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Affliction	By : Luv Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 2348 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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For the next hour or so, I was forgotten, ignored. The strange man left me without another word and took a seat at the aforementioned organ. There, he played tunes of such agonizing sadness that I felt nearly moved to cry myself. His shoulders swayed and his torso twisted and writhed as though some musical exorcism was taking place, and all of his demons were being released by the heart wrenching notes that poured forth.
I sat on the bed; gave the monstrous bird a sideways glance to be sure it was not alive, and listened. What else could I do? I had no means of departure and was certainly not foolish enough to disturb the man in whose hands my fate now lied. Something told me that to disturb him now would mean the end of me. I knew very little about the world, especially the ways of the people in it, but I had a faint memory of my father, years ago when I was a little girl. He was a pastor in our small church, and he spent his evenings in his study, pouring over the scripture and tediously writing his sermons for the services. I had made the innocent mistake once of interrupting him, knocking on the door and calling, 'Papa?' When he did not answer, I had opened the door just enough and slipped inside, again calling him. He looked at me with mild annoyance, sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily. 'Can you not see I am working, Marie?' He had asked. 'Leave me, child. Go find your mother.'
And so I had, bewildered that my father did not want my company. When I had asked my mother about it she had looked sternly at me. 'Marie,' she had said. 'You know better than to bother your father, or any man, while he is working.' I had nodded in understanding. I knew that it was out of place to pester grown men while they were at work, but I didn’t know my father was counted among them. I had asked my mother what father was doing, and she had replied simply that he was talking with God.
Looking at the man before me, I decided that the two instances were not so different. A different God perhaps, and undoubtedly a different sort of conversation, but no less sacred than the type of work my father had done in his solitude. And so I waited patiently, my mother’s lesson taken to heart.
When nothing was left in the poor man, he ceased the playing and seemed to collapse on the keys with an abominable racket. This was quite alarming to witness, and for a moment I wondered if he had expired altogether, a sickening thought partly due to the horrific nature of death in general, but also because I pictured myself eternally stranded in the gothic hell of his so-called home. I was just about to call out to him when he raised up at once, turned as though suddenly remembering that I was there, and stared at me open mouthed.
“Oh,” he said, and he got up quickly. He looked uneasy, as though I had caught him at a most private moment. I dared not move from my seat on the bed, and waited for whatever was to come. He moved gracefully, gliding from the organ, down the few steps and across to where I was. My heartbeat increased in speed and intensity as he drew near, and I knew he could hear it. It seemed he knew everything, could sense everything.
“You will sleep there,” he said jutting his chin in the direction of a small cot with a folded wool blanket at the foot. A simple bedside stand with a wash basin stood beside the cot. “Your wages will be administered weekly. In return, I expect your full service. I am going to be quite busy in the coming weeks, and when I require your assistance, you shall give it, no questions asked.”
He came nearer, looking down into my face with a menacing scowl. “No questions, of any kind, ever. Do I make myself clear?”
I nodded dumbly, though I could not help but wondering just when it was that I had agreed to take the position. Somehow what I wanted didn’t seem important anymore. I looked into the man’s face, still finding it grotesque but not nearly as horrifying as I had originally thought. “Yes, sir.” I swallowed hard.
“Good,” he said deeply in reply. He looked over me with a scrutinizing eye, taking in my appearance and sizing me up. No doubt I fell short of his expectations. I subconsciously straightened my spine, squared my shoulders and lifted my chin. I looked him directly in the eye.
The slightest hint of a smile played over his lips.
“What is your name?” he asked softly.
“Marie, sir.” I answered dutifully, not taking my eyes from his. I would show him that I was not afraid, even though my insides quaked like mad.
“Marie,” he tried my name out, and I shivered hearing the ghostly voice speak it.
“Yes, sir.” I was determined to show nothing but strength. I am not afraid of you, I thought again and again, trying to convince myself that it was true.
“Marie?” this time it was a question, and he stooped so that his horrible face was just in front of mine. I lost my resolve and swallowed. My eyes dropped to my fidgeting hands in my lap. Courage! I told myself. You mustn’t show fear!
“S-sir?” I forced myself to look into the sneering face merely inches from my own. Tears were brimming just behind my eyes, threatening to spill out and betray my façade.
“I would like some tea.” He reached out, and a solitary finger traced down my cheek, bringing with it a tear that could no longer be contained. Another smile flashed across his face, as though nothing pleased him more than seeing me broken.
I nodded slowly, batting at my cheek with the back of my hand, inadvertently brushing away his finger as well. I was too petrified to move from the bed. He stood, face lowered to mine, watching me with great intensity, waiting. My body had frozen stiff, limbs suddenly weighing tons, heart all but stopped.
“Now!” He bellowed suddenly, grabbing my arm and yanking me roughly onto my feet.
“Yes, sir,” I mumbled through sobs as I scurried towards the wood stove. Tears streamed down my face.
And thus I began my employment as servant to the infamous Phantom of the Opera.
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Affliction