— I am the master of this domain!

— You are the master of a damp basement full of vermin, Erik. Let’s call a spade a spade, shall we?

He will realize he loves her the moment it hits him: her off-key warbling brings him more joy than Christine Daaé’s flawless soprano.

Whenever she belts out her "tavern ditties," he claps his hands over his ears, groaning and shouting things like: "Cease this nightmare! You hit that note as if you’re strangling a cat! It is vulgar! It is utterly tasteless!"

It is unbearable to listen to. Yet, it is even more unbearable to be anywhere she is not.

Madame Giry secretly rejoices that someone finally has the Master on a tight leash. After all, the girl actually forced him to change the velvet hangings in Box Five because "they clash horribly with my new dress."

Meanwhile, the young ballerinas gossip in the wings: "Did you see? She barked at thin air, telling the Phantom to stop breathing down her neck... and the Ghost... he just went silent!"

Due to their height difference, she calls him a "lanky gothic disaster," and he deliberately hangs her things up high or puts them on a high shelf, watching her jump to reach them and curse him out.

-Get away from me, you madwoman! I shall not eat it!

-You will, or else I’ll treat you with injections in your aristocratic ass.