Little Vipers

I was not surprised to wake up. Poppa always told me dying was like falling asleep, and reappearing in Heaven was just like waking from this deep sleep. My head as pounding though, my limbs felt very heavy and numb, and I still couldn't see; was this my afterlife? I hoped not. I felt a cold draft and tried to wrap my arms around myself, only to find my wrists tied down. I wanted to try to twist them free, but already felt my body succumbing to the darkness that is unconsciousness.

The next time I surfaced I was much warmer. I still felt the restraints on my wrists, and realized it had the same grainy texture of the Phantom's Punjab lasso. However, at least this time I had enough energy to open my eyes. Colors blurred and flickered in front of me. Reds, yellows and oranges swayed and blended everywhere in tiny pinpricks. Wherever I was, it was full of hundreds of candles. I saw a shadow shift to my left, obscured by all the swimming shapes. I blacked out.

I reawaked once more to find myself mere steps from the Phantom of the Opera; he was unmistakable. This was most likely the black mass I'd seen move when my vision was still blurry; I couldn't have been under for more than a moment. So I wasn't dead after all. Looking up into his face, as I was now able to see that I was strapped to the arms of a magnificent armchair, I silently wished my eyes were still unfocused. He was intimidating up close, and, as my Father had said, I was quick to tears.

My Father...

"You evil demon." I snarled, leaning forward in what I intended to be a threatening gesture. My entire demeanor changed when I remembered whom exactly I was snared by.

"Evil? Such harsh words." The Phantom said in his deep voice. It was much less intimidating in here as opposed to the opera stage, but I still felt butterflies explode into every corner of my stomach. But I refused to show my fear. Poppa was always telling me to act more like a boy, so now was my chance. I blew a strand of hair out of my face to speak when I finally realized that my hair was down. I felt my eyes grow wide despite myself.

"Missing this?" The Phantom seemed to read my mind. He held out my cap from behind his back, still slightly wet from falling into the lake.

"Give it back." I growled as he circled my chair.

"Come and get it then." He taunted, reaching from around the back of the chair to dangle it right in front of my face. I made a move to bite his hand, but he dexterously moved out of harm's way, slapping the vaguely soggy cap back on my head. I flicked it back far enough for me to see past my bangs.

"So why is it," The Phantom continued, walking with his back to me, hands folded neatly above his coattails, "That you hide who you are? Did Poppa want a son in place of his daughter?" He teased.

"Women aren't allowed to be stagehands." I clarified, glaring daggers into his back.

"So you tuck your hair into your hat and pray no one notices your hips." He cut across me, "I don't think you were fooling anyone, my dear."

"Fooled you." I said, smirking. The Phantom was silent a moment.

"I fail to see how pretending to be a boy is a triumph to you, a girl." He continued carefully, trying to come out on top.

"Woman." I let slip before I could help myself. He just sent me an unwavering gaze and a slight smirk.

"A woman, you say?" He pestered me. I glared.

"I'm eighteen. I'm not a girl anymore." I explained stubbornly.

"Well I'm not convinced." He replied. I rolled my eyes in frustration until I realized, or rather remembered, something.

"Sure you are." I said slowly, smirking, "When you damn near strangled me to death you called me a woman after my cap fell, before I blacked out." I was gloating rather childishly, I know. But I had won; I saw the comprehension dawning on his face right now.

"Perhaps." He admitted, but inconclusively, "But it shall be difficult to see you as such until you learn to dress like one." I stared down at my over-sized undershirt and filthy tan overalls, legs rolled up to showcase my heavy work boots. I could see his point, but I refused to ever tell him that.

We argued for quite a while longer until something very important came to mind.

"Why am I not dead?" I demanded suddenly.

"I would assume that is due to-" The Phantom seemed about to launch into a speech not relating to what I was actually asking. He seemed to like toying with me.

"Why didn't you kill me?" I asked more directly, cutting him off. He was silent, looking away from my piercing brown eyes. I could see him struggling over his answer.

"I don't kill girls." He finally conceded. It seemed like the truth.

"Women." I corrected him again; ho wisely chose not to respond, so I continued, "But apparently you have no qualms with kidnapping them."

"You know where I live! Do you expect me to just let you go, only for you to return with a mob? No, you won't be leaving." He said quietly. I felt my heart sink, but I expected about as much.

"Can you at least untie me?" I asked, trying to sound sad and vulnerable. Apparently falling for me trap, the Phantom gave me a sidelong look before picking a knife up from a nearby table. He approached me and cut the ropes binding my wrists and some on my ankles, which I hadn't even noticed yet.

I waited until he was turning back to return the dagger before I dashed off. I had no idea where I thought I'd go; the gate was still down and I had no idea how to open it. Perhaps I should have been more patient, because I'd only gone a few steps before I felt a strong arm around my waist and the side of a knife at my throat.

"As I said," The Phantom spoke into my ear, "You won't be leaving."

"I suppose not." I sighed, irritated.

"Now my dear," He continued, relaxing the dagger but keeping a strong hold on me, "To what shall I be referring to you by?"

"Simon." I said impatiently, trying to turn away from him.

"After all this talk of womanhood, and you still cling to the name of a boy." He cooed, probably smirking at my discomfort. I tried to ignore the fact that him whispering into my ear sent chills up and down my spine.

"Simon is my last name." I said, rolling my eyes at myself and trying to keep my breathing steady.

"Hmm. But is your Poppa's name not Buquet?" He taunted, apparently aware he was getting to me.

"Simon is my Mother's last name."

"Your mother, you say? If she is as pretty as you under all that dirt, perhaps I shall like to meet her." He teased me, just barely scraping the side of the knife along my cheek.

"Those are freckles, not dirt." I said, twisting my face away again, "And my Mother's dead."

"Pity." He sneered, "I don't suppose she died at the end of a noose?" I growled in frustration as he once again located my ear.

"No. But I fail to see how that is at all your business." I said lowly.

"Oh I have no doubts that you will eventually tell me." He said confidently. I felt him smirk even behind me.

"And I have no doubts that you will eventually be showing me what's under your mask." I sneered, trying to say something to get back at him. The Phantom didn't reply, but I felt him release a quick breath right past my face. He started to lead me back to the center of his strange underground home without a single word.

"Where are we going?" I asked, still smiling triumphantly.

"You're going back in the chair." He grumbled.