Death Awakens

A/N: Thank you for everyone who left reviews, I hope I continue to live up to your praise and expectations. And I apologize in advance for any delays between updates. I just started school again and well this semester really looks like it's going to take a chunk out of me. But I shall try and keep up with Erik and Lila as best as I can. Thank you all again!

P.S. I do not own Phantom of the Opera, nor am I making any monetary profits from it.

Chapter 9:
“How fickle is my love and devotion, if I can be turned like some youth with one glimpse of another woman?” Erik muttered under his breath. His life had been Christine—all his music, artistry, his genius was dedicated to her, and yet that woman could distract him so easily.
“It was just her state of nakedness,” he concluded. “Any man would be affected by the presence of a nude woman. It was an act of appreciation. My heart belongs to Christine and only Christine.” Satisfied with that response, he turned to his desk, scribbling onto blank parchment before folding them, and sealing them with a red skull.
“We cannot perform an opera without a proper opera house,” he said softly, eyes glittering in the darkness.


“Suitable, my ass,” Lila grunted. Five gowns were thrown onto the bed, a nearby armoir flung open, containing exquisite dresses. She had been elated at seeing the finery in front of her, but all excitement was quickly snuffed as Lila realized how impossibly small all the dresses were. Christine, whom Lila assumed the gowns were for, was unimaginably tiny, curvaceous, but hardly a wisp of a woman. Lila was no heavyweight, but she had soft womanly curves, a chubbiness that she had always been extremely self-conscious about—a fact which was so plainly evident by the dresses strewn on the ground.
Lila had considered wearing a corset, but quickly gave up on that idea. There was no room for her to breathe, no diaphragm support, and her voice would be muffled and useless. Finally giving up on dressing, she grabbed a silk robe that was hanging in the corner and wrapped herself in it. She angrily brushed at her hair, glaring furiously at the dresses on the ground that refused to accommodate her body. She stood in front of a mirror, hands placed loosely at her sides and sang softly, scales, chords, and breathing exercises to warm her throat before nodding appreciatively and looking for the phantom.

Lila found Erik pacing in the main room, sifting through sealed letters he held in his hands. When she coughed to get his attention, he shoved the letters into her hand before turning to his desk and scribbling more on parchment.

“I don’t understand,” Lila said.
Erik jumped at the sound of her voice, staring at her as she had apparated into the room. Quickly regaining his composure, he nodded at her hand which held the letters.
“You will be delivering those for me; they are already addressed. Obviously, it would be unwise for me to appear in public, and since you seem to be unknown, it would be best if you were my liaison.”

“Liaison for what?”

“The opera house, of course! Where else would we perform it?” Erik said.

“Then it is finished?”

“No, but that hardly matters. The music will come. It is meant to come. It is your job to make sure my music has a home!”
He grabbed Lila by the arm, ignoring her protests as he pulled through a hidden tunnel, ranting about his opera, about passion and beauty and perfection. Every now and then he would glance back at her to make sure she was paying attention. Lila felt her skin grow cold as the maniacal gleam in his eyes pierced through the darkness. He led her to a carriage where a shriveled nag was waiting. It looked like nothing more than a bag of bones, but on spotting Erik, the horse stepped cheerfully, throwing her head back in joy. Erik paused in talking to help Lila into the carriage, nuzzling the nag’s neck and stroking the lank mane.
“Keep well,” he called to Lila before swatting the horse’s rump. It whinnied slightly and jumped forward. Erik watched the carriage disappear behind the first corner before melting into the darkness, there as more work to be done.

“I have no time for jokes, mademoiselle,” the English man said. He reread the page in front of him, the curious handwriting signed with “O.G.”

“It is no joke, sir,” Lila said with a curtsy. She was fuming and miserable. This was the last letter that she had to deliver and it seems that she had made absolutely no progress with her task because no one seemed to believe her. She didn’t even believe her… She didn’t even know what it was that she didn’t believe because the contents of the letter had been kept hidden from her sight with every recipient.
It was only after the second letter was sent that she realized she was still dressed in the silk lounge robe. Hardy suitable clothing for visiting people in public Lila had been amazed that they had allowed her an audience in the first place.

The Englishman in front of her continued to study the letter in his hands, a frown wrinkling his brow. After another moment he looked back at Lila and cleared his throat with a nod.
“Although it is against my better judgment, I believe it would be a crime against art and this fine city to allow the Opera Populaire to go to ruins. Please let Monsieur O.G. know that I shall come by with my assistants in the next coming days.” And with that he nodded at her again, returning the opened letter, and walked out through an open door behind him.

A maid scurried in after he had left and deftly placed Lila outside with a quick bow, closing the door behind her. Lila stood there on the doorstep wondering how exactly she had ended up there, but decided that the positive answer from the Englishman was acceptable.
“Mister Robert Wellsley,” she said to herself quietly examining the bold script on the paper.


To Monsieur Robert Wellsley,

It is with greatest apologies that I intrude upon your stay in Paris, but it is with complete necessity that I do so. Perhaps you have heard of the unfortunate fire and subsequent damage to the famous Opera Populaire just the previous week. It is such a terrible shame that no one has yet to begin repairs. Paris is made for music, for art, for opera, and she cannot lose her soul to mere flames.
It has come to my attention that you are in need of an event worthy of your magnanimous heart. Perhaps I might persuade you to look in my direction and aid in resurrecting the magnificent Opera Populaire as it once was. I would promise, that a new, grand opera would be ready to be performed immediately after the opera house is completely reborn. I await your response with great expectations,

Your humble servant,

O.G.

Lila looked up again at the door shut in her face. So this man was going to rebuild the opera house. She felt a slight shiver go through her body. How interesting