The Phantom Ascending |✔| [Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction]

The Birdcage

"Signora? Miss Daae?"

I woke up in my bed to face a worried Sophia.

"You should've let me help you last night," she inclined, and I realized that I was still clothed under the covers. My shoes were off, my corset untied and loose, but that was all.

"It's all right, Sophia, I was just tired. Are you leaving?" I inquired, as she was fully dressed for outdoors.

"Yes. I came to hand you the master keys. Promise me that you'll get someone to stay with you."

"I will. Oh Sophia, you so remind me of a lady I knew. She made a fierce ballet instructor, but was as caring as a mother to me."

"I will take that as a compliment," she replied cheerfully.

"Please do, and travel safely," I smiled, and we said our goodbyes.

Once she left, the reality began to sink in. Did I dream? What happened last night?

I changed and rushed around the house. The rose bouquet was in place, but there was no card. The music room was as neat as possible: no leftover candles, no wax stains.

I approached the bookshelf, which looked so ordinary in daylight, and pulled at it, but it didn't budge. I emptied all the books from the shelf, making a big mess, but nothing showed that there is a single switch hidden on this side. Feeling the first pangs of frustration, I returned the books back into place. If she was here, Meg would manage to find the switch - unless there was none to begin with.

There was no way for me to know for sure - was I losing my mind, and my encounter last night was a dream, or was it somehow real?

A proof, I needed just one single proof to know, and if my home was void of any, the one other place where I could find it would be La Fenice.

The big cuckoo clock marked noon, and its sounds echoed deep into my heart. Raoul was gone by now, his train probably leaving the station at this very moment. Tears welled up in my eyes and I quickly wiped them away, but they were persistent. La Fenice would have to wait for a while.

***

That afternoon, Venice felt cold and harsh despite the festive spirit of many passersby. I was overwhelmed by the vibrant city around me, and by being alone and feeling abandoned even if rationale said that I was the one who did the abandoning.

My servants had stocked up the house with everything I needed for the upcoming days, but I still had some personal errands to run, and some presents to buy.

I dropped the mail at the post office and the presents at La Fenice. Manelli wasn't there, and so I made no progress on discovering how Erik Dessler could have been the Phantom, but my best guess so far was that he had an accomplice - one who acted as his public face.

The weather was mild enough for me to walk back home, delaying my return to that house as much as I could. At one point a man approached me to give his compliments on my singing, and while he was pleasant enough, this still made me realize how very visible I was, how very vulnerable, walking alone like that.

And the reporters, oh how vigorously they must have been writing! Out of some perverse desire to punish myself, I bought the papers that never failed to publish disparaging articles on me. Let's see how they did when they had some tangible gossip material...

And the answer was surprising: for the first time since my arrival to Venice, their remarks on me weren't mean, but rather neutral. The world, however, was still duly informed of my failed engagement, and it came to me that this is something I can no longer hide from the Phantom. What might he do if he knows I am unattached? It was an uncomfortable thought.