Over the next week and a half you continued cleaning the dilapidated opera house. Many times you considered fleeing and seeking a job elsewhere, but you had not heard a peep from the man they called Phantom since that fateful evening. There were no more dead rats, or crashing candelabras or painted threats on the floor. In fact, you noticed the opera house was rather silent as of late, as if it was a living being holding its breath. You continued working.

You'd finished cleaning every bathroom you could find in the opera house and had decided to move on to cleaning out the stage and the backstage rooms. You were beginning to run out of cleaning solution and your sponges had been worn to shreds, so you figured you'd begin decluttering and sweeping until you could get paid.

So for the past few days you'd spent your hours organizing the left behind props, and throwing out the debris or those that were broken. And sweeping, so much sweeping. Your back was beginning to ache from all the times you had to collect the dust and debris into your dustpan to throw out. But finally the stage and backstage vanities were clear, so you set out to clean the few remaining private backstage rooms, those reserved for the best of the cast.

The first room you found had "Prima Donna" written on the door in cursive lettering, and took quite a lot of force to open. The room was significantly less dusty and destroyed as the rest of the opera house. Hundreds of withered flowers lay across the room, most of which had fallen to the floor. But what drew your attention the most was the intricate, gold framed mirror which towered over the room.

Your parents had removed all of the mirrors in your home from a young age, so your reflection was a bit unfamiliar to you. You'd only ever glanced at it in passing. Tempted, you removed the hair from over the left side of your face and for the first time in a long while saw yourself. You stared at your deep red birthmark marring your face and at your left darker eye. You didn't understand societies alienation over a feature you couldn't control. You quite liked your heterochromia and the shape of your birthmark, or at least you used to, when you still had a mother to call you beautiful.

You frowned and covered up your birthmark before returning to your task. It only took a short while for you to remove all of the rotted flowers and freshen up the state of the room. It still looked good enough for the next Prima Donna, whoever that might be.

Just as you were about to leave the room, you noticed a single withered rose you missed on the floor below the mirror. On the rose's dead stem was a beautiful black ribbon, still as good as new. You removed the ribbon from the husk and tucked it into your pocket. You had been sure not to remove any of the items from the opera house, like the jewelry or surviving gowns, no matter how tempting, but you didn't think anyone would miss a single ribbon.

Turning out the lamps in the room, you didn't let your eyes meet your reflection again, perhaps realizing why your mother had had the mirrors in your home removed. And perhaps missing the gaze behind the mirror watching you closely.

~

You spent the next two days tidying the private rooms and numerous hallways of the backstage area. After it's dark wooden halls had just about bored you to death you decided to return to the front of the opera house and work on cleaning the restaurant and adjacent kitchen. Maybe Monsieur Martin would allow you to use it to cook once it was finished, you thought. You really missed home cooked meals.

The restaurant still looked beautiful once you found it despite the damage to some of the architecture and the intense amount of dust and leaves littering the floor. What excited you the most was the large windows all around the seating room, which let in a plethora of sunlight. You pulled back the curtains from each window, hooking them around their holders to maximize the sun's light, and then opened the windows for some fresh air.

A musician played a violin somewhere in the square outside the opera house, and you swept the floor to the rhythm of the song being played. For hours the musician played and you danced along with your broom until there wasn't anything left to sweep, and you replaced your broom with a mop.

Once the floor had been thoroughly cleaned you set up the tables and chairs around the restaurant, dusting and washing the tabletops. You were so entranced by the music you hardly noticed your name being called from somewhere in the opera house. Head jerking up, you ran from the restaurant to find the source of the voice, but slowed as the pain in your knee acted up.

It was Monsieur Martin, and as before, he hadn't gone any further than the entrance hall.

"Bonjour Monsieur! I hope you weren't calling me for long. I apologize, I couldn't hear you."

"It's quite all right. I figured you were busy. I was wondering if you might give me a report as to your progress in cleaning the opera house?"

"Ah yes, of course. So far I've cleaned the entree hall, the grand foyer and staircase, the restrooms, and to the best of my ability, I've tidied the backstage rooms. I won't be able to finish the auditorium and stage until the structural damage is fixed and the chandelier is removed. Have you had any luck in finding a new construction crew?"

"I've been finding it rather difficult if I'm being honest, but I should have a full crew by the end of next week. What are you working on currently?"

"I'm working on the restaurant now. I wondered if I might be able to use the kitchen once I was finished cleaning it?"

"Oh, yes, of course. Help yourself." He looked rather uncomfortable at being in the opera house so long. "You haven't had any other incidents with trespassers, have you?"

You hesitated and wondered if you should tell him everything. That the Phantom was real, and that he had chased you through the entire opera house, and that you'd almost died but he'd saved you. He'd saved you.

"No, I haven't. I've been making sure to lock the doors and windows each night." You'd told the truth technically. There hadn't been any trespassers. After all this was his opera house.

"Good, good. Anything else?" He asked, very eager to leave.

"I think that's it, although I was wondering when you thought you'd hire someone to get the furnaces started. It's starting to get a bit chilly at night."

"I'm working on it, hopefully within a month."

You tried not to hide your disappointment as you said goodbye. The temperatures would drop a lot at night with it being fall now, and you weren't sure how many blankets you'd be able to find that were clean and didn't have mice burrowing in them. You'd have to see about getting a cat. You couldn't exactly open an opera house with mice and rats everywhere.

Sighing, you returned to your work in the restaurant, moving on to the kitchen. Compared to the seating room, it was horrific. Rotted food products were everywhere throughout the room and it stank. You often had to hold your breath as you removed every last piece of food from the room as well as the huge amount of rat droppings everywhere. They probably loved the left behind food.

Scraping off the rotten food and washing the floors, stoves, sinks and cooking tables took hours. The worst of it was when you discovered the giant icebox, which to your dismay still held a giant fish carcass. You gagged as you carried it out to the garbage. This was worse than cleaning the toilets, you decided. Much worse.

By the time you were finished cleaning the industrial sized kitchen and icebox, you were starving and absolutely exhausted. The kitchen looked so much better and smelled better too, but there was still a lingering fish smell, so you figured you'd give the icebox a second wash tomorrow and leave it open all night to air it out. It wasn't like there was any ice left anyways.

Returning to the small room in the dormitories you'd claimed as your own, you ate your bread and cheese as you counted your remaining money. If you used it sparingly, you'd have enough to buy supplies to make a warm meal. It wouldn't be anything special, just some potatoes and whatever meat was cheapest, but it would be better than cheese and bread.

Crawling into bed you smiled at your plan and could already imagine the taste of your meal. Oh, it was going to be delicious! Closing your eyes, you pulled your blanket tighter around you and tried to fall asleep in the chilly fall night.

~

The next morning, you woke yourself early, the cold air preventing you from sleeping soundly. You went directly to the restaurant and opened all of the windows again for some fresh air. After spending an hour rewashing the icebox and any dirty spots in the kitchen you decided you'd start your feast early.

You left the opera house and went to the closest market to start your shopping. The potato harvest had been plentiful enough that you were able to get some carrots and a larger piece of chicken with your extra money. You smiled and skipped back to the opera house, excited to make your meal. You hadn't realized how bored you were getting of bread.

Returning to the opera house your excitement almost took a turn when you saw that you'd forgotten to shut the windows in the seating room and several pigeons had taken that as an invitation. You tried to not let it dampen your mood even though it took you twenty minutes to shoe them out with a broom. Once they were gone you immediately closed the windows so no other critters got the same idea, and got to work on your meal.

Your cooking was going quite smoothly until you managed to spill boiling water on your hand. And of course as you were running your hand under cold water, the potatoes started to boil over. After some trial and error though, you were able to get things under control. You hadn't cooked since you were little. Your mother had always loved cooking, and because she loved it, you did too. After she died your father had hired someone else to do the cooking and you couldn't bring yourself near the kitchen anymore. There were times when you felt as if everything reminded you of her.

Dragging yourself from your thoughts, you finished your meal as well as you could with one hand and plated the food. Pulling up a stool, you sat at one of the kitchen tables and dug into your food. It didn't taste exactly like your mothers but it was still mouth watering.

"Mmm," you hummed, "what excellent boiled potatoes."

As you ate you glanced at the remaining food left on the stove and an idea popped into your head. Before you could regret what you were about to do, you plated some more food and walked all the way to the auditorium. You left the plate on the edge of the stage, still steaming, with a small note offering peace.

You didn't know if he was watching you then, or if he had ever come looking for you since that night above the auditorium. For all you knew, the intense silence could have meant he was gone. Although you suspected it didn't. You didn't think you'd frightened him away like any of your attempted suitors. After all, if he wore a half mask, you had to believe he was hiding something too.

"A peace offering!" You called, your voice drifting into the opera house. There was no answer.