It was unmistakable, those strains -- and it certainly wasn't coming from the soprano he'd just fired! No, the singing was nearly perfect in its pitch, but... there was a disdain in the vocalization, an irritation running under the rounded vowels. He followed at a distance, studying the woman who was singing. She knew La Traviata, and Erik didn't believe it was coincidence that the current production was the same. She wasn't part of the cast. She could be part of the crew, but Erik didn't recognize her, which all but ruled out that option. He knew every man and woman under his employ. She was not one of them.
Then who? Erik couldn't help but smirk when she strangled an invisible victim. If she were thinking about his recently sacked soprano, then she'd just earned herself a modicum of respect from him. The lazy matron deserved strangulation, after her poor showing tonight. Had it only been tonight, or had he been fooling himself that she could improve? Or was it Christine, clearing his head with her bell-like voice? His attention wavered momentarily from the woman he was following, as he thought about that ingenue who was doubtlessly already abed in his manor in the north.