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She felt her worry ease off her face, making her head feel lighter than it had in the past few hours. It was ironic that he would protect her and she, him. Perhaps that's what the world ran on, irony. She didn't run on religion like most people her age, but she didn't think God ever abandoned him. Perhaps forgot was a more correct term. Then again, who was she to say what God felt toward this pitiful man he let live past the birthing process? The world mistreated this genious, but she never made that mistake and never would.
"I wouldn't worry about me, Erik. A widow cries a lot. It's only nature." She responded softly, watching the glass in his hand reflect the soft lighting of the room. Antoinette made a mental note to clean the glass before she left the room to check on her daughter and the other dancers. For a moment she wondered how Christine was doing, but she wasn't concerned. She was probably now a favorite amongst her peers so she wouldn't be left alone to brood. If, she thought, Christine knew how to brood. Girl always had a smile on her face. This morning had been the first time she hadn't been, but that was past them now she hoped.
Remembering her hair was all over the place, Antoinette idly reached up, clipping back a good amount in a makeshift bun that tugged on the skin of her face, straightening the wrinkles on her forehead and cheeks.
"But I thank you for worrying anyway. Sometimes knowing someone worries over you fairs better than anything else."

Aside, Antoinette began to laugh. She didn't know why she was doing so, but she couldn't quit. Her face gained pink stains from the exertion that gather on her cheeks and nose. One hand came up to cover her mouth as if it was rude to have your mouth open, but it dropped uselessly after a minute when the ache in her sides forced her to calm down. Pulling a small handkerchief out from one of the vanity drawers, she handed it to Erik so he could wipe off the blood from where he cut himself with the glass.
"Sometimes I forget how human you are, Erik. You always carry yourself as if you're God himself. It's when you come down to greet me that I have to remember you're Erik and not The Phantom." She gave a soft smile to him, feeling her face warm in content as her dark mood blew away like dust in the wind, letting her own human side come out for the first time in what she supposed was years.
A small smirk tugged at her lips as she suddenly remembered the whole note incident and how ridiculous it had gotten. "Carlotta's blaming the Vicomte for writing those notes. The look on her face was something to be treasured. I don't know how it all will end, but at least seeing her turn as pink as the dress she was wearing was good enough, hmn?" Antoinette sighed idly, sitting back and staring at her lap.
"I miss playing jokes on the workers with you, Erik. At least then no one thought about ridding the world of someone. The best one we did was on the old Ballet Mistress. You remember, don't you?" She chuckled to herself. "The young always want to be older when the old want to be young again. I just want all this nonsense to stop. I miss the old days, Erik."

"The old ballet mistress..." he mumbled thoughtfully. "Which one? I think we managed to run a couple of them off before you finally took over." He smiled fondly as he held the handkerchief over his fingers.

That had ruined some of his fun for a bit. He hadn't known who to target for pranks until Carlotta had come along. She had left herself to wide open for such things for the natural prankster in him to resist.

"I helped you a few times when there was no one else around," said Erik sounding slightly indignant. "Don't act as though I made you take the punishment all on your own. Besides, if you'd really wanted to stop you would have quit helping me set up those pranks. Those days really were such fun. I doubt any of your girls would believe it possible for you to have been such a prankster when you were younger. None of them can imagine you laughing and joking because all they know you as is the strict ballet mistress. Maybe one day you should do something that would throw them all off-guard." He tried to imagine the reactions of the little ballet rats to find that their strict, always severe-looking instructor really had a wicked sense of humor.

"By the way, how is Meg doing?" He had always thought fondly of the girl. She did not remember him, but he certainly remembered being there when she was very young. "Is she in need of anything?"

He frowned thoughtfully for a moment as he mentally sifted through the list of items he had been wanting to get for himself. There were some things that he would not ask her to get for him because they would attract too much suspicion if she was ever caught with them. If she were ever to be caught buying red ink and red wax for him there was no doubt Andre and Firmin would fire her immediately. No doubt they were looking for the first prime opportunity to throw her out on her backside. "I need some more paper," he said finally. "I'm beginning to run out, and I'd like a couple of new pens as well."

It seemed safe enough to ask for such things. No one would think it odd that she was buying paper and pens. "Of course, I will not ask you to use your own money to buy such things for my use." He paused for a moment again. "You can just tell me how much it cost when you give it to me. I have not brought any money with me."

He scowled slightly in annoyance as she said that the managers were still not taking him seriously. Those two fools were really beginning to get on his nerves, and that was a very dangerous thing to do. He'd already been on the verge of murdering one person just a minute ago. It wouldn't take much to slip back into that mentality. "Those fools had better begin taking more seriously. I have enough money to last me for a while yet, so that is of no real concern. What I am more interested in is getting them to cave in to my other demands. They are putting themselves at great risk by insisting upon this defiance of my demands. It is becoming very irritating, and you know how horrible I am about controlling my temper. I don't want to do something that we will all come to regret."

Discarding the managers from his mind for a moment, he slowly turned over the Antoinette's question about what he would do about Carlotta. It was assured she would return. She was too much in love with the fame and adoration she received from being the diva of the Paris opera, and perhaps there was a bit of love for the opera buried somewhere under all of that gluttony for glory. Just like there was probably a decent voice hidden somewhere beneath those mounds and mounds of technique that had corrupted the natural sound of her vocal instrument. He had heard her a couple of times as she sang privately to herself, and really she wasn't so horrible when she stopped listening to everything that her undoubtedly numerous tutors had taught her. Of course, he would never tell this to anyone. La Carlotta was loud, rude, obnoxious, arrogant, and too much caught up in herself for him to ever speak one kind word about her. All of the foul things she had said about and done to others had earned his permanent dislike and disapproval. The woman could croak, and he wouldn't so much as bat an eye. He might even find it a reason for a bit of celebration.

A sudden thought struck him, and he let out a wicked chuckle. "Oh, that is wonderful," he said with a mischievous smirk on his lips. He wouldn't need to put her or anyone else in danger of physical injury with this trick, but there was no doubt it would do great damage to the Italian woman's ego. That was what he really wanted anyway. He didn't want to have to hurt anyone, but he wanted La Carlotta out of the spotlight. This might be just the thing to do the job as well.

"I don't know, Antoinette," said Erik with an amused expression on his face. "That Moncharmin seems like he might squeal at a dead rat in his shoe just like any of you ballet girls. It was hardly any fun making him leave my box last night. All I had to do was a bit of ventriloquism and he bolted right out of there. I had actually been hoping that he would have a bit more of a backbone, but apparently it is M. Richard who got that out of the pair. Now if only they had a decent brain between the two of them everything would be set." He chuckled again at the memory of the expression on Andre's face as he realized that the voice speaking to him had not seemed to have a body. That had almost made up for the inconvenience of the whole thing.

Slowly stretching in his seat, he rose out of it and looked down at the woman standing next to him. When they had been younger they had been quite a pair, but time had passed. They had both grown older, and Antoinette had had a live beyond the opera house with the man she had loved so dearly. He frowned for a moment as he remembered the question he'd asked while staring at the picture in his house. "Antoinette, did you ever tell Adam about me?"