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

11. Who Can Name The Face?

That rage, that burning in his eyes that made them glow in the darkness. He had looked so at ease when he choked the life from Buquet's defenseless body, like it was the most natural thing in the world. He had looked so different from the man I had become so close to. Perhaps that is what Madame Giry was referring to. Perhaps she had met his demons, perhaps she had seen that side of him that had been kept hidden all this time.

I thought of Erik's gentle touch again. That caring gaze, the sad glimmer of a dying flame in the back of his eyes.... And the burning fires of Hell that stormed behind his eyes last night. But when I called for him, when he heard my voice and met my gaze, I saw the man inside him, pounding against the insides of the stranger, begging to be released, to be in control instead of the murderer.

The murderer isn't Erik. That is not his true nature. I see that. I know that. Erik is kind, gentle, sweet, passionate. He only lacks guidance. And perhaps he lacked someone to teach him right from wrong as a child. No, the Murderer is not truly Erik. The Murderer is what the world conditioned him to be. The Murderer is what he was forced to become after suffering from years of hatred and malice towards his face. Like a lot of us, we start with a warm and caring soul, only to have Life's cruel winds freeze it and blow out its flame.

A month passed by, and then another, and another. The Opéra Populiare seemed to hum like a dormant volcano. The cellars remained silent, apart from the usual sound of workers, rats, and boilers. No music, no movement from within the lair. Just the dull throb of a broken man's heart.

Above him, in his kingdom, the opera house thrived. Three months had gone by without a single word from its terrorist. There have been no notes, no missing articles, no deaths. Silence. Only silence.

During these three months Loki remained by my side, also silent. Posing as my new assistant director, he helped with all the little details, such as finding me new pencils and blank sheet music, even tea. Neither of us commented on the random disappearance of the Opera Ghost. And neither of us participated in rekindling the fire. After Buquet's murder we had both retreated into our shells. Why? Maybe we were afraid, now seeing what Erik was truly capable of, what he would do if properly poked and agitated. What I had feared had been true, Erik was much like a coiled up rattle snake: harmless until you begin nudging it with a stick. So instead we looked into the snake's hole, too afraid to put our hand in it to see if the green eyed snake would take a bite again.

As the New Year approached, the employees of the Opéra Populaire prepared for tonight's masquerade ball. Artists, performers and the like would gather for tonight's gala, ready for a night of gaiety, alcohol, and casual intercourse. Loki was among those employees, helping the musicians pick out music for the dances like I asked - told - him to. His occasional grumbles of annoyance brought smiles to my face as I prepared myself for the ball.

Standing before my floor length mirror I reached behind me to fasten the top button of my gown. The midnight shade of my dress matched my ebony hair perfectly, the silk sparkling flirtatiously in the fading sunlight. Smoothing out the skirt and adjusting the top of my bodice that spread into an obtuse V and wrapped scandalously low around my shoulders, I sighed. I stopped for a moment and stared at my reflection, not caring for the selfish Asgardian who stared back at me.

Is it all worth it? Will all that I have done leave me genuinely happy in the end? Or will I spend the rest of my life with Erik feeling guilty about ruining the life I knew he would have had? That is, if the plan works and I spend the rest of my life - or more accurately: the rest of Erik's life - with him. At this rate I wasn't sure. I thought for sure by now he would have given up on Christine and the spell my voice put him under would at last be broken.