Later that night you again flew from your pillow with a sharp cry, breaking the silence within the opera house. Your hand flew to your throat as you gasped in air desperately. In and out. In and out. Your heart thundered loudly in your ears, deafening you. It took several minutes for you to calm down, many of which you spent breathing heavily and tracing the bandages of your wounds, trying to remind yourself that it was over. No one was there to hurt you. They couldn't hurt you anymore.

You laid your head back down and closed your eyes but sleep did not come. Your mind was still racing endlessly, relentlessly. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't stop reliving those terrible, raw memories behind your eyes. Even shaking your head in attempt to dislodge them did you no good.

Heaving a great sigh, you got up from bed. You slid on your slippers and wrapped yourself in your mother's green blanket before making your way down through the dormitories with your hand-held gas flame. Maybe a stroll would do you some good and work to tire your restless mind. The dark did not scare you as much as it used to now that you knew what lived inside its emptiness, or rather who did. You found that your mind constantly wandered toward him, especially now after he saved you and cared for you. Your cheeks still burned with embarrassment anytime you thought about it, but it also brought a smile to your lips.

For a while you only heard the sound of your footsteps and the little flicker of the flame as you found your way down into the backstage hallways. While you were by now accustomed to living with the rats, you couldn't help but let out a slight shriek as one scurried over your foot without warning. It scampered away quickly, no doubt as scared of you as you'd been of it, especially after your shriek.

After calming yourself, you continued on your way to the Prima Donna's dressing room. The mirror was once again on your mind. Reaching the room, you sat on the floor before the mirror and pulled your blanket tightly around your cold body. You were so entranced by its golden frame and its mysterious glow that you didn't realize the figure that had now entered the room behind you.

"You're still awake at this hour?"

At first you jumped, a bit startled by the sudden voice, but you relaxed as you recognized it was Erik. Turning around, you pulled yourself up from the floor to look at him. A curious gaze sat on his face, and he regarded you with something close to contentment. It was far different from those burning angry eyes you'd seen the night he'd tried to kill you. You wondered then if he actually would have killed you if he'd caught you. Perhaps you would ask him sometime, although you weren't sure if you wanted to know the answer.

"I had another nightmare," you admitted, suddenly feeling very small and childish. "Why are you still awake?"

He gave no answer, but looked at you for a long moment before uttering a quiet, "come with me." Sensing your hesitation, he slid his hand into yours and pulled you along gently. You were surprised when he walked up to the mirror instead of leaving through the door he'd come in through. You were even more surprised to find that the mirror was not just a mirror, but was also a secret door. Beyond it was a tunnel lit by many, many candles, a source to the mirror's odd glow.

As you stepped into the passage you pulled your blanket tighter around you. It was cold, and you could even feel the chilled stone through your slippers. You watched then as the mirror swirled shut and revealed it was transparent on this side, so you could see into the dressing room beyond. A clever trick. He continued to lead you through the passage, which you found connected to the cellars you'd never dared to explore. Eventually you met a great winding stone staircase which lead down into darkness. Still Erik held your hand and then lead you down, down, down. You were even less scared of the darkness now that he held you. Many times he turned to look at you, but you could no longer decipher the expression on his face. It didn't help that you could only see half of it.

Finally you reached the bottom of the stone staircase and found what appeared to be a huge underground lake. You'd heard stories that the opera had been built on a vast swampy lake, but you thought they were just that, stories. You wondered then how you were to cross it until a small boat caught your eye. Erik helped you into the boat gently before stepping in himself and beginning to push the boat along. You understood then that he was taking you to his underground lair, to the place where he lived and breathed his music.

After several very long and confusing turns, which you realized you would never remember, you saw it ahead of you. It was a cove of absolute luxury. Hundreds of gas lamps and candles lit up the space with a warm glow. The centerpiece, a grand pipe organ, was surrounded by many pieces of fancy and luxurious furniture. Sheets of music lay everywhere, including on the floor.

He watched you closely then as your face lit up in awe. If you were being honest, you thought the phantom of the opera would have lived somewhere more spooky or decrepit even, but his home was beautiful and it was even warm, or warmer at least than the chilly opera house. The candles gave off a welcome heat in addition to their glow.

He helped you from the boat just as gently as he'd helped you in, and you stepped into his home. You still held his hand as he lead you up the steps toward the organ.

"Wow," you breathed, almost struggling to take everything in at once. "Your home is beautiful."

"I take it you thought I lived among rubble?"

You nodded and laughed, a bit embarrassed that it was true. You didn't exactly think that ghosts lived in luxury.

"I'll be honest, I didn't always believe you existed, and come to find out you did, I never would have imagined you had such refined tastes and artistic genius."

He smiled in a proud manner, but regarded you with the same kindness and gentleness you'd seen on him recently. You hated that you were about to potentially ruin that with your oncoming questions. You warred with yourself on whether or not to actually ask him the burning questions bouncing around your head, and the half that wanted to, won.

"Can I ask you something? And can you promise me you won't be upset with me?"

"That's not an answer I'm willing to give before hearing your question."

"I figured you would say that." Your shoulders sulked a bit. While you felt you could trust him by now, who was he to trust you?

"That night when I first saw you, when you chased me, were–were you going to kill me?"

He remained silent for many moments, and you looked into his sad, dark eyes. His kindness was gone like you'd predicted as he recalled the events of that night. You looked at his mask and recalled your own face.

"If I hadn't looked the way I do, would you have spared me?"

"No," he said finally, severing the deep silence, "I would have killed you. You hadn't exactly heeded my warnings to leave."

You recalled then your missing satchel, the crashing candelabra and the noises, the dead rats outside of your room, and the painted message in the grand foyer. Somehow you'd managed to attribute those disturbances to anything or anyone other than the Phantom. Although you guessed that was in part to you not believing in him in the first place.

"So why didn't you then?"

"What?" He hadn't expected the question.

"Why didn't you kill me?"

"Because," he said, meeting your eyes. "When I saw you, I saw not only a reflection of myself, but of someone that was better than I was, and who was I to take your life away from you?"

You noticed then the compassion and sadness in his eyes. He understood you more than anyone ever had, even your own mother. You wanted nothing more then than to see him, truly see him, but you knew he would not let you before he was ready. Not that he'd given you the same courtesy. You could already sense him retreating and pulling tight the guards around his heart as he watched your gaze. You tried to meet his with as much compassion as he'd shown you. You squeezed his hand gently and pulled him towards the grand-organ's keys.

"Will you play something for me?"

If he would not reveal his face, perhaps he would share this part of himself with you instead. He agreed with a soft, and almost grateful, smile and slid onto the bench. When you didn't follow he gestured for you to sit beside him. You obliged, although you were a bit embarrassed to be so close to him again.

He broke the nervous silence and started playing. You realized after only a few notes that it was the song you'd heard the day your heart shattered. Yet, since then those cracks had began to heal. From what you could tell he wasn't reading from any of the pieces of sheet music covering the organ, and you watched him in awe as his hands continued to dance across the keys.

He was truly a musical genius. Seamlessly, he merged from one song into the next, again and again. His music entranced you, and it was as if you too were living and breathing the music.  While the notes he was playing had begun as somber and melancholy, they slowly grew to happier and more dreamy pieces that filled your soul with joy.

~

You awoke the next morning well rested and in high spirits. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you suddenly recalled all of the events of last night. Oh no. Oh no! Springing upward you realized to your extreme embarrassment that you were not in your own bed. Oh no. You had somehow managed to fall asleep while Erik was playing his music, and he had put you in his bed. God, you were embarrassed. Your cheeks were burning.

But it was so warm, and you slept so well. No! Pull yourself together, you thought. Dragging yourself from the warm bed, you collected your skirts and your blanket and made yourself look as presentable as possible.

You found Erik still sitting at the organ, writing furiously on some nearby sheet music. There was no sneaking up on him. He looked over immediately as you rounded the corner even though he was facing completely away from you.

"I'm sorry I fell asleep," you said suddenly, embarrassed that he'd put you in his bed, and even more embarrassed now that you realized you would have had to have fallen asleep against his shoulder.

"Don't be."

He watched you closely, scanning your face for any expression that might tell him what you were thinking.

"I hope you didn't stay awake all night because of me."

He looked a bit surprised, and secretly he wondered if you were suggesting he should have gone to sleep next to you. You couldn't have suggested that though, right?

"I don't sleep very often," he answered finally.

"Mmm," you laughed, looking at the piles of sheet music everywhere, "I can see that."

He smiled and you both gazed at one another in silence for what felt like forever. You realized then that it was Wednesday morning and you had a lot of work to do.

"What time is it?"

"Almost 9:30."

"Erik! You know work starts at 8, the construction crew is probably wondering where I am."

He gave you a guilty smile and rose from the bench at the pipe-organ.

"I know, I'm sorry. I just didn't want to wake you. I'll take you back."

Just like last night, he lead you gently to the boat, which carried you back towards the civilization and society that you weren't entirely sure you wanted to return to. Part of you wished you could stay down there in Erik's world of music forever. He deposited you inside the secret passage before the trick-mirror and then turned to leave.

"Promise you'll visit me again soon?" You asked, giving his gloved hand a soft squeeze. His eyes regarded yours with something like adoration.

"I promise."