I'm back! Alright, so apparently I am very impatient when it comes to writing stories, because I had decided that this time I would write quite a few chapters before posting so that I would have a reserve for when I haven't written, but after writing two chapters yesterday I find that I can't withhold them!
So here is my new E/OC story. I will be writing an E/C fic soon, but I was so inspired by this plot-line that I had to get it out of my head and onto paper.
If any of you have followed me from my previous stories, then you know that I am one to update regularly and do not keep you waiting for long. I thank you for taking the time to read yet another one of my works.
As always, reviews will greatly help me to continue writing and posting chapters quickly. I hope you enjoy!
Ch. 1
"These are simply marvelous, Mr. Destler!"
Erik could not prevent the proud smile of satifaction that played upon his lips as his companion continued to inspect the blueprints that lay on his desk, spread out before him. His companion's dark-grey-colored eyes-the very shade of a storm that rolls in through the sky on a cloudy day-roved about the drawings carefully, his crow's feet becoming more noticeable as he squinted his eyes and admired the details.
"Not only have you made me a very rich man, but I daresay that you possess such a talent for executing the client's request so precisely! Not a single architectural detail escapes your keen eye!"
Erik observed the older man before him, now leaning back in his dark leather chair and pouring himself a drink. The golden liquid looked potent through the crystal glass, though Mr. Abraham's smile had not diminished, even after he had taken a large sip.
Erik knew better than to form the belief that John Abraham had been genuinely pleased with his designs alone, for it was the wealth that would come of it that had truly enslaved his every thought.
Yes, he had made this man very wealthy, indeed. For a brief moment, he wondered what, exactly, Mr. Abraham did with his fortune, for Erik himself had quite the resevoir of finances and did not seem to find much use for it.
He could easily end all efforts of employment and live in luxury for a long time, yet he found that the absence of work-of making himself useful in some sort of creative way-would certainly not suffice. If anything, it was the prospect of the next creation that had kept him alive.
He was alive, and yet he found himself more dead inside with each passing month. He had striven earnestly to rid himself of any painful thoughts-sometimes with the rare tune of his piano keys and others with the fervorous scribbles onto paper-but had not entirely become calloused to the memories which would at times enter his mind. Even while he was asleep, he could not dispel the bitter remnants of dreams that lingered in his thoughts upon waking.
Three years had seemed so long, and yet so little time to have passed since he had left France. The countryside of England had welcomed him, beckoning him to attempt to begin a new life, far away from anything that he had known.
And far from it, it had been. In the six-and-thirty months that he had been apart from the musical atmosphere, he had scarcely laid his fingers upon an instrument. Save for the few occurences in which he had been sleep-deprived and consumed by dark thoughts, he could not remember the last time in which he had actually played, let alone enjoyed it.
The sound of a piano key had been something that he could not endure, for even the times when a melody would construct itself in his thoughts, it was quickly ruined by the sour aftertaste of the remembrance of what had occured in his past.
Music had once been his Mistress, and now he rarely called for her to keep him company. Instead, he chose the solitude that somehow seemed more comforting to his soul. He would have wished to not feel anything at all, if given the choice, but even the pangs of loneliness were less of a burden than the reminder of the time when he had once been foolish enough to seek out the love of a woman.
And glancing at Mr. Abraham, with his clean-shaven face, his silver hair combed neatly back, and his expensive dress-suit that almost seemed inappropriate to wear for that time of day, he wondered how such a man could choose not to feel emotions.
John had been a widower for many years, and during the two-and-a-half years in which the two had become business partners, Erik had never witnessed even an inkling of longing or mourning for neither the passing of his wife nor the lack of companionship in his life. Yes, he had been surrounded by many prominant gentlemen in society, yes he even had a daughter to care for until she would find a suitable husband, but did he not ever wish for the love of a woman?
How Erik envied his partner's detachment to the idea of love!
"We must celebrate!" Mr. Abraham continued to cheer. "You must join me for a drink and a game of chance this evening!"
Never had the former Phantom of the Opera imagined that he would be one to play cards with another human soul, and yet he often found himself doing such on a Friday evening.
Erik thought back to when their partnership had first begun. Once he had removed himself from the Paris scene and far from France, he found that the rumors and gossip of his reputation had not reached the town in which he now resided in.
He had even managed to respond to an ad in search of a skilled architect, and though he had refrained from appearing in public for obvious reasons, he was able to secure the position by submissions of his work. After establishing a correspondence for a few weeks via letters and firmly requesting that certain rules be formed in their partnership, Erik was reluctant yet willing to meet Mr. Abraham in order to begin their alliance.
And while at first Mr. Abraham had had the natural curiosity of what lay beneath his mask, it was soon overriden with the great satisfaction that money had brought him. Yes, his silence could be bought and paid for, and if the whole world had founded the same ideals as Mr. Abraham, then certainly Erik would have been accepted into society long ago.
Still, he kept his distance from the other townsfolk, and when he was not frequenting the estate of Mr. Abraham in the country, then he was perusing the grounds of his own property. Save for a handful of servants who had been practically forced into Erik's home by John's insistance that wealth could afford Erik the luxuries of a clean house and warm meals-for even though he was not certain as to why anyone would agree to work in his household without knowing the particulars of his face, he had an idea that a rather large bribe had been involved-Erik was seen by no one.
Erik's thoughts were disrupted by the pouring of liquid in a glass that sat before him. He politely accepted the offer, but did not drink much. He often found that alcohol brought about a dark bout of self-loathing that nothing could remedy, and he did not wish to experience it often.
"There is another design in which I am attempting to secure. I should know the details in about a week or two. I do hope that you are not in need of a hiatus any time soon?"
Erik smiled grimly at the question and whirled the liquid around in his glass and watched it intently. What else would he be useful for or to have to occupy his time with, than to be constructing another building? He wished for nothing more, for when his hands would stop working then his mind would begin, in ways most unpleasant.
Though Mr. Abraham was a shallow and superficial man, he was some form of company nonetheless, but after another hour of game-playing and formulating, Erik had had enough and bid his farewell.
He excused himself from Mr. Abraham's study, having been there enough times to know that the front door was not far down the hallway, and insisted on seeing himself out. After all, it was late in the night and John had had a bit too much to drink to be of much assistance to him, now.
Erik closed the door behind himself and stepped out into the long hallway that stretched before him. He passed a few doors which he knew to be a setting room and dining hall, but stopped beside the open door to his left.
Darkness had enveloped all but the few oil lamps that adorned the walls throughout the house, but this room was in use and well-lit. But why would Mr. Abraham's daughter, a young woman of two-and-twenty years, be awake at this hour of the night? Certainly she had required some sort of beauty sleep or whatever nonsense that had filled her head, yet the glow of a fire in the fireplace said otherwise.
Erik could not refrain from glancing into the room as he slowed his pace to the front door. It was not the thought of seeing Hattie Abraham that had piqued his interest, but rather, the idea that he had mistaken her character.
She was the epitome of a proper English lady; her cream-colored skin, long brown hair, and big blue eyes had drawn the attention of many suitors, not to mention the knowledge of her father's fortune.
Yet Erik had never found her to be attractive beyond the natural inclination towards her physical appearance, for though she had even been introduced to him and had sometimes made her presence known-an occurence that he had still felt uncomfortable with-she, too, was one to be bought with money. She could only overlook the fact that he wore a mask because she knew the depth of his finances. Even his estate had been rumored to be luxurious and grand, though others could only wonder who this mysterious architect was from afar, rather than witnessing his luxuries firsthand.
He did not find her vanity to be an alluring quality, and that is why he could not comprehend that she would find something to occupy her time with at such an hour of the night. Had she, perhaps, been a woman of thought and contemplation, all along? Could she be reading a book to herself beside the fireplace, though all this time he had been almost certain that she would not be one to pick up a book willingly?
And most importantly, why did any of this even matter to him? He had seen the way in which she had toyed with various suitors, enjoying the thrill of the chase and the amusement of being showered with gifts and compliments, even when she had no genuine interest in the man. No, she was still on the lookout for the wealthiest man that she could find, and it disgusted him.
When she came into view, head tilted downward as her eyes scanned the pages of a book beside the fireplace, he was slightly taken aback by the sight.
It was not the ivory-colored brunette whom he had seen many times, in fact; this woman was far different.
Her hair was pinned up on top of her head-a dark brown color-but he could see the tight ringlets of curls that had escaped. They were not loose and manipulated strands of hair, rather, they were naturally crimped-much unlike any of the other women in town.
Almond-shaped eyes that were of a rich chocolate-brown color were gazing intently at the words held in her hands, hidden behind thick lashes.
Her petite frame and womanly curves were accentuated in a coral-colored gown with a long and flowing train and draped sleeves. Her collarbone and smooth skin were exposed as the glow of the flames danced across them.
But what had captured his attention the most was the color of her skin-a soft and glowing light-brown. She was certainly of mixed-race, but most pleasing to look at.
As quickly as he had seen her, her head whipped up and she gasped at having been discovered. He could not even say a word before the look of fear in her eyes had caused her to promptly rise to her feet and flee the room.
Erik felt the anger begin to rise in his throat. Such a rare and exotic beauty, and not even she could stand to look at him.
It was with this ascension to thoughts of self-hatred that he left the estate, ever more grateful to return to the sanctuary of his private home, though he could not escape the thoughts of her glowing brown skin.