When his Opera Ghost said no, Gansey open and closed his mouth, a pretty flush spreading across his handsome features. He wanted to refuse but he was gentle; attacking the Ghost never crossed his mind. It wasn't in his nature to resolve things through violence. It was much more civil to reason... but it didn't look like the Opera Ghost was going to entertain that.

So he stood looking at the golden mask, pressing his lips together. He could promise not to tell anyone but there was no way he'd be believed; if he'd already seen too much, there was no way he could be trusted to keep it secret. Every argument he could conceive of he managed to swiftly debate on his own. All that left him was, But I don't want to. And it was highly, highly unlikely that the phantom cared about what he wanted.

The room reminded him of the daughter's room in his sister's dollhouse. Could he escape? He might, he thought, be able to figure out those supposed traps now that he knew they were there. Was it worth risking his life? What was his life, if he wasn't allowed to leave this place?

It was with great reluctance that he stepped into the red and white room. He would not give up hope. It was simply against his way; to choose to believe, to hope, even when it seemed hopeless. And, what's more—the real push—he was curious about the Opera Ghost. What was he? Why was he here? None of his questions had been answered. There was nothing he could tell, and while he wanted to reach out and touch the phantom, the man... he did not know how he would react.

Once inside, he turned to look at the phantom again, so many questions lit across his eyes.

"What are you?"