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

3. Paris 1870

Chapter Three || Paris, 1870

Paris, France • 1870

I tried with every cell of my being to catch something to stop my fall. Above me I watched Loki's retreating form through the portal I fell through, the sick smile still on his sunken face.

Once Loki became just a mere speck in the darkness, everything silenced, my rapidly beating heart the only thing my sensitive ears could hear. I still fell, my limbs no longer trying to save the body they are attached to. Instead they stilled, defeated and helpless. I fell, and fell, and fell, down into what seemed like a bottomless black hole. 

And then, quicker than a humming bird's wings, it all stopped. I connected with the rough floor with the same force I would have felt if I had merely rolled out of bed.

I remained on my side, too stunned and afraid to move.

Darkness still surrounded me like I was in a coffin, buried deep under the ground. My chest still puffed air in and out of my lungs in erratic bursts, blowing my hair off and over my face repeatedly.

Slower than a snail trudging across a busy highway, the darkness began to disperse, gradually fading into whatever surroundings Loki sent me to. In front of me a wall came into view, it's bricks glittering dully in the moonlight. At least I think that is moonlight. My right hand, which was splayed over the floor, moved. I felt the ground, it's course and gritty stone matching the wall before me.

My shaky arm stretched itself and grabbed onto the wall that I discovered was only a few feet tall. I used both of my arms to pull myself up and hang onto the short wall, my head eventually peeking over the top. The minute I looked over the edge a gust of wind blew my hair away from my face and the unfamiliar sounds came rushing at me like an explosion. They hit my senses like a blow to my stomach, causing me to fall to my knees and cover my ears to stop the overwhelming pain.

I heard everything, the shipyard 150 miles away, the laughter of the people below me, the ticking of the town clock's gears. The power of these sounds were nearly unbearable, filling my head, making it feel like it would expand and pop like an overfilled balloon.

I forced air back into my lungs, willing myself to relax, willing myself to control my powers, to control the sounds. One by one, each sound began to quiet itself, until at last all I heard was the gentle Fall breeze pushing around the leaves and the faint sound of the streets below. It was then that I opened my eyes. And when I opened them...I wanted to close them.

No. It can't be.

I looked over the wall I had been holding onto for dear life. Men in top hats and evening clothes made their way down the damp glistening streets. Women with elaborate gowns laughed politely, their gloved hands modestly covering their painted lips.

Raising my head I stared at the large clock across the street. The sturdy hands read 10:45 pm.

Standing to my feet, my hands bumped a collection of papers bound together by a string. They fell to the floor I had just been laying on with a quiet thud! Bending down I picked it up and held it to the moonlight so I could read it.

No. No, no, no, no, no. This cannot be.

"Ah, there you are."

At the sound of the familiar voice behind me, the blood in my veins screeched to a stop, my heart too stunned to beat. I could feel the hairs on my arms stand on end, my already pale complexion growing whiter.

"I was looking for you."

Again I lowered my gaze to the copy of Hannibal in my hands, hoping this time the stack of papers wouldn't be there.