Little Vipers

The Phantom had been increasingly busy over the next few days. I tried to keep quiet and out of the way. It was the least I could do to express my gratitude for him writing me into his opera. I hadn't really even realized how jealous I had been of the actors and singers and dancers. Secretly, even a secret to myself, I had wanted that. And the Phantom would give me a chance at it.

But try as I might, I was still a restless soul. I would get so bored, but I still wanted to keep quiet and not be a bother. I had stopped exploring the traps on the staircase, because, either out of concern or an interest to keep me from reaching my freedom, the Phantom was always waiting for me at the exit to a trap or back at the base of the staircase. Not that I would actually try to escape. I had actually taken to liking this place, and even the Phantom. Besides, where would I go if I ever returned to the world above this place I'd come to love? I was an orphan, but also legally an adult. No orphanage would have me, and I couldn't just go back to being a stagehand. Most everyone thought that Charlie Buquet was dead, and I couldn't take back my old job as Charlotte Simon. Girls still weren't allowed in the rafters as far as I still knew. No, I wouldn't be leaving. Even if I had the chance.

I instead chose to wander around the main cavern and the adjacent rooms. The Phantom usually told me not to go into his room, but while he was away or out I would allow my curiosity to get the better of me and I would venture in. I admired his design choices, and liked to play the music box beside his gorgeous swan bed. I never touched anything though, aside from the music box. I was respectful of his things.

The only reason I had read those letters on his desk was because they were open and strewn all over, I swear! It was like he was asking for them to be read by me, leaving them out like that!

Most of them were scraped letters signed by OG. There was nothing of consequence in those, but they were fun to read. He really was funny, in his overbearing and commanding nature. The interesting ones were the letters from Madame Giry, all to a person named Erik. I am embarrassed to admit that it took me a few moments to realize that, being a real person, the Phantom had to have a real name.

I was still thinking of him as the Phantom, and really didn't want him knowing I'd been snooping around in his business. So I only referred to him as Erik in my mind.

At first I didn't like the name; Erik didn't seem to fit him very well. But the longer I said it, the longer I spent with him, I felt it growing on me.

It was getting pretty close to the Masquerade, and I still hadn't asked Erik if I could attend. I didn't like to think of it as cowardice; I was just waiting for the right moment is all.

I was sitting at the table a week before the Masquerade, just keeping busy. Erik had his back to me, hunched over the keys of his organ.

He really was a genius. The melodies he strung together were so dissonant, but beautiful in their own right. Much like his name, Erik could craft music that grew on me the more I heard it. He had told me about his plans to have the Opera Populaire perform it, which interested me. I figured that most people wouldn't understand or appreciate the message and music the first time they heard it. Which was rather clever actually. It wasn't that at first glance you found it utterly repulsive, and would never return. You were intrigued under the initial shock of it. People would be coming back to see it over and over until, in time, they would come to the same realization as I: Don Juan Triumphant was a masterpiece. Erik amazed me. He was a genius.

I turned back to the table and refocused on what I was doing. The area around me was already covered in little paper figures and delicate paper forms. Paper folding was an art to me. It was something I truly enjoyed, and excelled in. I still had a lot to learn, but sometimes I even surprised myself with it. I was so absorbed that I barely noticed Erik playing the final note of the song he was currently refining, or him moving to sit across from me at the table.

"Charlotte my dear, you are using all my paper." Erik said amusedly. I looked up from my work and smiled a little sheepishly.

"My apologies, Monsieur." I replied as Erik picked up one of the finished pieces to examine it.

"Don't be. I admit I am rather fond of your little creations." He told me, setting the elephant back down to look at the rabbit next. I chose not to reply, but felt my smile grow as I went back to the tulip I was making.

"Where did you learn this?" He continued to make conversation.

"They call it Origami in the East." I answered by ways of a reply, not sure I wanted to talk about what I knew would come up, "I spent some time of my childhood in China."

"To travel is to gain the knowledge of the world." Erik agreed, but with an edge that told me he was aware I was holding back. I sighed, but obliged him.

"My Poppa was in the trading business when I was a girl. We used to travel a lot." I said quietly, diligently folding my tulip, "China was just one place we would visit." Erik didn't reply because he too had grabbed a sheet of paper and was starting a complicated series of folds. I held my sad little tulip between my thumb and forefinger as Erik finished a beautiful and perfect red paper rose.

"Must you always show everyone else up?" I asked, sounding like a jealous child. He simply smiled and walked around the table to stand beside me.

"Must you always pout like a little girl, my dear Charlotte?" He teased me as he put the paper rose in my hair. I smiled despite myself and put the tulip through a buttonhole in his jacket lapel.

I don't think I stopped smiling the rest of the night, all thoughts of the Masquerade and my Poppa conveniently out of mind.

Later:

It was now or never.

The Masquerade was looming over my head. I had neglected to ask at all this week. I had to ask now or always think of myself as a coward.

Erik and I were sitting at the table the night before the ball, eating a nice dinner. He was always quiet when we ate, and I would mimic him so as to not disturb the peace. So much of my life here had been full of beautiful but admittedly loud music, so I came to appreciate these meals. But tonight I had to break it, or else I may never get the courage, or the chance.

"Speaking of dancing." I said into the silence, knowing full well there had been no talk of anything remotely relating to dancing, "I heard there was going to be a Masquerade Ball tomorrow evening upstairs." I had come accustomed to referring to the opera house as the upstairs of Erik's home, which I know he enjoyed. He looked at me with amusement playing on his handsome face, making me blush with embarrassment.

"Yes, I believe I've heard the same news." He said, apparently enjoying watching me squirm in discomfort.

"Oh, good." I said absentmindedly, trying to think of how to ask him. We sat in more silence, Erik eating quietly and staring at me, with that little smirk. I wasn't touching my plate anymore. Finally I had to just spit out the words.

"Can I go?" I asked rather quickly, and much louder than I'd planned. I bit my lip and flushed even darker as Erik's eyes looked into mine. He held my gaze for a moment before looking back down at his dinner.

"Of course, my dear Charlotte." He said, laughing slightly at me, "I had planned on attending myself."

I could have jumped up and hugged him if I wasn't so embarrassed.