"Monsieur Erik!" Madame Chausir called. Erik threw his quill on the desk. That unendurable woman always had to interrupt his letter writing, didn't she?

   He shouted, "Come in!

    "What, Madame? Pray tell me why you suddenly need something that could not be addressed during the morning's rounds?" He yelled harshly at her.

   She whimpered. Well that was satisfying, he thought.

   "S-sorry, monsieur, b-but there is an issue with the costumes. Mademoiselle Treacle... is having a scene about the length of her skirt."

    Maybe he should just kill Grace. Yes, he was strangely fond of her. But she was so much trouble. And the root of most of his problems nowadays. However, he did not mind seeing her as much as he did due to those problems.

   "I'm coming."

           Grace was in the midst of a shouting match with the seamstress, and Véronique and the other dancers were red in the face from trying not to laugh at the spectacle when Erik and Madame Chausir entered the room.

   "What is going on?"

    "This skirt is too short!"

   "This dancer is not letting me raise the hem when she is prima and your designs -"

   "One at a time. Madame Bérnarde, continue."

    "You always have the prima donna and ballerina wear something different to show their position, non? And for the upcoming opera the shorter skirts must be used, non?  Well I tried to make the prima's shorter and she won't let me, nor will she take off her stockings!"

   Erik wanted to break something.

   "And Grace, why will you not comply?" He hissed through his teeth. This was a rather ridiculous problem - was she just being this way to create strain?

   Grace turned pink.

    "I don't think you'll appreciate my reasoning."

   "Is it not easier to dance in a shorter skirt? Is it not safer then to be swimming in long pieces of material that can tangle and cause you to trip and ruin my show?"

    "Yes, Monsieur, but -"

   "Is it a matter of vanity? Modesty? Because mademoiselle, the other young ladies are fine with baring their legs. They do not have a fit towards the seamstress!"

   "Excuse me, may I speak?" Grace yelled at him now, and everyone went silent.

   "Go ahead," he said, his voice like ice. Once more she challenged him. Insolent little girl.

   He took in her outfit as she spoke. She wore the skirt which ended just above her knees, with white stockings added as a crude accessory. "The reason I request a longer skirt, is the same reason you wear a mask." His eyes stopped their journey and flew back to her face, narrowing, sending a warning. She'd better watch what she said next.

     "Oh? Please enlighten me further."

   "You wish to hide something, so do I. I believe that I have something to hide that is quite similar to what you have to hide. If either of us were to reveal our... hidden things, we would most likely suffer painful, social and emotional consequences."

    Everyone in the room was confused, all except for Erik. They believed Grace had spoken in riddles, and was just being a diva.

  Erik understood what she meant though, and it shook him for some reason. He turned to the seamstress.

   "The differing detail of the prima ballerina's costume will be the skirt's length. It shall be longer than the other ballerina's dresses. As long as Mademoiselle wishes."

                              🌹

   Grace quietly stole down to the quarters underneath the theatre, where she heard Erik angrily beating away at the keys of his organ. Even the violence with which he played was beautiful.

    She banged her fist against the stone wall a few times, the only way she could knock and actually allow him to hear her.

    He stopped and looked up. "Yes?"

     "Care for some company?"

    He almost smiled. "Entrez," he said.

     Grace approached, looking at all the instruments scattered about. "Composing?"

   "Attempting to, though I might quit. The last opera I wrote was a nightmare. Well, no. It was a masterpiece. The performance was a nightmare. No one could handle my music - I suppose it was too intense and passionate for them."

   "I once knew a man who wrote something like what you describe. I liked his 'passionate and intense' music more than Beethoven or Tchaikovsky. He wrote music that suited the human nature. Messy, beautiful, and true. Oh! I didn't know you played the Cello!"

   Erik turned to face her, away from his organ, which was a great feat. "My dear, Grace, I can play any instrument permitting I have at least a week to familiarize myself with it."

    "What were you as a child? A prodigy? Were you even a child? Or were you born a young middle aged musical genius who's first words were something dark and sarcastic?"

   "I'm merely telling you the truth."

   "A truth that your ego undoubtedly finds pleasant," she teased.

   He did laugh at that. "You know, not even Christina will dare to tease me."

   "That's a shame, because you, monsieur, need to be teased. It will keep you in line." Her eyes drifted back to his Cello. "This looks like an antique."

    "It is," he said, "I am shocked that I've been able to keep it in such good condition, given how rarely I play it - I prefer the violin."

   "I'm not surprised."

  "Do you play?"

   "The Cello and the piano. I was once given instruction in violin and oboe, but I hated the latter and I never practiced the violin long enough to remember anything."

   "Will you play something for me?" Erik asked, earnestly wanting to hear her. Christina played the violin, but she didn't often play anything from her own desires. She only played his music when he asked her to play for him. He was nearly tired of hearing himself, and now he was presented with a musician who did not have his work memorized, and who played an instrument he often did not. This was  a treat.

   "You're the musical genius, not me," Grace said.

    "Please, Grace?"

    She sighed. She always had difficulty saying no, and his pleas were genuine and somehow - of a precious nature.

   She picked up the Cello and sat down. The only issue was she couldn't get it between her legs due to her costume. Madame Chausir had given everyone an hour break, and the current costume was constricting and difficult, so Grace had decided to keep it on rather than wrestle herself back into it again later.

  "You don't care if you see my legs right?"

  "Pardon?"

   But Grace was already hitching her skirts up. She had on long bloomers so her scars were covered, but everything else was showing.

   If Erik had had time he would have been embarrassed at seeing so much skin, since he had not been around many women who lacked as much care for propriety as Grace. However, she immediately picked up a bow and started playing. His attention was  instantly directed towards the music she made.

    He did not recognize the song, but it floated around his rocky cave of a  home beautifully. There was not a single sour note, nor a scale he could find that could be corrected or changed. Yes, it was not perfect, but it was more than close. It was a glorious tune.

   When she had finished, she waited a very long time for him to say something. "Well?"

  "That was wonderful. Who wrote it?"

   Grace smirked. "I did."

   "I must say, I am very pleased to have you as an addition to my theatre. You are a musician, you can compose, you can dance, and you can sing."

    "Thank you. I never would have believed you would be capable of giving me a compliment."

     "Speaking of singing, I would like to give you a role in a show next year. In January."

   "But that's three months from now."

  "Correct. Just enough time to finish up this show and the next. It will be an opera. Christina of course, will be the lead, but I decided that I also want to perform again. However, she does not want to play opposite me, which means, I need someone else. A supporting character."

   "You want me to sing opera? I haven't actually sung on purpose, with a sane mind in years. I never had more than a month or two of training."

  "I'll train you," Erik laughed. Lord knows I'm a great teacher.

    "I would be daft to refuse."

                              🌹

   Grace was leaving to meet Rodger and later her family when Guy confronted her. She had been innocently walking down the hall and out popped Guy from the damn woodwork.

   "I noticed that Erik has taken a liking to you. Véronique is in a twist over it. She's happy for you but jealous."

   What did he care about that? "Well if he finds my presence tolerable, it is not my doing. I find him a little bit insufferable."

     Grace tried to step around him. He blocked her.

  "I think you're lying. Why don't I tell him about you at the brothel on Grande Street?"

   Grace glared at him. "You wouldn't." She knew eventually someone would see her, but heaven forbid she show her surprise now. This was a game and if she were to have the step ahead, she had to always be wary of the danger behind her.

  "I would. I will. That is... unless you do a few things for me."

   "For instance?"

   "I am interested in someone who isn't interested in me. I'd like to make them notice me. Let's court for a bit."

     Grace had so much on her plate she needed to sleep, not court. And with Guy of all people? But she could not let Erik know what she was doing with the money she was earning,  or that she had ever been to Grande Street. Everything she was working for was inappropriate, wrong, and could ruin her and her family. And if she destroyed herself in Erik's eyes...

    Grace sighed. "Okay Guy. You win this time."