Ok, I apoligize for the long wait! I will try not to let it happen again, but no gurantees.

There are a lot of shifts of perspectives in this one, so keep that in mind! Neither of them know what the other is doing.

I own nothing except for Morana and the plot!

--

Erik strolled through the snow-covered streets. He had no destination in mind, other than a place where there was fresher air than his lair. A cold wind blew from the north, and he pulled his velvet cloak tighter around himself to stave off the bitter air.

To his surprise, a light appeared. It was small, like a candle flame, but it grew larger as he approached. Soon he could make out a lantern lying in the snow. The body of a man lay beside it, stone dead. At first, Erik had suspected that the man had simply frozen to death, as he was not wearing a coat, but then he noticed the two puncture wounds at his neck. The holes were exactly the same size, and they almost resembled bite marks. One of the corpse’s hands was clutched around a small crucifix, but that clearly had not helped in this man’s fortune. As Erik examined the body further, it became clear that he had died of blood loss, possibly due to the bite mark at his neck. Yet there was no blood on the grayish snow; not a drop.

What had caused the drain of blood? It had happened recently; the corpse was still lukewarm to the touch, but growing colder by the second. There were subtle signs of a struggle; heavy boot marks from the man, and smaller, less prominent shoe prints leaving off into the darkness. Erik considered following them, but he didn’t know what sort of person would do such a thing, and he had no desire to get into a fight. So without another thought, Erik stood and walked away, leaving the corpse behind.

--

Morana glared at the man who had interrupted her feeding. She hadn’t planned anything for him; she had seen, or rather smelled, him coming, and hurried to get out of sight. He was bending over her meal and examining with those long, gloved hands of his. He was looking about now, scanning the site, and his eyes fell upon the footprints she had made. The demon in her wanted him to follow them, so she could deal with him properly, but the human side wanted him to leave.

She watched as the man moved away out of her line of sight. By then, Morana was certain that this was the same man she had met at the construction sight of the Opera Populaire, How many tall, black haired, masked men were there in the world, anyway?

She couldn’t help but wonder who he was. He was the Phantom of the Opera, she knew that much, but what was his name? She simply had to find out.

Morana knew that she would not let the Phantom know what she was. Not yet. But soon. Very soon

Using the swift silence that came with being a vampire, she followed.

--

Erik turned onto the Rue Scribe and walked up the door that led to his lair. Just as he was about to put the key into the lock, he froze. He had the eerie feeling that he was being watched. He scanned his surroundings suspiciously. Unable to find anything unusual, he turned back to the door, but kept one hand on his lasso, just in case. He took out a small key, inserted it into the lock, and turned the key. He opened the door, entered, and snapped it shut behind him. The door clicked as it locked again.

--

Morana snuck to the now closed door and examined it. Usually, she would either break the door in or just rip the door off of its hinges altogether. Instead, she went for a subtler approach. She took a pin from hair, which caused her long, black braid to fall out of its wreath, and picked the lock. It clicked open within a few minutes. She smile triumphantly and opened the door.

--

Erik brought the boat ashore and tied it in place. He entered his lair, lighting candles as he went. As he did so, something caught his eye; it was the black, fur-lined cloak the strange woman had left in his bow a few weeks before. Why he had kept it, he didn’t know. Maybe it had something to do with the smell it had. Sure it had the musty odor of fur and velvet, but it also held the mixed fragrances of jasmine, almonds, and the slightest touch of mint. It was calming.

Erik had just sat down at his organ when his alarm bell went off. There was an intruder on his lake!

--

Morana cursed her cumbersome clothes while she swam. She would have found another way across the underground lake if there was one. The heavy fabric of her dress was waterlogged, and hindered her movement. Why, oh why, did she insist on wearing the latest styles? Any more of this and she would take to wearing men’s clothes!

A sound met her ears. She wasn’t alone on the water. She had to think up a plan, fast!

With a smirk to herself, she inhaled, ignoring the unwelcome strain from her useless lungs, and allowed herself to sink, making sure she was blowing out as water surrounded.

--

Erik was alarmed to see a ghostly white hand disappear beneath the surface of the lake. He steered the boat in close, than reached down into the murky water and grabbed the arm of whoever was drowning. It took all of his strength to drag up the limp body of a young woman out of the water and into the boat. She was still a girl, not even reached twenty!

Carefully, he examined her face. It was very difficult to make out her features in the darkness; in his hurry he had left his torch behind. He laid a hand over her and mouth and was able to fell a tiny trickle of air coming from her. She was still alive. He felt her forehead, but found it clammy from the water and cold as death, even compared to his skin. This alarmed him; if she was kept this cold for much longer, she would die. Erik quickly brought the boat to shore.

He stood and waded in the shallows. Bending down, he gripped her by the shoulders and to bring her out of the boat, but was met by some unknown force. He tugged again, but got the same result.

“Come one!” he growled, and the force was immediately lifted. He nearly fell backwards. He scowled as he stood, cursing at his now soaked pants. Erik lifted the limp girl into his arms. She seemed much lighter now. Strange. He laid her down on a couch next to the lit stove. Satisfied that that would be enough, he left to get dry pants.

When Erik returned a while later, to his surprise, the couch was empty. He looked around the room, but there was no sign of her. In his mind, it was impossible for her to have gotten up and walked away; she had been out cold!

He froze when his eyes met the chair where he had kept the woman’s cloak. That was gone, too. In its place was a scrap of paper. A note written in a neat, elegant script. It read:

“To Monsieur Phantom…

I thank you for pulling me from the lake and for returning my cloak to me. You have my eternal gratitude. I shall see you again soon…

Warm regards, Morana

P.S. Beware the vampiric…”

Erik crumpled the paper in frustration. So this was the same woman who had been intruding in his box! He studied her signature; Morana. The name meant “death”, he was certain. But what did she mean by the vampiric? Vampires? They didn’t exist. The only monster he knew to exist was himself. And that was the way it would always be.

--

Morana walked through the icy streets once more, her newly reclaimed cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders. She may have been a vampire, but she still got cold if she was wet. She glared at her now frost-covered braid. It would take hours to clean if it froze!

On the plus side, she had succeeded in getting an invite into the Phantom’s home. Even better, she knew how to get in. Things were about to get a lot better for her, and the vampiric would make itself known soon. Very soon.

--

Hope you liked it! Go ahead and review for me. It won't bite, but Morana might if you don't review!

Morana: "That's right!" -laughs evilly-

Erik: "Shut up, Morana."

Morana: -pouts-