Death Awakens

Chapter 7:
Lila awoke from troubled sleep, in a room bathed in golden candlelight. The warmth of the heavy satin covers tucked firmly around her was suffocated and she quickly kicked off the blankets, hissing in pain and clutching at her leg. Staring at her hands in amazement, her eyes traced the yellowed fading bruises, cuts and scrapes that were almost gone. Looking down at herself she moaned. Her clothes were ruined. The beautiful pink gown she had been wearing scorched and tattered – how strange that it had stayed with her until now? She wondered.
And then she saw her leg

Lifting what remained of the beautiful slanted hemline, her withered leg was whole, but hideously scarred. “How--?” she wondered aloud, and then remembered the brief encounter at the opera house, Christine, him… and the chandelier. Lila shuddered, remembering the rain of crystal and glass that had crashed on the opera house. She remembered the flames that seemed to engulf the entire building.
“That’s probably how this happened…” she whispered. “Oh but what does it matter? I have two whole legs!” She laughed ecstatically clapping her hands, admiring her legs stretched out, beautiful, absolutely glorious, soft rosy skin illumined in the candlelight.

A swish of cloth at the doorway startled Lila out of her mystified admiration. He was there again, in the darkness, staring at her.
Lila gulped the sudden lump in her throat as his cold stare rested upon her face, traveling down her body and remaining upon her two naked legs resting upon the covers. She blushed furiously and quickly pulled the remains of her dress down to cover her thighs.

“I-I’m sorry if I disturbed you, monsieur,” she stammered. He entered the room then, standing at the foot of the bed. He seemed to loom above her in cold, stony elegance.

“You didn’t,” he said, turning his head to examine her more closely, making the white mask glare menacingly, even in the dim light. “You seemed to have healed well, Miss—“

“Lila. Lila Bouvet, monsier,” she said quickly.

“Yes, I recall you gave me your name the first time we talked.”

“If I may,” she paused, “Could I now have the honor of knowing your name, monsieur? As my rescuer?”

He straightened himself then, seeming to grow in front of her, and Lila felt an unfamiliar tingle of fear tickle at the back of her throat.
“You do not know it?” he asked quietly.

“No, monsieur. You did not tell me, if I recall correctly…” she hesitated. “Although, perhaps I think, I already know it.”

He leaned onto the edge of the bed, long elegant fingers wrapping gently around the upholstered frame. Lila stared at those fingers; they were so beautiful, masculine… perfect.

“What is my name, mademoiselle?” his voice sounded directly into her ear. She could almost feel his breath flutter against her skin. But he had not moved from his spot, his lips remaining still as his eyes blazed an unearthly green in the dim light of the room.

Lila was terrified, her breath coming shorter than before, and she could feel her tips of her fingers grow cold and her face warm under his gaze. But despite the tremors of fear that were threatening to break her self-control, there was the beginning warmth of another emotion that she did not recognize, sparking in the depths of her body, and spreading outwards.
“You are my—no, you are the—you are… “ she stuttered, then nervously licking her lips, her saliva gleaming in the candlelight. Her nervousness only growing as his hypnotic gaze traveled from her eyes to her mouth.
“You are Erik. The Opera Ghost,” she finally said, holding her breath, waiting for his response.


Lila shifted uncomfortably in the bed. She had expected some kind of a response, anger perhaps, or confusion, anything. But he had remained still, as if stricken in stone. His stare was unnerving. How long had he been looking at her now? Five minutes? Ten minutes? She wished he would say something.

He shifted, and Lila felt herself relax a little. “Who are you?” he finally asked.

“My name is Lila—“ she began.

“Yes, you’ve told me. Lila Bouvet. But who are you?”

“I-I’m a singer. Alto. I sing-I sing alto,” she stammered.

He looked at her sternly, and Lila felt her face flush under his scrutiny.

“You are not one of the chorus girls. I would have recognized you,” he said accusingly.

“No, I’m not in the chorus,” she said quietly. “I play Meg….used to play Meg… now I’m dead, I suppose,” she whispered under her breath.

“What did you say?” he asked, gruffly. “Speak up, girl.”

“I’m supposed to be dead!” Lila cried. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. I’m dead! Dead!” and realizing the truth of her words, she turned over quickly and began to sob into her pillow.

Erik shifted uncomfortably, very confused. Lila did not appear as if to stop her crying any time soon, so he quickly left. Her tears were disconcerting and unexpected. He did not know how to respond, and frankly did not want to be around to have to figure it out.

Lila continued to cry for a very long time, forgetting about Opera House and the chandelier and the mysterious man she knew was the phantom. All she could think about was the horrible truth that somewhere, wherever she had been before--she was dead.

“I bet I’m the only person who’s ever cried for themselves because they died. I’m a horrible ghost.” She paused at that though. “I guess I really am a ghost,” she said aloud. “I’m a ghost living with another ghost. That’s completely ridiculous.”
And with that she began to laugh. Harsh and halting, her laughter cut through the tears that were still running down her face, and she continued to laugh because of the absurd mix of emotions that were running through.
“I’m a ghost living with a ghost!” she shouted into the darkness, and flung herself back into her tear-soaked pillows from exhaustion.


Meanwhile, Erik was seated at his organ, hands folded in his lap. For the first time in his life, he did not know what to play. There was no music running through his mind. All he could hear was the sound of Lila’s laughter, ringing throughout the rooms. She was laughing even through her tears.

Erik thought it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.