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twistedtummies2 · 15 days ago

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The Dragon's Masque (AU; Malleus X Fem!Reader)

This is the first entry to a new AU I've had in mind for a few years now: an AU for Twisted Wonderland featuring Malleus Draconia as the Phantom of the Opera. It took a long time for me to figure out how I wanted to introduce this world, what points I wanted to hit right from the start, and what characters were really essential, since I've actually put a LOT of thought into this world. Hopefully this first story will prove an acceptable beginning.

This AU is inspired by various versions of the Phantom story, including the popular ALW musical, a 1990 miniseries starring Charles Dance, the 1943 film starring Claude Rains, and even a few nods to the book and other interpretations here and there. I've also included various little references, some more obvious than others, to a number of Disney movies; let's see how many of them you catch. ;) Two unique things: first of all, while there are some sort of implied kinks involved here, there is nothing DIRECTLY kinky in this tale. I decided to keep this first tale "safe," so to speak. It's also unique because, for the first time, the POV Main Character isn't a gender neutral figure: in this universe, the MC is the stand-in for Christine, and for various reasons, I felt it was best to keep the character as a female. So, if you're a lady yourself, or if you just don't mind that perspective...good! XD With that in mind, in honor of Malleus Draconia's birthday...here's the beginning of what I'm tagging as the Dragon's Masque AU. Hope you all enjoy!

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“Ugh…you’d think somebody as prissy as Madame Bette would clean up things better…” You glanced over your shoulder and couldn’t help but smile. Ace Trappola was slumping his way onto the stage of the grand and glorious opera house in which you both stood. The two of you lived and worked in the Corbeau de la Nuit Opera Company: a prestigious place that many in the city of Sage would have gladly given an arm and a leg to serve in. Of course, there was nothing particularly prestigious about your current position: dressed in a dusty apron as you swept and mopped the stage floor for the night. All was quiet. All of the ballet corps members and the other workers and residents of the opera house had gone off to bed, either in their private rooms or in their homes off-property. As far as you were aware, only yourself and Ace were left. You half-chuckled as he sat down on a large basket full of unwashed laundry, and fanned his face with a cap. Some of his red orange hair stuck to his brow, partially obscuring the heart-shaped tattoo he wore over one eye. “You know,” you brought up, pausing in your work and leaning on the broom, “You don’t HAVE to do this. You’re not a stagehand like I am.” Ace opened his eyes and smirked; a slightly roguish smile which carried a charm all its own. “And leave you lonely?” he teased. “Come on, we both know you’d just be sick without me around.” You rolled your eyes. “I’d get to hear you complain less,” you responded. “That sounds like a relief to be honest.” “Ha! We both know my complaining is the only thing that helps you sleep at night!” “Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that.” Ace laughed and slapped his cap on his head. He was dressed a little better than you were, his red shirt and fine vest and trousers a contrast to the ragged old dress you wore. Aside from a bit of dust on his pant knees, he seemed to be much cleaner. “Well,” he sighed, as he rolled up his sleeves. “I better take these costumes to the washroom.” “Why?” “Uh…because that’s how you clean laundry? Jeeze, I know you’re not the smartest tool in the shed but-” You held out your broomstick in a teasingly threatening gesture; Ace immediately shut his gob and held his hands up in surrender. “I mean,” you smirked, and then your tone became more sincere, “Why do you help out like this? You’re Monsieur Fortesque’s stand-in, not a cleaner.” Your tone became teasing again as you added, “I’d almost think you just wanted to hang out with me more.” Ace’s cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink.

“Wh-wha…? HA! Hey now, d-don’t be silly!” he sputtered, and then quickly composed himself. “Ahem…if you really wanna know, Bette and Fortesque pay me to do this.” “They do?” “Yeah,” snorted Ace, and jabbed his thumb over his shoulder with a slight sneer. “Seems the Prima Donna and her favorite tenor like getting back to their fancy-pants townhouse as soon as they can, and - don’t know if you noticed - but you’re kind of the only stagehand we’ve got on the late shift most nights.” You shrugged. You had noticed, but you didn’t especially mind: Manager Crowley had arranged things as such. At the time you came to the Corbeau de la Nuit, you didn’t have any other place to go. You’d come here looking for a job, without a home, without much money to fend for yourself…and presently, in the 1880s, there weren’t very many obvious opportunities to strike out on your own for your gender. If he wanted to make you the sole stage-cleaner each night, you saw no grounds to complain. “So,” Ace continued, “They made a deal that if I help clean up the dressing rooms after they were done with each rehearsal or performance, they’d kick a little extra cash my way, on top of my salary for working here. Besides, not like I’ve got a lot else to do, since I haven’t had a chance to do much ‘standing in’ to begin with…” A glimmer of disappointed sadness flickered over Ace’s handsome features. Your smile softened; while most opera companies had rotating casts and chances for alternate players, Fortesque and Bette were notoriously stingy when it came to giving up time onstage. In that way, the tenor and the lead soprano of the opera house were a perfect couple: each craved the spotlight as much as the other, and neither would dream of giving it up to an even slightly lower-class young man like Ace. They were snobs, as well as selfish hams. You propped up the broom you held against one of the wings, and then trotted over to Ace to place a hand on his shoulder. He blinked and looked up, a bit surprised by the action. You smiled kindly. “One day, you’ll get your chance,” you promised him. “And I hope I’m there to see it happen.” Ace swallowed almost imperceptibly, as his cheeks flushed again. He grumbled something and tugged at his cap to try and hide his blush. “Yeah, well…can’t come soon enough,” he muttered, then smirked. “Hey, maybe we could perform together.” You giggled. Now it was your turn to blush. “I’m a stagehand, not a singer.” “Tell that to my ears,” Ace snorted, then his tone sudden became more sincere. “Seriously, your voice isn’t half bad. You could do something with it.” “If I had a chance, maybe,” you admitted, then shrugged. “But I don’t think anybody here is gonna give the lonely janitor who cleans up their footprints every night much of a shot.” Ace nodded sympathetically, then smirked. “Well, hey, if I keep having to do stuff like this,” he teased, gesturing towards the laundry basket, “Maybe you and I could swap out: you could sing, and I could do the cleaning! Heck, if they’re asking me to help like that, clearly I’m doing a better job than you!” You responded by swatting him with a washcloth. You took a little more pleasure than you liked to admit in the almost comical yelp he let out in surprise. “Just go get those dresses cleaned up!” you snapped, but you couldn’t help smile. “Then you can get to bed.” “You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll finish up here. Shouldn’t be too much longer.” Ace shrugged and agreed; he clearly cared more about sleeping than sticking around at that point, judging from the monstrous yawn he let out before picking up the laundry basket and staggering offstage with it, heading for the washroom elsewhere in the opera house. Once again, you were alone in the grand auditorium of the opera house. Gilded grotesques looked down on you with sightless eyes as you finished sweeping, and then began to swab the proverbial deck with the mop. A few times, your eyes drifted up to the audience, or down into the orchestra pit, checking to make sure nothing was amiss that needed your attention: sometimes cats, mice, and other small, stray critters liked to sneak in, and while they rarely ever made it into the opera seats, you didn’t want to take the blame if they did. Not that you likely would, to be fair. More likely the blame would fall upon the Opera Ghost. A soft, chortling sort of laugh left you as you paused in your work, glancing up towards one particular spot of the audience: one of the box seats. Box Five. It was said that this was the preferred “haunting place” of the so-called “Phantom of the Opera.” Few had seen him and lived to tell the tale, and those who claimed they had seen him always described him the same way: a tall, dark figure, with raven locks, dressed in the elegant garments of a dapper aristocrat. His teeth were like swords, the devil-like horns upon his head were like spears, and the sound of his voice could change from a deadly hiss to a shocking thunderbolt. The most startling point of the supposed Ghost’s appearance, however, was the chalky mask he wore upon his face. This was the one point where all the stories differed: everyone said he wore a mask, but what was underneath it? You’d once heard Ruggie Bucchi - one of the members of the workers in the flies - describe him as having skin like yellow parchment, and claim that “a great black hole served as the nose that never grew.” Of course, Ruggie was given to exaggeration, and other descriptions were certainly present: in one description, he had a single eye, peering out with a heat like acid. In another, he had a hooked nose and bristly red hair, like some sort of goblin or beast. You didn’t buy any of these stories. There were many fantastic creatures and strange people in the world, to be sure…but somehow, you still didn’t feel there was any reason to believe in ghosts.

As you returned to your work, however, you couldn’t put the musings of the mysterious, supposed spectre out of your mind. You knew that many strange things happened in the opera house, at random intervals, which simply didn’t seem to have an explanation. Backdrops would come undone, though everybody in the flies insisted they’d been secured. Instruments, props, and even costume pieces would vanish without a trace; sometimes they’d never be seen again, other times they would be relocated…but in places where they frankly should not and logically could not have been. And many a ballet dancer would tell you that they had heard strange sounds and a disembodied voice from somewhere beneath their feet, or spotted a shadow that seemed to come out of nowhere, gliding along the wall. You didn’t know how many of these were just coincidences or the work of some prankster, but one thing you WERE sure of was that there had to be a rational explanation of some sort. Perhaps that was why you didn’t mind being alone, onstage, so late at night. Time passed silently at first as you mopped the stage…then, as you were about halfway finished, you suddenly heard a familiar sound: music, playing somewhere in the opera house. You paused to listen; the music seemed to come from an organ, and it was distant enough that you knew it was not coming from the orchestra, or anywhere TOO close by. At the same time, though, you couldn’t quite figure out where it WAS coming from: the music drifted through the audience seats and down into your ears, like vapor slowly slithering its way onto the stage from the farthest points of the wings, or water trickling from the not-gargoyles above.

Had you been any of the silly little ballet rats, you would have likely been spooked…indeed, even Ace might have been a bit put off. As it stood, you just smiled and chuckled; there was a chapel somewhere in the vast, sprawling expanse of the opera house. You’d never been there yourself, but you figured that was where the music likely came from. What was a church without an organ, right? You had, in fact, heard the music in the past, and it never concerned you: whoever was playing, and whyever they were playing, it was none of your business. So you shrugged and, as you had so often before, continued to work. As you did so, however, you suddenly realized the tune being played was one you recognized. In fact, it was a song you knew very well; you could remember your father singing it to you, as a lullaby, long ago. A smile painted your face as you began to move to the music, and then began to hum…and after a while, you began to sing to the melody itself… “I Wonder…I Wonder…I Wonder, why each little bird has a someone? To sing to, sweet things to! A gay little love melody!” Your eyes turned upwards as you stopped in your work, lost in the music; memories poured through your mind, and your eyes became slightly misty. You seemed to peer straight through the high and far-off ceiling of the opera house…past the the magnificent, crystal-strung chandelier which hung over your head, its gaslights dimmed till you finished your work and went to douse it completely… “I Wonder…I Wonder…if my heart keeps singing, will my song go winging? To someone, who’ll find me…and bring back a love song to-!” “Mademoiselle.” Startled, you jumped slightly and gasped. You hadn’t realized the music had stopped, nor had you realized anyone was in the room with you. At first you thought it might be Ace, but he never called you something so polite. You looked around, trying to spot the source of the voice.

“Who…who’s there?” you called out, holding tightly to the mop as if you might defend yourself with it.

A soft, amused laugh clucked its way through the stage area. Like the pipe organ before it, the sound seemed to drift out from everywhere, and yet nowhere, all at once.

“A friend. I hope,” the voice said. Its sound was low and dark, but with a sort of velvety smoothness that was comforting; a warm but somehow powerful voice, cozy yet great and terrible at the same time.

You paused, tilting your head…then, feeling a little silly, you lowered the broom.

“Where are you?” you asked, glancing about, trying to spot the source of the voice. “Don’t be afraid.”

The voice laughed louder than before.

“I am not afraid,” it replied, as if the very idea was a joke.

“Well, then come out,” you insisted.

The voice paused, then replied, almost matter-of-factly, “But then YOU will be afraid.”

“No I won’t,” you said, earnestly. “You say you’re a friend? Then prove it. Show yourself to me.”

Another pause, then the voice intoned, “As you wish.”

You heard footsteps, and suddenly realized they came from a spot above you. You looked up…and your eyes widened as you peered up into Box Five. From the shadows of the unlit box, you saw a figure emerge, slipping into a spot of dim illumination, thus coming into view. It seemed to slide from the shadows themselves, till you could make them out. They stood like a man, but they were dressed in dark clothes, making it hard to properly see them. The one thing you COULD see was the pale mask upon their face, and the glowing green eye that peered down at you from behind it. Your heart seized in your chest. “I know who you are,” you said, your soft voice carrying breathily through the performance chamber. The mask shifted as the figure cocked their head to one side. You saw the light glisten upon a pair of sharp, crooked-looking horns. “Do you?” they said, simply. You nodded, and a smile came to your face. “Well, I know what they CALL you, anyway,” you said, amiably. “You’re the Phantom of the Opera.” You couldn’t be totally sure, due to the darkness and the distance, but you swore the figure smirked slightly. “Guilty as charged,” they replied. “I’m surprised you’re still able to hide your fear.” “What makes you think I’m scared of you?” “Most everyone is.” “Most everyone are idiots,” you replied, blandly. The one visible eye of the “ghost” widened, then he barked out a laugh that echoed through the hall. It was a sound that likely would have chilled most people who heard it to the bone, but you really weren’t bothered at all. In fact, the sound was quite lovely; it almost seemed to carry a musicality of its own. And the laugh was not a sinister, cruel, or mocking laugh, either; the Phantom seemed genuinely and simply amused. “I suppose this cannot be denied,” he chuckled, and his head tilted the other way. “I did not realize someone so…intrepid was living in my opera house. Let alone someone with such a magical voice.” You blushed, and fidgeted on your feet. “You, uh…you heard a little bit of me singing, did you?” “I did,” the Phantom confirmed, simply, and you saw the head tilt in an elegant bow. “Heh heh…well, uh…I’m sorry about that-” “Don’t be.”

The voice said the words almost like a command. Immediately, you felt your mouth click shut. Then the voice became softer, lighter. You couldn’t be sure, but you swore you detected just the faintest tremor in it… Could it be the Phantom was…nervous? “Daughter of Man,” the Phantom began, in that strange tone, “You have a truly ASTONISHING voice. It is like an Angel’s: exquisite in color, tone, and shape…in fact, in almost every detail. Except, of course - and you will forgive me for the observation - it is clearly untrained.” “I’ve never really had a chance to-” “Please. Let me continue.” You did. The Phantom took a breath - you saw the fingers of a white-gloved hand brush against the guard rail of the box - before he went on. “Without proper training, your voice - despite its beauty - will wither away like old grapes upon the vine. It might never achieve the grand heights which I believe it can attain, if you allow it to blossom and grow. If you will allow me…I think I can help you.” Your expression showed your surprise, but you remained silent. You sensed the Phantom still had more to say. “As you have likely gathered, I am no TRUE spirit,” the Phantom confessed, then paused for just as second before elaborating: “I am many things, however…among them, a musician, and not one without my own training as a singer. I will gladly teach you all that I can, but there are a few conditions.” “Conditions?” you checked back, almost without meaning to. “Yes,” nodded the Not-Ghost from on high. “I have never taken on any students, for until tonight I never wanted to.” You gathered the weight in his words and smiled. “I’m not allowed to tell anyone who’s teaching me,” you figured out. “Precisely. And you are not allowed to bring anyone to where I shall teach you. Our sessions will be thoroughly private: just the two of us, alone. It would be awkward if a so-called ‘ghost’ became known as a mere music teacher, after all.” “I can understand that,” you admitted. You weren’t sure, but you thought the Phantom arched one eyebrow. “You are not…concerned?” he quizzed. “Not especially,” you said. “I think if you wanted to hurt me in any way, you would have done so already. There’s no need to go through all this if that’s your goal. And as far as I can remember, the ‘Opera Ghost’ never has hurt anybody who didn’t deserve it first.” “Your faith in me is already greatly appreciated. Am I to presume that you will accept my offer, Daughter of Man?” You nodded. There was no deep thinking involved. “I can’t think of a single reason to say no. Unless, of course, the price-” “There will be no price. No money. All I ask is that you be on time for our lessons, and we can work out a schedule tomorrow evening.” “Thank you,” you almost sighed with relief, then paused before asking. “Do you…really think my voice is…that good? That I can…do more with it?”

“I do not think it, Mademoiselle. I KNOW it.” A great swelling of pride leapt into your chest. “What is your name, my dear?” the Phantom asked. You gave it. The Phantom repeated it to himself; the crisp, cool way your name sounded upon his unseen lips gave you shivers of many kinds. “Now, what is your name?” you thought to ask. “Mine?” the Phantom replied. He seemed startled you would ask. “Well, unless you want me to just call you ‘Monsieur Fanotome,’ or something, but that seems kind of silly. Surely you have a name of your own.” Once again, you couldn’t be entirely certain, but you swore that in the one eye you saw gazing down upon you, something affectionate flickered. “I do, certainly,” the Phantom said, and took a breath: “My name - Child of Man, Angel of Music - is…”

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“Want to know a secret?” “Coo-coo!” “Promise not to tell?” “Coo-coo!” “We are standing by a wishing well!” You had never thought this day would come. You certainly never dreamed it would come this quickly. You did your best to hide your nerves, as you sat before the set piece of the well, and spoke to the puppeteered doves perched upon its edge. All the while, you were keenly aware of the presence of the audience, all gazing upon you with judgemental eyes…in a full house…in the grandest opera venue the city, perhaps even the country, had ever known. You tried to push the nerves out of your system; to stay in-character, to stay with the scene, as you twittered to the puppet-birds in a tone that almost matched their symphonic cooing. “Make a wish into the well! That’s all you have to do! And if you hear it echoing? Your wish may soon come true!” As you relaxed and let your voice flow, you thought of how you’d reached this point…while the chorus, hidden in the wings, echoed your singing… “I’m Wishing…” “I’m wishing!” “...For the one I love, to find me…” “To find me!” “...Today.” “Today!” Bette had been selected to play this role, of course, with her husband Fortesque as the leading man. But one prank too many from the mysterious opera ghost had finally done the trick for both, it seemed: after a sandbag nearly rendered the Madame unconscious, both she and her husband declared they were leaving the company, and would not be returning without a raise. (And considering how rich they already were, the likelihood of Crowley giving them one was next to nil.) While this was not the first time the two had gone through a blowup of this nature…the great problem was that the newest performance of a much-beloved opera, “La Belle au Bois Dormant,” was due to perform that night. Bette and her husband-accomplice likely hoped that would force Crowley into taking action. He did, but not the action they’d likely expected…and now, here you were. Your voice trained by your “special teacher,” and ready to show what all the work you’d both done could amount to. “I’m hoping…” “I’m hoping!”

“...And I’m dreaming of the nice things…” “The nice things!” “...He’ll say.” “He’ll say!” You then began to vocalize wordlessly, the riffs and calls once more echoed by the chorus. You did not turn to see, but you could faintly hear footsteps approaching you from behind. You knew who it was, of course. After all…the departure of the two stars meant that you weren’t the only one who would get to finally show your stuff in the spotlight. “I’m Wishing…” “I’m Wishing!” “...For the one I love, to find me…” “To find me!” “...Today.” “TODAY!” You jumped, startled, as you turned…and beheld the young, handsome figure of a man with terracotta-hued hair, dressed in a crimson-and-gold outfit that could only be worn by the wealthiest in the kingdom. Your eyes were immediately arrested by the warm, friendly, somewhat playful look in his own cherry-colored irises. “Oh…OH!” you exclaimed, as you got to your feet. You started to break away…but the young man (Ace, of course, in his costume) took hold of your hand, still smiling. “I’m awfully sorry!” the “Prince” told you, the “Beauty in the Woods.” His smile became almost embarrassed, yet encouraging, as he added: “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” “Oh, it wasn’t that!” you replied, somewhat shyly. “It’s just that you’re a…well, uh…” “A stranger?” the Prince finished, with a chuckle. “Mm-hm! And…and my aunts have always warned me not to talk to strangers!” “Very smart of them. But don’t you remember? We’ve met before!” You stopped short at that. “W-we…we have?” you blinked, innocently. “Of course!” the prince chortled, and then smiled in the most charming way possible as he looked deep into your eyes as he began to sing: “I know you, I walked with you Once Upon a Dream…” You squeaked as the “Prince” spun you around, and began to dance with you. He winked boyishly as he led you across the stage; around the forest floor, spinning around the well in a waltz.

“I know you! The gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam!”

You smiled back at him, and soon fell into step with the charming youth, as he continued to croon.

“And I know it’s true, that visions are seldom all they seem! But if I know you, I know what you’ll do…”

He scooped you up close, pressing your bodies against one another with a tender, passionate smile.

“You’ll love me at once, the way you did Once Upon a Dream.”

Now it was your turn; a flicker of encouragement in Ace’s eyes, which weren’t due to his character, seemed to pass the ball to you, as he spun you around, and you twirled away. As you came to a stop, you curtseyed with a mischievous laugh.

“Yes, I know you,” you parroted back, letting your soprano ring out clear and true with each note. “I walked with you Once Upon a Dream!”

You scampered behind a tree on the set. Ace hurried after you, and peeked behind it…only for you to pop up from the other side and tickle him behind his ear, making him yelp and laugh.

“I know you! The gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam!”

The Prince grinned almost wickedly and lunged, as if he meant to hug you, but you dove out of the way and swished behind him…before jokingly placing your hands over his eyes. This time, you led him around as he blindly stumbled a bit.

“And I know it’s true that visions are seldom all they seem…”

Finally, you spun him around, and took his hands, and the two of you waltzed together once more.

“...But if I know you, I know what you’ll do. You’ll love me at once…”

Your hand reached up to caress his cheek, and a lovestruck look crossed Ace’s face as he seemed to blush.

“...The way you did Once Upon a Dream.” With a final twirl, the two of you embraced. The audience applauded in an instant.

As you held Ace tightly, waiting for the applause to die down and the maestro to strike up the next bit of music on the program, you whispered into his ear…

“We finally made it. They love us.”

“Well, that’s not too surprising,” he whispered back, breath tickling your own ear now, and you could feel his lashes flicker as he winked jokingly. “We always knew they’d love me.”

You subtly pinched him for that one, and he pouted slightly before playing it off as part of the character with a laugh.

As the two of you got ready for the next tune, two separate figures were watching you intently from the audience. They seemed to care little about Ace, their attention fully enraptured by you, as you laughed, smiled, and sang along.

One of them had a fond, nostalgic look on his face, as he stared at you with wonder-filled eyes, colored peacock green. The tattoo of a spade was inked around one of his eyes, as he applauded you with an admiring grin.

“BRAVO!” he called out, then his voice lowered as he spoke to himself, eyes seeming to glisten. “Can it be…can it really be you…?” As he wondered and mused, the second figure never even noticed. White-gloved palms clapped together with an authoritative sound…illuminated by the dim lighting of Box Five. The area’s sole occupant, the one and only audience member present in the box seats there, smiled, grin curling upwards with pride…and something softer. Something…almost reverent. “Brava. Brava,” the lips parted to whisper in a sibilant yet sweet way. “Bravissima, my Angel…”

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KNOCK-KNOCKITY-KNOCK-KNOCK!

“Who’s there?”

“Just me, Ace! You decent?”

“Well, I’ve got clothes on, if that’s what you mean.”

Ace took the jocular invitation and opened the door to Madame Bette’s dressing room…or rather, on this evening, YOUR dressing room. You had changed out of your costume into a long, white dress, and had been busy tidying up, cleaning off your makeup and pulling the wig-pins out of your hair. You smiled as your scene partner entered, dressed in a white undershirt, and still in his costume bottoms.

“How dashing, my Prince,” you teased with a wink.

Ace just chuckled and rubbed the back of his head.

“Yeah, well…forgive me if I wanted to pop in and say you did an AWESOME job tonight! I hate to admit it, but I kinda wasn’t sure if you’d be up to the challenge. You really saved us and pulled through!”

“Hey, the show must go on,” you shrugged, and smiled as you continued speaking to him, though your gaze now turned to the mirror. “Besides, I’ve been working on my voice for months now. I’m glad I finally got a chance to show what I can do. It was nerve-wracking, though!”

“I bet it was,” nodded Ace, then frowned. “Speaking of all that training, when are you going to introduce me to this guy who’s been teaching you? I wanna shake his hand for tonight.”

“I don’t think he does handshakes,” you chuckled. “And I told you, he prefers to keep a low profile.”

“Psh. Must be REALLY low, if you won’t even say his NAME,” huffed Ace. He paused, then bit his lip, and cleared his throat. “Ahem…so, uh…anyway, I…kinda had a question for you.”

“Oh?” you vocalized, inquiringly, looking up at him in a somewhat puzzled fashion. He was shifting rather anxiously on both of his feet. “What’s the matter? Did I miss something in the libretto, or-?”

“No, no! You were…absolutely perfect there,” Ace answered, with a slightly high-strung laugh that wasn’t like him at all. “It’s just…well…I was thinking-”

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCKITY-KNOCK!

Both of you jumped, a bit surprised, as another knock came at the door. You couldn’t help but frown slightly; how many visitors were you going to have before you even finished getting out of costume?

“Hello?”

“Excuse me,” a voice called from the other side. “I hope I’m not interrupting, but can I come in?”

You and Ace looked at each other. He shrugged, clearly not sure what was going on.

“I suppose,” you answered, slowly.

The door opened once more, and another young man entered the room. He had dark hair, and eyes of a blue-green hue. A spade was tattooed over one of his eyes, and he dressed in a rather fine-looking blue suit: the sort only the nobility seemed able to afford. His smile was kind and slightly apprehensive as he stepped onto the scene…carrying a bouquet of blue roses. “Madamoiselle,” he greeted you, and his smile became teasing. “Where has your scarf gone?” Your eyes lit up and a wide smile stretched across your face. You could hardly believe it! “Deuce!” you exclaimed and jumped to your feet before rushing over and giving him a hug. “Oh, you made it! I wasn’t sure if you knew!” Deuce jumped slightly as he was hugged so tightly…then blushed red as a beet and tried to pull away. “Hey…h-hey, no getting mushy on me!” he chided. “You owe me, by the way, y’know I can’t stand opera!” “Unless I’M in it, right?” you joked, pulling back with a knowing smile. Deuce smiled back. “Well, if you’re in it, I’ll always try my best,” he promised. You smiled wider, then heard a cough that caught both of your attentions. Ace was standing nearby, waving, a sort of befuddled, somewhat frustrated look on his face. “Uh…hi? How are you?” he greeted, in a sarcastic manner. “Mind telling me who you are and what’s goin’ on?” Deuce nodded his head respectfully. “Deuce Spade. I’m a Viscount of the Queendom of Roses. I, uh…” He blushed and looked at you as he offered the flowers. “...I’ve known the star here for…a long time.” You giggled and took the roses gratefully, then turned to Ace and explained: “Deuce and I grew up together. My father was a musician who was patroned by his family, until…well…” “I see,” Ace replied, then narrowed his eyes at Deuce. “Funny, they’ve never mentioned you before.” “Well, we haven’t seen each other in a while, but we try to keep in touch through post,” Deuce shrugged, then his eyes lit up with excitement as he looked at you again. “Oh! Did you get that last letter I sent you? About that amazing new ‘gas-powered carriage’ my parents got? It is SO COOL! The thing moves faster than any horse, I even got to drive it here!” “Really!” you exclaimed, impressed. “You’ll have to show it to me sometime!” “I can show it to you right now,” Deuce said, with a smirk, and tossed his head back towards the door. “See, I was thinking we could go get something to eat, kinda celebrate your victory and…y’know…catch up a bit?”

You smiled apologetically as you took Deuce’s blue-gloved hand. “I’d love to, Deuce, but-” “-BUT,” Ace broke in, and you froze up as he slung one arm around your shoulder with a cocky smile, pointing to himself. “I’m afraid little miss Lead Soprano here already agreed to go out to dinner with ME for the evening!” “She did?” Deuce asked, looking disappointed. “I did?” you blinked, completely baffled. “Well, you were just about to,” sniffed Ace. “That’s what I was gonna ask you before I was so RUDELY interrupted.” He glared at Deuce with the sort of aggravated jealousy a schoolboy has when their favorite playmate is hanging out with somebody else. Deuce glared back in a similar manner. “What makes you think they would have said yes to that?” he asked, crossing his arms with a stern sort of scowl. “Well, I bet they’d rather hang out tonight with a FELLOW CAST MEMBER than some hoity-toity rich kid they haven’t seen in ages!” “That’s uncalled for!” snapped Deuce, jabbing a finger in Ace’s direction. “Besides, I think they’d much rather get to see an amazing new invention and eat somewhere nice for a change!” “‘Somewhere nice’?! Are you implying I wouldn’t take them somewhere nice?!” “Well, no offense, but I can probably afford better.” “I TAKE GREAT OFFENSE AT THAT!” “Sorry, sorry!” Deuce exclaimed, sounding genuinely contrite as he put up his hands. You couldn’t help but smile; he’d never liked to flaunt his own wealth. If anything, he was embarrassed by it. One of the reasons you liked him. “All the same,” Deuce went on, in a steady way, clearly trying to stay polite. “I’d love a chance to see my childhood friend again and chat about everything we’ve missed out on the past several years.” “And maybe you’ll get that chance. But not tonight,” harumphed Ace. “You don’t control her!” Deuce sneered. “Neither do you!” Ace sniped. “Why not ask what SHE wants?” Deuce growled. “I know what she wants!” “No, you don’t, and talking like that is going to get you a smack in the head, Ace.” Trappola subsided, flinching like a guilty dog being scolded by its owner, as you finally spoke up. Deuce smirked with triumph…but only for a fleeting moment as you turned to him again. “With that said, I’m sorry, Deuce, but I can’t go out to dinner tonight. I actually already have an engagement.”

Deuce’s eyes shot very wide and his face turned red. “Y-You’re…engaged?! WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME THAT?!” “No, no, not engaged! Just…I meant I’m going out with somebody else for dinner tonight!”

“Yay!” Ace grinned.

“Not you,” you told him, blandly.

“Boo,” Ace pouted.

You couldn’t help but smirk with some affection before once more returning your attention to Deuce. You held up the flowers and thanked him for them before adding, “Maybe we can arrange a chance next week. Or, hey…this probably won’t be my only show, with everything going on. We’ll find another time.”

Deuce still looked a bit disappointed, but he also seemed somewhat relieved…presumably at the knowledge that you weren’t anyone’s fiance.

“Alright,” he conceded, then bit his lip before almost shyly asking, “Are you…sure you won’t come and see the new car? That’s what they call it; I guess it’s short for ‘carriage.’”

He mumbled the last several words and shrugged one shoulder. He looked so deeply disappointed you couldn’t help but chuckle softly. You placed a hand on his shoulder and nodded.

“Next time,” you said. “I promise.”

Deuce clearly felt a bit better hearing that.

“Now,” you said, and looked at both him and Ace. “Can you both go? I need to finish getting out of everything so I can make that dinner date.”

“Whatever,” shrugged Ace.

“Sure thing,” nodded Deuce.

The two turned around and headed for the door at the exact same time…then grunted as they each bumped into each other in the process. They backed up and gave each other much-too-patient smiles, their eyes filled with something close to a desire for homicide.

“After you, ‘Viscount,’” Ace slithered.

“No, after you, ‘sir,’” Deuce responded in a similar fashion.

They each nodded to each other…and promptly both tried to get out the door at the same time again, and bumped into one another even harder than before.

You facepalmed and had to bite your lip to hold back peals of giggles as, with much flailing of hands and fumbling of feet, the two finally managed to wedge themselves free from the room and out of the door.

“Goodnight!” you called to them, in a cheerful tone, as you watched them each give each other vengeful, envious glares before you shut the door at long last.

As soon as the two were gone, a sigh of relief left you. Off and on, throughout the little bickering session, you’d been glancing at the clock on the dressing room wall.

He’d be here any moment now, you were sure of it. “That was a close one,” you murmured to yourself. “Indeed. I was half tempted to take my true form and swallow them whole; my ears are going to ache for a month.” You whirled about, startled. There was a long, tall mirror in the dressing room, attached to a wall. The glass panel had slid aside, revealing a dark passage beyond.

Out of the passage he stepped: a tall, lean-but-muscular figure, garbed in a fancy black tuxedo, with white gloves. A long, purple cape stretched back behind his shoulders, and upon his head was a black fedora with a purple hatband…with two small holes cut into the brim to allow his horns passage. His jet black hair was tied into a ponytail with a purple ribbon, and his ears were pointed, almost elfen in appearance. One side of his face was covered by a perfectly polished porcelain mask, which was fastened - like his hair - with a purple ribbon. Behind the mask, all you could see was one of his eyes: each eye a toxic shade of green, with slit pupils, and irises that seemed to glow in the dark. The other half of his face was sculpted like marble, almost as pale as the stark white mask, with a softness and silkiness one could sense even without touching the skin. As he smiled, the points of long, sharp teeth could be seen. He was here. The Phantom of the Opera. But you knew him by another name now. “Good evening, Malleus,” you greeted him politely. “Good evening, Daughter of Man,” Malleus Draconia - the elusive Opera Ghost - responded, and bowed in a courtly fashion. “Your performance tonight nearly took my breath away. I am exceptionally proud of you.” “Thank you,” you said, feeling rather humbled by his praise…but your humility soon faded as you smirked. “Have you been watching me change this whole time?” Malleus seemed to bristle like an irritated cat at the suggestion. “You wound me, my Angel of Music,” he sniffed, snootily, and stood ramrod straight, swirling his dark violet cloak behind him. “I should hope you know I have better manners than that.” “I do, I just couldn’t help but tease,” you giggled, then cocked your head to the left. “Did you mean what you said?” Malleus cocked his head in the opposite direction, inquisitively. “About swallowing them whole. Ace and Deuce.” Malleus narrowed his eyes. “I know you consider them your friends,” he said to you. “You’ve told me of your correspondences with the Viscount, but I sense he comes to the opera for the wrong reasons.” “What do you mean?” “He values the beauty of faces, and of mechanical flim-flammery,” scoffed Malleus. “Not so much the beauty of music.” “Uh-huh,” you replied, not sure you really had grounds to disagree, and also not wanting to start an argument. “And what about Ace?” “Oh, Trappola is simply obnoxious at times.”

You snickered. Malleus smiled gently. “I like it when you laugh,” he remarked, faintly. “It’s almost as pleasant a sound as your singing.” “Thank you, Maestro,” you said, then held out your hand. “Now…shall we go?” Malleus smiled wider. One of his white gloves - the fingers long and the gloves tapered at the ends (perhaps to conceal claws? You’d never seen him with his gloves off) - stroked against your skin before he grasped your hand in his. Then, with the very gentlest of pulls, he led you into the passage through the mirror. His free hand swept out against the nearby wall. In one fluid motion, he picked up a lantern hanging on a hook there… …And also flipped a hidden switch. The mirror closed behind you. “Come with me, my Angel,” the Phantom intoned, his voice echoing into every corner of your mind, as he guided you down the long, dark, winding stairway that led somewhere deep below the opera house, within the very bowels of the city. “I have waited for this moment longer than you realize…”

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The way to the Phantom’s Lair was like something out of a fantasy. You’d traveled there many times by now, but somehow it never got any less fascinating. At the bottom of the stairs had waited Caesar; a stellar stallion whose reins were being held by one of Malleus’ servants - a young man named Silver, whose hair matched his name…and who you’d found sleeping standing up. Malleus was used to this by now. You rode upon Caesar as Malleus and Silver led him along a winding path, descending even further into the depths of the ground. During this part of the journey, you could hear nothing but your own breathing, and the steps of the horse and its leaders. Finally, you came to a small dock, through which the great river ran under the ground, in caverns and catacombs hidden far below the streets of Sage. Waiting here was a little boat, which Malleus personally piloted like a gondola, using a punting pole. Silver, meanwhile, hopped upon Caesar’s back, and road with him down a side path to some other part of the catacombs. All along the path across the water, to the final stage of your journey, the walls were decorated with candles, which never seemed to go out or even dim no matter the dampness. In between the candles were pieces of art, hung up like a gallery; numerous paintings and charcoal sketches, framed for only the viewing purposes of Malleus and his secret staff that dwelled with him beneath the ground. “Is that one new?” you asked, pointing at one particular painting as the two of you glided past in the boat. “Yes,” Malleus nodded. “Lilia purchased it only yesterday. I hadn’t expected tonight to be the opportunity when I would share it with you.” “You don’t sound like you’re bothered by that,” you smirked over your shoulder. Malleus smiled innocently and chuffed through his nose, then turned his attention forward again. As he continued to push the boat along towards his secret lair, you couldn’t help but watch Malleus…and gaze upon the mask he wore. You often wondered what he was hiding beneath it. You would have expected, with all his other oddities, he wouldn’t feel so self-conscious…and the other half of his face, which was visible, clearly was rather handsome. All this time, however, you’d never dared to really ask about the mask. You’d noticed it, naturally, and he’d noticed you doing so, and once or twice it would be brought up in conversation…but you hadn’t once wanted to ask what was beneath it. Tonight…that curiosity felt more intense than ever. After everything he’d done for you, after all you had accomplished together - his spirit and your voice, combined - didn’t you deserve to know a little more? “Is something the matter, Daughter of Man?” The perplexed question snapped you out of your musings. You shook your head, half to clear it, and half to answer Malleus’ inquiry. He shrugged, and returned his attention to the river. You turned away, and watched the river ahead. You could see a faint glow at the end of the tunnel you both now skimmed through. You were almost to his hidden home. Perhaps tonight, at dinner, you could find the chance to learn the one secret he kept even from you. The boat slunk its way through the underwater passage, and was skillfully harbored at a small, ramshackle sort of pier. The planks led up to a set of stone steps, which led up to a magnificent pipe organ: the half-dragon’s pride and joy. A crooked path led from the pipe organ to two caverns, which you knew housed the rest of the so-called Phantom’s home. One smaller cavern contained Malleus’ private chambers, while another, larger cavern had been separated into a kitchen and a dining room. You did not know where his Servants typically lived, though he had made it clear they did not live with him: they would leave and arrive at appointed hours. They - and yourself - were the only ones who could enter this secret sanctum…and live to tell about it. Not that any of you would. Why bother?

Malleus tied the boat off at the dock. He then snapped his fingers. You weren’t sure if it was real magic or some sort of mechanical trick, but when he did, huge candelabras rose from the water, and flared up on their own accord, providing better illumination to the dimly-lit catacombs. As the candles went alight, Malleus doffed his hat, hanging it upon a rack at the end of the pier, near the steps. He then undid the bit of silk rope that fastened his cape, and swirled it (perhaps more dramatically than he intended to) off of his shoulders. He then strode back along the pier and extended his gloved hands with a gentle, encouraging smile. You accepted both his hands in yours and cautiously stepped off the boat and onto the pier. Once you were side by side, he looped your arm into the crook of one of his own, then led you past the pipe organ - past other odds and ends that littered the main cavern - and towards the tunnel leading into the dining area. “Where are the others?” you asked, a bit surprised when no one else came to greet you. Typically, Lilia was there to say hello, and Sebek was there to kow-tow to his “liege” and say some half-degrading comment about yourself…which typically earned him a swat from Lilia or a stern glower from Malleus. “I gave them all the night off,” Malleus explained. “Silver will be joining them in due course, I suspect. I hope it won’t seem too forward, but…I rather wanted our little victory dinner tonight to be just between us, and there wasn’t much time to prepare.” “As long as Lilia didn’t do the cooking, I’m more than okay with that.” “Oh, please, don’t even jest about such things,” shuddered Malleus, the eye behind the mask showing sickly revulsion. “I would sooner remove this mask that subject you to that unholy torture.” “I doubt whatever’s under your mask can be worse than Lilia’s cooking,” you responded, pointedly. Feeling a bit daring, you reached up a hand to touch the masked cheek…only for Malleus’ own hand to guide yours away with a sort of cheeky smile. “There are only three things worse than Lilia’s cooking,” he replied. “One of them is what’s under this mask.” “Dare I ask what the other two are?” “Bette’s singing, and Bucchi’s breath.” You snorted with laughter and couldn’t help a cheeky smile of your own. “I notice that things like ‘death’ and ‘poison’ aren’t listed.” “You’ve tried Lilia’s cooking. Would you honestly say those are worse?” “I guess not.” The two of you laughed. You couldn’t help but marvel at that simple fact: to the rest of Sage, and especially to those who dwelled and worked in the Corbeau de la Nuit Opera House, the horned gentleman you walked with was a figure of fear and mystery. But here you both were, candidly (and poorly) joking about someone’s bad culinary habits, as if it were the most perfectly ordinary thing in the world. All the same, you couldn’t help a sadness that crept into your smile.

If Malleus genuinely thought that his face was worse than Lilia’s cooking, and death was better…well, that had to say something, simply put. You had little time to feel sorrow, however, as he brought you to the dining room. Two chairs had been set, one on each end of the table. The food was not piping hot, but it was still warm as it sat ready for you all; either he or someone in his little group must have set up shortly before he went to fetch you, or even while the two of you were on your way. There was roast beef, scalloped potatoes covered in some sort of cheese, buttery biscuits, a small basket of fresh fruits for one to choose from, and some spinach dip to accompany a collection of breadsticks. “Help yourself, My Angel,” Malleus intoned, as he gestured to the feast before you, bowing and sweeping out one hand grandly as the other went to his chest. “You have more than earned your fair share of all this tonight.” You blushed and thanked him. You served yourself a small bit of everything, but you knew the majority of all this food would be going to one of two places: either into the larder for storage and future consumption…or into the dragon’s belly. If there was one thing everyone who lived in, around, or (apparently) under the opera house seemed to share, it was a bizarrely voracious appetite. “Where did you get it all?” you thought to ask, as you took your own seat. “Oh, it’s quite simple: I had Silver and Sebek visit the market earlier today,” Malleus answered, as he tucked a white cloth napkin into his collar. “They picked up the meat, the potatoes, and-” “No, no, I mean…if Lilia didn’t cook, who did the cooking?” you elaborated. “Well, that’s rather a different question,” smirked Malleus. “You should say what you mean, Child of Man.” You wanted to protest, but you couldn’t think of what to say. You opened your mouth, and the unmasked eyebrow arched, as if warning you to think a little more about what came out of said mouth next. Finally, you huffed and sat back. Malleus chuckled, a look of playful victory in his eyes as he took up his knife and fork, and prepared to eat from his own plate. You took up your own pieces of cutlery, but paused before you actually began to eat. You watched as Malleus lifted a bite of roast beef to his mouth…watched his fangs part before he popped the morsel of meat into his jaws…then shook your head, face a little flushed, as you tried to focus on your own meal. All the while however, you could hear the half-dragon thrum as he tasted the supper before him, and couldn’t help but quiver. There were some things you loved about him you simply could not explain. Such thoughts soon left your mind, however, when you took your first bite of dinner. A startled sound left you, and your eyes widened. Malleus looked up immediately. “What’s the matter?” he asked. A slight note of anxiety filled his voice as he checked: “You don’t like the roast beef?” “N-No, it’s not that-” “Ah,” he sighed, almost despondently. “I know. It’s the spinach.” “No!” you exclaimed, and smiled. “Nothing is wrong! I…this is REALLY good!”

Malleus’ eyes widened a bit…then a look of great satisfaction painted his face. “Oh. Is that all?” he asked, chuckling, in a sort of tone that indicated he was trying not to show just how delighted he truly was. “Well, I’m…exceptionally glad to hear it.” “Seriously, who made this?” you had to inquire. “Silver?” Malleus didn’t answer, his eyes focused on the knife and fork sawing through his helping of roast beef. “It wasn’t Sebek, surely?” Malleus still didn’t answer…but as he swallowed another piece of meat, you suddenly noticed a how the skin of his one unmasked cheek seemed to darken faintly. It was then the pieces fit together in your head. “...You. You made this yourself, didn’t you?” Malleus smiled and looked up at you. You weren’t entirely sure, but you swore there was something almost bashful in the inclination of his head and the glimmer in his eyes. “I have talents beyond simply my music, my mortal friend,” he replied. “Not cooking. At least, you’ve never cooked before. You usually have someone bring food down here from the restaurant inside the Corbeau de la Nuit…or, if you’re desperate, you just ask Lilia to make something, and pray you’ll survive.” Normally, such a statement would have made Malleus laugh. It didn’t this time. “Was…was this your first time?” you asked, captivated by the idea. Malleus nodded and put down his cutlery, folding his hands and giving you a sort of hopeful look. “I trust my first attempt is acceptable?” “Very,” you smiled, and your smile grew as the full weight of what had happened, what you were tasting, struck you. “I…I’m flattered, Maestro. It really means a lot that you’d go through so much for me, with-” “For you, it is nothing, Daughter of Man,” Malleus replied, somewhat grandly, lifting a hand to halt your words. “I would wrestle with demons and angels for you. Learning how to properly use an oven and seasoning is the least I could manage.” “How DID you manage it?” “Well, first of all, I used a recipe book, and followed it diligently. Second of all, I asked Lilia for his advice…and proceeded to do the precise opposite of everything he told me.” “Yeah. That would do the trick.” Both of you laughed, and once again returned to your meal. Several times you looked up, watching as Malleus feasted. He ate politely, but he ate large portions; several times you saw him dab at his mouth as he rumbled faintly, cleaning up any juice and crumbs that speckled his lips and chin, marring the perfect skin. At one point, you paused as you noticed something. “Uh…you missed a spot.” Malleus paused and looked up at you. “Pardon?”

“Right here,” you said, and pointed to the side of your face where his mask rested. Draconia frowned and dabbed over his mask…then sighed softly as he saw a spot of liquid from his glass of sparkling grape juice. He’d poured one for each of you, with all the manners of a high-class butler. “Thank you,” he muttered, and lowered his napkin, frowning in a mildly frustrated manner. You paused, then turned your gaze to your food as you continued to eat. “You know,” you said, without looking up. “It might be easier to eat if you didn’t have part of your mouth covered by your mask.” You heard the knife and fork in Malleus Draconia’s hand scrape at the plate. Another sigh, louder than before, came from him. You looked up at last as you heard the unmistakable clatter of the utensils falling to the emptied plate. His look was very serious. “That is the second time, Mademoiselle, you have brought up my mask,” he said, his voice grave. “I’m beginning to think you have something you want to say about it. If so, say it.” You hesitated before nodding and speaking your mind: “I want to know what’s under it. I don’t understand why you keep your face hidden all the time. At first, I thought it was just because you were trying to play up the whole ‘creepy opera ghost’ act, but…by now, we’ve come to know each other so well-” “-And no matter how well someone knows another, there will always be things they keep private,” Malleus reprimanded in interruption. “Believe me, my dear, you do NOT want to see what is beneath this mask.” You bit your lip, then suddenly stood up. “Were you injured?” you blurted out. Malleus blinked. “Come again?” he responded, flatly. “Is that why you keep it covered? Is your face scarred? Or is there a medical reason? Like, is this some kind of way of keeping it from getting infected or something? I just…there has to be a reason you are so sure I don’t want to see! And who else HAS seen? Lilia? Silver? Anybody at all? If they can stand it, then why not-?” Malleus rose very swiftly, and you suddenly felt a jolt of nervousness flow through you. He towered over you as he strolled around the table and peered down at you with burning green eyes. “Darling,” he said, in a voice that was somehow so inviting and yet so thoroughly dangerous, all at once. “Please, do not ask any more questions about my mask. I keep it on for your sake, as much as my own. And I do not appreciate being pestered about it.” You bit your lip…then nodded and bowed your head. “I’m sorry,” you half-whispered, sincerely. “I…just…thought you might…trust me enough.” Malleus softened then. His smile returned and he cupped a hand under your chin, tilting your head up to look him in the eye once more. “It is not my trust of you that is truly in danger,” he replied. “Tell me, my dear: do you trust me?”

He leaned close, whispering into your ear: “Are you afraid of me?” You answered honestly, and without hesitation, despite a certain tremble in your heart. “No. I’m not afraid of you. I don’t think I ever really have been. I never believed you were a ghost, and you’ve never done anything to make me feel like I should be scared. I know you’ve scared plenty of other people, but you’ve never done anybody harm, as far as I know. So…I don’t think I have a reason to be afraid.” “If you peered beneath the mask, that would change,” Malleus said, as firmly and simply as if it were just a fact of life. “That is the last thing I would want. I have…precious few people in my life who DON’T fear me.” He paused, then his voice quieted as he added, “I have precious few people in my life, in general. I…could not bear the thought of frightening you. Of losing you. So, please…never ask me to remove my mask.” You paused, then finally replied: “I won’t ask.” Malleus smiled wider, pleased with that answer, and then backed away from you. He took your hand in his and kissed the back of it, still smiling. “After dinner,” he said, “Would you perhaps accompany me back to the music chamber? I wish to hear you sing.” “You heard me sing earlier,” you couldn’t help but giggle. “In front of a crowd of hundreds.” “That WAS in front of a crowd of hundreds,” Malleus snorted. “I want to hear you sing something for me. Only for me. If that isn’t too much to ask.” “It isn’t,” you said, shaking your head. “I just asked a lot of you, obviously, and…well…I think you’re entitled to having something in return. I couldn’t have made it to tonight if it hadn’t been for you.” Malleus seemed prouder than ever before, as he sat back at the table. He poured himself another glass of sparkling grape, and held it up in toast. “Then let us drink and continue to feast in honor of our friendship,” he proclaimed. You lifted your cup and inclined your head, replying, “Yes. To our friendship.” Then both of you drank. But as you drank, and as Malleus served himself another heaping helping of roast beef, you couldn’t help a dark little desire fluttering in your head. You had told him you wouldn’t ask him to remove the mask…but now, more than ever, you were determined to see what was beneath it. For better or for worse.

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“BUUURRRP! Oof…oh, do pardon me…” You flushed and giggled, as Malleus patted his mouth and then his stomach. “My, my! Who knew the Opera Ghost could be so unmannerly?” you couldn’t help but tease, and nudged him with your elbow as you both walked towards the main sector of the sanctum, and the gilded organ that waited there. Malleus frowned, looking a bit affronted. “How is it unmannerly?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious. “I said pardon me. Isn’t that a show of good manners? Or am I expected to say something else?” You just shook your head with a sort of weary amusement. “No, you showed good manners. But most people wouldn’t expect the Phantom to let out a sound that makes the whole cave shake.” Malleus blinked. “What sort of sound WOULD they expect me to make?” “I don’t know. Probably something like rattling chains.” “Why would I rattle chains? That seems both pointless and, for a lesser creature, likely taxing. But I suppose true ghosts DO have time to waste…” You just laughed. The Phantom guided you to his pipe organ. His usual elegance returned as he seated himself at the keys. He removed his gloves; he never liked playing with them on. Beneath the white kid leather, his hands were the same pale skin tone as the visible portion of his face. His nails were black, and came out to points, like claws. Some might have found the sight unsettling, but you were honestly quite taken with his hands: the fingers long and strong, thin but clearly all muscle. “Have you any requests?” he asked. “Your voice is all I need. The song can be left up to you.” “No. I prefer to leave the choice to you, Maestro,” you replied, with a somewhat mocking bow. Malleus rolled his eyes, and then flipped through the ledger of sheet music that was always perched in place at the organ. He selected a song he knew you were both familiar with. After pointing it out to make sure you knew the what he was going to play, and getting your agreement, he took a breath. His fingers plinked a few keys on the keyboard…then, they began to play in earnest, drumming out a few notes beneath their clawed tips, which bellowed from the great organ, carrying the mysterious tune high up through the vents of the opera house, to echo through its solemn halls and out to the empty stage. The place you’d first heard the music of the night. Now, you could hear it in all its splendor. Your heart seemed to beat faster, as you instinctively adopted the posture you’d been trained to use in recitals. Malleus grinned, approving of your poise, the tips of his fangs shining brightly. His voice boomed, echoing off the walls, overpowering even the pipe organ’s magnificent sound.

“Sing, My Angel of Music! Sing for me!” And so you did. “Have you ever yearned to go, past the world you think you know? Been enthralled to the call of the Beauty Underneath? Have you let it draw you in, past the place where dreams begin? Felt the full, breathless pull of the Beauty Underneath?” You closed your eyes, as the music shifted in tone, and seemed to flow through your blood like silk. “Can you taste it? Have you heard its music and embraced it? Do you crave the visions that it shows you?” You looked at Malleus again, as the music went on. “Do you wonder why it chose you? Like it knows you? Knows you have a darkness running through you? If you’re not afraid, I’ll show it to you.” He grinned as he looked up at you, and put in his own lyrics; the song was a duet. “You don’t fear the darkness, do you?” You shivered slightly, and shook your head, as if in answer to the question. He chuckled, and the organ sang its own tune as you prepared for the second verse. The song was one he had taught you a good while back: in the story from whence it came, the lyrics were to be sung between a teacher and a student. Once upon a time, that had been enough to summarize your relationship with the Phantom…but now, you sensed a deeper layer beneath the lyrics as they left your own mouth, as well as his. “Have you found yourself beguiled, by the dangerous and wild?” you sang, your voice carrying out with a mysterioso quality. “And been hooked, as you looked at the Beauty Underneath?” Another shiver went through you, as paper was flipped, and you hugged yourself; you suddenly felt a strange chill. “Have you felt your senses surge, and surrendered to the urge?” your voice shifted into a sort of husky tone, which was meant for more intimate scenes and melodies. “Tell me you know it too; know the Beauty Underneath!” Your eyes once more fell to Malleus, as it was his time to sing the next part. His voice was as rich and decadent as dark chocolate, and filled you with a warm, deep sweetness that few others had ever managed. “If it’s in you - in your skin, and bone, and blood, and sinew - if it doesn’t frighten you and shake you, there are places I can take you…” “I can taste it!” you sang back. “I have heard the music and embraced it! Even in the wonders you have shown me!” “It’s as if you’ve always known me,” Malleus responded, and there was such a depth of meaning in the way he sang it, you suddenly knew he was doing more than playing alongside you. You swallowed thinly as the key changed once again. Your voice shook slightly as you started the next segment, watching every motion Malleus made. You could see the way muscles rippled beneath the skin as his fingers danced along the keyboard, how his shoulders dipped and swung as he swayed like a serpent where he rested, his head oscillating in a reptilian fashion as he poured all his heart into the keys.

“It’s all so beautiful,” you began, and your voice soon strengthened again. “So strange, yet beautiful. Everything just as you said!” “And they’re so beautiful,” Malleus returned, and his eyes drifted from the sheet music and the keys towards your own hands, clasped before you. “Perhaps TOO beautiful. What I suspect cannot be. Still, they seem so much like me…” Your eyes connected - yours gazing into meaning-filled green irises - as you chorused together. “I can’t look away.” For just a moment, the music paused…then, with a sort of nervousness you never saw in the elegant Phantom before, he hammered at the keys again, and returned to the piece. In a flicker of an instant, you looked askance, tucking some hair behind your ear… …And noticed the purple ribbon of his mask. In that moment, you made your mind up to do something terribly drastic. Something part of you screamed was foolish on so many levels, but the rest of you could not ignore. Suddenly, you felt the need to see beneath the mask grow more intense than ever before. You wanted to know the face behind the voice, in every detail. With an impulse you were seemingly unable to control, you began to cautiously reach towards the mask…but then Malleus jerked his head towards you, and you pulled back again. He hadn’t noticed. There was an innocent joy, a delight, almost a childish exuberance in his elegant features, as he simply continued the piece, clearly waiting for you to pick up your cue. You did so quickly, as if you weren’t planning anything. “Are you ready?” “Yes!” “Come closer.” “Yes!” “Have no fear of the Beauty Underneath.” You reached a second time…but once again, his head jerked towards you, as he nodded and chuckled between his parts. He was still oblivious as you hurriedly pulled back your hand, giving an apprehensive sort of look he clearly didn’t catch. Your heart was beating more quickly as you knew what you were going to do. Half of you kept saying this was probably wrong…but another half of you, frankly, did not care. “You can face it.” “Yes!” “You can take it.” “Yes!” “You see through to the Beauty Underneath!” Your hands trembled as the music began to race to a crescendo, and the notes both of you sang became higher and higher. You kept them clasped, holding back the urge till you felt the moment was right.

“To the splendor!” “The splendor!” “And the glory!” “The glory!” “To the truth of the Beauty Underneath!” “Beauty Underneath!” “You’ll accept it?!” “YES!” “You’ll embrace it?!” “YES!” “LET ME SHOW YOU THE BEAUTY UNDER-” “AAAAARRRRRREEEEEIIIIIAAAAARRRRRGH!” Swiftly your fingers tore away the mask. You held the porcelain and ribbon construct in one hand…and in a second, fell back against the nearest wall. If you lived to be a hundred, you felt you should always remember the superhuman cry of grief and rage which the Phantom uttered the moment the costume piece was pulled free. Malleus rose to his full height with a discordant bang upon the organ keys. He leered down at you, looming over you, as he faced you in full. In a second, his whole demeanor had changed. His fangs were bared, gritting against one another, and his hands had curled into claw-like shapes, the taloned tips more prominently displayed than ever before. There was something wild in both of his green eyes which had once smoldered beneath the surface, but never been truly visible. The tone of his voice carried an imperious, thundering quality, stronger and yet more terrible than it had ever seemed before, as it rang through the lair with a power not even the stage could have contained. “FOOL!” he roared. “YOU WANT TO SEE?! WELL, LOOK AT IT! FEAST YOUR EYES, GLUT YOUR SOUL, ON MY CURSED UGLINESS!” You didn’t have much choice. Your eyes were wide and your mouth hung agape as you gazed at the face of the Phantom of the Opera. While one side of Malleus’ face - the side the mask did not hide - was smooth and pale and seemed to be carved by an expert sculptor…the other side was quite a different story. The skin had been replaced by a collection of dark, jagged-edged scales, colored a glossy black hue. The scales caused the edges of his nose and a small portion of his upper lip - the part the mask had covered - to curl slightly, and jabbed into the edges of his hairline. When coupled with the horns and the glowing, reptilian eyes, not to mention the bared fangs…had one looked at Malleus in profile from that side, unmasked, he might have been mistaken for some sort of demon, or beastly monster. He glared down at you, still standing tall and strong, his eyes filled with an acrid look of anger and something approaching pain. It was the pain that caused your lip to start to tremble slightly. He gave you an expression that was not quite a sneer and not quite a smirk - and leaned towards you, narrowing those venomous eyes. His voice was cold and frosty, with the sinister hiss of a serpent tucked into its tones.

“Well? Are you satisfied?” he snarled, a tone of biting sarcasm snapping into his voice. “I’m a very handsome fellow, am I not? You-” He stopped short. All of the wrath, all of the betrayal, all of the sorrow, but NONE of the pain left his face. Those feelings that did leave were replaced with confusion, shock, and amazement…as you reached out and placed your hands upon the scaly, ravaged cheek. Your fingers ran over the scales, feeling their hard, somewhat sharpish edges. The texture was like snakeskin and alligator hide put together, but with a toughness that almost rock-solid, like black gemstones jutting from his flesh. You bit your lip, and uttered a single question. “Does it…does it hurt, Malleus?” Malleus looked gobsmacked. His eyes were as wide as your own. His mouth remained resolutely shut as he swallowed thinly, blinking a few times, as if bewildered by your words, actions, and reactions. “Malleus?” you urged, concern painting every syllable you spoke. “Does it hurt?” “...D-Does…it…?” You had never seen the half-dragon so completely taken aback. So totally speechless and uncertain. He seemed almost shell-shocked. Slowly, he lowered himself c loser to your level. He dropped to one knee, looking into your eyes with a look that was completely different from any before: not the gentle, tender, but somehow supercilious gaze that so often filled his optics, nor the lordly fury that he’d shown only seconds ago. Now, he seemed…vulnerable. An almost childlike wonder, mixed with a tragic puzzlement, flooding his green gaze. He somehow seemed…younger. Smaller. It was a totally unique side to him than any you’d witnessed in the past. “You’re…not…afraid?” he asked, slowly. “Why would I be?” you asked back, very honestly. Malleus didn’t blink. Didn’t move. You almost swore he had stopped breathing for a second. You had to hold back a chuckle. You knew making light of the situation was likely a bad move. You smiled sympathetically and stroked his cheek again as he shifted your posture to sit up more comfortably. “Malleus…I don’t know what made you think I’d be so scared of…this,” you said, giving his cheek a pat, then finally withdrawing your hand. One of his took its place, as if trying to absorb the warmth that lingered from your touch into his own digit-tips. “But I’m not. I’m simply not. It’s really not as bad as you think. Honestly, I think it’s kind of…interesting.” “Interesting?” he repeated, sounding as if he were tasting each syllable and trying to decide how he liked them. You nodded, smiling a bit wider. “I’m guessing this is like the horns and such, right? Sort of…a sign of your dragon side?” you presumed. Malleus nodded. His expression was finally starting to cool, but only slightly. He still looked rather baffled…perhaps even slightly suspicious. “Well, then all I’m wondering is why it’s like that, and - more importantly - if it hurts you. Like…they don’t feel…uncomfortable, or painful?” Malleus paused…then shook his head to show that, no, they did not. You sighed with relief. “Thank goodness,” you said, and then looked up with a bit of sadness in your eyes. “That was the only thing I WAS scared of. Worrying if I’d hurt you physically, or if they did.”

“Nothing else?” “Nothing else,” you promised. Malleus Draconia’s eyes flickered up and down over you…then he turned away, noticeably moving so the scaly side of his face was hidden from immediate view. “Well…you aren’t exactly the first…but you’re certainly among the few,” he murmured, sorrowfully. Your eyes shone with concern. What had he been through that he felt he had to hide his face from others? How had it ended up that way? Had he been cursed? Was it just a defect of his humanoid form? These questions, you suddenly felt, were best left unasked. He was shaking. One had to look close to know it. But you definitely had that close look. Carefully, you held out the mask to him. Malleus looked at it, ears pricking up, then up into your eyes. You smiled kindly, and nodded encouragingly. He bit his lip - an uncharacteristic action from him, up to that point - then plucked the mask from your hand before rising to his feet. Hastily, he fitted it back into place, and tied the purple ribbon to keep it there. When he turned around again, the coolness he usually held had once again covered his features, and the mask hid the scaly hide from sight. “That was…not very thoughtful of you, my dear,” he said, steadily. He didn’t sound angry, nor even disappointed. Perhaps mildly annoyed, but…mostly, he just…seemed to say it. You smiled apologetically and got to your feet before reaching out to take one of his hands in your own. He stiffened slightly, but you pretended not to notice. “I know. And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done something like that, and I promise that I won’t do it again. But…for the record…never feel you need to hide your face, or anything else, from me. I promise, I will never judge you or hurt you.” You then paused and smirked. “Besides, you lied to me.” “I…did?” Malleus blinked, questioningly. “Of course! Lilia’s cooking is WAY worse than that!” Malleus stared at you…then, his expression changed to an uncommon smile…and a bark of laughter suddenly left him. You soon found yourself laughing alongside him.

“See?” you teased. “If we can be like this, after that, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“I certainly hope not,” Malleus replied, crisply, his smiled taking on a slightly sad look. “I’m…admittedly still…reeling from what just happened, but…I’m grateful. Truly. Though I can’t guarantee I will ‘treat’ you to the sight of…”

He brushed his fingers against his mask’s edge.

“...This…very often.”

“You don’t have to,” you vowed to him. “You are my teacher, and my friend, ‘Monsieur Fantomas.’ I promise, in the future, I will show more respect to your privacy.”

“And I promise you I will attempt to keep better control of my temper.”

“Then that’s all that really matters right now,” you said, and skipped forward before placing a kiss to his masked cheek, just to show him. For the second time that night, the Phantom of the Opera seemed to blush. An awkward moment passed between you both, in silence. It was broken when a clock somewhere in the lair struck the hour. “It is, ah…getting late,” Malleus said, and went to fetch his cape. “I…shall return you to your-” “Actually…Malleus?” “Yes, Daughter of Man?” You shuffled a bit, before daring to ask: “I know after what’s happened, this may seem a bad time to check, but…could I…spend the night here? With you?” Malleus would have gaped, but he was much too proper for such a reaction. He came pretty close though. “It gets a bit lonely in my quarters at the opera house, and…after all that’s happened, I don’t really feel like taking the boat and finding our way back upstairs and so on. So…could I just…stay here? Till morning?” Malleus gazed at you for a second or two…before a smile that spoke of gratitude beyond ages split his face. “Of course, My Angel,” he said, and bowed in his usual, high-fashion manner. “I have a spare bedroom, in a secret passage adjacent to my own. Sometimes Silver needs a spot to ‘crash,’ as I think they put it.” “That will do well-” “No, no. I’LL sleep there. YOU shall take MY bed.” “B-But-!”

“No buts!” Malleus chirruped, and suddenly was right in front of you, giving your nose a teasing tap. He chuffed with amusement through his nostrils as you covered your snout to prevent further assault. “You gave me the honor of your company, and more importantly, your acceptance. You’ve been a dutiful and wonderful student…and beyond all else, one of the few people I think I can call a friend. Besides, I acted deplorably only a moment ago. So no arguments: you shall sleep in my bed tonight, and I shall take the guest room.” You thought about this for a moment…then gave a sly smile. “Compromise,” you suggested. “We’ll BOTH sleep in your bed. Side by side. Unless you object to it.” You’d half-expected Malleus to be shocked at the notion of a young lady sleeping beside him…but instead, he tilted his head, thought about it…then shrugged. “I concur. That seems a logical halfway point for us to meet at. Provided you are comfortable with it.” “I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise. And Malleus?” “Yes, Child of Man?” “Thank you. For…so many things. And I’m sorry once more.”

Malleus Draconia smiled and took your hand. He placed a chaste kiss upon it, and then led you with a serene step, conducting your movements as he had long conducted your voice. He guided you towards his bedroom, drawing back the curtain that led within. “You, my Angel of Music, have nothing to apologize for. And I have far more to thank you for than you will ever know.” With those words, the Phantom of the Opera let the curtain fall, hiding you both from view.

This, you were both sure, as you dreamed soon after, would forever be a night to remember.

The End…?

#dragon's masque au #phantom of the opera #fanfic #au fic #disney #twisted wonderland #happy birthday malleus #malleus #malleus draconia #fem!yuu #fem!reader #deuce #deuce spade #ace #ace trappola

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