Of Phantoms and Angels

XVIII. Plots and Counterplots

     What the hell, here's another chapter.

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     Lilienne sat on the sofa, eyes gently closed, legs tucked under her, neglecting her cup of tea as the Phantom's music entranced her.  In this state of entrancement, she forgot all time; she didn't know how long she'd stayed, but as far as she was concerned she could stay down here forever.

     Suddenly, the world was put back in motion and time ticked forward again as his music came to an abrupt halt, replaced by the grating sound of his seat being pushed back.  Her eyes flew open to see him stand swiftly, a candle in hand.

     "Eh bien, ma chère, if you are feeling better, I should return you to the land of the living."

     Lilienne's heart sank - she would have liked to stay here, with the Phantom, and forget all the worry of the real world.  But, she supposed he was right; no doubt Christine would be frantic, knowing she had been with him.  Je ne sais pas pourquoi elle a tellement peur...

     He led her through the labyrinth of damp corridors, and she instinctively took hold of his hand to stay close behind him.  She did't want to stray out of his little circle of light, not down here.

     "This is where I leave you," he said as they came to the entrance she knew from the Prima Donna's dressing room.

     "Merci, Monsieur de l'Opéra."

     "Erik."

     "Pardonnez-moi?"  she asked, confused by his illogical statement.

     "My name... my name is Erik - so you can stop calling me M de l'Opéra."

     He spoke hesitantly, and Lilienne couldn't help her feeling of astonishment; the Phantom of the Opera had just confided his very name to her.  She blushed as she gazed at him, wide-eyed and tongue-tied, short of her breath.

     "You should..." he gestured to the door.

     "Oh, yes... I suppose so..."

     Lilienne seemed stuck in her place between him and the world - she couldn't seem to turn to face it on the other side of the mirror.

     "Thank you, again, for everything... Erik."  A small, hopeful smile forced its way onto her lips- which he didn't seem to take notice. 

     Lilienne experienced a sense of deflation as he turned on his heel and hurried on his way down the dank corridors, his billowing cape blending into the blackness until it consumed him.  She stood there, frozen, as she watched the place where he had been as if willing him to reappear.  She fought her feelings that this was wrong, that she should have disappeared with him, that he needed her - she knew that was naive.

     She forced herself to push aside the glass and step into the dressing room, making sure it was firmly closed as to protect his secret dwelling.  The feeling of wrong still plagued her, gnawing at her stomach and pricking at her skin; she felt as if she was a foreign object here, out-of-place like a fish on land, and in that moment as she rejoined the ranks of humanity, she knew:

     She didn't belong here.  She never had.  She belonged with the Angel of Music.  He did need her, and she needed to show him the truth that only she could see, it seemed.  She was out-of-place here, because her place was between the Phantom of the Opera and the rest of the world, protecting him from its cruelty.  

     In that moment, she knew.  She knew as if she'd always known; she, little Lilienne LaClaire, sweet, quiet, innocent little Lilienne LaClaire was in love with the Phantom of the Opera.