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((*snickers* Little sneak...I don't know why, but that just made me laugh.))

He felt tired, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to fall asleep even if he tried. Every time he shut his eyes he saw Christine's face twisted in fear as she saw what lay beneath the mask. If he tried to go to sleep he would see her face as well as the face of countless other people. All of them would be frozen in the instant of horror as their brains registered for the first time what they were actually seeing. That nameless horror that cause grown men to scream and women to faint at the very sight of him. What people saw in his face was that shadowed demon that haunted the darkest corners of their minds come into the light. They feared him, but they were also fascinated by him. All humans seemed to be that way. It was the things that they feared the most that also fascinated and attracted them the most. Of course they could never admit this to themselves or to anyone else. They had studied him like a scientist studies some new species of animal, and the only thing that had kept them from laying him out and disecting him was their fear.

It was amusing that they had never noticed him studying them back through those bars. Most of the people at the carnivals had probably never even thought of him as being human, and most of the others who had had probably thought he was too stupid to realize what was going on. They had never stopped to consider that there might be an intelligent mind functioning beneath that deformed skull. How much more frightening would he have been if he had ever shown those gaping onlookers any signs of intelligence?

Even the man who had boastingly called himself "Master" had never thought that Erik possessed any reasonable amount of intelligence. It was no wonder why when one stopped to think about it. He could probably count on his hands the number of times he'd ever actually spoken to the filthy man.

The only person who had ever treated him like a human being had been Antoinette. Her kindness had saved his life. He didn't care much about the fact that she had saved his life, but her kindness meant more to him than he could ever articulate.

Lifting his head as he heard someone coming closer to his hiding place. He smirked as he listened to the sound of the person walking. The sound of the cane and lightness of the footfalls told him without a doubt that it was Antoinette. Even without the cane he had always been able to tell when it was her. She had a distinct rythm to the way she walked, and over the years he had memorized it. "Where might you be off to with such purpose, Madame?" he asked emerging slightly from his hiding place as she was just about to reach it.

"I am hardly little anymore, Antoinette," he said seeming slightly annoyed by her choice of terms. "As for what I took from your room..." He paused for a moment. She thought that he had taken it as a joke. He had other reasons for taking the photograph, but he couldn't tell her what they were. It would ruin the surprise. "I must ask that you let me hold onto it for a little longer. No harm will come to it, but I have a reason for taking it."

"I'm not used to asking for things, Antoinette, but even I would not take this photograph from you as some sort of joke. Whether or not I liked you late husband means little. You loved the man, and I would not think to make a joke out of something I know you hold so dear." He sighed and glanced up towards the ceiling. "You're just burning with questions, aren't you? Are you going to ask them?" he asked looking back at her.

If he was going to have to recall what went on at his house he would rather it be done and over with as soon as possible. The pain was less while the injury was still fresh. It would hurt more if he had time to let everything fester before saying what had happened.

As she asked the question he flinched as though it had caused him actual physical pain to hear it. In his mind he saw her face again. He saw the fear and revulsion in her eyes again as she saw for the first time what her Angel of Music really looked like. Last night he had slowly been destroying that fantasy, but that had been very deliberate. She was not supposed to have seen his face. It had shattered the remnants of that fantasy before he had intended, and he felt that a part of her had been shattered as well when she had seen. The truth was easier to avoid when it was hidden behind a mask. It was much harder to avoid when it was staring you straight in the face. "Pulling it off wouldn't have done anything if I hadn't been stupid enough to turn around so she could see my face."

He looked away from the woman and buried his face in his hands for a moment before managing to regain his composure. "I was such a fool!" he exclaimed losing that composure just as quickly. "No woman in their right mind would love me. My mother didn't even love me. God, I'm such a colossal fool..."

((It's getting so emotional. How will we ever manage to transition back to the action? *shrugs* We'll get there some way.))

Normally he would have pushed away her embrace. He almost did, but before he could act the emotions overwhelmed him again. There were no tears this time. He was beyond tears now.

Over the years he had grown cynical and bitter towards the rest of humanity for what they had put him through. He'd come to a point where he barely counted himself among their numbers. Why would he want to belong to the race that made entertainment out of other people's suffering and misery. They had looked upon him as an animal as though that was some sort of insult, but he'd found that animals were better than humans. Animals did not posess the capacity to be cruel. "Why does it have to be this way, Antoinette? Why is it that you're the only person who is not afraid to look at my face even when I am not wearing the mask?"

Slowly he pushed away from her, trying to push away everything he was feeling along with it. He had been content before. Being the Opera Ghost was not what he had wanted out of life, but it was certainly better than being carted from one place to another at someone else's whim. It had been a comfortable existence with a laugh or two thrown in every now and then when everyone became too complacent.

Of course, just as he'd finally contented himself to be remembered only as the the Opera Ghost he had seen Christine. Instantly everything in his content little life had been turned upside down. He fell in love with her innocence immediately. Perhaps he'd found it so attractive because he'd lost his so early in life, but the beauty of her voice had been the final nail in the proverbial coffin. She became something of an obsession, and he had wanted to make her every dream a reality. He'd been too afraid to approach her in person, but when he heard about her father's promise to send her the Angel of Music he had seized his chance. "I should have never allowed myself to fall in love with her. The Vicomte could have just swept her off her feet, and I would have never felt a thing. Perhaps I would have remained completely unaware of the burning passions that love brings with it. I might have been better off just remaining numb and unaware."

((I would have posted much sooner, but yesterday was the prom. I had to go do all of the girly stuff to get ready for it. I'm so not a girly-girl, and I am so glad that I took off those heels before starting to dance. Anyway, I haven't been on today either because I had to go get my car back from my granddad, and I just got home a little while ago.))

Frilly little patron with a wad of francs tucked in his pantaloons? The mental image of that made Erik want to laugh. "You sound so sentimental and optimistic," he said suddenly stepped closer to her and placing one hand on her forehead as though to check for a fever. He looked at her with the visible side of his face twisted in mock concern. "Are you certain that you're feeling alright? It's so unlike you, Antoinette. If you're not careful people will begin to think that you've gone soft, and where will you be then?"

Removing his hand from over her forehead and taking a step away so that they were not standing quite so close to one another, he let out a long, wistful sigh. "I must admit it is nice to hear such things every now and then. I have such little human contact that I sometimes forget how satisfying it can be to have an intelligent conversation. Rats are horrible conversationalists. Did you know that, Antoinette? All they do is chatter, chatter, chatter, but they never really say anthing at all." Now he was joking. He was not so desperate for talk that he would resort to trying to have conversations with rats. When he had been younger he had tried to train a couple to do simple tricks, but that had only been to occupy some of the empty hours of the day. The rats had done wonderfully, but eventually he'd run out of tricks to teach them that would not put them at risk for serious injury if they failed. He would never purposely hurt an animal. They did not judge him by his face, and it was rare that he came across an animal that did not like him. They seemed to sense something in him that made them immediately trust and like him. It was too bad that humans did not posess that same sense.

Putting the joking aside for a moment he asked, "What has Buquet been saying? I want you to tell me all of it."

The scene-shifter had been more of a nuisance than ever since he'd seen the Opera Ghost's face. It had been merely an accident that the man had found his way into one of the secret passages. He'd wandered through the secret passages, hopelessly lost, until he managed to cross paths with Erik, who had felt secure enough in how well the entrances were hidden to sometimes remove his mask as he travelled them (since the encounter the only place where he didn't always wear his mask was at his home). They had both been so shocked about coming across one another that for a minute all they could do was stare, but finally Buquet had run off screaming as though the devil was chasing after him. It had been pure luck that he'd managed to find another door that led out into the main part of the building.

Of course, he'd never told anyone that part of the story. It had always been the ghost that had turned and fled, and eventually it had grown into Buquet telling how he had heroically beat him off. No one seemed to find it strange that a ghost would be affected by physical blows, which was a bit of a blessing in diguise. As long as they did not question that they would not question the authenticity of the ghost, but it also meant that Buquet continued to parade around like a peacock. "The fool really needs to learn to keep his mouth closed. Doesn't he know by now that all of the opera's gossip will eventually reach my ears one way or another?"

((You can play him. You did a good job with him before.))

He knew perfectly well the tales that were being told about his face and their encounter in the hall. The tales had been semi-believable before, but now they were just ridiculous. It wasn't so annoying that tales were being told about him, but other than the horrible description of his face they were doing nothing for hisreputation. If people thought that the Opera Ghost was so easy to frighten away they would slowly become bolder, and they would begin looking for him. That would lead to more blood on his hands. Something really needed to be done about Buquet, and it needed to be done soon.

Unfortunately the new management still seemed to be flexing its muscles in an attempt to exert some sort of control over the opera house. He didn't have the same sway with these two new idiots the same way he'd had with Lefevre. For now he couldn't simply order the management to settle Buquet's accounts. A fine time for the old man to retire. I don't think he could have picked a more inconvenient time for it, thought Erik in annoyance. He would have to take more direct actions.

Looking at Madame Giry, he frowned as he saw her shudder. That was not like her at all. She was one of the strongest people he'd ever met, and she did not allow things to show so easily when they disturbed her. "You're not telling me everything. What all did Buquet say? Would you rather I heard it from you or blown all out of proportion from one of the ballet girls as they're whispering it to one another?"