The Art of Manipulation || Phantom of the Opera & Loki the God of Mischief ||

3. Paris 1870

They were.

I then slowly raised my gaze to peered over the top of the yellow parchment, blindly staring at the building across the street with wide eyes.

My lower lip quivered as I took in a shaky breath. I turned, my eyes lifting only a few inches to see the human who spoke to me.

Disbelief. Joy. Grief. Fear.

All of these emotions swirled inside me like a dormant hurricane, waiting for the perfect moment to break free and leave a path of destruction in its wake; waiting for the eye to pass.

"Looking for me, Erik?" My voice came out so small, so meek, I hardly recognized it as my own.

When he smiled my knees almost betrayed me by giving out from under me. Through his smile he said, "Why do you sound so surprised?"

I clutched onto the copy of Hannibal as if it were my remaining grain of sanity, "I...I don't know." For the first time in centuries I felt lost, unsure, sick. I had an awful need to smile, cry, and vomit all at the same time. If I wasn't so shocked by who stood before me I think I would have done all three of those things and then some.

Instead, all I did was stare at him. It was all I was capable of doing.

His black cloak, his dark vest with elegant red accents, his well fitted coat...his mask. And those green eyes; those green eyes that have haunted my dreams for more than a century. All of this is right here, right here in front of me. Now. Here. Only a few steps away from me. Erik. The Angel. The genius. Erik.

I had said his name.

For the first time in about one hundred thirty years I had said his name aloud. "You were looking for me, Erik?"

Erik.

"Are you alright, Alouette?"

My eyes widened and I loosened my vice grip on Hannibal, glad that I hadn't already torn it to pieces, "Y-Yes. I'm," I let out an awkward, breathy laugh, "I'm fine."

Unconvinced, Erik tilted his head, his dark brows coming together briefly, "Are you sure?"

I smiled, not sure if it was to reassure myself or Erik, "Why-" my voice cracked and I cleared it, "W-Why wouldn't I be sure?"

"Well, you don't seem very sure. In fact, you seem very unsure." Silence fell as he studied me, his electric green eyes scanning me up and down. I blushed, insecurity crawling up my spine and making me draw myself in like a turtle hiding in its shell; only I didn't have a shell...unfortunately...

"Ah, I think I know what it is. Here." He stepped closer to me and, upon instinct, I stepped back.

Erik stilled, his hands held up in front of him. His eyes bore into mine with a burning intensity, "Alouette, I'm not going to hurt you. You know that."

My eyes still wide and my breathing still uneven I swallowed, even though there was no saliva to swallow, "Yes. I know that."

Erik waited a minute to analyze my face. After a moment he took the remaining two steps over to me.

I closed my eyes tight when he came near, forcing my ears to focus on my sounds and mine alone. I cannot bear to hear him; not now, not yet. Seeing him with my eyes was painful enough.

I felt his vest brush against my shoulder and I heard the shuffling sounds of his trousers as they brushed against each other. A moment later I was enveloped in smooth silk, already warm by body heat. Erik's heat. Erik's body.