Of Masks And Roses

The Phantom's Lair

I hissed in pain as The Phantom cleaned out my wound with a wet cloth soaked in medicinal spirits. We were in his lair, and the word beautiful wouldn't even be close to the word that would describe his home. It took a resemblance of the one in the 2004 movie, a hollowed out cave of sorts, filled with candles and art. Statues, and drawings of Christine, and as I looked around the room I noticed that two of the statues were wearing phantom masks. And in the middle of it all, was an organ with sheets of music thrown all around it.

"Ow!" I hissed as Erik dabbed at my shoulder again.

"By the way, this may hurt a bit," he muttered, looking up at me with a small smirk.

"Oh, really?," I replied, rolling my eyes with a smirk, "No way, I had no idea."

He sighed and stood up, "It's deeper than I thought. Looks like you're going to need stitches."

I tensed in my chair, "Stitches? Oh, no. No, no, no, no. I am not going to have stitches! Don't you even think about bringing a needle anywhere near me, mister."

He walked over to a desk and opened a drawer, "You are going to have stitches or your arm whether you like it or not, mademoiselle. Like I said before, it's best if you don't get an infection," he turned to me, with a needle and some string in his hand, "Trust me, mademoiselle, I know how to do this. I assure you that I am well educated on such matters."

"I know that. It's just... I've never had stitches before. I'm not the biggest fan of needles." I laughed nervously.

He walked to me and knelt down to my level, sticking the needle in a nearby candle's flame, "Don't worry, it'll be over before you know it."

I breathed out slowly, nodding and closing my eyes, "Alright, ok. Just get it over with, please."

I held my breath and gripped the edge of my chair as he brought the needle closer to my skin, "Brace yourself," he said, "This is really going to hurt."

"Thanks, that really makes me feel better." If my eyes were open, I'm sure that the Phantom would have been rolling his eyes at me.

                                                                                              XxX

I sighed with relief as the Phantom pulled away, thankful that it was over. I glanced over at my shoulder, groaning as I eyed the black thread. I looked up as Erik handed me a small bottle and a cloth.

"Every morning and every night I want you to take this disinfectant and carefully rub it on your wound for the next week. Understand?" I nodded, rolling the bottle in my hand, "Good," he continued, "Now, in a couple more weeks, I will send you a letter, telling you where to meet me for when we will remove your stitches, alright?"

I nodded once more.

"Until then, be careful while you work. If you rip those stitches I will have to redo them, and I'm sure you would not like that. Would you like some tea? You must be exhausted," he said as he stood up, walking back over to where he found the needle and placed it back in the drawer.

"Yes please. Thank you."

"Good. Stay here," he instructed and left.

I sat in silence and waited, 'Why did he bring me here?' I thought to myself, biting the inside of my cheek, 'Does he trust me enough to keep his secret? Why did he help me? Perhaps he wants to question me and then kill me. But, if he wanted to kill me, he could have done so by now. And why would he fix my shoulder and then try and kill me? Maybe I'm just overthinking this.'

I looked up as The Phantom walked back into the room, a cup of tea in each hand.

"Here," he said and held out a cup to me. I took it gratefully as he took off his cloak and pulled up his own chair. I took a sip of my drink, closing my eyes as I swallowed the warm liquid. I felt myself relax slightly. It was earl grey tea. The drink reminded me of the days I would study music at school; music sheets on my easel and a cup of earl grey at my side.

"So," the Phantom started and I looked up at him as he pulled my journal out of his coat pocket, "About this?"

I inwardly groaned and sat my tea on my lap, "Yeah, about that."

"I would like to know why you drew me, mademoiselle?"

I shrugged, "I don't know,"

"Yes you do."

I sighed and sat up straighter, "Maybe, but..." I rolled my eyes, "I'm sorry, I guess I just couldn't get you out of my head," I blushed and looked away, "Whenever I can't get something out of my head, like a song or something, I draw. It helps keep me focused, my mind at ease, stuff like that."

He leaned forward, "But I am no song."

I snorted, "Dude, you're the Phantom of the Opera. The Opera House and everyone in it lives for music, including you. Besides, I said a song or something," I corrected, taking another sip.

He paused, looking away, "Well, you're really good."

My eyes widened and I started to choke, coughing as I sat my cup of tea on a nearby table.

"Go-od?" I coughed, "S-surely you must be joking."

"I assure you I am not. You have talent. One that not many people have," he opened the book, flipping to the first page, "The range of shadows and the life you give to a simple pencil drawing is exquisite. Even if it is my face. Like I said, talent, my dear."

"Talent?" I asked, finally calming down, "I wasn't born with talent. I only got this good because I practiced. After all, you know what they say. 'Practice makes perfect.'"

"Of course."

I gingerly held out my hand, "Can I have it back now?" He looked at me, but didn't speak a word. I huffed, "Please? It's the only thing I have that's my own right now. Besides, you swore that you would."

He sighed, but nodded, handing the book back to me, "I did, didn't I? But at least promise me that you won't show those pages to anyone else." I nodded, "Thank you. Now, we should be heading back up," he stood and sat his surprisingly untouched tea on the table and offered me a hand. I took it and he helped me up.

"Let's get going," he said and he put on his cloak and led me back to the boat. He helped me in and then he got in himself, and we started to row away, leaving the candle-lit lair behind us.

                                                                                             XxX

"Well, here we are," the Phantom said as we stopped in front of my door, "I hope you have a nice night, mademoiselle."

"You too, sir. And, thank you. You didn't have to help me, but you did. Even though it was my fault, really."

He shook his head, "Of course not," he sighed, looking away from me, "I shouldn't have taken something that didn't belong to me. I apologize."

"Perhaps we're both at fault, then," I said and opened my door. The Phantom blinked at my words, and I smirked, "Good night," I spoke as I closed the door behind me, hearing another soft 'Good night' as I did so.

I stood there for a moment, a smile slowly appearing on my face, before I walked over and plopped on my bed. I glanced down at the book in my hands and smiled as I ran my hand over the cover.

'He liked them.' I thought to myself. Placing the book in the drawer of the nightstand I laid down on my bed, slipping myself underneath the covers; too tired to worry about sleepwear. I closed my eyes, the memory of the Phantom talking about my drawing ringing in my ears as I fell asleep.