"The Joys of the Flesh"
Part I
A desire for flesh could not be a mere matter of thought and speculation. Regarding the nature of men, throughout the day, there was harmless desire for love. Regarding the nature of Erik, 'the day' left a lot of room for thinking, and thinking is as dangerous as it's allowed to be. Even the Phantom of the Opera had the needs of men, and through much frustration and second-guessing, it had lead him on a very strange path to where he sat at this very moment, on the prow of a wooden organ bench, head bowed in silence.
Erik had what you could call, an indecisive nature, born of a sneaking distrust for mankind, and a dis- coordinate passion for the fairer sex. Stories turned him to something of a legend everywhere he went, each mentioning his limitless talents, and always focusing (with a morbid fascination) on his disfigured face. He'd coined so many nicknames from his travels – a magician, a ventriloquist, artist, composer, musician, architect, genius, designer, a thief and a murderer... but he had yet to be called a lover.
The latter was responsible for today's events. It was difficult to describe exactly what had happened, but in short, at the bi-annual 'Boheme' festival, Erik had seen a girl. He had in fact, seen a gypsy girl, and said girl (through no fault of his own) was now laying unconsciously in his guest bedroom. He had told himself that women were beyond his reach, and yet, a few footsteps and a veiled door away, slept the product of his imagination.
He rose slowly. He must speak with her. It was a strange urge to speak. Trepidation, one might call it. Striding across the lofty room, he crossed to the guest bedroom he'd built only several years prior. Pausing at the entrance, he distinctly remembered a mingling fear and anxiety upon entering. He had to speak with her – he couldn't simply lock her in a room, oblivious to what had happened, but how to tell her? Waiting silently behind the veil, he considered his approach; soft, or sinister? The veil marked a certain pinnacle point. No backward glances, no turning back now...
–
The bed was comfortable, and the room was lavish. The walls were decorative and ornate, and the detailing looked to be the work of a master mason. The room radiated beauty, from the carved wooden bed, to, what appeared to be, a very soft carpeting from wall to wall. The only problem, was a set of not-so-attractive shackles, cuffed to the bed. To add to the anomaly , it seemed they were custom, made-to-fit devices, with only a few inches of slack in any given direction.
The room was dim, it was a warm light, but uncomfortably sensual. From everywhere, came a voice. It seemed to radiate from the walls, and move across the floor. The voice was soft...haunting.
"Your name is Seraphina, oui?" asked the voice.
Seraphina did not respond, but let her eyes rove the room, trying to locate the sound. It seemed to move freely through the air, uncontrolled by the whims of the world. The voice continued, colored with slight irritation.
"A Gypsy name, if I am not mistaken," it paused, "Which, I know I am not."
Seraphina snorted, "You are very confident for someone hiding in shadow."
"Perhaps." it said quietly, "And you are dangerously cocky, especially for someone chained to a bed." There was a short pause and it added on a sinister note, "Especially for a woman."