woke up to music.

It was more like a man aggressively taking his anger out on the organ, but of course, you weren't going to say anything about it.

You rubbed your eyes and looked around. You were confused - where exactly were you? There were so many curtains and candles and veils - it seemed so unorthodox in comparison to what you were used to. And who lived so far underneath an opera house?

Ah.

That's where you were.

You sat up and almost immediately regretted it. Everything ached from your fall yesterday - your arms and legs were dappled with purple bruises, and your skinned elbow didn't seem to enjoy your attempt at moving. You let out a slight groan, although once you had gotten over your temporary pain-shock, you slowly drew back the canopy from around your bed and
got to your feet.

The man continued to play. He didn't seem to take mind that you had woken up, although because his back was turned away, you couldn't blame him.

You gulped before you looked back to your feet. A back cloak rested there, and with a tremendous amount of care, you scooped it up into your arms.

Everything made more sense.

The man playing at the piano had brought you here, and he had covered you in his cloak to keep you warm during the night. Where had the music come from? As you scanned for that clue, you saw a monkey sitting atop a music box, a smile on his face while he held two golden cymbals. That made a lot more sense.

As you glanced back to the man whose hands were slamming against the keys,  the sounds that emerged were all but normal... They were twisted and loud and slightly horrifying. However, after each note, it began to sound more and more like a song.

"Monsieur?" you squeaked. His music came to an abrupt stop. As final notes rang throughout his lair, he turned around to face you, that white mask making you ever-so-curious as to what was underneath.

He stared at you for a moment, as if expecting for you to say something, although he paused once he realized that you had been holding out his cloak. He seemed to have forgotten that you had slept with it upon you.

"Thank you," he muttered, grabbing it quickly from your hands.

As you watched him walk about to find a place to hand up his coat, your eyebrows furrowed with thought.

You had so many questions for him.

Why had he been so kind to you? Why did he live so far down? And, most of all, why did he wear a mask?

"Monsieur... if you don't mind my asking, why do you wear that?" you asked, your eyes focused upon the ivory mask resting his face.

He paused. He didn't dare move as he clutched his cloak tightly, and he looked like he would either explode with anger or burst into tears at any given moment.

It was clear that you hit a nerve.

"Don't you know who I am?" he muttered with a slight growl in his tone, and he kept his livid gaze away from you to while his fists clenched the cloak even tighter.

Your mouth hung half-open. No sound seemed to come out, and besides. You had no correct answer to give. You had no idea who he was - in fact, you had barely been in Paris long enough to know anyone - not even your family.

"No, Monsieur," you squeaked. You were afraid that he could blow at any given moment, and you wanted to slap yourself once you reiterated your answer. "I don't know."

He froze.

"You really haven't heard?" he asked with a snicker, turning his face toward you. There was an indecipherable expression held in his eyes. It could have easily been entertainment or disbelief, but once you shook your head to confirm your answer, he held his breath and looked away from you again.

"Leave me."

"Pardon?" you blinked, your eyebrows furrowing. "My apologies if I did anything, but I can't -"

"No. This is not about anything that you did," he said, tossing his cloak to the side as he began to head toward the shore. "But you must leave now - I will take you away from here if I must. I need some time to think."

"Monsieur, I -" you started, although once he gave you a stern glance, you immediately shut your mouth.

You found yourself in a nervous flurry as you quickly wandered back to the boat. Whether or not you felt like (as you were) a bitter teenager at the moment, you decided against saying anything, and you sat inside of the boat silently.

The man was quick to join you. He clearly wanted you out of there... however, it wouldn't be the last time you saw him.

***

The storm clouds didn't seem to be any lighter than they were yesterday. The sunlight wasn't nearly as bright as what you were used to, although you were still able to see... At least, a lot better than you would have the night before.

While you walked around the halls, you noticed a few of the cast members sending you dirty looks, and it wasn't until you glanced down that you saw that you were still in a nightgown.

Bloody hell.

As you scurried around the opera house, trying to find your father - or at least someone else who could assist you in finding a change of clothes - you practically ran over a petite ballerina.

"Oh my goodness! I'm so sorry!" you apologized, frantically trying to help her back to her feet so you could continue on your quest. Her outfit was a little strange - scandalous, even. However, you were quick to remember that they were all rehearsing for Hannibal, and she simply had to wear it as her costume.

"No! No - it's alright," she said, her lips parting into a pleasant smile as she picked herself from off of the floor. Her blonde hair fell perfectly around her face as she did so, framing her pointed chin and brown eyes.

She seemed all-too familiar.

"Pardon me if I'm wrong, but I could have sworn that I've seen you somewhere before..."

The girl turned her face up to send you a confused look, although that simple gesture was enough for it to finally hit you.

"Meg?"