Chapter Twelve: Morale's Advocate

A/N: : clears throat. : Don't worry. Nothing has been changed in this chapter. However, I need to address a few persons... no, sorry, one person. I already clarified with one other reader, and she was very pleasant.

Dear Shennen, (and any other inquirer)

(From here-on-in, this is my disclaimer).

This is not a Mary-Sue. It is an exploration of characterization, and I would very much appreciate it if you would not make assumptions as to what exactly I am trying to accomplish here. I don't care if you've been singing for ten years, one year, or your entire life. I've been singing opera for this year only (but have been singing other styles for a good eight years before), and have already done several arias--with ease. Also, I would like to point out that Christine was only 16 in the novel, when she sang an aria. Thus saying, I'm not sure if it's possible in real life, although my sources say that Emmy sang for the METS at age 7, but seeing as how this is classified as FICTION, it doesn't really matter to me whether or not it's possible. Also, seeing as how my story is based on the Webber musical, it's perfectly okay for her to be a good singer and a ballet dancer. In case you want to know, I did debate this prospect for a while when I started writing it. Then I realized there was really nothing real about my story. Now, I'm sure I could go the realistic route and change everything to such specifications, but I don't have to. See, it's called "fiction." And the point of my "fiction" is to entertain people, not to bore them with facts as not everyone reading this is musically inclined.

Now, think what you want to think, but if you are going to criticize my work with postulates and actualities, this isn't the place for you to be posting your reviews--especially if you are to accuse me of writing a Mary-Sue, because the only thing that constitutes a true Mary-Sue character, is an overdone, cliche, unrealistic, and downright ridiculous character with seemingly no goals and/or reasons to be in the story, except to get into the pants of the main character. My character has been carefully thought-out and serves her purpose well. She has been placed in an atmosphere where the world of the Opera is governed by an ambitious, disfigured musical genius. She is unreasonable and controlling, which severely clashes with the characterization of Erik. If you would like me to explain how this is an "exploration of characterization", here you are:

Faye is purposely thought out to be a stronger woman than Christine Daae. This of course, creates a problem for Erik. He has always been portrayed as having complete control over the situation. Faye, however, breaks his ability to control. If this story were post-Christine, I'm sure Erik would just be done with it and hang Faye. However, it is written pre-Christine. Still, Christine is Erik's music. The Christine character, throughout literature and so forth, has been described as having a voice like no other human--something that the Phantom of the Opera mastered and controlled, for God-knows-what-reason. I took this ethereal voice quality, replaced innocence and ignorance with knowledge and rebellion, and replaced weakness with strength. The traits alone get different reactions from Erik. However, put them all together, and he is presented with a dilemma. Faye's voice is his inspiration, and despite the fact that she constantly denies it, Erik is hers. It is still very much a Christine-Erik connection, albeit, with more drama. So why is there romance? Shouldn't they hate each other?

For one, I am admittedly, a total sucker for romance. So are half of the people reading this. Now, I could write a completely boring story about how there are no fireworks and they hate each other and eventually kill each other off with their hatred, but that would make for a very short and boring story. Sometimes, you just have to make compromises and fiddle with the driving forces. But my main reasoning behind this is that Erik and Faye are intrigued by one another, to the point where it is a love-hate relationship. Complex plots are far more interesting for me to write than reverting to the simple ways of "she came, she saw, she conquered or failed." Y'know, if you like writing/reading that stuff, go right ahead, I won't stop you. I don't intend to please every person, but if you don't like something, you don't waste your time reading it, unless it's a class assignment. You just leave well enough alone. Maybe you're trying to make it better, but if you're trying to do that, you'd have to be a heck of a lot nicer about it. Not to sound over-possessive or anything, but it's my story, and I can do what I want with it. If I want to call the grass orange, I can do that. You can make suggestions, but you can't tell me how it's going to be. Do you want me to tell you how your stories are going to be? Didn't think so.

If you'd like to discuss this via email, I would be more than happy to. However, since you've not provided one on your user page, there is no other way for me to contact you. I don't like things to go unclarified either, so hopefully now you can better understand my reasoning, and the way I see it. I apologize if I've been rude in the above statements, but I just don't take well to being treated as if I don't know anything about music, because music is my life.

GF

I woke at dawn to a cold heart and an empty feeling. James still had his arms loosely looped around my shoulders, but was sound asleep. The room around us was like an icy cavern, my breath meeting the air in short, misty puffs. I rose a bit shakily and slipped out of James' arms, walking over to the window. Looking out through the frosty panes, I saw a few dim lights left on in Paris, and a gray sky. More snow was on the way.

I crossed my arms and shivered, trying to recall the night's events. Everything seemed to be hazy at this hour, but I could remember Erik's cruelty, albeit vaguely. Frowning, I locked my gaze on a nearby rooftop. Smoke was making its way out of the chimney in lazy swirls, vanishing into the heavy winter air. Why had Erik acted like that? It seemed completely out of his nature, yet, it was a very clever way to approach the situation. He had discovered what my ultimate weakness was, and used it against me. He would use it again, no doubt. Was there any way for me to build up resistance to the power of his seduction? He understood power and control far too easily, having manipulated such things for years.

I really had it in for myself this time. The entire problem was nearly inescapable. The show was opening in three nights, so I couldn't leave. He had access to every place in the Opera House. James could only do so much. Then there was the fact that I couldn't bring myself to leave Erik in the first place. Somehow, I had to convince myself that what I was feeling was not true. I knew that I needed to walk away, but I was so involved at this point, that the option was impossible.

I only knew a few of Erik's vulnerabilities, and not well at that. There were a few things that upset and angered him, but nothing that completely shut him off. There had to be something I was missing. But who would be able to tell me anything aside from Erik himself?

I furrowed my brow as the answer slammed me in the brain. It was like a painful epiphany, and then I realized that the option was nearly useless. Madame Giry knew something, but from what I knew about Madame Giry, it was apparent that she would tell nothing. There was no telling if she knew everything, either. It was quite possible that she was only familiar with bits and pieces of the Opera Ghost. But if she had any knowledge of Erik's history, there was a possibility of putting myself at advantage.

Biting my lip, I sighed. There was no way I could get Madame Giry to talk. I was on my own. I always thought it would be nice to be on my own, but right now, it wasn't. James stirred behind me and stretched. I heard him get up and cross the floor toward me. I didn't turn. I simply stared out the frosty window, watching the smoke curl in the frigid air. James stood beside me for a few minutes before speaking.

"Faye," he began, a hint of caution in his voice. He was unsure of how to approach the subject. "I can't say I know what exactly is going on. Somehow, I don't think you're going to talk about it either. You've tried so many times…" I remained silent, listening to him, but acting like I didn't hear. "So there's not much I can do for you. I'm here, but what good is that?" He paused. I could feel him looking at me, but I still didn't look. He took a deep breath and let it out. "But you must understand how I feel about you."

"I don't want to know," I cut in dryly. The bitterness in my voice surprised me and for a moment, I considered adding to my statement to soften it. But it didn't seem to phase James.

"Faye, you've got to listen to me." His voice was more urgent now. I pursed my lips and continued to stare out the window. He was growing agitated. Gripping me by the shoulders, he spun me toward him. "Will you look at me for God's sake?" I lifted my eyes quickly, looking at his face. He still looked like an angel, and I still felt a bit of contempt for him. I could have walked away, because I really didn't care what he had to say, but for once in my life, I shot down my stubborn-ness, bit the bullet, and listened attentively.

He seemed to be rethinking his words now, or possibly organizing his thoughts. I couldn't really tell. I hadn't learned to interpret the expressions of his eyes yet. He took another breath. "Faye…" He smiled a little, lifting a hand to my face. He didn't touch me though. It was as if a shield were around me. "You are breath-taking. I don't know if you knew that, but you are. You're ethereal; beyond anything any man ever deserves. You're strong. That's what I like best about you, Faye. You're determined as hell, and ambitious. You know how to win, and you don't like to lose. Maybe you're a little too stubborn at times, but I realize that's part of your strength." I felt on the verge of gagging, but choked back my sharp retorts. He continued to look at me steadily. "You're talented in so many ways. You're brave. You know how to fight—well. You're beautiful, but deadly." He stopped, shifting his stance, but never taking his eyes from mine. "So you've got to understand, Faye, how hard it is for me to see you so broken, when you were stronger than I could ever hope to be.

"Like I said, I may not understand what ails you… but I have some words for you, nonetheless. Whatever it is that's bothering you… you have to understand that you are far beyond it. You are greater than any force on earth, and that is something you must use to your advantage…" I was shaking my head at him now. I could feel tears in my eyes again, and I really didn't know if I could stand crying again. He cocked his head. "What do you mean…?"

"You're wrong, James," I said softly, "I am not greater than any force on earth." He fell silent, and I could have sworn he looked disappointed. I dropped my gaze. "But thanks for thinking so." I stepped away from him, moving back into the confines of the room, away from the window. He stopped me, though. Taking my arm, he turned me back around carefully, looking at me with a burning strength in his eyes.

"You don't have to be greater than any force on earth to defeat it, Faye. You're a warrior. Don't give up so soon. I can't stand to see the fear in your eyes anymore…" James looked mildly frustrated.

"Then don't look in my eyes anymore." I brushed his hand off my arm. "Please leave, James." He was quiet. "Please." I heard him moving toward the door. He opened it, but paused again.

"I may not deserve you, Faye. I may not deserve to even be in your presence," he said softly, "But I believed in you, and I believed in your will…and I won't stop believing, Faye, because I know that fire's still inside of you." With that, he was gone. I heaved a heavy sigh and rubbed my forehead with cold fingertips.

"If only things were simpler, James…" I whispered to myself. Admittedly, he had made several decent points. I hadn't been myself lately, after all. I'd been more focused and much less provoking. Had I been forgetting who I was? When I had first met Erik, I'd been more confident than a tiger going after a squirrel. How had things slipped from then? I knew all the answers to that one… I'd become attached to him. I'd allowed myself to feel for him—to pity his existence. And finally, I'd brought myself to love him, and for that, I should have hated myself for all of eternity. I just couldn't, though. The feeling excited me beyond words and terrified me to no end. Was there any way of telling Erik? The thought of telling him scared me.

James' words kept repeating in my head, however, and I had to admit that despite my new feelings for Erik, I had completely forgotten myself. There were ways to love and ways to fight. Perhaps the two shouldn't be mixed, but tonight, I'd find out for certain. I was sick and tired of going soft in the presence of the Opera Ghost, and I'd force myself to end such things. It's true, I wasn't greater than love, but I knew how to fight the good fight, and fight it I would.

Having come to grips with the situation, I felt much better. Now that I had figured that issue out, it was time to put my sights on the upcoming production of "Zampa." The next few rehearsals would be long and grueling, and they would likely be in costume. It was possible that I would be put into a completely foul mood, but somehow, that fact just didn't bother me.

Humming to myself, I changed and made my way to the theater for rehearsals. The designers were milling about on stage, taking various persons to the dressing rooms to put them in costumes. Monsieur Reyer seemed to be in a frenzy of sorts, flipping through the score rather briefly and directing various musicians to play sections. Shaking my head, I walked on stage, only to find that I was nearly seized by the dressing room manager and dragged back offstage to the wardrobe.

The dressing room manager appeared to be middle-aged with squinted eyes peering through large, round spectacles. Her brown and gray hair curled this way and that, creating a rather fantastic but horrifying glob of fuzz upon her head. She was wearing a black work dress, and an apron with all sorts of odds and ends hanging out of it. What I seemed to notice first however, was the fact that her claw-like nails were digging into my arm.

"Quickly now!" She urged. She had a high-pitched voice that I knew I was going to get annoyed with. "I am Miss Eloise, and I will be your personal assistant for your costume changes, comprenez, mademoiselle?" I blinked, looking at her. Personal Assistant? She didn't seem to be waiting for a response, however, despite the fact that she had just posed a question. She released me at the third dressing room down and took to bustling about, organizing things. That left me to look around a bit.

It was one of the smaller dressing rooms, but it was nice to have one to myself. The dancers all shared one big one, after all. I was relieved that it was this one, anyway, as Erik had easy access to Carlotta's dressing room through the mirror. And thankfully, this room wasn't a blinding shade of pink, like Carlotta's. It was a nice, cool shade of mint green with antique gold accents. An arrangement of dried flowers sat on the vanity table. There was a chaise lounge situated near the back of the room, and a white robe was draped over the vanity table chair. The vanity table itself was covered in various forms of make-up and brushes, none of which I had a good deal of familiarity with. I was sure that Miss Eloise had some idea of what to do with it all…

My costumes turned out to be fairly decent. I had four changes in the production, and each seemed to fall on an ideal time. It was always good to not have to rush through a change. The costumes themselves were exquisite—more exquisite than I would have imagined. Each had fabulous, but subtle detailing applied to them. Everything glittered with a mystical flare, and I suddenly was very proud of my role. It didn't matter that I didn't have the name to secure it, and that Erik had to likely fiddle with the managers to get it for me. I'd make the best of it, and I'd have a name by the end of the production.

"Come, come," Miss Eloise suddenly beckoned with a long fingernail, holding a silk chemise in her hand. "This is first, and then, the corset." The silk chemise felt light as air, but I knew that once I was on stage with several layers on, it wouldn't matter how light it was. The stage was an intense place to be. Miss Eloise apparently decided that I didn't need to breathe in order to sing, and laced me up so tightly that I was on the verge of choking. She said I'd get used to it, but for some reason, I didn't believe her.

I started the show out with a heavy, embroidered gown that led me to believe that no matter how elaborate and beautiful a costume was, it could easily kill me. I found it very difficult to sing, with my diaphragm so restrained. Luckily, my dresses became lighter until the farewell sequence, where I swirled around the stage in a silk gown that moved by water. James seemed almost enraptured by me when we danced, and I even allowed a little smile afterwards.

When we came to the second run, I nearly fainted in my first scene because of the gown, causing a few people to worry about whether or not the costume would do for the show. I assured them that I simply wasn't used to it, and it would be fine on opening night.

On the third run of the show, everyone was exhausted—even Carlotta. Monsieur Reyer seemed to be satisfied by this, especially after the entire cast trudged off to bed—entire meaning everyone except for me. Upon arriving in my room, I saw a note fluttering in an unseen breeze on my desk. Snatching it up, completely exasperated, I tore into it and read.

'Miss Lavonne,

I think you may understand what exactly I mean when I say "I am not finished with you."

Ten o'clock sharp.

Erik'

My heart started racing immediately with the realization of what this meant. But I had to go. Despite the fact that I felt much too tired to fight, I found myself snatching my rapier and dagger before marching down to the theater rather reluctantly. It was a very good thing that I was feeling lucky tonight…

I waltzed into the theater at precisely ten o'clock, just as the Opera Ghost had commanded. He was already there, pacing the stage restlessly, his hands folded behind his back. He looked up as I entered, and I felt his face light up. Then his gaze drifted to my rapier and dagger, and the light vanished.

"I had thought, Miss Lavonne, that you were beyond these immature methods of defense," he sneered softly. I stopped short of the stage and cocked my head, looking at him.

"Well… you were wrong…" It was all I could do to keep from grinning before adding, "Again." The retort seemed to restore all of the confidence I needed, and I pranced up the stairs onto the stage, where Erik had assumed a position that suggested he was angry and shocked. He had nothing to say to my statement, apparently, because he straightened his shoulders and vanished into the shadows. "But I'll have you know that I'm not in much of a fighting mood this evening, so if it can be avoided…" A snicker rose out of the darkness. I quirked a brow and hesitated.

"Haven't you noticed that every time you have a blade on hand, you must use it for one purpose or another?" He seemed to be highly agitated. I suppose I couldn't blame him, but his aggravation just didn't stop me from my relapse.

"No, but I have noticed that every time I have a blade on hand, you see the need to provoke me more than normal, therefore causing me to use it," I responded. It was followed by silence. "So I believe you called me here to finish what you started last night," I reasoned aloud, looking around to catch sight or sound of him, "And honestly, I'd like to see how much further you get."

"Is that supposed to scare me, my little pet?" He whispered. I whirled to find him standing right behind me, looking more menacing than ever. I had learned through time, that the best way to deal with these situations was not to panic, but to keep going as though nothing had happened. I smiled a little.

"Oh Erik," I laughed, backing up a step, "Why on earth would I waste my time in trying to scare you?" I avoided looking directly in his eyes, and he followed my movement.

"Do you think these childish games will save you?" He hissed, "You know what's coming to you…" I just smiled, and I knew it was driving him mad. I stopped backing up and let him draw near to me. He towered over my head, glaring downward.

"Yes, Erik. And I'm sure you have everything worked out perfectly by now. A flawless plan to trap me…" His lips were coming closer to mine. He was about to spring his trap, or so, he thought he was. My voice turned to bitter sarcasm. "Because I'm so damn predictable." With that, I seized him by the shoulders and threw him from me. He stumbled backwards, completely surprised. I drew my rapier and flashed him a challenging expression. "Aren't I, Erik?" I could tell that I'd crossed the line then, because with a mighty shudder, he straightened himself and drew his rapier, approaching me without due caution.

His blade was singing through the air at me already, and I parried it almost lazily, spinning under our arms and sliding our blades apart. He aimed for my side, and my blade came straight down to cross it. I wheeled around again and threw a deliberate slash toward his left shoulder. His blade swung up underneath from the right and blocked my blow efficiently. He growled and spun off of the crossed blades, putting a bit more space between us. He seemed to have calmed down a bit now, but the rage still simmered behind his mask.

"Why fight, Faye, when you know you'll just lose again?" He snarled angrily. I smiled a bit at his words, recalling what James had said to me.

"I think you underestimate my willpower, Erik," I warned.

"This is not a good step for your career," he informed, circling the area in anticipation.

"Oh, I think it's a very important step, despite what you say," I answered, following his circle almost lethargically, "I can think for myself, after all, and therefore, I can think what I like."

"You are mine!" He yelled. Silence ensued when the echo faded. I shook my head.

"Oh Erik…" I said softly, "Will you ever learn? I belong to no one." He lunged again, more determined to defeat me. I was too quick for his attacks however. I kept telling myself that I was strong. As long as I believed that, I could continue this fight. But when I stopped believing, I'd falter.

Time seemed to pass us by rather quickly, but I couldn't really tell between all of the parrying, ducking, and spinning. I was starting to get dizzy, but I didn't let him become alert to that. Finally, I was able to throw his blade far from the fray. I found him before me on his knees, glaring up at my face. I kept my blade at his throat, catching my breath.

"I could run you through right now… I could be rid of you forever…" I reasoned. He shook his head and gritted his teeth, steadying his breathing.

"You haven't the heart to do so," he whispered. I raised my brows and nodded slowly.

"You're right," I said, "I'm not like you. I have compassion…"

"I only treat the world as it has treated me," he snarled, "With contemptuous arrogance! I have never known compassion!" I continued to look at him, trying to untangle the various thoughts I was having. I suddenly did not believe that I was strong. Looking at him, I realized that we were of two different worlds. I hadn't had a horrible life. I had never been treated like the scum of the earth. I'd been treated badly, but not consistently. Was I only being a drama queen?

My hands were shaky. I lowered my blade and bit my lip, backing away a step. He stood, brushing himself off, his eyes boring holes into me. I still stood my ground, however. "Then know this…" I gulped. Now was the time, and if I didn't say it, I might not ever get the chance. "I love you, Erik," I whispered. I was met with a dead silence was somewhat more than discomforting. The anger in his eyes seemed to burn deeper and then fizzle out as he realized I was not playing around. He didn't know what to do. "Why do you think everything you do to me hurts so much?" He didn't answer. He turned away. I stared at his back, and I could feel a river of emotions flooding my soul. Tears came to my eyes. You're not strong…

"Stop lying to me," I heard him say. I then realized that he was sobbing uncontrollably, "Stop lying!" I dropped my sword, tears running down my face.

"Why would I lie to you, Erik?" I whispered. I couldn't get my feet to move across the stage. The space between us was both aggravating and relieving, but I found that the first was maintaining precedence. Why did things have to be like this? It should have been a happy thing, but for some reason, it wasn't. He shuddered.

"You hate me," he said softly, "You've always hated me. You always will. So will the rest of the world…"

"You don't understand, Erik. I tried my damnedest not to love you. I tried so hard to hate you. I tried so hard to make you believe I hated you," I rambled, "I didn't want to love a criminal. I almost convinced myself, Erik… I almost did…" He was quiet now. "But you're not a criminal, Erik. You were just misunderstood."

"Stop toying with me," he stated in a low voice. Enraged, I strode over to his sword and slid it in his direction. He turned his head and looked down at the blade.

"If you want to deny everything I've said, go right ahead," I growled, "But there is one force in this world that is greater than both of us, and to lie about it would be a mortal sin. Love is patient and kind, Erik, and while you seem to possess neither of these traits, I still believe you can. I was told this morning that I am beyond what any man deserves, and while I am disinclined to believe such a statement, it is quite the compliment. I love you, Erik. I never thought I'd say it. I never thought I'd mean it. But here I am, and I won't put myself at your mercy anymore. This isn't a game, but you believe what you want to."

At that, I sheathed my rapier and walked offstage. I didn't stop until I'd reached my room, and when I got there, I nearly collapsed on my bed in tears. Was it too much for him? Would he understand? Would he try to kill me? There was no telling what he would do. Now that the cat was out of the bag, anything was possible…

But I had no regrets concerning what I said. I'm sure that James hadn't meant for me to handle the situation like this, but it was the only honest way I could do it.

I tread in deep water, and wait for my rescue.