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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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Slowly but surely I learned my place. As he never disclosed any name by which to address him, I referred to my employer simply as “Sir”, and it seemed to please him just fine. I learned to attend him without hesitation, fetching whatever he required, running errands in town with no questions, just as he had demanded. In time, with his trust gained, I began to seek out and perform duties that he did not expressly bid me to undertake. Upon acquiring some polish from town one afternoon, I set about cleaning the odd assortment of furniture. I even went so far as to tidy up his work space, making neat piles of the sheets of music and charcoal drawings. I felt him stiffen and stare disapprovingly at the discovery of my handiwork, but he never said a word.
In time, I was able to move about, straightening and cleaning in his very presence (something he was not so tolerant of at the start), and he would not so much as raise an eyebrow at me. In truth, I believe he became dependent on my being close at hand, for it seemed I could not go from one side of the place to the other without him calling me back for some trivial purpose, to fill his inkwell, or find a particular piece of paper he had only misplaced moments earlier.
My loyal service was rewarded with very brief acknowledgments of appreciation, sometimes in the form of a slight nod of the head or an approving grumble of gratitude. He was neither cruel, nor overly kind to me, and when I was not necessary, I was as invisible to him as the air; treated as indifferently as the shabby cot I slept on. But I found comfort in his inattention, for I did not desire to be in his company at those times any more than he desired to be in mine, though truthfully, such times were becoming rare. We were seldom apart, save my short trips to run errands. Still, we knew how to stay out of each others’ way, and a sort of peace pervaded between us.
One particular night, he was as tightly strung as the beautiful little violin he played from time to time. I had busied myself replacing the shortest stubs of candles with fresh long tapers, keeping one eye on him as he paced like a caged panther about the floor. He would stop, look at me as if about to speak, and then sigh and commence circling and fretting.
I had no idea what could be vexing him, though I had gathered there was something of great importance taking place that night. He was dressed in brand new clothes; I had picked them up from the tailor that very morning. He presented the picture of elegance in formal white shirt, brocade waistcoat, black trousers and coat. The cravat around his neck gave him an air of aristocracy, and he stood quite straight and proud. On his head he wore a wig of raven black hair that was combed neatly into place, and the right side of his face was tastefully concealed behind a handsome white mask.
I eyed him with wonder, thinking how convincing the illusion was. No one would suspect what lied beneath the polished exterior. He was striking, to say the least.
“What?” he asked, seeing me staring and jolting me from my thoughts. I blushed and turned my attention back to the candle, but he was insistent. “What is it? Is something wrong?”
“Of course not, sir. I’m sorry.” I answered, keeping my eyes on the candle as I twisted it into the holder.
This seemed to satisfy him and he cleared his throat and resumed his turns around the floor, stopping now and then to study himself in one of several mirrors that adorned the chamber. I glanced up again to see him having an intent conversation with his reflection. He spoke so softly that I could not hear, his hands were opening and closing with great agitation against his thighs. He was nervous. When I saw him bow slightly at the mirror, a cordial gesture of respect, I realized he was rehearsing for something.
What was he up to?
My unchecked curiosity got the best of me again, and before I could look away, he caught sight of me watching him in the reflection of the mirror. He spun around.
“What?!” He sounded perturbed and I ducked my head in shame. His footsteps came over the stone floor quickly towards me and I braced myself for the onslaught of temper that was certain to follow. He was predictable as the tides.
“What is it?” he snapped. Then he stepped back a little and smoothed his hands down his coat front. “Is something wrong? Do I look alright?” His voice had such an odd uncertainty about it that I looked up in surprise. I almost expected to find someone else standing there.
“Sir?” I questioned, not believing my ears. I had been with him for a full month, and he had never asked my opinion in regards to anything. His sole means of communication where I was concerned was to give orders. And I obeyed, usually in silence. That was all there was to it.
“I asked if I looked alright.” He motioned to himself, the gesture encompassing his newly acquired ensemble.
My eyes traveled over him approvingly. “Very nice, sir.” I said with a reassuring but shy smile. This was quite new territory, and I treaded carefully.
“Yes, well, it is an important night,” he said. He took a watch from his breast pocket, flicked it open, and then snapped it shut. “And I’m quite late. My cloak, please.”
I nodded in compliance, the word please lingering in my head as I went to fetch his cloak. I had never seen him so polite. I returned bearing the beautiful formal black cape that he donned whenever he went anywhere. It was heavy as lead, and I had to struggle to lift it to his shoulders, being just five feet tall and him over a foot taller. He slouched graciously and took the garment from my hands, secured it quickly and turned in a flourishing swirl of fabric.
“Gloves,” he said simply. I retrieved them at once and handed them to him. He carefully slid his hands into the snug fitting leather and then held them out, palms up, to me. There was a small button at the base of each glove that was nearly impossible for him to fasten on his own. My nimble fingers were just the answer, and I had become accustomed to performing this minute task for him whenever he went out.
“Now,” he said when I had finished. “I will be returning quite late. There is no need for you to wait up; I will not require your services for the rest of this evening. Go to bed when you are done with the candles, and be sure to draw the curtain, is that understood?”
I nodded, but a thousand questions were floating around in my head. Again this was a first, being ordered to bed, and to draw the curtain. He wanted privacy, but why?
“I will see you in the morning,” he said in almost a reassuring tone of voice. “But,” he hesitated, looking sternly into my eyes to make clear his meaning. “I do not want to see you until then. Do I make myself clear?”
Again I nodded.
He left then, floating away across the lake, leaving me to wonder just what the night might bring.
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Affliction