hellomorganus

[hellomorganus]

Masterlist

Stories:

Helen Draiz Chapter 1

Helen Draiz Chapter 2

Helen Draiz Chapter 3

Helen Draiz Chapter 4

Helen Draiz Chapter 5

Helen Draiz Chapter 6

Helen Draiz Chapter 7

Helen Draiz Chapter 8

Helen Draiz Chapter 9

Helen Draiz Chapter 10

Helen Draiz Chapter 11

Helen Draiz Chapter 12

Helen Draiz Chapter 13

Helen Draiz Chapter 14

Helen Draiz Chapter 15

[hellomorganus]

Helen Draiz

I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. The book/musical/movies belong to their rightful owners. I only own my characters. 

CHAPTER 8

Helen had slipped away with Nadir, hastily following him to box five and disappearing into the passageway. “He’s been wasting away!” Nadir exclaimed, running his hands through his hair as he rounded a corner. “He’s refused to eat, or drink or sleep Helen! I tried everything I could.”

Helen followed him quickly, her heels slapping against the cement. Her wild brown locks came undone from her updo as she caught up with Nadir. “Why? Why has he been doing this?” she asked, gasping for air as they came to the staircase, quickly descending them. 

Nadir sighed heavily, turning to face her. “He’s in love with Christine, Helen. News about her engagement traveled fast throughout the building. His heart broke when he heard the news. And then you left.” he told her, crossing to the shore to Erik’s home. 

Nadir gazed across the water to his friend, pounding away mercilessly at the keys of his organ. “Believe it or not Miss Helen, he considers you a friend. He would have seeked out some comfort in your tea sessions but you were gone.” 

Helen felt her heart tear in two as she gazed at the masked man who suddenly stopped playing and turned in his seat. His eyes widened slightly as he caught sight of his two friends. He stumbled towards the lever to open the gate, walking out onto his shore to look at them from across the lake. 

Helen quickly glanced at Nadir before taking a hesitant step into the water. The man beside her widened his eyes as she sank further into the water. “What are you doing?” he exclaimed, looking up to Erik who was climbing into his boat. “Just wait Helen!”

The brunette girl shook her head as her shoulders sank below the water. “I can’t. A friend needs me.” she said, swimming towards the masked man. 

Erik looked up from settling into the boat to find Helen swimming his way. His eyes grew to the size of saucers, rowing towards her quickly. 

“Helen! Are you daft?” he exclaimed, coming up beside her and holding out a hand for her to grab. 

Helen laughed and took his hand, holding out her other hand and making a pinching hand motion. “A little,” she replied, gasping as he lifted her out of the lake and into the boat. 

“You mustn't swim in the lake. The catfish are very dangerous,” he chided her, digging out a blanket to wrap her in. He found one in a storage section of the boat and wrapped it around her shoulders before she sat down. 

“I guess I’m lucky I have a friend that will always be there to save me,” she smirked, looking up at him. “Now. I’m here to return the favor.”

Erik froze, looking down at her in shock. He opened his mouth to say something before Helen interrupted him, pointing to Nadir. 

“I believe your other friend is waiting patiently across the lake.” she told him, waving to the persian. “Let’s get him and then I’ll make some tea. Then we can talk, okay?”

Erik smiled lightly, slowly nodding as he prepared to row off. “Okay.” he said, pushing off and rowing to his other friend. 

                                                    ~-~-~

Helen laughed gently as Nadir finished the story, lifting his teacup back up to his lips. He had a small glimmer in his eyes that screamed ‘thank you’ to Helen when Erik took another sip from his cup. 

The girl nodded, placing her own tea cup down, smoothing out the skirts of the new dress she was wearing. Her dress that she went swimming in was drying slowly in the corner of the room, draped against a chair. The smooth peach colored fabric was tight against her waist and bosom, and the length was about an inch or two too long but other than that it fit her well. 

“Tell us about your trip Helen,” encouraged Nadir, returning his cup back to the saucer, leaning forward in his seat. 

Helen grinned, looking up at the two men. “Henry and I went to Germany. It was such a beautiful country. We mostly just enjoyed each other's company or the sights.”

“Still no proposal I take it?” Erik said gently, motioning to her bare hand. 

The girl shook her head. “Not yet. I have been catching his hand more in his pocket though. So that’s a good sign, is it not?”

Erik smiled gently and nodded. “It is. He’s planning on doing it soon. It’s only a matter of time.”

Helen’s cheeks turned a deep red as she thought about Henry proposing, her hand slowly cupping her cheek in embarrassment. She would be a wife soon. 

A soft sound of instruments rang from above the lair, catching all of their attention. Nadir smiled and stood up, bowing to Helen. “Would you do me the honor to dance with you Miss Helen?”

The brunette grinned as she placed her hand in his and bowed her head. “I would love to,” she replied, standing and following him to an open space in Erik’s home. His right hand gently rested on her hip while his other hand took her own. He grinned to her and slowly led her into a dance with the soft music playing above. 

Erik turned in his seat to gaze upon his friends dancing slowly. A sad smile spread across his features as he saw the happiness behind their eyes. Everyone in his life has had a taste of happiness with lovers, while he had none. The closest he had ever come to tasting it was with Christine. But she was in love with another. 

While they danced, both of the dancers thought about their lovers. Nadir thought of his late wife as he spun Helen into a twirl. They both shared the same hair color. He closed his eyes briefly as she came back to him, gulping when her face appeared in his mind. 

Her bright vibrant green eyes. A small gap between her front teeth. Dark full eyelashes. Soft pink lips. Her brown hair that she always wore in braids. 

He opened his eyes to find Helen gazing up at him sadly. “You miss her...don’t you?” she whispered, barely acknowledging Erik crossing the room and opening his violin case. 

Nadir nodded. “Every day,” he gasped, Helen’s hand coming behind his head and bringing his head to rest on her shoulder. 

“I’m sure she’s proud of you for continuing on without her,” she told him softly. 

The Persian nodded, slowly pulling his head from her shoulder, gazing at his friend who was tuning his violin. “My friend,” he called out to the masked man. “It is your turn to dance with Miss Helen.”

Erik looked up from the instrument, his eyes locking on both figures. “No, please continue,” he said, flicking the strings to test if they were tuned. 

His eyes shot up as two heels found their way in front of him, a hand blocking his view of the instrument. Helen gave him a gentle smile, wiggling her fingers. 

“Come. Dance with me.” she grinned, raising a brow. “Would you deny a woman a dance?”

Erik felt his lips twitch upwards as he sighed. He put his violin to the side and hesitantly nodded. “Never,” he replied, taking her hand in his own and walking to where Helen and Nadir were dancing before. 

Helen grinned as she got into position and began dancing with him. Her gaze locked with his eyes. At first glance they appeared yellow, but the harder she looked, she found brown and green flecks. She tore her gaze from his eyes, looking to their friend who sat at the organ, looking back at them. They shared a smile to each other before Helen returned her attention to Erik. The music above them was slowly dying down and just before the last note played, Nadir pressed down on the keys, playing a soft tune. Erik tensed as he looked back to his friend playing his treasured instrument but his attention fell back to the girl in front of him as she began humming quietly. 

The youngest of the three looked up at Erik with a small smile as she lifted their arms and spun herself. She made it back to the masked man and began swaying slowly. “Let him play Erik,” she told him quietly, resting her head on his shoulder. 

The man felt his breathing stop momentarily as he gazed down at the girl in front of him. They had become friends in the span of a few months. He couldn’t imagine what would have happened had he actually killed her on the night they met. Seeing the bruises on her neck the next day had made him feel proud that he had scared another member of the cast. But when the bruises didn’t disappear within a few weeks he started to feel guilt and worry for what he caused. 

Now, she clung to him as they danced, resting her head on his shoulder. Nadir’s playing grew distant to Erik as he took advantage of dancing with the woman, in fear he may never dance again. His hands slowly pulled her off of him and he spun her around so her back was on his chest. 

Helen laughed lightly, shaking her head. “This is not how I am accustomed to dancing,” she told him, a smirk on her lips. 

Erik let out a low grumble of a laugh, a carefree smile spread across his face. “No? It is a famous dance here in France.”

Helen allowed his hands to take hers and rest at her hips. After a moment of swaying back and forth in their position, he took one of her hands in his own and spun her back around to face him. “Are there any famous dances where you are from Mademoiselle?”

Helen smirked and rose a brow. “None that my mother approves of.”

Erik in turn smiled and motioned around the room with his free hand. “I do not see her,” he said. 

Helen’s smirk turned into a wide grin as she crouched down to the heels on her feet and peeled them off. She wiggled her toes from beneath her white stockings. She then lifted her skirts as she danced around Erik, linking arms with him. She laughed carefreely up at him and spun him in a few circles before stopping her dance in front of him. Her hands clung to his forearms as she caught her breath and steadied her dizziness. 

Erik was laughing along with her, his own head spinning from how many times they spun. Unbeknownst to them, their friend had stopped the music to watch the two. Nadir hadn’t seen Erik smile in years. The last time was when he met his son, at the time he was the age of 8. A whole decade had passed and Erik hadn’t smiled since. 

The Persian man gazed at the two with a certain twinkle in his eye. He could tell they were falling for each other, whether they realized it or not. Their friendship may have started out shaky with Erik nearly killing her twice but he had kept his distance from the girl when they learned of her tragic past. 

Helen sighed heavily as she peeled herself away from Erik, clinging onto her head. “I always hated dancing certain steps. Dancing...should be carefree. No rules.” she said, looking up at him before stumbling over to the loveseat and dragging her shoes over to her. “My mother always hated that I made my own steps. She especially despised how I danced barefoot in the grass.”

The two men slowly returned to their seats, watching as she put her shoes back on. Helen brushed her loose brown strands away from her face once she finished with her shoes. She looked up at the two men and smiled softly at them, about to say something when the chime of a clock went off. She turned her attention to the grandfather clock Erik had in his home and her eyes widened. She had been gone for nearly four hours. How had she lost track of time?

She abruptly stood up and ran a hand through her hair. “Oh dear, I must go,” she told them. “Henry and the others must be worrying about where I am.”

Nadir nodded and stood up with Erik. “Of course. I completely lost track of time.” Nadir said, offering her an arm. “We must return you.”

Erik looked at the two, a question gnawing at him. He gazed at Helen longingly as she checked to see if her dress was dry. It wasn’t because she turned to him with a sheepish smile. 

“Would you mind if my dress stays down here until it’s dry? I’ll come and get it once it is.”

Erik felt himself nod as he felt relieved. She would be back. “Of course, I’ll let you know once it is dry,” he told her. 

Helen grinned and nodded. “And you will be eating when I return. Even if I have to force it down your throat. Understand?” she smirked. 

Erik felt himself smile as he nodded once more. “Understood.”

                                                   ~-~-~

Just as Camille had written in her letters, Helen’s vanity was covered with roses. Some new while others were dying. She stared at the flowers, unaware that her red haired friend entered the room. 

“Who do you think they’re from?” asked the 17 year old as she came up to stand beside Helen. 

The brunette jumped lightly, turning her attention to her friend. “I...have no idea,” she mumbled, looking back at them. 

The truth was, she had a feeling that it was Erik who had left the flowers. She walked over to them and gathered them all up into a large bouquet. Should she keep them? 

She looked around her room for a place to put them and found an empty water glass on her nightstand. She quickly walked to the glass and put the flowers in it. 

Camille had taken a seat on her bed, watching Helen with a small smile. “What did the policier (policeman) talk to you about? It must have been serious, you were gone for hours.”

Helen tucked her loose strands of hair behind her ear as she turned to answer her before the girl gasped and pointed at the dress.

“And where did you get that? I’ve never seen you wear that before,” she exclaimed, looking up at her quizzly. 

Helen blushed, her hands twisting the skirts fabric into a ball as she thought over her words. “Um, well,” she laughed lightly, her mind racing. What could she say? “He, um...just wanted to...er...make sure I was alright…” she said. 

Camille rose a brow, crossing her arms. “You’re lying to me Helen. You only ever stutter when you’re lying.”

Helen glanced at their door, biting her lip. She gulped and hesitantly took a step closer to Camille, dropping to her knees. “Monsieur Khan and I are friends.” she said, taking her hands in her own. She gulped as she thought of what she should tell her. “His...son...is very ill. I went and...visited him…” she lied, hoping Camille would believe her. 

The redhead kept her brow raised as she pointed to the dress. “And this? Where did this come from?”

“...Germany…” she said slowly, wincing internally at the lie. 

Camille’s expression said she didn’t believe her stories one bit but she let it go and shrugged it off. “Alright,” she said, narrowing her eyes lightly at her. 

Helen nodded and gave her a weak smile. “I’m excited to get started on our dresses,” she said excitedly, squeezing her hands. 

“Get started?” Camille frowned, tilting her head to the side. 

Helen nodded. “Yes! Imagine us walking in at the masquerade ball in dresses of our own designs. With the fabric we chose out. Embellishments that we love. I have more than enough time to sew us our dresses.”

Camille’s judgemental face fell as a bright smile spread across her cheeks. She threw her arms around Helen’s neck, hugging her tightly. “Oh, you promise?”

Helen laughed, hugging her back. “I swear it.”

Camille grinned, pulling back, resting her hands on her friend’s shoulders. “I will help you of course! Anything you need I shall be at your beck and call. Whether it be shopping to sewing to--”

“You? Sew?” Helen smirked, raising a brow. Her friend scoffed, a playful smile on her face as she lightly swatted her, both girls joining together in a laughter fit.

[hellomorganus]

Helen Draiz

I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. The book/musical/movies belong to their rightful owners. I only own my characters.

CHAPTER 7

That Thursday, Helen did as was asked of her. After spending the evening with Christine she retreated to box five and told Erik all she had gathered. The man had almost lost his temper at a few things she had told him but kept his cool until she left. 

Now, it was the opening night of II Muto. There were finishing touches being put on the actors, the sets and the costumes. Helen was one of the lucky ones to be finishing up a costume already on Med Giry. The girls button had popped off from the corset. She had been so embarrassed when it happened, she immediately ran from the scene. Helen had raced after her, needle in hand and button in the other. It was nearly five minutes before the show started when Helen finished making sure everything else was secure. The raven haired girl hugged her tightly before rushing back to the stage. 

Helen returned to her post on the east wing of the stage, beside her red haired friend. Camille smiled at her before returning her gaze to the actors on stage. 

Helen stood beside her, watching the curtains open, an applause filling the auditorium. The music began playing and the actors rushed to the front of the stage, beginning to sing. 

Just as Helen was getting used to the sound of Carlotta’s voice bouncing off the walls, a new voice cut her off. “Did I not instruct that box five was to be kept empty?” growled Erik’s voice throughout the auditorium. 

The actors froze on the stage, some clinging to others as a form of comfort. Helen herself felt Camille grip her hand tightly, looking around the room in paranoia. “It’s the Phantom.” she mumbled. 

Helen made brief eye contact with Christine who was practically shaking her spot. “It’s him,” she barely whispered, eyes wide in fear. 

“You’re part,” Carlotta snapped, pointing her fan at the blonde, “is silent little toad!” She laughed towards the audience before going to her own maids, opening her mouth for some water to be sprayed in her mouth. 

When she was finished with that, she returned back to the stage, motioning for Monsieur Reyer to continue conducting. The actors hesitantly got back into character as the scene began again. 

“Serafimo, away with this pretence!” Carlotta began, projecting her voice throughout the room. “You cannot speak, but kiss me in my husband’s a--” 

A loud croak echoed throughout the room. It was silent for a minute before the audience and even a few cast members began laughing at the poor Spanish woman. The woman in turn stood frozen, her mouth agape in horror at the sound that just escaped from her throat. She stared at Monsieur Reyer in fear as he continued to conduct the band. 

“Poor fool he makes me laugh,” her voice trembled, preparing for the laughter when her voice croaked once more. She covered her mouth in horror as more and more croaks slipped out of her throat. 

Tears were brimming in her eyes right as the curtains closed, hiding everyone from the audience's line of view. The managers stumbled onto the stage in a rush, trying to calm down the chortling audience. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we apologize,” started Monsieur Firmin, “the performance will continue in 10 minutes’ time…”

He put his hand behind the curtain and grabbed a hold of Christine, pulling her out onto the stage. “When the role of the countess will be played by Miss Daae!” he exclaimed, motioning to the soprano. 

The audience cheered for Christine before the blonde ducked back behind the curtains to get changed into a new costume. The blonde took a hold of Helen’s hands as she ran into her dressing room. 

Helen and Christine quickly undid the clasps and buttons on Christine’s page boy costume before lacing her up in a spare countess dress. “He’s bound to do something wicked Helen,” Christine said, her blue eyes wide as she stared around the room in fear. “I can’t go up there.”

“You must,” Helen insisted, tying the corset off. “Otherwise my hard work will all be for naught.” she joked lightly. 

Christine gave her a small smile, until her eyes fell on a rose on her vanity. She gulped, walking towards it and picking it up slowly. 

Suddenly screams filled the entire opera house. Helen rushed outside of the room and to the stage to see what had caused such a commotion. She took several steps back in shock, tears welling up in her eyes at the sight of Joseph Bouquet hanging from the walkways above the stage. She made eye contact with Erik, shaking her head slowly. He crouched down and cut the rope with one swift motion, watching the stage hand drop to the stage with a thud. 

He spun on his heels and strutted towards the roof. Helen pushed past the screaming and panicking people, racing after The Phantom. Just as she was about to climb the stairs a hand caught her wrist. “Helen!” exclaimed Henry, his eyes wide with worry. “Where have you been?”

The brunette cradled his face in her hands, guilt washing over her. She hadn’t even thought about Henry during this whole ordeal. Whether or not he was okay or safe. 

“I was helping Christine. Are you alright?” she asked, clinging onto his vest in concern. “Is anybody else hurt?”

Henry shook his head, pulling her close to his chest. “I’m fine. I don’t believe anyone else is hurt, but come. We must get out of here.” he insisted, holding her head to his chest. The male then took her hand in his own and dragged her away from the staircase and towards the back entrance of the Opera Populaire. “We’ll sleep somewhere else tonight.”

Helen nodded numbly to him, watching as he grabbed one of her cloaks from the rack and throwing it on her before pulling on his own jacket. “Do you have anything you need to take with you?”

Helen slowly shook her head, looking around at all the mayhem Erik had caused. Her eyes caught the sight of a familiar Persian, leading people safely to the exit, his eyes wide with worry. “Actually, yes. I do.” she said, kissing his hand gently. “You get the carriage and I’ll grab what I need.”

“Be quick,” Henry said before going outside and doing what she told him to do. 

Helen pushed her way to Nadir, stopping in front of him. “Why the hell would he do that?” she hissed, trying her best to ignore the panic screeches from the people. 

Nadir glanced at her, motioning for people to follow the crowd. “There could be many reasons, Mademoiselle Helen. He could have gotten caught. That poor man may have gotten on his bad side. Maybe he was craving a fresh kill. I do not have any slightest of an idea.”

Helen clenched her jaw, catching sight of a bubbly blonde and her lover climbing down the stairs. “I intend to find out.” she said, cutting through the crowd, ignoring Nadir’s warnings. She climbed the stairs and burst through the doors, searching the white powdered roof for any sign of The Phantom. 

“Erik!” she called. “Where are you?”

Her head turned towards her right at the sound of snow crunching beneath a pair of feet. From around a statue came the masked man she was looking for. His shoulders were shaking terribly, from the cold or his emotions, Helen couldn’t tell. 

Hers, however, she knew. She was pissed. “Why?” she hissed, crossing her arms as she stared up at him. 

The man with golden eyes stared blankly at her before a sinister smirk came across his face. “Why not?” he hissed back, staring her up and down. 

Helen shook her head, her face flushing from the cold and anger. “Erik! Stop this. I want an actual answer. Why did you kill him?”

Erik walked around her in circles. He was eying her like candy, his hands clenched by his sides. “He deserved it. Don’t even try to deny it.”

Helen could admit Joseph was an absolute ass. She could admit he was a disgusting pig that flirted with every other girl in the building. She could admit she had wanted to slap him every time she saw him flirting with someone. But she would never wish death on anyone. “He didn’t deserve to die.”

The masked man arched a brow, stopping in front of her. He stood tall compared to her, glowering down at her. “You didn’t care about him. No one did.”

Helen hesitantly reached out for him. She ignored his comment, pulling back her hand when he took a step back.  “Erik. You need to keep a low profile now. The police will be after you. I am leaving. Please be safe. Goodbye.”

“Leaving? Where?” he asked, his gaze now locked on her. Helen shrugged lightly, tugging her cloak tighter around her body. 

“Maybe back to America for a month or two? Out of town? I couldn’t tell you Monsieur.” she replied, turning and walking to the door. “Farewell.”

She opened the door and slinked down the stairs, a frown painting on her lips. Her steps down the stairs were slow, her mind racing with questions on where she was going and how she got tangled up in this mess. 

She paused for a brief moment on the stairs, glancing over her shoulder at the door to the roof. She was friends with a murderer. With a traumatized man. A man desperate for love.

She gulped as she continued down the stairs, her eyes falling on her worried lover looking for her over the crowd. 

Helen zigzagged through the remains of the crowd, grasping tightly onto Henry's arm when she made it to him. “Let’s go,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder. 

The blonde man nodded and kissed her forehead before leading her out of the door to the carriage he had flagged down. 

                                                    ~-~-~

The young couple had decided to take a trip to Germany. They stayed there for a couple of months before Helen had insisted they return back to the Opera House. Henry reluctantly agreed, arranging a carriage for their trip back. 

Helen watched his body language carefully, taking note on his left hand tucked away in his pocket as they waited for the carriage to arrive at the Opera Populaire. The brunette woman shifted in her seat, tucking her ankle behind her opposite foot. She plucked at her gloves, anxiously watching the scenery change outside of the window. “Camille mentioned that the managers are hosting a masquerade ball on New Years,” mentioned Helen. 

While on their trip, Camille chose to stay behind, working tirelessly day and night. They wrote to each other nearly every week and in the red head’s letters, she mentioned three things. 1: The managers were hosting a masquerade ball on New Years to celebrate the Phantom disappearing for the last few months. 2: Christine Daae and the Vicomte De Changey were officially engaged and happily told the cast and anyone who would listen. And finally, 3: That every night she would find a new rose on top of Helen’s vanity. 

Both girls thought that odd, as the only person to ever give her flowers was Henry. And Henry was in Germany with her. So who could the roses be from?

Henry perked up in his seat, a gentle grin spreading across his features. “That’s exciting. We should go,” he said, reaching across to grab her hand. “What do you think?”

Helen looked over at the blonde man and nodded, smiling softly. “I would love to go,” she admitted. Henry grinned and brought her hand to his lips. 

“Wonderful.” he said, rubbing his thumb on the back of her hand. “When will you go shopping?”

Helen shrugged. “Honestly...I was thinking of just borrowing one of the costumes I’ve made.” she replied. “Though I suppose shopping with Camille would be fun.”

Henry smiled and nodded. “Just let me know and I will give you some money.”

Helen shook her head. “Henry, no. That’s your money. You keep it. We both get paid.” she insisted. Henry shook his head, laughing quietly. 

“My love, I am a musician. You are a maid. I have money to spare. Let me spoil you,” he begged, kissing her palm. “Please my love.”

Helen gently rubbed his cheek, reluctantly agreeing. “Alright,” she whispered. 

They soon arrived at the Opera House, both feeling a sort of weight on their shoulders. They were back to the location of a horrible tragedy. Camille had mentioned Joseph Bouquet’s funeral in her letter but supposedly not a lot of people went. Only his closest friends went. Not even his remaining family arrived for his funeral. Within a month, everyone forgot about him. They moved on with their lives as if nothing happened. 

Henry hopped out of the carriage, offering her a hand out. Helen gratefully took it, stepping out onto the pavement in front of their home. She grinned and kissed his cheek before she let go of his hand. “It feels good to be back,” she said quietly. 

Henry hummed, looking up at the building. “To an extent.” he replied, moving to grab their bags. 

Helen smirked at his comment, taking her bag from his hands, walking up the steps slowly with him trailing behind. The brunette girl opened the door for Henry, letting him go in first before following. She nearly jumped in surprise when a bunch of female voices cried out her name. Two stood out more than the others. She looked up the stairs to find Camille, Christine and a few other ballet girls. 

The two main girls were grinning and excitedly waiting for her to reach them. Helen laughed, shaking her head in amusement. When she and Henry finally reached them, she was embraced by the two girls. 

“How was the trip?” Christine asked, both girls pulling away.

Helen and Henry shared a look, smiling softly to each other. “Exactly what we needed.” she replied, turning back to her friends. “What about you two? Anything exciting happen while we were gone?”

Christine blushed, sharing a look with Camille before showing them both the engagement ring on her finger. “Raoul proposed,” she told Henry and Helen, a grin plastered on her face. 

Helen smiled and gently took a hold of Christine’s hand, admiring the ring, trying her best to ignore Henry’s stare going between her and the ring. 

“Congratulations!” Helen exclaimed, holding her hand tightly. “We must celebrate!”

Christine laughed quietly, squeezing her hand back just as tightly. “No celebrations are necessary. Raoul and I are just happy to share the news with our friends and his family.” 

Helen grinned and released her hand, looking to Henry to find his hand in his left pocket. Again. 

She gave him a small smile and looped her arm with his. “Ready to face the managers?”

Henry laughed, taking his hand out of his pocket as he turned to her. “I am more ready to face them than I am of Monsieur Reyer.” he joked. 

All three girls laughed, turning to walk further into the Opera House, only to freeze at the sight of a familiar policeman. 

Nadir stood a bit uncomfortably, staring straight at Helen. “May I speak to you Mademoiselle Helen?” he asked, his hands shaking gently. “It’s urgent.”

[hellomorganus]

Helen Draiz

I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. The book/musical/movies belong to their rightful owners. I only own my characters.

CHAPTER 6

Nadir led Helen down the dark and dingy halls in between the walls, his hand tightly holding onto her own so they wouldn’t get separated. He looked over his shoulder at the young girl and smiled knowingly with a twinkle in his eye. Erik had made a new friend whether he realized it or not. 

They soon could hear water the further they traveled downwards. Nadir led her to the shore, across from the entrance to Erik’s home. He smiled lightly, cupping his hand around his mouth as he called out to his friend. 

The man in question stood from his organ and walked towards a space where he could see who was calling out to him. Helen saw him visibly stiffen as he saw them, probably wondering who she was. 

“It’s Nadir and Helen, Monsieur!” she called to him, hoping he would relax. 

The masked man stepped into a boat and began leading it towards their spot on the shore, lifting the gate up. He stopped the boat in front of the shore, holding out his hand for Helen to take as she stepped into it. 

She gratefully did and cautiously sat down, Nadir following suit. She looked down at the lake beneath the boat and grinned, gently running her fingertips along the surface. 

Her eyes widened and she ripped her hand out of the water at the sight of something swimming in it. “What the hell is that?” she cried, cradling her hand to her chest as she stared at the thing. 

“Catfish,” both Nadir and Erik replied nonchalantly before Erik rowed them back to his home, closing the gate on the way back in. 

Helen looked at the two of them as if they were insane but forced herself to shrug it off. She held onto the sides of the boat as both of the men got out, Nadir offering her a hand to get out. She smiled and accepted his hand, stepping out onto the shore, thanking him. 

She walked around Erik’s home, gnawing at her lip. There was more sheet music flung around. It wasn’t messy per say, but her maid instincts were kicking in. She hesitantly picked up a few from the ground that were crumpled up into balls. She sighed as she unraveled it and smoothed out the paper. “Been hard at work I see, Monsieur Erik.” she said, giving him a side glance as she read over the music, humming silently to herself. 

“Yes,” he replied, snatching the music from her hand and crumpling it up again. “I’m very busy.”

Nadir cleared his throat. “Then I will make this quick my friend,” he said, stepping closer to Erik. He lowered his voice so Helen couldn’t hear, whispering hastily into his ear. 

Helen narrowed her eyes at the two men before picking up another sheet music, her eyes soaking up every note and line. She smiled as she began humming the song quietly, taking a seat in the loveseat from the night before. 

Erik scoffed, shaking his head at Nadir. “Absolutely not.” he replied, turning back to his music. 

“Erik. Of all the time we’ve known each other, not once have I ever asked a favour from you. This is the one time.” Nadir pushed, taking the sheet music in his friend’s hands. “Please.”

Erik glared at his friend, taking his music back. “You know how I feel about that topic Daroga. My final answer is no.”

The Persian glared at Erik before his gaze fell to Helen. “Miss Helen,” he began, walking towards her. “Would you say I’m being unreasonable to want my dear friend here to visit the hospital with me?”

Helen furrowed her eyebrows, tilting her head. “Hospital..? For what?”

Nadir smiled sadly. “My son Mademoiselle Helen. He and Erik were very close when he was younger, but I’m afraid he’s grown ill the last few years. He is close to his death bed. All he wants is for Erik to visit him one last time. Is that too much to ask for?”

Helen sat up straighter. “I did not know you had a son,” she said, placing the music on the table before standing up. “I don’t think it’s...unreasonable. But I could understand why Monsieur Erik is hesitant.”

Erik turned to look at her in surprise. “You do?” he asked.

Helen nodded, standing between them so she could watch the two of them. “I am assuming you don’t want anyone to know of your identity as The Opera Ghost. Or want people to question why you wear a mask. So I can understand your perspective.” She then turned to Nadir. “But I can also understand yours. Your son is dying and only wishes to see his childhood friend again. Is it possible to compromise? Can he leave the hospital?”

Nadir slowly shook his head. “They believe it is not wise of him to leave. He is under strict bedrest.” 

Helen hummed in thought as she looked between the two. “What if...you didn’t go alone?” she asked Erik. 

The male shook his head. “No. Tell him I hope he can forgive me Nadir, for I will not be going.”

Nadir sank his shoulders, sighing to himself. “Fine then. I will let him know,” he mumbled before walking off to another secret passage. 

Helen stood awkwardly in the room as Erik played the song before crossing out and rewriting a few things on the paper. She bit her lip as she collected the music sheet from earlier, bringing it over to him. “Monsieur Erik. I believe this can still be a beautiful piece. I just feel like this phrase is off.”

The Phantom gazed at the paper, his head shaking slightly, smirk on his lips. “Pray tell what you believe it should be then.”

Helen thought silently for a minute before yanking his fountain pen from his hand and scratching out the phrase. She wrote in the phrase she believed fit in well with it. “How about this?”

Erik took the pen and paper from her grasp, reading the phrase aloud. “Past the point of no return?” he repeated. 

Helen nodded. “Oui (Yes), they are both fighting their instincts in this song, are they not? And then around this measure is when they finally cave into their feelings for one another.” she pointed out. She smiled, looking at him for input. “I feel like that phrase shows just how much emotion is in their words. What do you think?”

Erik sat there silently as he took in what the girl had said. He slowly nodded, turning his head to look at her. “Do you sing Mademoiselle?”

                                                 ~-~-~

Helen hummed to herself as she sewed on a few finishing touches for Christine’s costume. Her humming soon became quiet singing as her fingers trailed along the seams as she sewed them shut. 

When she was finished with Christine’s she turned to grab Carlotta’s off the rack, jumping when she saw a figure in the doorway watching her. 

She let out a small shriek, placing a hand over her chest as the intruder laughed lightly. “Are you alright? Did I scare you that badly?” asked the blonde intruder. 

Helen looked up at Christine, trying to catch her breath as the girl stepped into the small sewing room. “Yes!” she exclaimed, falling back in her chair as she too began laughing. “What can I help you with Christine?”

The blonde girl shrugged lightly, examining her costume. “Where did you learn to sing like that?” she asked.

Helen blushed, grabbing Carlotta’s dress to add a few more pearls and gems to the bodice. “My mother,” she lied, threading the jewels on her needle. 

Christine grinned nodding. “She taught you well. And that song you were singing was beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, looking up at the girl. “Did you want to try on your costume while you’re here?”

Christine nodded, taking the costume before slipping behind a changing screen and trying it on. “I came here to ask a question,” she admitted. 

Helen nodded, holding the needle between her teeth as she fixed the position of a pearl. “Ask away,” she replied between the needle. 

Christine stepped out from behind the screen, patting down the costume. “There has been talk...about you with the stagehands. They’ve been saying...you have been…”she trailed off. 

“Sleeping around?” finished the brunette, looking up at her with a small frown. “They’re not true.”

“I know that,” Christine replied, playing with her fingernails. “Where...have you been sneaking out to, though?” she asked, looking up at her from her fingernails. 

Helen gulped, tying off the jewel as she thought over her answer. She couldn’t tell Christine she had been sneaking off the visit The Phantom every night. “The roof,” she replied slowly.

The blonde turned to look at her after examining herself in the mirror. “Really?” she asked, patting down the vest of the costume.

Helen nodded, avoiding her eyes as she threaded another pearl to the bodice. “Yes, really.” she replied, glancing up at the thin girl. “Does it fit alright?”

Christine nodded, looking back in the mirror. “It’s perfect Helen.” she replied, pulling her blonde locks into a ponytail like she would during the production. “Thank you.”

Helen nodded, finishing up Carlotta’s bodice. “You’re welcome.”

Christine bit her lip as she turned to look at her, releasing her hair. “I thought you were a maid here?”

Helen shrugged. “I am. But sometimes the seamstresses need help. So I volunteer.”

Christine nodded, looking at the pink bodice of Carlotta’s dress. “It’s beautiful.”

Helen grinned, standing up and draping the dress on a mannequin. “It is but it’s almost too pink.”

Christine laughed quietly, nodding in agreement. “Our prima donna loves a bright pink, I much prefer a softer color of pink.” she admitted, her fingers grazing over the lace on the sleeves of the dress.

Helen smiled, nodding. “Pink seems like your color Christine.” she told her as she began packing up the needles and thread. 

“I wish I could pull off darker colors like you. Blue, purple, black...they just don’t go with my skintone.”

Helen snorted lightly. “I don’t think those are my colors. I adore the colors red and yellow.” she replied, putting the thread back where they belonged. “Those colors go well with my hair.” 

Christine nodded as she watched the girl before deciding to change back into her clothes. She changed back into her evening dress, folding up the costume in her arms as she emerged from behind the screen. “Do you not own the colors? I’ve never seen you wear them.”

Helen shook her head, taking the costume from Christine’s hands. “No, they’re too expensive here. I have plenty of dresses in those colors back at my home in America. That’s how I know,” she replied, tucking Christine’s costume into a safe place until the show.

Christine grinned, taking her hand once the costume was put away. “We should go shopping then! I know a few stores that sell those colors for cheap prices,” she smirked, giving her a little wink. “When are you free next?”

Helen chuckled, thinking over her schedule. “I believe I am free this Thursday,” she replied, looking at the girl. “You, unfortunately, have rehearsal.”

Christine smiled lightly, nodding. “I do, but perhaps afterwards we can go out?”

The brunette nodded, a grin on her face. “That sounds lovely. I can’t wait.”

Christine clapped her hands excitedly as she bid her goodnight. She waved to her as she slipped out of the room. Helen made sure everything was where it belonged before calling it a night. She sighed, undoing her hair, running her fingers through her waves. “I know you are their Monsieur Erik,” she called into the empty room. “You can come out.”

The Phantom took hesitant steps out of the shadows, closing the door as quickly and silently as possible. He looked up at the brunette, frowning. “How did you know?”

Helen shrugged, smirking. “I just felt your eyes on me.” she replied, untangling a few knots. “What do I owe this pleasure for?”

Erik sighed, glancing at the door. “I need you to find something out for me.” he mumbled. 

The girl tilted her head at the request. “What would I be finding out for you Monsieur?”

The masked man in turn gulped as he walked to Carlotta’s dress, examining the embellishments. “It’s about Christine and the Vicomte.” he said slowly, running his gloved fingers over the lace. “Find out what their relationship is.”

“I already know that,” she replied, watching him carefully. “The Vicomte and Christine have been courting for a few months now. How did you not know?”

His shoulders tightened as he stood straighter. He took his hands away from the dress, his hands clenched into fists by his side. He brushed off her question, turning to look at her. “A few months you say?”

Helen nodded, throwing her hair into a side ponytail. “Oui (Yes),” she replied, narrowing her eyes at him. “Why did you want to know?”

“You shouldn’t concern yourself with that Mademoiselle.” he snapped, glaring at her. “Find out all you can on Thursday. I will meet you in box five that night. Understood?”

Helen jumped back at his snapping, slowly nodding. “Yes Monsieur,” she replied, watching him nod and return back to the shadows where he came from.

[hellomorganus]

Helen Draiz

I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. The book/musical/movies belong to their rightful owners. I only own my characters.

CHAPTER 5

Helen examined her surroundings, fiddling with the sleeves on her robe as Erik made tea in his kitchen. He had brought her down to his home, instead of the kitchen in the opera house because she had wanted to talk freely without any fear of eavesdroppers. It was dark and cold in his home but Helen didn’t dare mention anything. He had already given her enough grief about him not wanting any visitors but he caved at the mention of any eavesdroppers. 

He returned with the tea shortly after, placed the tray on the small table in front of Helen and a loveseat that he sat in. “Thank you,” the brunette grinned, gently lifting her cup off the tray and placing it in front of her. 

Erik nodded, his eyes never leaving her. He seemed a bit more on edge, especially having a stranger in his home. The place he felt the most safe. She was practically invading his space. He should have said no to tea. 

Helen sipped on her tea quietly, trying her best to ignore him staring at her. She went back to scanning the area, a small smile tugging at her lips. There was music sheets everywhere and several instruments hidden away in their cases. Helen grinned when her gaze caught sight of an organ. 

“Your home is beautiful Monsieur.” she told him as she turned her gaze back to him. 

Erik ran his hands down his thighs nervously. “Thank you,” he whispered, continuing to eye her. “What was it...you wanted to talk about?”

Helen looked back up at him, observing how nervous he was. He had hung up his cape and hat, leaving him in his normal attire. He probably felt bare. She looked down over her own attire and smirked lightly. He felt bare compared to her? 

“Well Monsieur,” Helen started, lifting her cup to her lips. “I didn’t really have a topic in mind. I just wanted to talk.”

Erik nodded, gulping as Helen took another sip of tea, leaving his own cup untouched. His breathing was quickening just slightly throughout the moment of silence, making Helen anxious. He probably wanted her to leave. This interaction was too much for him.

Helen bit her lip and thought of topics to talk about when her eyes flashed towards the music sheets. “Perhaps you’d give me the honor of knowing what you’ve been composing?” she suggested, smiling softly to him. 

Erik’s hands paused on his thighs as he examined her. Sitting up straighter, he finally composed himself and shook his head. “None of them are finished. They are for an opera.”

Helen nodded, gently putting her tea down. “I’m sure they’re lovely. You will finish them soon enough.”

The Phantom once again was uncomfortable with the silence, running his hands along his pant legs once more. The woman sighed to herself, playing with the ends of her hair as she thought of what to talk about. It should be something that would make him comfortable with the situation. Comfortable around her. 

“Mademoiselle Helen,” Erik said suddenly, his eyes flashing to her’s. “If you...don’t mind my asking...where are you from? You have an accent I have never heard before.”

Helen blushed, grinning at him. “I’m from the U.S. Monsieur. Born and raised in Boston, Massachusetts.” she told him. 

“What...brought you to France?” he asked, gulping a bit as he reached for his tea. 

Helen thought about how to answer that. “I suppose...my brother’s death did indirectly.” she answered, sipping on her tea as she thought about her elaboration. “My brother wanted to travel the world. And he promised to bring me. But he died before we could do it together, so I’m adventuring for him.”

Erik nodded understandingly, holding his tea cup with both hands. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Helen smiled, “Thank you,” she whispered before sipping on her tea again. They sat in silence once more before Helen briefly cleared her throat. “May I ask you something Monsieur?” she asked, running her fingers along her ring finger. 

The Phantom shifted in his seat before nodding. “You may,” he replied, watching her anxiously. 

Helen took in a deep breath before looking up at him. She licked at her lips nervously as she thought of how to go about her question. “You’re a man…” she started, tapping her fingers against her teacup. “Do...well, um...do all men want to marry at some point in their lives? And...let’s say if they are planning on proposing, do they...carry the ring with them?”

The man furrowed his eyebrows at the question. He definitely wasn’t expecting that as her question. He gulped as he thought over her questions. “Well,” he mumbled, thinking back to all of the men he’d met in his lifetime that fancied women and gotten married. “I suppose maybe not all but most men would want to settle down with the woman they love and marry. Start a family.”

Helen leaned forward, intently taking in his answers as she thought of Henry. Maybe he was one of the few who didn’t want to marry? But, if that was true, then why would they be courting. Courting usually led to marriage. “And...do they carry the ring with them? Everywhere?”

Erik slowly nodded, his own thoughts drifting to the ring secured in his pocket for Christine. “I believe so, yes.”

The brunette nodded, her smile faltering as she sat up straighter. “Thank you,” she mumbled, taking another sip of her tea. 

“May I ask why you would inquire about such a thing?” Erik decided to push, following her actions. 

Helen sighed, lowering her shoulders. “I have been courting a violinist here for about two years now. And he has yet to show any interest in proposing. Am I doing something wrong?”

Erik couldn’t help but smirk as he shook his head. “No child. It’s the boy.” he replied, sipping at his tea.

“What do you mean?” Helen asked, leaning forwards again.

Erik pursed his lips as he placed the tea cup down. “He is simply nervous. The man in question is Monsieur Henry is it not?” 

Helen nodded, placing her own teacup down. “How did you know?”

The Phantom smirked, motioning around his home. “The Phantom has eyes everywhere Mademoiselle.” he replied mysteriously before leaning forward like her and clasping his hands together, slowly becoming more comfortable around her. “I have seen the way he is around you. Have you noticed how his left hand is always in his pocket when near you?”

Helen shook her head, gnawing on her lip as she listened silently. 

“That is where he has been hiding the ring my dear. I have seen him in his room late at night writing for hours. Most likely his proposal speech or ideas. He does plan on marrying you someday, he is just scared to act upon it.”

Helen’s face lit up as she learned the news. One of her hands held her flustered cheeks as she thought of Henry nervously coming up with ideas on how to propose to her. And the ring that was tucked away in his pocket. She couldn’t help but giggle at the information. 

“Thank you,” she beamed at the man, her smile still ever present on her lips. 

Erik nodded, enjoying seeing the girl as happy as she was. He felt the corners of his lips turn upwards, a ghost of a smile rising on his face. “You are ever welcome Mademoiselle Helen.”

They both finished their tea and both decided it was time for Helen to return to her room to at least try and get some sleep. Erik led her back to her room, opening the wall for her to exit out of. Before she stepped out into the hall, she turned to face him. 

“Thank you for tonight,” grinned Helen. She chewed on the inside of her lip anxiously. “Can we do it again some other time?”

The masked man felt his lips twitch upwards and his head move up and down on it’s own. Helen, upon receiving the nod grinned even more and curtsied. “Until next time then Monsieur.” she said before turning and walking down the hall.

Erik closed the wall’s entrance before reaching into his pocket and pulled out the box. He opened it carefully examining the ring closely, trying to picture it on Christine. When would he propose?

                                                    ~-~-~

“Guess what, guess what, guess what?” grinned Helen as she spun Henry around to face her. 

Henry chuckled, swinging their arms back and forth. “What?” he smirked, looking down at her excited face. 

“I, good sir, have the rest of the day off.” she grinned, throwing her hands up in the air and spinning in place to show off how happy she was. 

The blonde boy chuckled as he watched her with adoration, crossing his arms. He took his hand in his own and began twirling her, dipping her backwards and placing a kiss of her lips. “That is wonderful news my love,” he grinned, lifting her back up. 

Helen sighed contentedly, resting her head on his shoulder. “And I...would like to spend it with you.”

Henry smiled and played with the ends of her hair, swaying them back and forth. “I like that idea...but…”

“No,” whined the brunette. “No buts. Buts are always bad.”

Henry smiled sadly, nodding. “But...I have to get back to rehearsal. The show is in two weeks, remember?”

Helen huffed, kissing his jawline. “Please? Not even for an hour?”

The boy smiled, gently peeling her lips away from him. “As much as I would love to say yes, I have to decline. But...the last night of our show, I’m all yours.”

Helen frowned and nodded, pulling back and kissing his cheek. “All mine?” she repeated, looking up at him. 

Henry nodded. “All yours.”

“I’m holding you to that promise.” she swore before walking away from him. She waved him goodbye before walking over to her red haired friend. 

Camille, the ever loyal friend to them both, had admitted to Henry about finding Helen’s bed empty recently in the middle of the night and sneaking back in a few hours before sunrise. Last night was around the fourth time Camille had noticed. Word flew around the stagehands of Helen’s disappearances late at night, some claiming they even had their way with her. This upset Henry in many ways. He was upset to know that Helen wasn’t getting enough sleep. Upset that the stagehands would say such horrible things about his innocent love. But a small part of him feared they were true. Why else would she stay up all night?

Helen linked arms with Camille, sighing sadly. “He says he has to get back to rehearsal,” she told her friend, leading her down the hall towards their room. “Maybe we could do something together?”

Camille blushed, biting her lip. “Actually Helen…” she started, smiling guiltily. “I have somewhere to be.”

“Oh?” Helen said, raising her eyebrow. “May I know some details?”

Camille blushed, and lowered her gaze to the ground. “Do you know Jean?” she started, twirling her hair around her finger. 

Helen thought for a moment, opening their bedroom door. “The one that tends to the horses?” she asked. 

Camille nodded, her cheeks darkening. “Yes, him. Well,” she gulped, tugging lightly on her hair as she walked towards her wardrobe to find a dress. “We are going on an outing.”

Helen gasped, holding her hand to her chest. “And you’re just telling me this now?” she asked in fake betrayal. 

The 17 year old laughed, pulling out a green dress and black shoes. “Je suis desole (I’m sorry),” she said, laying the dress down on her made bed. “We haven’t had the chance to work close together recently. And...well...you’re never in bed.”

Helen frowned lightly, nodding. “I understand Camille.” she replied, biting the inside of her cheek. “We’ve both been busy.”

Camille nodded, slowly undressing and pulling on the green dress. She slid on her nicer shoes and finished by releasing her hair from the messy bun she threw it in that morning. She added a touch of makeup before grabbing any of necessary accessories. When she was done she turned to Helen for approval. 

Helen gave her a nod and two thumbs up, ushering her off for her date. She waved to her friend from their doorway, holding onto her arms as she watched the girl disappear around a corner. 

She was now alone. 

Helen sighed, pushing off of the doorway and walking down at the halls, hoping to run into a familiar face. And that she did. 

She grinned when she caught sight of the Persian’s face, quickening her pace to walk beside him. She looked up at him, finally catching up. “Good evening Monsieur Khan.”

The man gave her a warm smile, nodding his head towards her. “Good evening to you as well Mademoiselle Draiz.”

Helen shook her head, a smile widening on her face. “You don’t have to use formalities around me Monsieur.”

Nadir nodded once more, rounding a corner with her. “Of course Helen. Tell me, what do I owe this pleasure?”

Helen shrugged, folding her hands over each other. “I just wanted to talk to you Monsieur.” she admitted before lowering her voice. “Thank you for what you did the other night. He would have killed me if you weren’t there.”

The man smirked, shaking his head. “He wouldn’t have.” he told her, sighing. “He took an oath to not kill any women since the incident a few years ago.”

Helen furrowed her eyebrows, intrigued. “Incident?” she repeated, lifting up her skirt as they began climbing stairs, most likely leading to the boxes. 

Nadir nodded, looking around him anxiously for anyone watching them. “Yes Mad--Helen. He swore he would never kill any women after that. His bark is bigger than his bite.”

Helen smiled, nodding. He was a kind man once they both got over their stubborn shell. “I know,” she grinned, quietly counting the boxes as they passed. She followed Nadir into box five and looked around at the beautiful interior. She never came inside the box during the day

“Are you joining me Helen?” asked the man as he stood at a wall. “He may enjoy more company.”

Helen bit her lip as she thought it over. Henry would be rehearsing for a few more hours and Camille wouldn’t be returning any time soon. She hesitantly nodded and walked over to him. “I would love to join you Monsieur.”

[hellomorganus]

Helen Draiz

I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. The book/musical/movies belong to their rightful owners. I only own my characters.

CHAPTER 4

Helen really had no idea how she didn’t die right then and there, glaring up at The Phantom. The policeman, Nadir, stood anxiously to the side, ready to stop any fighting that might occur. The Phantom was examining the girl that had so bravely taunted him. It was like she had a death wish. 

“Tell me.” she said, her hands shaking. The Phantom smirked at her shaking hands. She was hiding her fear very well on her face but the rest of her body was giving her away. 

“She ran,” he hissed, taking a step closer to intimidate her. She stood her ground despite her quivering becoming more visible. “She ran, I caught her. Simple as that.”

Helen gulped, her mouth going dry as he took another step closer. “Like cat and mouse?” she said, her lips pursed. “Why’d she run?”

Nadir watched his friend closely, hesitantly taking a step closer. Helen turned her head to face him, holding her hand out to him, telling him to stop. 

The Phantom now stood in front of her. “I really don’t see how that is any of your goddamn business.” he hissed, towering over her. 

Helen glared up at him, crossing her arms. “Sir, men should never lay a hand on a lady. For any reason. When we want to be touched, we’ll let you know. She clearly did not want to be touched. That’s why she ran.” she stated. 

The Phantom’s eyes widened just slightly at what she was accusing him of. His hand went around her throat, squeezing tightly. “Are you accusing me of raping her?” 

Nadir ran to help the brunette, gently placing his hands on his friend’s arm, urging him to let go. Helen, despite having difficulty breathing, answered in short breaths. 

“If you...didn’t...why did...she run?” she croaked, nearly falling over when his hand left her throat. 

Nadir caught her, glaring at his friend as he examined her. “You mustn't say those things Mademoiselle.” he warned her, feeling her neck for anything wrong. 

The Phantom stared the girl down, his hands clenching by his sides. “Daroga. Get her out of here before I actually kill her.”

Nadir nodded, wrapping his arms around her as he began to lead her to the hall outside of the box. 

“No!” she gasped, pulling herself away from him. She spun to face The Phantom who’s shoulders were shaking. “I’m sorry I accused you of rape.” she said, slowly walking back in front of him. When she looked up to him she saw a mask in the glimmer of the ghost light. He stepped back into the shadows, his hazel eyes glossy with tears. “It was horrible of me. But how could I not think that is what happened? She saw the bruises you gave me and knew I had met you. She stared out of the window with a longing look. Like she wanted to escape.” 

The Phantom shook his head, jumping a bit when Nadir placed a hand on his shoulder. “That does not mean I raped her.” he said. 

Helen nodded, looking down at the floor. “I know...from experience what that look is like. To look at the marks and want to escape…” she admitted, rubbing her wrist anxiously. “And when you said she ran...I just assumed. Forgive me.”

Nadir looked her up and down a frown forming on his lips. He sighed, looking between them as he waited for The Phantom to speak. When he did not, he bit his lip. “Erik...say something for Heaven’s sake.”

The Phantom, Erik, looked at Nadir when he said his name so openly in front of a trespasser. He looked towards Helen, his shoulders slumping slightly. “You did not need to tell us that.”

Helen shrugged, giving them both a small smile. “It was forever ago.” she said sadly, walking over to Erik and holding out her hand. “My name is Helen Draiz, Monsieur Erik.” she said. “I hope you can forgive me.”

                                                       ~-~-~

The next day Helen had been requested by Christine Daae instead of doing her work. The brunette complied, now walking towards her bedroom. As she walked, the hairs on her neck stood up tall, sensing eyes on her. She hesitantly looked over her shoulder to examine her surroundings only to find no one watching her. She bit her lip, speeding her pace as she tried to escape the watchful gaze as quickly as possible. 

Knocking on Christine’s door, she waited anxiously for a reply as the staring continued. The blonde woman answered the door, pulling her in and shutting the door quickly, locking it. 

She then spun to face Helen, her eyes wide. “What did you do?” she hissed, pacing her room. 

“What?” Helen frowned, crossing her arms. 

Christine gulped, freezing in her place, anxiously watching a corner that was shrouded in shadows. “He visited me this morning. Begging for forgiveness. What did you do?”

Helen frowned, slumping her shoulders at the thought of The Phantom begging for forgiveness. Her comment must have really upset him. “I...accused him of something I shouldn’t have. I apologized almost immediately after but...it must have stuck with him.”

Christine nodded, hesitantly taking a seat after examining the shadows more closely. She wrapped her arms around herself, anxiously biting at her lip. 

Helen watched her carefully before going over to the bedside table and examining the new bowl of berries. She had eaten nearly half. She sighed, tracing her fingers along her neck. “Christine...you should go off to rehearsal.” she told her softly. 

The blonde lifted her head towards Helen, frowning. “I’m the page boy. I have no lines,” she said softly, slowly peeling her arms away from herself. 

Helen sighed, nodding slightly. “How about we walk around the city then? We can talk some more about our...predicament with our friend.”

Christine scoffed lightly at the last word Helen used before nodding. “I would like that.” she replied.  

Helen grinned, nodding. “Then let’s get you ready, shall we?” she replied, going over to the blonde’s closet to pull out a dress for the girl. Christine settled on a light blue dress that complemented her blonde curls and soft features. After the corset was tightened, Helen helped Christine slip the dress on. 

Christine chose to wear a pair of her white laced boots and finished the look with a white hat. She gave the maid a sheepish smile before examining her uniform. “Would you like to borrow something?” she offered. 

Helen blushed, gazing down at her simple attire compared to Christine’s. A white blouse with a black skirt was what she wore, her apron thrown on top. She hesitantly shook her head, peeling the apron off. “Thank you but I wouldn’t want to ruin any of your dresses.”

The blonde woman nodded and followed Helen out of her room to explore the streets of Paris. They traveled down the stone paved road, chatting amongst themselves over several topics. Christine told Helen of her lover Raoul, who was the patron of the opera house, and how they had been childhood sweethearts. Helen told the girl of her situation with Henry and how they had traveled from America in hopes of adventure. It was originally just going to be her, but Henry insisted that he come along. 

When they stopped at a cafe for some tea, their talking started getting less lighthearted and more serious. Christine had explained what had happened to her for that week she went missing. She and Helen had shared their experiences with The Phantom, soon learning that they both knew his real name. Erik had fallen in love with Christine as he taught her how to sing like an angel. He had tricked her into believing he was the angel of music and a friend of her deceased father’s. Christine had taken off his mask and he in turn lost his temper. According to Christine he shouted curses at her, chasing her around his home before grabbing her wrist. Then he fell down to his knees and started sobbing, hiding his face in her skirts. 

Helen tried to imagine The Phantom breaking down in tears in front of her. Tried to picture the face Christine tried explaining but gave up after she said, “corpse-like,”. The brunette girl nodded understandingly as they shared their hushed stories. 

When the clock rang at 4:00 they decided to head back to their home. Helen walked Christine back to her room, insisting she eat and drink more. If she was to surpass Carlotta then the new prima donna would have to be healthy enough to outshine her. 

                                                  ~-~-~

Helen sat anxiously in box five later that night, writing down in her journal. She sighed as she looked around the dark box, expecting him to be here like he has the few other times. She waited impatiently for him for 45 minutes before giving up. She stood from her seat and grabbed her things before leaving the dark box. 

She walked across the stage silently, freezing when she heard a few laughs from where she was heading. She narrowed her eyes at the area, trying to decipher who it may have been. Not to her surprise, she saw it was two stage hands, drinking away happily. 

She rolled her eyes and was about to continue walking when she heard a whisper come from her right. “Not that way Mademoiselle.” urged the man’s voice. 

Helen turned her head towards the darkness. She gulped as she felt someone's eyes on her, watching her from the shadows. “Monsieur Phantom?” she asked quietly, walking towards the voice. “Is that you?”

“Yes Mademoiselle Helen. You mustn’t go near them. They’ve been drinking since noon. No doubt they’d take advantage of a lonesome girl.” he replied, holding out a hand for her to grab in the small amount of light. 

Helen hummed, taking his hand. “Thank you,” she replied, linking arms with him. 

The Phantom nodded, pulling her into the shadows. “Let’s find you a different way to your room.” he said quietly, eyeing the two men drinking. 

Helen followed Erik closely, gnawing on her lip. She couldn’t imagine having to go through something like that again. For them to hear yes when she said no. She closed her eyes as she tried to force the memories from her mind, unconsciously gripping onto his arm. 

Erik felt her grip tighten on him and gently placed his other hand on top of hers. “You’re safe Mademoiselle. I won’t let that happen to you again.”

Helen let out a shaky breath, nodding. “Thank you again…” she whispered, opening her eyes. She walked beside him in silence as he led her down a hall, stopping in front of a wall. He placed his hands on it, searching for something. When he finally found it, he took a hold of it and pulled, revealing a secret passageway in the wall. 

He led her down the passageway silently. The only sound was their breathing and their footsteps. 

Helen bit her lip and looked up at the masked man, trying to imagine what Christine had told her. She lowered her gaze to their shoes, suddenly feeling very guilty. She had accused him of rape. She had seen the tears in his eyes. 

“Monsieur Erik…” she whispered, tossing her dark hair over onto her shoulder as she stopped walking. “I just wanted to apologize for last night again...is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

The Phantom watched her as she shifted from foot to foot, fiddling with her hair. He bit his lip, straightening his posture. “I’ve forgiven you Mademoiselle. You don’t need to do anything.”

Helen wasn’t satisfied, taking a few steps closer to him. “Please. Let me do something for you.”

Erik took a step back at their closeness. “There is nothing I want.” he replied sternly, crossing his arms.

Helen pursed her lips before sighing. “Not even a cup of tea?”

The brunette knew she was being persistent. She knew if she went back to her room she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep for hours. “Please. I just want to talk for a bit longer.”

Erik sighed before hesitantly nodding. “Fine. Come along now.” he said, offering her his hand.

[hellomorganus]

Helen Draiz

I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. The book/musical/movies belong to their rightful owners. I only own my characters.

CHAPTER 3

Helen and Camille chatted quietly amongst themselves as they cleaned and polished the grand foyer. Other maids were present in the room as well, gossiping about the missing soprano that disappeared a week ago. She left no note or clue as to where she had gone. She simply vanished. 

The bruises on Helen’s neck had been healing slowly, now an orange color instead of the dark purple. Henry had dropped the topic of how she got the bruises after their dance session in the prima donna’s room, but he still gave her weary looks as she worked. She could tell he wanted to help her around the opera house but Mr. Reyer refused to let Henry miss another day of practice. 

Mr. Firmin walked into the room, smiling down to Helen and Camille as he passed, talking to himself about the disappearance of Christine Daae and the public’s reactions. He took his time walking around all of the spots that were previously cleaned, not wanting to mess them up with her shoes. 

“Damnable! Will they all walk out? This is damnable!” Andre shouted as Firmin made it up to the top of the staircase. 

“Andre, please don’t shout,” Firmin begged, lowering his voice as he led Andre down a hall. 

Helen and Camille shared a look, biting their lips from giggling as the two men began to lightly argue. They held out letters and read them outloud, shaking their heads as they tried to think of who would send them such a thing. Helen stood from the ground, taking a hold of the bucket before walking off with Camille to finish their jobs for the day. 

“They seem to be healing quite fast,” Camille commented on the bruises lacing Helen’s neck. “They’re not as vibrant.”

Helen hummed, tracing her fingers down her skin lightly. “I’m glad,” she mumbled, looking towards her friend and not where she was going. That was a big mistake. 

She ran right into a blonde man, gasping as the water poured between their feet. She stepped back, examining the damage made, her eyes widening at his soaked pant legs. 

“I’m so sorry,” she gasped, looking up at his face to find it was the new Vicomte. He clenched his jaw, looking down at his pants and shoes, breathing deeply before giving her a tight smile. “Don’t fret about it Mademoiselle.” he said before walking around and marching towards the staircase. 

“Where is she?” he demanded, climbing the stairs two by two. 

“Shit,” Helen mumbled, watching the Vicomte walk angrily towards the managers. 

“Shit indeed,” Camille laughed, getting down on her knees to dry up the spill with her cloths. 

“He’s really mad,” Helen said, crouching down to help Camille. “I hope I don’t lose my job.”

The redhead shook her head, chuckling. “Don’t worry Helen. I think he was mad before this happened. It just...might have pushed him over the edge.”

Helen nodded slowly, wringing out her soaked cloth in the bucket, shaking her head. She should have watched where she was going. 

“Where is he?” demanded a high pitched voice. Both maids turned to find a fuming Carlotta and Piangi entering the room with their entourage of maids. “Your precious patron, where is he?”

The patron, Raoul De Changy, quirked his eyebrow upwards, turning on the staircase as they approached. “What is it now?” he asked. 

“I have your letter! A letter which I’d rather resent!” Carlotta fumed, stomping her foot as she came face to face with the patron. 

“And did you send it?” asked the managers in unison. 

“Of course not!” exclaimed the blonde man, his jaw and fists clenching. 

They went on arguing for a few minutes, reading aloud the letters once more, shaking their heads as they were all signed by O.G. As the arguing progressed, none noticed Madame Giry and her daughter enter the room, standing at the bottom of the staircase. 

Madame Giry sighed in annoyance before projecting her voice so it was higher than all of the others. “Miss Daae has returned.”

Monsieur Andre seemed to be the only one who heard as he told everyone else to settle down. He then stepped away from the group, wringing the note in his hand. “Where precisely is she now?” 

Madame Giry answered quickly, frowning lightly. Her daughter took a step forward after her mother explained where she was, telling them that her best friend needed rest. 

The blonde patron’s face relaxed with relief as he took several steps down the steps. “May I see her?” he asked quietly, worry lacing behind his eyes. 

“No Monsieur, she will see no one.” she informed Raoul. 

The two maids, and several of the others who had awkwardly overheard the conversation, gave each other looks of relief. The young soprano finally returned. Maybe now all the gossip will stop on where she had gone. 

Camille and Helen sped the process up, not wishing to interfere in any way, shape or form. Helen lifted the bucket again and together they sped towards the yard to dump the water and hang the laundry. 

                                                       ~-~-~

“The Phantom seems very fond of Christine, don’t you think?” Camille thought out loud, clearing out all of the dead flowers from the prima donna’s room. 

Helen remained quiet as she shrugged, adding more water to the flowers that were still alive. “I suppose. He probably just wants a good soprano for the operas.”

Camille scoffed. “I don’t know,” she mumbled. “It seems more than that. Did you pay any attention to those notes?”

Helen had to admit. It did seem like he was fond of her. But she wouldn’t admit it aloud, in fear that he would strike again. “No,” she lied, placing the water down. 

The red head turned to look at the brunette, biting the inside of her cheek. She shrugged off Helen’s short reply, taking the flowers out of the room to toss them. 

The brunette, on the other hand, stopped from organizing the table, glancing at herself in the full length mirror. She walked closer to it, examining the bruises. They had gone down a considerable amount. So much so that it almost looked like they never existed. She wondered if she should risk another night in box five. Would he be there? Would he actually kill her this time?

She bit her lip, sighing as she turned to get back to work. Only one way to find out. She thought. 

They finished their duties in nearly record time, giving the girls a little less than 5 hours to do as they pleased before the sun set. Camille had opted to go walking along the streets while Helen decided to stay back. As she waved her friend goodbye, her gaze fell to box five which lay barren and dark. She couldn’t go up there now. She would have to wait until later that night. 

In the meantime, she thought about visiting the young soprano who had apparently not eaten or drank anything since her return. Maybe all she needed was a little push. 

So Helen gathered all of the things she needed, balancing the tray on one hand as she knocked. “Miss Daae?” she called, waiting for an answer. “May I come in?”

Nothing. 

Helen hummed, raising her hand to the doorknob. She opened the door slowly, finding the blonde girl sitting up in her bed, staring out of a window. At the sound of the door opening, she turned to face Helen, a glare plastered on her face. “I didn’t give you permission to come in.”

Helen smiled, shrugging as she closed the door, walking in with the tray. “You didn’t tell me to go away either,” she remarked, placing the tray on the girls bedside table. “How are you feeling?”

Christine looked her up and down before pouting and returning her gaze towards the window. “I’m fine.”

Helen had heard that phrase before. And that phrase meant the exact opposite of what was said. 

Helen nodded, pulling up a chair beside the bed. “We’ll pretend I believe you Mademoiselle.” she said, giving her a soft smile. “You must be hungry from your little adventure.”

The blonde remained still, a pout forming on her lips as the sun hid behind a cluster of clouds. 

Helen bit her lip, lifting the bowl of berries, holding it out towards the girl. “Please Miss Daae. I know you may not want to eat but you must.”

Christine glanced at the bowl in Helen’s hands before hesitantly taking it. She rested it on her knees, staring down at the colorful berries. 

Helen watched her in silence before crossing her arms, leaning back in her seat. “I’m not leaving until half of those are gone dear,” she told her, crossing her legs and swinging her foot. “None of them are poisonous if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Christien looked up from the bowl and examined her, her eyes falling on her neck for the longest time. “You’ve met him too…” she whispered, gently reaching out and moving a stray piece of hair from Helen’s neck. “He used his hands...not a rope…”

Helen frowned at the blonde, sitting up straight in her seat. “Christine...please eat. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

The blonde woman shook her head fiercely, “I do know what I’m saying! He choked you! He nearly killed you!”

Helen clenched her jaw, leaning forward in her seat. “How do you know who he is?” she asked through clenched teeth. 

Christine put the bowl of berries aside before slowly raising the sleeve from her arm, revealing a large bruise on her forearm. “He does not know his own strength.”

Helen stared at the bruise on her arm before looking up at her. “You were with him this whole time?”

Christine suddenly sat up straighter in her bed, nodding slowly. “Yes,” she mumbled, grabbing the bowl and eating a single blueberry. 

Helen could tell by her posture that the conversation was over. Christine was done talking about The Phantom. Maybe he was listening in on them?

“Well Miss Christine. Since I know your name, it is only fair you know mine,” started the maid, gently tugging the girl’s sleeve down over the bruise. “It’s Helen. Helen Draiz.”

                                                  ~-~-~

The brunette now stood anxiously outside of box five at a quarter past midnight. In her hands was her journal and pen, deciding to come without any light. She was now rethinking her decision, shaking her head. 

Would he even be in the box? What if he did kill her this time? What if he got her fired?

Helen shook her head, placing her hand on the curtain. She couldn't think like that right now. She wanted answers. Why had he kidnapped Christine? Why was her arm bruised? 

She gulped as she pulled the curtain back and walked into the dark box, freezing when she heard movement in one of the chairs. She held her breath, clutching her book tightly to her chest, expecting him to order her out of the box. 

“Erik?” came a hushed man’s voice. “You’re early.”

Helen bit her lip and took a hesitant step backwards, bumping into something. Her eyes clenched closed as a hand sprouted from the object behind her, tightly gripping her shoulder. 

“That I am Daroga.” the voice from behind her hissed. “I didn’t know we were expecting company. Did you?”

The man in one of the seats quickly stood up and spun around to find Helen in The Phantom’s tight grip. He looked between the two, shaking his head. “Let her go, my friend,” he begged. 

The Phantom only tightened his grip on her shoulder. “I warned you once about being in this box, didn’t I, Mademoiselle? Perhaps some more bruises will make you stay away.”

“No,” cried the man in front of her, reaching his hand out for them. “Release her. I’m sure she just stumbled into the wrong box, isn’t that right Mademoiselle?” he said taking a few steps closer to her. 

Helen stood tall, breathing as evenly as she could. “No sir. I came to the right box.” she replied, holding her chin up. “Phantom...could you be so kind as to release me?”

The grip on her shoulder loosened hesitantly until the hand fell away from her shoulder. She took a step closer to the man The Phantom had called Daroga before turning to face them both. “I wanted to ask you some questions Phantom.”

The tall form stood up straight, crossing his arms. Even though she could not see his face she could feel the heat of his glare. “Get. Out.”

Helen rose her brows, matching his form. “No. I only wish to speak about a few things.”

The man beside her gently placed a hand on her shoulder. “You should go Mademoiselle.” he begged. 

The girl pushed his hand off her. “And who are you? I wasn’t aware The Phantom had a friend.”

The man bit his lip before sighing. He looked up at the tallest form in the box before pulling out a match and lighting it. He held it between the woman and he, giving her a small smile. “I thought it was you miss.” grinned the policeman from earlier in the week. 

Helen hummed, examining the Persian man before tapping out the match. She sighed, turning to face The Phantom again. “Giving me bruises I can understand, but giving that poor soprano bruises is unforgivable.” she told him. 

She could swear she heard a few teeth in his mouth break from how hard he clenched his jaw. “You should watch what you say. I can still kill you.”

Helen let out a small shaky breath, raising a brow. “Then why don’t you?” she retorted. 

“With pleasure,” mumbled The Phantom reaching out for her neck again before the policeman jumped between them. 

“C-Can’t we keep this civil?” he begged, looking between the two. “No killing. No threats. Please?”

Helen crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at The Phantom. “Sir, where I’m from that’s all we do.” she replied, pushing past the man. She stepped closer to The Phantom. She raised a brow at him, raising her arms to her side. “If you want to kill me so bad, why didn’t you do it the first night we met?”

The Phantom glared down at her, his breathing becoming more shallow. Helen knew she was pissing him off. In fact, she was pissing herself off. 

“Tell me how she got that bruise.” she hissed, placing her hands on her hips like a mother does scolding her children. 

[hellomorganus]

Helen Draiz

I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. The book/musical/movies belong to their rightful owners. I only own my characters.

CHAPTER 2

 Camille waited anxiously for Helen to return, stitching up the dress as best she could as she waited. When the brunette finally did return, Helen’s smile dropped and her handbag was thrown onto her bed. 

“Well..?” Camille pushed gently, jumping back when the 21 year old spun her head in her direction, glaring daggers. “I take it he didn’t propose?”

“No!” exclaimed Helen, starting to remove the frilly dress and obnoxious heels. “Am I doing something wrong? Does he not want to marry me?”

Camille stood up from her bed and helped her remove the dress and corset. “Of course he wants to marry you Helen! Maybe he just forgot the ring tonight?” she suggested.  

Helen could feel tears threatening to spill over. “No man forgets the ring if he’s planning on proposing. He carries it around everywhere he goes.” she mumbled, sniffling. 

Camille placed her hands on Helen’s shoulders, spinning her to face their only mirror. “Look at you Helen. How could he not want to marry you.” 

Helen stared into her reflection, her bottom lip quivering. She placed her hand on her stomach, suddenly feeling very ill. “Then why won’t he ask me?”

Camille stared at her friend through the reflection and wrapped her arms around her waist, resting her chin on her shoulder. “I don’t know…” she whispered, closing her eyes as she gave her best friend a hug from behind. 

Helen and Camille stood there for a few moments before they finished undressing Helen for her night attire. Camille hung the dress back up, as Helen examined Carlotta’s dress, draping it over a chair when she thought it was decently sewed back together. Helen then threw on her night attire, wrapping herself in her robe afterwards.

Camille, once again, gave her best friend a hug before wishing her sweet dreams. It was nearing late in the night which meant most would be asleep by now. Helen tapped out a few candles so Camille could get some sleep before grabbing her journal and fountain pen. 

She quietly stepped out of their room, shutting the door. She stared out into the looming darkness, smiling slightly at how quiet it was. She crept through the dark twisting halls of the opera house until she made it to a set of stairs leading to the boxes. No one knew that every night, after an eventful day, she stayed up most of the night to write in none other than box five. The so-called Opera Ghost’s box. 

She carefully climbed up the stairs, running her hand, along the wall, counting each box. 

Four…

Five…

Helen smiled as she pushed back the curtains for the box, sliding into one of the seat’s. She sighed, looking out at the stage, watching the ghost light flicker on the stage. She placed her candle on the small table beside the seats, opening her journal. 

She fiddled with her pen, wondering where she should start writing. Should she start with her getting berated at for not wearing shoes? Maybe when Carlotta quit? 

Helen hummed to herself as she thought. She took her pen down to her paper and dated the page, deciding to start from when she woke up. A few things did happen to her throughout the day, but the most exciting were during the rehearsal, when everyone was awake, not just the maids and other people like her.

She sighed quietly, letting out all of her emotions onto the pages, her hand cramping when she made it to the part about supper. She closed her eyes, twisting her wrist around to relieve the pain. 

Suddenly, she was left in darkness as the candle went out. Helen felt her body freeze, trying to think of a rational reason why the candle blew out. Surely it must have been the breeze from her moving her arm. She gulped before reaching into her robe’s pocket for a match. 

“Mademoiselle. I must ask you to leave.” said a voice from behind her. 

Helen felt her face go stark white. So the stories were true. The Opera Ghost was real. “Oui (yes), monsieur.” she mumbled, blowing on the last page she had written, to dry it, before standing up. She turned, holding the journal to her chest as she turned to face the voice. “I am sorry for intruding. I am usually alone in here this late at night.” 

The voice remained silent, urging Helen to gather her things more quickly. She did so with no haste. Once all of her belongings were in her hands, she stepped around the seat heading for the door, when she suddenly bumped into a solid...nothingness. 

She gasped, taking a step back and looking at where she was walking. She tried to reason with herself that maybe she ran into a wall because it was so dark but...there was no wall there. 

She shakily held out her hand to see if she was mistaken but that’s when a hand wrapped around her wrist and tugged her into the shadows. She prepared to scream before another hand found its way to her mouth, covering it. 

“I wouldn’t do that mademoiselle.” growled the voice. 

Helen squirmed, trying to wiggle out of his grip, but a hand suddenly found her throat, wrapping around it with a vice grip. 

She choked for air, her hands flying to the hands around her throat. A loud thud as her belongings fell to the ground. She tried prying the hands away from her delicate throat, tears pooling in her eyes. 

“P-Please…” she choked, taking one of her hands and hitting the chest of the culprit as a last defence. “Let...go…”

The hand left her throat right as she felt herself slowly passing out. She fell to her knees, covering her mouth as she began to have a coughing fit. Her unruly hair fell around her head as she coughed harder and harder until she could somewhat breathe easier. 

She looked up at the figure in front of her, her tears now falling down her cheeks. “Merci (Thank you)…” she stuttered, lowering her head to the ground to try and relax. 

The figure took a step towards her and crouched down, lifting her to face them, gripping her chin. “Be thankful you are not dead child. Now...are you going to talk about what happened tonight?”

The voice sounded like a man’s. One she had heard before but couldn’t put a face to the sound. 

Helen slowly shook her head, gulping. “N-No Monsieur. I won’t...I...I’m sorry…” she gasped, closing her eyes as she rubbed her sore throat. 

“I won’t tell a soul…” she mumbled, wincing when he gripped tighter to her chin. 

“Not one soul?” he pushed, his gloved hands digging into her skin. 

“No sir...not one...please...I’ll leave you be.”

The man before her, as a way to help calm her, gently ran his other hand over her brown locks. “Why should I believe you?”

Helen whimpered as his free hand dragged down her jawline and to her bruised neck. She had no answer for him. Why should he believe her? 

“Are you going to answer, child?”

The girl felt more tears drip down her cheeks as she stared up at the man. “I-I do not have...any...er..an answer for you, sir.”

The man clicked his tongue, peeling his hands from her. “Then I guess I will have to watch you,” he replied. Helen could feel his eyes stay on her as she struggled to calm down. “Or maybe...yes perhaps...I should take you with me?”

Helen felt her eyes bulge and her body shift backwards. “T-Take me where Monsieur?”

The man stood up and sighed. “No...you shall stay up here.” he said to himself. “ You shall continue your duties. But I will be watching Mademoiselle.”

Helen stared up at him, her hands resting lightly on her neck. “W-What should I call you Monsieur?” she asked hesitantly, her hands searching for her belongings that she had dropped. 

The man hummed, crouching down and taking a hold of her journal, returning it into her hands. “Some say The Phantom of the Opera, Phantom for short. Other’s say Opera Ghost. Choose whichever you like.” he replied, finding her fountain pen as well and placing it in her hand. “I hope we never meet like this again Mademoiselle.” 

Helen gulped, listening to him walk off afterwards. “Me too…” she whispered, quickly finding the candle and bolting out of the box and back to her bedroom. 

                                                      ~-~-~

The next morning, while Helen was putting on her makeup, Camille nearly screamed at the sight of the bruises around her neck. 

“Helen!” she gasped, her eyes wide with worry, hands covering her mouth. “What on Earth happened to your poor neck?”

Helen looked up at Camille through the mirror, a frown forming on her lips. She hadn’t thought up of a story, and The Phantom had said he would be watching her to make sure she never told anyone. 

“Um...I was um…” she began, racking her brain for any ideas. “...having a nightmare last night…” she mumbled. 

Camille nodded, urging her friend to go on, taking a seat on her made bed. 

“It felt...so real…” Helen said, biting her lip. “Someone...was choking me in the dream. But when I woke up...it was myself.”

Camille frowned, shaking her head. “Helen! Surely I would have heard you choking yourself!” she exclaimed, standing and walking over to her. 

“You must be quiet Camille. Not everyone is up this early.” urged Helen, grabbing a hold of her friends hands. 

Camille shook her head as she grazed Helen’s neck. “Then let them wake!” she said, pushing back Helen’s hair. “I don’t think it is wise for you to work today…” she admitted. 

Helen rolled her eyes, smiling kindly. “I am grateful you are concerned but really...I am fine Camille.”

The younger woman sighed, dropping her hands. “Fine then...but just take it easy today.”

Helen smiled, nodding to her. “You know I will.” she replied, looking back into the mirror to complete her makeup. Once she was done, she decided to leave her hair down to try and hide the bruises. 

After the girls were ready to get started with the day, they linked arms and headed towards the kitchen to get a quick breakfast before their work began. 

The chef handed the girls their breakfast, his eyes widening when he saw Helen’s neck. “My dear...what in Heaven’s happened?”

Helen blushed, ducking her head. She used her hair as a makeshift cover up, biting her lip. “I was having a nightmare last night. It turns out I was choking myself.” she lied, looking up at him with a small smile. “I am alright.”

The chef nodded, giving her a sad smile. “You take it easy now Helen.”

Helen nodded and walked over to the table where a few other workers were eating. 

                                                   ~-~-~

The day ran somewhat smoothly until news spread about the disappearance of Christine Daae. She had supposedly had dinner with the Vicomte and had returned to her room where she disappeared. 

There was no trace of her. No notes. No witnesses. She had just...vanished. 

And on top of that, everyone had asked questions about the bruises lacing the maid’s neck, some even saying The Phantom must have done both acts. 

But like Helen promised, she denied that The Phantom had done the deed. She kept up the story of choking herself in her sleep but a few people refused to believe her. Those people included Camille, Henry, Madame Giry and Nadir Khan. Nadir was a middleeastern that now served as the chief policemen. He occasionally visited the opera house while making his rounds. When he saw the bruises lacing her neck he froze in the hall, his face going red. 

Helen paid no mind to him, giving him a polite smile and nod before returning to her job. That was the last time she had seen him. 

Henry, unlike the Persian, had bombarded her with questions. He insisted that she take the rest of the day off but both her and Madame Bisset refused. 

“I am fine,” she had laughed full heartedly, cupping his cheek. “I promise.” 

Henry didn’t believe her, deciding to skip rehearsals so he could help her out with her own duties along with Camille. Just now he was hanging up the dresses in Carlotta’s prima donna room while the girls cleaned up the room. 

“I am just saying Helen, you can tell us anything,” he defended, shaking his head. “Especially me Helen…”

The brunette sighed, wiping down the full length mirror. “Henry. I have already told you a million times. Please drop it.” she snapped. 

Henry clenched his jaw, shaking his head. He turned to look at her, crossing his arms after he tossed the dresses on the bed. “Fine. For now, I’ll drop it.” he replied, walking over to her, sparing a glance at Camille, asking her for some time alone. 

Camille nodded and slipped out of the room, frowning at the couple. 

Henry stood behind Helen, staring at her reflection in the mirror. “You would tell me if something happened...wouldn’t you?” he asked, playing with his fingers. 

Helen stared at him through the mirror, her eyes roaming his worried face. His eyes seemed to be holding back tears but none rose to the surface.

“Yes,” she whispered, turning her head to face him. “I would.”

Henry let his shoulders sag a bit in relief as he took a step closer to her. He gently took her hand in his, resting their foreheads on each other. “Okay…” he whispered, closing his eyes. 

Helen frowned, reaching up and cupping his cheek, wrapping her other arm around his neck. She felt his own hands wrap around her, gently swaying her. 

“I’ve missed these moments,” he admitted, kissing her forehead. He took a step backwards, bringing her with him as he began dancing with her. 

Helen smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. “As have I,” she replied, humming gently so they would have some music to dance to. 

They danced until Camille returned, knocking on the door. Henry sighed as he pulled away from her, kissing her hand softly. 

Unbeknownst to them, two figures watched the happy couple through the mirror. One’s whose face was red as a tomato, pointing to the girl. “Those bruises will last weeks Erik. How could you do that to her?”

The man in question wasn't paying any mind to the bruises on the girl’s neck. He was watching the couple dance and embrace one another comfortably. He wanted that with Christine.

[hellomorganus]

Helen Draiz

I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. The book/musical/movies belong to their rightful owners. I only own my characters.

CHAPTER 1

“Where on Earth are your shoes?” laughed the red haired maid who was hanging up the laundry to dry. “You know Madame Bisset will have a fit once she sees your feet!”

The woman with no shoes was none other than Helen Driaz. A fellow maid at the Opera Populaire who was too free spirited for her own good. She wiggled her toes in the wet grass, smiling. “Then let her have a fit Camille! Feeling the grass against my skin reminds me of home.”

Home.

Helen hadn’t been there in years since her brother died. They had always wanted to travel the world together and just a few months before they would be, he died. Most say it was an accident, while other’s thought it was a murder attempt. 

Home was in the grassy meadows of the United States of America. Home was in a secluded area that not many people knew about, and that’s what she loved most about it. 

Camille shook her head, wringing out another dress from the ballerinas before hanging it up to dry. “You should go back then if you miss it so much Helen,” she chuckled. 

Helen hummed in response, helping Camille lift the dress over the string, clipping it in place. “If I return home then I’m afraid I might never travel again. And we can’t have that, now can we?” she replied, bumping hips with the younger girl. 

The red curls framing Camille’s face bounced as she tried to regain her balance, softly laughing. “Then you should at least write more to your family. I’m sure they’re worried sick.”

Helen smiled, shaking her head. “No they’re not. They know Henry is looking after me.” she replied, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

Camille sighed dreamily, leaning backwards into the brunette. “Henry,” she smirked, fanning herself. 

Helen shook her head, chuckling. “Careful now, he is courting me.” she said, fanning the girl too. 

Camille smiled, shaking her head as she stood straight up. “Surely he must mean to propose soon! You have been courting since you left America which was...how long ago?”

Helen smiled. “Nearing two years ago.”

“Two years!” gasped the girl, covering her mouth. “And he hasn’t even suggested it?”

The brunette rolled her eyes at the 18 year old. “Of course he has. He has suggested it a few times but it always becomes quiet afterwards.”

“He’s probably nervous Helen. All men get nervous before popping the question.”

Helen nodded. He often was nervous when he brought up the subject of marriage. The sweat that formed on his brow always proved the idea. But why would he be so nervous? They had been courting for nearly two years now and he already had her family’s blessing. So what was he waiting for?

“Mademoiselle Helen!” screeched an older woman in horror. “Where are your shoes?!”

Helen blushed, chuckling to herself. “They must have walked off Madame.”

Madame Bisset crossed her arms. “Walked off have they?” she retorted, looking around the yard. “You best find them young lady. Señora Carlotta has a tear in her dress, she would like you to fix it immediately.” 

Camille hid her laughter behind her hand, shaking her head as Madame Bisset walked off cursing the brunette. 

Helen curtseyed mockeringly, stifling her laughter behind her tightly closed lips. “I honestly haven’t the faintest clue on how I still work here.” she said before walking towards where she hid her shoes. 

Camille chuckled, crouching down to lift the basket up. “Neither do I,” she replied, hoisting the basket up and balancing it on her hip as she walked over to Helen. 

The brunette had just finished slipping on her black flats when Camille made it over to her, offering her an arm. 

Helen gladly accepted the arm, walking up the stone steps to enter the Opera Populaire. 

                                                    ~-~-~

The needle pierced through the fabric as Carlotta yelled at the new managers. Turns out, she hadn’t just ripped her dress but her head piece as well. Helen sat on the sidelines, listening with a smirk as the managers began to grovel to the fierce redhead. 

She stopped her foot in annoyance, spinning towards where Helen was situated, pouring herself a glass of water as the managers tripped over their own feet to try and keep up with her. 

“Mr. Reyer!” called the shorter of the two managers. “Isn’t there a rather marvelous aria for Elisa in act three of Hannibal?” 

Carlotta hummed, shaking her head no. “Yes, yes, but no! Because I have not my costume for act three because,” she turned around to face the seamstress in charge of her dress. “somebody not finish it!”

She then spun back to Helen, pointing to the headpiece. “And, I hate my hat!”

Helen chuckled, tying off the thread and finishing the sewing. She held it up in her hands, examining it. “I’ll see what I can do to fix it, sí?” Helen said, standing up and gently placing the headpiece back on her head. 

Carlotta huffed, crossing her arms as she turned her attention back to the managers just in time for them to suggest she sing from the act. 

Monsieur Reyer stood tall, a frown on his lips. “If my diva commands,” he said with annoyance. 

Carlotta, with just as much annoyance, glared at him while she replied, “Yes! I do!”

Camille walked over to Helen and nudged her shoulder, pointing to Henry and waving to him as he set up his violin. He gave the two girls a grin, acknowledging them before Mr. Reyer began directing them. 

Camille’s arms fell around Helen’s neck as she swayed with the music, Helen wrapping her hands around her friend’s arms as she watched Henry play with as much passion as the day they met. 

Helen smiled, closing her eyes as she listened to the soft music and Carlotta’s, somewhat, decent voice. 

She was at peace here. She never wanted to leave the opera house. This was her new home. 

Screams filled the stage as a loud thud sounded throughout the auditorium. When Helen opened her eyes, she gasped, covering her mouth. The backdrop had fallen on top of Carlotta, pinning her to the ground.

She immediately stood up to help the distressed woman up from the ground. Once the backdrop was off her, Helen took a hold of her hands and helped her to her feet as the former manager yelled up to Joseph Buquet on what had happened. 

“Are you alright?” she asked, flinching away when the soprano ripped her hands out of Helen’s. 

“Senora, these things do happen,” a voice said, trying to soothe the diva from breaking down. 

“For the past years, these things do happen! And did you stop them from happening? No!” she fumed, pointing to the former manager before spinning towards the new ones. “And you two! You are as bad as him! These things happen! Well until you stop these things from happening, this thing. Does not happen!” 

She pushed past Helen and towards her own maid, storming off the stage, her husband, Piangi, following behind her. 

Henry climbed onto the stage, leaving his violin behind to check on Helen. When he reached her, his hands rested on her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

Helen nodded, smiling softly at him. “Yes, I am fine. Are you okay?”

Henry nodded, a twinkle in his eyes as he hugged her. “Yes, I am fine.” he whispered, running his hands through her hair. 

Helen smiled and hugged him back. He has always been so protective of her, claiming it was to keep her family sane. He hated to see even the faintest of a frown on her face, always ensuring that she was kept happy. 

“-so Monsieur?” a gentle voice cut in through the argument. Madame Giry. “I have a message, sir, from the Opera Ghost.”

Henry pulled back, scoffing lightly. “This Opera Ghost is on the last of my nerves…” he grumbled to Helen, taking her hand in his and squeezing it. 

Helen chuckled. “I think it’s entertaining.” she admitted, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand. 

“Christine Daae could sing it sir,” Madame Giry called to the bickering managers. 

“A chorus girl?” questioned Monsieur Andre. “Don’t be silly.”

“She’s been taking lessons from a great teacher, Monsieur.” 

The manager became intrigued, turning to face the chorus girl fully. “Who?”

The blonde girl lowered her blue eyes before answering. “I do not know his name, Monsieur.” 

Madame Giry rested a hand on Christine’s shoulder, brushing her blonde curls back. “Let her sing for you Monsieur. She has been taught well.”

Helen led Henry away from the center of the stage as Christine walked forward, her hands shaking from nerves. 

“Get back to playing,” she whispered to him, kissing his cheek and helping him lower himself back into his seat.  

Henry grinned and squeezed her hand once more before returning to his instrument to begin playing. 

Helen watched the blonde woman shaking her nerves out before singing. It started off very soft, almost like she was singing under her breath but as she looked around to see the comforting smiles, her confidence grew. Along with her confidence, her voice grew louder, echoing throughout the auditorium. 

By the looks the managers shared with one another, everyone knew who would be taking Carlotta’s place. 

Christine Daae would be the leading soprano until Carlotta decided to return. 

                                                    ~-~-~

The opera was filled with a standing ovation as the blonde from earlier softened her voice, distinguishing the end of the song. The curtains closed as she bowed, resting her hand gently on her bosom. The cast and some other stage hands around cheered for her as she made her way off the stage. 

Helen, however, was not so lucky to give the talented girl a standing ovation. She, instead, had been fixing another one of Carlotta’s dresses, muttering to herself, wishing she could be there to congratulate the 19 year old. 

A knock sounded on the doorway and a familiar redhead peeked inside the crowded room. “You’re muttering again,” she pointed out, entering the room and lifting a hat to her head. 

“I don’t mutter,” replied the brunette as she gently took the hat from Camille’s head. 

Camille laughed, leaning back against the table. “Yes you do,” she replied, watching Helen work. “Henry wants to take you to supper.”

Helen looked up at the mention of Henry, a small smile tugging her lips. But that smile soon vanished when she looked down at the rip in the dress. It was nowhere near finished. 

“Could you tell him perhaps another time?” she asked, looking up at her best friend. “Please?”

Camille shook her head. “Helen. Tonight could be the night.” she tutted, standing upright and taking the dress from her hands. “Go have dinner. Show me that diamond when you get back.”

Helen reached for the dress, shaking her head. “Camille. Please. I have to finish that before morning.”

Camille held the dress behind her back just as Helen stood from her seat. “I’ll finish it. You go have dinner.”

Helen raised her eyebrow, frowning at the 17 year old. “You? Sew?”

Camille faked a gasp of pain. “How dare you. I can sew.” she said, fighting back Helen’s reaching hands. 

Helen laughed, shaking her head as she gave up, throwing her hands into the air. “Fine! You win!” she chuckled. “I’ll have dinner.”

Camille grinned, dropping the dress on the table behind her as she hugged Helen. “Bien (Good)!” 

The red haired girl then took Helen’s hand and dragged her out of the sewing room towards their shared room. “We must find you a dress! He’s proposing!” Camille laughed. 

Helen shook her head, following the eccentric girl. “How can you be so sure?” she asked, lifting her skirts up so she wouldn’t trip over them. 

“I just have a feeling Helen!” she laughed, tossing the girl onto her bed before flinging open their closets, looking for the perfect dress.