AUTHOR'S NOTE: Back again everyone, and thank you for the lovely reviews Stanislav'sgirl and Waggers12345, would it be too much to ask again for this chapter? Alright, this one has a bit more Erik than Elizabeth, but you shall see why in a moment. He has a lot of feelings… -cough- inward emo tirades -cough-, about what goes on. Enjoy the following insanity!
DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera or anything else for that matter. My name is not Andrew, Gaston, or Susan. It is Mackenzie.
Erik listened intently, his jaw dropping farther with every word. She was welcoming him? With open arms? He needed no further invitation. Friendship was rare refined in the world of a disfigured recluse. This girl could not harm him. She had no power over him. He flipped the latch on the mirror and strode through confidently. Stopping before the chaise, Erik bowed deeply and spoke two words, holding out a hand gloved in black leather, "Echante, Elizabeth"
She felt her heart stop dead at the sight of him. He was tall and well built. Not muscular but he had broad shoulders and half of his face was handsome, the other half hidden by that white mask he wore. When he greeted her she curtsied and placed her hand on his leather gloved one. "It is such an honor to meet you. Meg had said she thought you died or slipped off entirely into insanity. It frightens me, I must admit, to know you have killed people and laughed of it. It makes me fear for my own safety. However, I don't think I pose a threat. Do I?"
"I laughed in my insanity, nightingale. I was so far gone from unrequited love that nothing at all made sense or had worth to me anymore but her... but Christine." His voice broke and he turned toward Elizabeth, his eyes clouded with tears. "I have only in the past decade killed to protect my anonymity and safety, or to protect her. I gained a conscience when I met her." He looked upon Elizabeth. The little maiden with such shocking courage, unknown even to herself.
Seeing her expectant face, he granted her with the rare gift of a smile. "You are too small and too trusting to ever pose a threat to me. No one can, truly. Only those that have my heart. Which no one does." His voice adopted the same coolness as it had previously. Erik shook it off. No, he would not treat this girl as any other. She was remarkably different from all. Erik placed a hand on her smooth, ivory cheek and made her face him. "Now, what would you like to know about Erik?"
Elizabeth sat on the bed, looking at him, her eyes brimming with questions, showing no fear. She had many questions to ask him. Of his past, where he came from, how he learned magic. Then something puzzled her. "Shouldn't you say, what would you like to know about me? Why do you say your name as if You and Erik are separate individuals?" He brought her long hair over her shoulder and watched his face.
"Ah, I knew that would be brought up. Inquisitive, are you not? Erik and I are in many ways separate entities. I have lived as The Angel of Music, as The Opera Ghost, as The Devil's Child, and as The Shah's Personal Assassin. Yet, in all my days, I have never truly lived as Erik. That man is even more of a mystery to me than he is to you. I would like to say he is a respectable man, but I, myself, do not know. I would like to discover Erik, my little nightingale. It is something I have been meaning to do for a long time." Erik spoke gently, liltingly, as if he were truly enjoying himself.
It was rather remarkable the effect Elizabeth had on him. He pursed his lips. Yes, he must test her. Erik laid his hand, palm up upon the chaise. It was not too close to her, but he was curious as he had not been in a long time as to what the woman sitting next to him would do with such an invitation. The woman. No, she was a child. He inwardly scolded himself. She would not be another Christine. Still, he kept his hand there as if he hadn't a care in the world.
Elizabeth's eyes saw his hand lay face up and without another thought she laid her hand in his, the other in her lap. Her eyes were wide and bright as she looked up at him and asked another question. "So what sight lies beyond the mask? May I see or is that a secret that will be kept even from myself?" She squeezed his leather cloaked hand and waited for his answer.
Erik gazed at their hands intertwined on the velvet upholstery, unaware of anything else. The woman had dared to touch him. To reach into his solitude and lessen it in some small measure. He came to realize that she was speaking. Of course. The mask. He could not, for the life of him understand the unbearable need others had to unmask him. Erik did not want to see the same disgust that was etched on Christine's face when she had glimpsed the terrifying visage reflected on the face of this beauty.
His eyes traced her own flawless profile, from her delicately arched brow over grey-blue eyes to her plump bow shaped lips to her elegant neck. Erik sighed and inwardly said the same thing he had voiced to himself since he was a child. The last glimmer of innocent hope. Maybe. Maybe she would be different from all the others. With his hand held tightly around hers, he intoned quietly, "Yes, Elizabeth, you may."
There was a silence from her end. A very still silence. This man whom she'd often daydreamed about was right here. The legendary phantom was no more than a man seeking friendship. She brought one hand up, breathing deeply, letting her fingers explore the perfect like of his unmasked portion. Her curious fingertips lead her to the mask. Taking a deep breath she removed it from him and gasped, jumping back a little. Such a horrid creature! However he was still a man. She crawled back to him and touched the planes of his marred flesh. "Oh, my…"
Her hand upon his unmarred cheek sent shocks of delight down his spine. Her tiny hand was warm and smelled of lilies. The fingertips crept to the mask and he drew in a breath, bracing himself for her reaction. Erik could hear the gasp and felt the fingertips leave his skin as Elizabeth scurried backwards across the chaise. Disappointment wracked his soul.
But wait, here was the rustle of fabric. She once again sat next to him and reached her hand to his face. She stroked his ravaged cheek. The skin there, so much more sensitive than the other half after being kept under a mask for so long, nearly leapt at the pure and singular joy of human contact.
Tears came to his eyes and he wept bitterly, ridding himself of all the anguish that had passed, the collective torment that Christine and all before her had caused. Erik saw his life of agony before his eyes, but what tethered him to the present against the maelstrom was the soothing touch of Elizabeth. Erik caught her hand and kissed the ivory flesh. Ripping the leather gloves off his own strong, sensitive musician's hands, he traced her lovely face, utterly captivated.