The Shadow's Melody || The Phantom of the Opera || Book One

4. What Have They Done To You?

I remained on my knees, one hand trying to relieve my aching throat while the other supported my weight as I leaned over.

When I ceased coughing and opened my eyes I saw feet not far in front of me. Slowly, oh so slowly, I looked up and met the burning glare of the Phantom.

As fast as I could I backed up against the wall and curled my legs to my chest, "You. You're not really - I mean you can't be. You-"

"I'll ask you again. Who are you?" he had slowly made his way over to me, his tall figure casting a dark intimidating shadow.

"I am merely a maid here, Monsieur," I could hardly hear my own voice, which made me wonder how he had managed to hear it all the way up there where he stood.

"Does 'merely a maid' have a name?"

"Mélodie, Monsieur. Mélodie de l'Obscurité."

He was silent for a moment. From where I sat he was still hidden in the shadows so I couldn't read his face, "Mélodie."

My eyes almost rolled back into my skull. The way he said my name. I almost felt as if I had heard him say it before. But that was impossible. Or...

"It was you. You spoke my name the other night. You were here, watching! All this time you were her-"

"Why are you here," he turned away from me, the light finally exposing his face. Or half of it. On one side he wore the white porcelain half mask that I had seen pictures of, the other side of his face was still hiding in the dim light. I saw his long fingers wind up what I now see was a lasso.

My hand flew to my neck again and I swallowed hard, "I had a nightmare and couldn't sleep, Monsieur. I assure you I meant no harm."

He said nothing, still winding the lasso into a perfect coil, like a snake awaiting its prey.

I took this time to really look at him. He wore a black cape that had red lining. Most of his attire was black. Even his hair. His shirt, his vest, his trousers, and his shoes - all black. Black like the night. Like a tall shadow.

Perhaps this wasn't the Phantom. Maybe it was some guy posing as him. It wouldn't be surprising, really. Everyone said he was dead. Then again, a genius such as him, could easily make people think he was dead. If this was really him that is.

I didn't notice myself leaning over to get a better look at his face until I toppled over. I glanced up at him, embarrassed, and for the first time - I saw his eyes.

To put those eyes into words is nearly impossible. The appearance is easy, for they were the nicest shade of green I had ever seen. But the expression they held... They looked angry, dangerous, intelligent, perhaps slightly insane. And yet at the same time they looked lost, confused, tired, and so, so broken.

My poor Phantom. My poor Erik.

What have they done to you?

His deep voice brought me out of my trance, "It isn't polite to stare, child."

Child.

Ah, yes. I nearly forgot. Looking at him now he does look slightly older than the man I saw onstage years ago. But only slightly. He still looked incredibly handsome, at least what I could see did. How could Christine reject him the way she did? I thought of him behind the walls talking to Christine.

"What are you doing here in the Prima Donna's dressing room?" my hand flew to my mouth but it was too late to stop the question that slipped out.

He turned his head away from me and in the makeup table's mirror I saw his frown, "You ask too many questions."

"Perhaps I'll stop asking when you start answering them."

"Do not talk back to me, child!" he took a step toward me and I cowered back into the corner.

I don't know why I found it so easy to talk to him that way. He could kill me in the blink of an eye. My throbbing throat reminded me of that.

He stood there fuming, anger escaping his body through heavy breaths. A silence fell over the dimly lit room. When he finally calmed his breathing he turned his back to me with his head down and let out an almost tired sigh.

Slowly I brought myself up off the floor using the wall to support myself. Not that I hurt all that bad. I didn't hurt at all, really. His presence was what made me feel unsteady. I feared that if I made a sudden move he would vanish and I would awaken from another dream. I don't think my heart could take another blow of disappointment like that.

The Phantom, the Opera Ghost, Erik - he stood so close. A mere three feet in front of me. To think he has been here all along. Not dead but hiding. Alive! Breathing!

He whipped around and grabbed my wrist. Did I just -

I touched him! Mélodie, do you have no control over your own body anymore?!

We were so close, one step and our bodies could be pressed against eachother. So close I could almost feel the warmth of his body.

He held my wrist above my head and out of the way, making sure there was no way I could touch him again. His tall frame loomed over me. His face was close. Oh so close. If I just leaned in I could feel those lips against min-

"What are you doing?" his voice snapped me back.

"Huh?" my voice came out breathy. Too breathy. Embarrassingly breathy. Oh goodness, Mélodie, control yourself.

I looked up at him, his brows were knitted together and the scowl on his face looked like it was his only facial expression.

I glanced up at my raised arm and cleared my throat, swallowing, "May I have my arm back, Monsieur? S'il vous plaît (please)?"

There was a moment of silence before he unceremoniously dropped my arm to my side.

He then turned and began walking toward the open mirror.

He's leaving? Just like that? No goodnight? No goodbye?

"Erik, wait!"

He froze mid-step, his back to me with one hand on the mirror, his head turned slightly to the side, exposing the unmasked part of his face. His eyes never met mine.

I laced and unlaced my fingers while my mind tried to remember how to put sentences together, "Will-will you disappear again? Like before?"

I began tugging on one of my curls while I awaited an answer that would never come.