Author's Notes: Thank you to everyone who reviewed in the last chapter! I'm so glad that you all liked my Erik so much! I have to admit, I'm not that great at writing a really dark Erik, but I'm glad to see he's so far gotten a positive reaction.
Despite what my beta tells me, I'm not happy with this chapter, personally. There were some parts – itty bitter minor smittens of conversation – that simply did not want to be written, hence, the prolonged release of this chapter. To me, the story's feeling horribly rushed, and what should be done in ten chapters is going to be compressed down to about four or five. So, forgiveness for the seeming rushed-ness of the fic, but if it gets too long, you'll become bored and…
Aah, wait, I'm doing that right now, aren't I? Onwards!
But first, another heart-felt thanks to my beta, OritPetra.
Chapter Four
My Dark Maestro
To think that I wouldn't be punished by my aunt after the previous day's events would have been a fool's hope. As soon as Gisele had left me in the tiger's garden, she had, as I could have guessed, gone straight to my Aunt Celest and told her of my search for Erik, the shah's masked magician. Had we been back in Paris, her most efficient form of punishment would be to condemn me to a day of the most rigorous of house chores with the manor servants, but considering that there was no house to do chores in while my family and I were in Persia, her choices fit for a punishment were limited. The best she could do with the given situation was to commit me to spend the entire day in Rosie's apartments, and was forbidden to leave until dusk that night.
Truth be told, my aunt's punishments never bothered me much, however grisly the hoards of chores might have seemed to her and my cousins. When you live on the road for a number of years, you get used to having dirt under your fingernails. I never told her this, though. Although Aunt Celest never came off as a woman who would raise a hand to anyone, I was not about to press my luck, so to avoid making anything worse for myself, I went to Rosie's apartment without protest or complaints.
This actually turned out to work in my favor; I had been planning to speak with her today anyway. Ever since my first true encounter with Erik the night before, my mind was a swirling quagmire of anxiety and conflicting thoughts, and I desperately needed the advice from the last parental figure I had left in the world.
When I arrived at Rosie's apartment the following morning, she was already coming out of her, her arms ladled down with a tin wash basin that that day's worth of laundry that needed to be washed and mended. She seemed slightly surprised to see me there, wearing a plain brown cotton dress rather the normal day dresses I wore and my hair bound with a white handkerchief, but it was not an unusual sight for her. In fact, she knew exactly what it meant before I even had the chance to explain myself.
"Got yourself in a spot of trouble again, haven't you?" The old woman said brightly, shifting the wash basin in her hands. In turn, I was not surprised that she sounded so happy so see me there, awaiting to carry out my usual punishment for the day. "I figured it was bound to happen sooner than later. You were being peculiarly good-mannered this entire trip, even for you, young lady. Well, come on then, we're starting with the wash today."
I followed Rosie without question to a small courtyard close to her apartment, which had nothing more than a couple of trees, a bench, and a fountain in its limited vicinity. The day was cooler than it usually was in this sweltering country, and the sky was streaked with high clouds that did wonders to keep the worst of the day's heat at bay. Rosie dumped the clothes onto the blue tiled flooring of the small garden, and then proceeded to fill the basin up with water from the fountain. "Christine, Nicola has a bundle of shirts that can do with some mending. Will you please start on those for me, dear?"
Sewing is yet another one of those helpful little skills that I picked up while on the road with my father; we never had enough money to buy new shirts whenever they were needed. I sat myself down on the single bench, the bundle of children's shirts at my right and a small sewing kit to my left, threaded a needle and picked up the first little blouse. Rosie threw a bar of soap into the water basin and started on her own pile of clothing.
For a very long time, neither of us spoke. It would have only been a matter of time before Rosie suspected that something peculiar was going on.
"You're awfully quiet today, Christine. Is there something on your mind?"
"No, not really."
Rosie frowned slightly, the already deep lines around her mouth deepening all the more, but she did not even look up from the shirt she was washing as she spoke. "Rubbish. You're normally chatting these old ears off. Besides, you never told me why your aunt sent you here in the first place. What did you do to land you here today?"
"You make it sound so awful. I don't mind helping you with the laundry." I said nonchalantly, fixing a small pearl button that had been hanging askew. I was aware that Rosie was now staring intently at me without having to look up from my work, waiting for an answer. "I was looking for someone yesterday. Someone that Aunt Celest didn't approve of. Gisele told her as soon as she found out."
"Oh?"
"He's…well, he's the shah's magician. He performed for us during dinner the other night."
"A magician, eh? Well, I can certainly see why your aunt would disapprove."
"I couldn't care less if she did! Rosie, he's no ordinary magician. I know I've seen my share while in the carnivals with my father, but he was…he was like none other that I've ever seen! When he performed the other night –regardless if he considered them parlor tricks or not – it was as if all the magic that was gone from my life since my father died was brought back to me…"
"Christine, are you telling me that you not only went looking for this man, but you spoke to him as well?" At first I could not figure out why Rosie sounded so alarmed, but I had to remind myself – again – that not all people in this world, especially those of "civilized nations", as my uncle liked putting it, did not hold the same respect to magicians and users of magic as I did. Even though Rosie was a devout Catholic, she did not hold the same loathing to magicians as my aunt and cousins did, but I also knew that she was not terribly fond of them, either. Besides, not more than a moment ago she seemed perfectly fine with the fact that I had been looking for him. It was only when I said I had spoken to Erik that she became distressed. Like Francine had been the day before, she had probably just assumed that I had no hope in finding him at all.
I fiddled with the pearl buttons on Nicola's dress, feeling slightly embarrassed. If anyone else had asked me that question, I would have not cared less about what they thought, but for some reason, having Rosie asking it made me feel horribly guilty. "Well…yes. I wanted to thank him. Yes, you heard right," I snapped quickly, taking in the bemused look on Rosie's aged face. "I thanked him for making me feel happy again. I wanted to thank him for making me feel alive again, even if it was only for a few minutes. Was that so wrong?"
"Of course not, dear." Rosie's voice was soft again, calmer this time. "It's just that…well, magicians are can be a dodgy lot, and I don't like the idea of you gallivanting around with their type. Besides, if he's a magician of that boy-king, than he can't be anything but trouble. I dislike the shah and all his associates. The lot of them are nothing but bad souls." She plunged her arms back into the soapy water, scrubbing vigorously at a stain on one of my uncle's numerous shirts. "So you said you spoke to him. Did he say anything back to you?"
I bit my tongue so hard I thought I tasted blood in my mouth. I should have known that Rosie would have disapproved of me being around Erik, but how was I supposed to tell her now that I had a singing lesson (of all things!) with him that very afternoon? Had my aunt told me I was forbidden to go, I would have as soon ignored her as though she had never said anything at all. But if Rosie told me, as the favorite grandmother I never had…
"Nothing. He didn't say anything at all. He didn't even look back at me."
I hated lying to Rosie. It always made me feel so dirty and shameful. Omitting the whole part about the tiger encounter would probably have been for her own good; she probably would have had a heart attack if I told her that I had been locked in a room with a tiger, then throttled Gisele for locking me in there in the first place. As much as I would have liked to see Gisele flipped head over heels by the old woman, it wouldn't have done Rosie any good in the long run once my aunt and uncle found out. But if I told her about the singing lessons and she forbid me from attending, I would have immediately obeyed like an extremely well-mannered child.
You will learn that I do not take "no" for an answer, mademoiselle. I do not tolerate tardiness. Do not keep me waiting.
If I didn't go to the lesson, I knew that Erik would come looking for me. I was suddenly caught in a terrible conflict. What was worse? To be caught lying to Rosie and face her disappointment, or to miss Erik's lesson and face his wrath?
I did not want to think that Erik would ever want to hurt me, but my rational mind told me to not make such assumptions otherwise.
Woe to fall on the fool who dares to deny a magician's request…
Rosie and I spoke little as we finished up that day's worth of work. Of course, the load of chores was vastly decreased since we were not in my aunt's Paris manor, and so there was nothing to dust, no rugs to beat, no dishes to wash, and no meals to prepare. The laundry and the mending took up most of the day – only because we chose to take our merry time on it, and nothing else – and after that we only had to polish a few pairs of my uncle's shoes.
As five o'clock drew nearer, I found that I was becoming more and more distracted in my work, and my sentences were broken and incomplete whenever Rosie asked me a question. If the work I had to help her with was not complete by four-thirty, at the very latest, then I was going to have to come up with some excuse to get away so I could be at the lesson on-time.
It turned out that luck was on my side that day.
The small clock near the cot that Rosie slept on chimed the four o'clock hour. The old woman set down the shoe she had been polishing, squinting over at the clock's face. "My goodness, is it that late already? Well then, Christine, I think that you've been 'punished' enough today, wouldn't you say? Now, off with you, go enjoy the daylight while it's still here."
It was hard to mask my excitement; I did not want to leave Rosie with the illusion that I was anxious to leave her. I took another moment to help her fold the last of the clothing and replace the lids on the jars of shoe polish before embracing her warmly and promising that I would visit sometime the following day. I left her apartment calmly enough, but as soon as the doors were shut behind me I was off at a near-run, hastily making my way back up to my own chambers to change out of my work clothing and into something a little more decent.
When I returned to my own guest chambers, I was relieved to see that no one else was there; Francine was probably out watching the horses again, and heaven knew where Gisele was – she was probably more than likely to be lounging around in a garden somewhere since the day was getting cooler, and was probably being waited upon hand and foot by half of the palace's servants. I could have cared less what she was actually doing. All I knew was she was not here at the moment, meaning that I could get to my music lesson unhindered. Since most of our meals were taken in our rooms, I did not have to worry about being anywhere else at any particular time, and since I opted to skip most meals anyway, my presence would not be missed by anyone until later in the night. My aunt and cousins probably assumed I was still out in the gardens, or perhaps wandering aimlessly around the palace without any real objection in mind.
However, the events of yesterday had drastically changed the course of my stay here. If I were gone for too long, I know Gisele would become suspicious of me, and more than likely assume that I had gone to try to find Erik again, regardless that I was punished today for that very reason. The last thing I wanted was my cousin and my aunt breathing down my neck at every waking moment…
The best thing to do would be to tell Erik, as soon as I arrived, of this predicament. Two hours, tops, would be the ideal length of time for lessons; get in, get out, before anyone knew I was gone.
If he wanted to continue lessons, that was. Perhaps after just today he would deem me a lost cause, and never want to have anything to do with me again…
I shook the thought from my head. That was the wrong attitude to have right now. Sighing to myself, I untied the handkerchief from my hair and proceeded to change my clothes.
As the hour drew nearer, the more and more anxious I became. By the time it was quarter 'til, my heart was beating so hard within my chest that I could barely tie the laces of my shoes. Finally, I retrieved my little straw hat and carefully placed it upon my carefully pinned-up hair. I quickly examined myself in my vanity mirror, smiling picturesquely at my own reflection. Disliking what I saw, I frowned deeply, pulling the rim of the hat down over my eyes. It always seemed that no matter what I did, I would never be more than a thin, plain mouse of a girl that most men wouldn't even waste a second glance on. This was especially true when I was standing beside Gisele. With her sun-bright hair, smooth, fair complexion and eye-turning figure, my cousin was the type of woman that men would be willing to kill each other over just for her attention.
Besides, it was not as if I was trying to impress Erik. I could probably show up at his chambers covered head to foot in much and he couldn't have cared less, just so long as my voice was still acceptable.
It was with that thought that I was struck with another stomach-sinking revelation. I had no idea where his rooms were, much less how to get to them! And with only ten minutes to spare, I was quickly running out of time.
I began to pace around my rooms nervously, fiddling with the lace trimmings of my dress, trying to figure out what I should do. I could always try to find his residence on my own, but that would only mean getting lost – again – with no way of finding my way back, short of leaving a trail of breadcrumbs behind me.
Then, my luck changed again. On my second rotation around the chamber, I noticed something laying on my bed that I was certain had not been there a moment before. A piece of paper lay on the silken pillow case and written on it, in perfect French, were very clear instructions that led right to Erik's room within the shah's palace. The style of handwriting surprised me however; it was messy, almost childlike, the exact opposite of what I would had expected from him. Perhaps he hadn't written it at all? But, then again, who else would have sent it? My heart gave an excited leap as I scanned over the directions once before I hastily left my chambers without a second backwards glance.
The instructions that I assumed Erik himself had written for me were simple and straight-forward, and in less than the ten minutes I had remaining, I found myself standing before the doors to his rooms. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I reached out with one trembling hand to knock on the dark wood, but my knuckles barely made contact with the highly polished surface when the door swung open seemingly by itself.
I held my breath, prayed I made the right decision, and went inside.
The room beyond was everything that I so far knew to be Erik; dark, mysterious, and absolutely magical. The wide windows and white marble walls were covered in large sheets of velvet and silk in deep burgundy, blocking out the daytime sun and giving the room a very powerful, mystical aura. The chamber itself was full of odd, dark little instruments and contraptions unlike anything I had ever seen before, and multitudes of dark bottles that contained a variety of unknown colored substances. It even smelled of magic, like Persia's native spices and opium that had always been so foreign to Western Europe. The whole of the chamber sent an excited shiver down my spine. Only a true magician would dare to live like this. Anyone else would have been hanged for witchcraft.
I had naturally expected Erik to have been here already, waiting for me to arrive, but as far as I could tell, I was the only one here. I knew I was not incredibly late – the instructions had been too well written for me to take any longer than ten minutes – but Erik was nowhere to be seen, granted that he could be seen at all in the darkened, hazy light of the room. I sighed; there was nothing more that I could do but wait for his return. Taking a seat on a plush Persian cushion, I removed my hat, folded my hands in my lap and waited for my maestro to arrive.
I remained there for what seemed like hours, my anxiety only growing stronger as the minutes ticked away. A thousand thoughts flew threw my mind to why he was not here. Perhaps it was nothing more than being tied up with his duties to the shah and the khanum, which would make sense seeing how valuable an asset he was to the shah's court. Something told me in the back of my mind that Erik was the type of man who held no agenda, but when he told someone to be at a certain place at a certain time, it would be foolish to not heed his call.
A small flash of movement just out of the corner of my eye caught my attention, but it was so quick that I lost it before I could even see what the source was. My heart fluttered in my chest as I held my breath, sitting perfectly still, waiting for another sign of whatever it was that I hadn't seen. Maybe it was just my imagination due to over reactive nerves, until I saw the small flicker again. By now I was on my feet, ready to panic and bolt from that chamber at a moment's notice, lesson or no.
The movement came a third time, only now it was right in front of me and in full view. I found myself staring into a pair of vibrant blue eyes that gazed intensely back at me. Once my heart rate began to return to normal, I realized that I was not staring at some unknown monster, but at a cat, and it was positively the strangest looking cat that I had ever seen. Its coat was a warm cream color, sleek and silky looking, which faded into a deep chocolate color on its paws and around its pointed face. The most beautiful of collars encircled its slender neck, made out of what appeared to be real diamonds. I had read about this breed before – Siamese, was it? – but I had never actually seen a real one. Being the cat lover that I was, my fear quickly ebbed into delight, and I smiled despite myself.
"Well, hello there!" I said cheerfully, laughing away my own foolishness. "You certainly gave me a scare. Do you belong to Erik? You're probably the prettiest kitty I've ever seen, so I wouldn't be surprised…" I reached out one hand, fingers extended to let the cat sniff them to show it that I meant no harm, but to my surprise the cat suddenly arched its back, hissed, then made a leaping lunge towards my face. I felt claws graze my face; not enough to hurt, but it certainly did sting. I whipped around, following to cat's path to see it perched on a bookshelf just behind me, dark tail lashing and fur raised.
"Do not patronize me, stupid girl." The cat growled at me in a voice that was clearly female. "Touch me again, and I'll cut your face to ribbons."
Out of all the strange and fantastic things I had seen in Persia – Erik included – nothing had quite prepared me for a talking cat, and I gasped in spite of myself, reeling backwards. "You…you…you can talk!"
"Of course I can talk, you silly girl." The cat snapped down at me. "All cats can talk. Most humans just aren't honored enough for us to waste our time on."
I wasn't sure if I wanted to laugh or frown. She had to belong to Erik. She sounded just like him.
"What are you doing here anyway, girl?" the cat suddenly demanded. Pushy little thing, isn't she? She has the exact same demeanor as a queen…
"I…well, that is…" For whatever the reason, talking to a cat suddenly seemed very, very difficult. "Erik told me to come…"
"Erik would do no such thing!" The cat spat down at me, cutting me off before I had the chance to fully explain myself. "He had far more important things to do than to waste his time on a country bumpkin like you! Leave, and leave now!"
Now I was beginning to feel insulted. Just who was this…this cat…that thought it could order me around like I was some idiot! "Now wait just a moment!" I shot back, but dared not come any closer to the agitated animal. She did look very well like she was ready to claw my nose off at the slightest instant. "Why would I be here if Erik hasn't sent me here? I know better than to just go barging into people's rooms without permission!"
"Lies," the cat hissed. "Human girls are always so curious, and then hide behind their false innocence once they've done something wrong. Filthy, lying little chits, the lot of you! Leave, now, before my master returns. I can promise you that what he does to you will be much worse than I can ever do once he finds out you've intruded in his private rooms!"
Tears of frustration pricked the back of my eyes. I could not believe this was happening! Here I was, standing in the middle of the room of a man I barely knew, arguing with this cat that was beginning to sound like his very over-protective and jealous lover! I had half a mind to grab her off the shelf by the scruff of her neck and shake her when a voice from behind us cut me off before I could utter a single word. "Ayesha? What's going on in here?"
My heart leapt to my throat as I spun around to see Erik standing not more than a few feet aside from me. The fact that he had come in so silently without either me or the cat knowing until he spoke sent a chill up my spine, adding to Erik's mysterious nature all the more. He didn't seem angry or surprised at me for being here – why would he be, he told you to come himself! – but I still had the strongest urge to explain my presence in his chamber. I opened my mouth to speak, but the cat beat me to it, leaping gracefully off the bookshelf to perch on Erik's shoulder, rubbing her pointed head affectionately against his masked cheek.
"Oh Erik, thank goodness you're back!" The cat whined, glaring pointed at me, blue eyes glowing in the mystical light of the room. "This awful girl came barging into the room without bothering to knock, then proceeded to lie and tell me that you sent her here, even after I asked her to leave!"
Anger flooded my rational thought as I stamped my foot indignantly. "You miserable little beast! I wasn't lying! And if I remember correctly, it was you who were being so horribly rude, first demanding that I leave, then accusing me of lying about it!"
The cat arched her back on Erik's shoulder, spitting at me and preparing to leap had Erik not seized her around the middle, pulling her down into his arms and stroking her fur soothingly. "Calm yourself, Ayesha. It's all right. I did ask Mademoiselle Daaé to come here today for a singing lesson. If you promise not to interfere, I'll make it up to you later."
The cat – Ayesha, as Erik called her – did not seem at all pleased with Erik's peace offering. Instead she only growled, glared at me once more, before leaping out of his arms and stalking away into the red shadows.
I remained silent for several long moments, waiting for Erik to speak. I felt so ashamed, loosing my tempter at a cat. He probably thought I was a child, if he had not already thought that before.
"Do not judge Ayesha too harshly. She dislikes strangers." Erik began casually, choosing several books off the shelf that Ayesha had been sitting on. At first, I was surprised he wasn't chiding me about yelling at his cat, until he said, in a slightly firmer tone; "I would also appreciate it that you wouldn't insult her. She's the only family I have in this world."
"I…I'm sorry. Forgive me." I said meekly, rotating the straw hat slowly between my fingers, like a child who had just been scolded.
"Just let her be in the future. You were very close to loosing your ears. Now, shall we?"
By now, my knees were shaking so badly I could barely stand, let alone follow him through the darkened room. I had half a mind to leave right then and there, to run away from this man and his overly possessive cat and not look back, but some unknown force compelled me to stay. Erik still did not come off as being very dangerous or threatening to me; perhaps that was why I had no desire to run, although every moment I remained with him, I felt compelled to learn more about him.
What sort of secrets was he hiding under that mask, inside his soul…?
I followed Erik over to, of all things, a master piano sitting in the center of the floor off to one side of the chambers. I'm not sure why seeing the piano there caught me as being odd. Perhaps because it was so out of place in this country; a European instrument in the middle of a palace of a middle-eastern kingdom. The piano itself was absolutely stunning. It's rich, dark wood had hardly was highly polished and didn't have a single blemish upon it, and the white ivory keys gleamed in the weak light. I had never seen a more magnificent piano in my entire life. I almost wished, at that moment, that my father had been there to seen it. If anyone could appreciate such a masterful piece of work, it would be him.
"You seem surprised." Erik stated, propping the books open just over the keys of the piano.
"Well, a little…" I mused, reaching out as if to touch the wood, only to pull back my hand at the last moment, as if my touch would somehow soil it. "I just haven't seen one as of yet since we've been here. I didn't even think that there would be any pianos in Persia."
"There aren't many, true. I had to import this one from Germany. I might be in the service of the shah and his mother, but I refused to let them deny me of my music. Being in a position of power does have it advantages." I only nodded dumbly, not sure what to say in response. "Now then, I assume you are familiar with the basic of warn-up scales?"
"It's been a long time." I admitted shyly.
"Can you read music?"
"A little. From what my father taught me. But, like I said, it's been a long while since I've had any practice."
Not since Papa died…
Erik smirked a little, but I could not tell if it was in good humor or silent mockery. "Well then, we'll just have to refresh your memory, won't we?"
We started with the most basic of scales, the ones my father had taught me when I was still a child. C-major, F-major…scales that I would remember even if I lived to be a hundred years old. Once, and one time only (only because he told me he would only show me once, no exceptions), Erik rose from the bench to stand behind me, guiding me wordlessly into what he probably considered the ideal singer's stance. This was new to me, and rather uncomfortable on top of that; back straight, shoulders back, tummy in, chin up, but don't lock at the knees… I felt a shiver run down my spine as he placed his hands on my arms, at the small of my back, under my chin, but I soon realized that he was only touching the air around me, guiding me without physically touching me at all. Was I so intrigued by him that he had so much power over me?
It was not until after he sat back down on the piano bench that I released the breath I had not been aware I was holding, but I dared not move.
We continued onwards with the scales and warm-up exercises, quickly moving from what I had been familiar with to exercises that grew in complexity and that I often found myself fumbling over the notes in frustration and nerves. Each time I would miss a note, Erik would immediately stop the exercise, chiding me for not concentrating before asking – no, ordering me – to try again. During the majority of the lesson, I felt much like a child being scolded for something I had been told not to do a hundred times over before, and I had to blink back the prickle of tears more than once.
The grueling warm-ups lasted for near two hours, greatly prolonged by the number of times we had to stop and start again due to my errors. During the course of the evening, I was waiting for Erik's patience to finally give out, but if he was loosing his tolerance he didn't let it show. By the time he decided we were done with the exercises, my voice was now plenty warmed-up, and rather raw on top of that. Without saying a word, he opened up one of the books sitting just above the keyboard of the piano. "Are you familiar with Faust, Mademoiselle Daaé?" Erik asked without so much as looking at me, his voice flat and betraying no emotion.
I felt my heart perk up in a newfound confidence. My father had taught me some of the songs of that particular opera. Although we did not have the money to attend any of the performances after my mother died, it did not mean that he could not pass down his love of the opera to me. "Yes, but only with Marguerite's part."
Erik nodded, as if that answer alone seemed to satisfy him. "Very well, then. Do you know her part from scene two of act five?"
"Yes."
"Begin there, then. I would like to hear how your voice fairs in a real opera."
So I sang for him, as much as I could remember from the requested scene, but since it felt like centuries since I last sang properly, and therefore I missed several notes and cues out of sheer forgetfulness. Unlike the warm-ups, however, Erik did not stop me, or chide me for making such mistakes. He was testing me, I was sure, testing my untrained potential that even I did not know I possessed, if it existed at all. A maestro testing his student…
Or a hawk watching its prey. It was hard to tell exactly what thoughts lay behind those golden eyes.
The aria came to an end, and silence shrouded the room with its own powerful presence. I waited for his evaluation of my performance, holding my breath tight within my chest. Erik sat rigid at the piano, his fingers still poised over the last keys struck when the song ended, eyes closed in thought. Searching for the right words, perhaps, to let me down easily? I dropped my eyes away from him, bracing myself for his displeasure and dismissal.
"You certainly managed to put yourself into an interesting predicament, mademoiselle." Erik said at last, his voice still void of emotions. "You possess perfect pitch and clarity – you've already proven that to me once before – but the sheer lack of soul and passion you put into it makes it nearly…painful to listen to, and that's being generous. I was hoping that it was only from being unprepared when I requested you to sing yesterday, but I can see now I wasn't that fortunate."
Erik's words stung more than I had expected, but I said nothing, continuing to look down at my feet so he could not see the tears that threatened to form in my eyes. "It's hard to sing with soul when you have nothing to sing for." I said meekly, my voice so quiet that I was not sure if he had heard me. If he did, he made no sign of it.
"And you never had a lesson before in your life?"
"Only what my father told me." I began to feel like I was repeating myself. My throat was beginning to feel raw and scratchy, and I was beginning to wish for nothing more than a hot cup of tea to sooth it. "My mother came from a wealthy family, but she became estranged from my grandparents when she announced she was marrying my father, which meant cutting off her financial ties. She died shortly after I was born. When I was ten, my father and I were evicted from the flat we lived in, so we were turned to the streets. A traveling carnival of musicians and magicians found us, and we traveled with them until he died. Some of the performers in the carnival would give me pointers every now and again, but those didn't count. Since I was never part of the show, they never really bothered to give me their time." I sighed, running my fingers absently over the rich wood of the piano.
I continued: "After my father died, my grandfather – my mother's father – eventually learned of her death. He felt awful about disowning her, and when he learned about me, he felt it was his responsibility to take me in. He was nice enough to me, as if he was trying to make up the time he had lost with my mother, but about six months after I was sent to live with him, he died as well, leaving me with his only son and his wife; my Aunt Celest. Before my grandfather died, he made them both swear that they would take care of me, as a final respect to him and my mother. But the man she's with now is her second husband; my mother's brother died about two years back. I'm surprised she hasn't attempted to ship me off to a boarding house yet."
"And you feel that your father's death gives you an excuse to sing in such a disgraceful manner?"
I whirled around at him, anger flaring in my chest, finally meeting his eyes for the first time in hours. Those golden orbs remained indifferent and uncaring, and he had asked that dreadful question in the same demeanor of someone asking if we would be expecting rain that day. "Oh course it is! My father was all I had ever known, and I loved him more than anything else in this world! What's the good of living if you have nothing to live for?"
Some unspoken emotion flashed in Erik's eyes, something that seemed a mix of barely contained anger and a soul crushing sadness and grief. My anger dissolved as quickly as it had come, and I found myself wishing I could take back my words. I half-expected for Erik to come back with some sort of retaliation, a harsh barrage of words that would leave me a simpering mess…but he only rose from the bench in one fluid motion, his back turned towards me so I could no longer look into his eyes.
"I have been asking myself that question for a very long time, Mademoiselle Daaé."
I was shrouded in a thick, paralyzing cloak of guilt when he spoke those words. The emotion I had seen in his eyes not more than a moment before was now mirrored through his voice. The sheer amount of loneliness and unregistered sadness in that beautiful, otherworldly voice was enough for me to feel like the worse person in the world for asking such a question.
"Surely…there has to be something." I began slowly, choosing my words carefully. When Erik remained silent, I warily pushed forward. "Or someone? What about your father? Or your mother?"
It had been the wrong thing to say. Erik rounded on me as though I had indeed asked the worse question in the world; his lips were pulled back in a furious snarl, his eyes flashing behind the mask. I found myself stumbling backwards, trying to put as much space between us without truly running away. "Never ask that question again! You are not to speak of your faery-tale family relations in my presence again, do you understand? Not everyone was blessed with such fortune. You have no right to lament over what you lost when there are people in the world who were not fortunate enough to have it to begin with!"
Words failed me as fear flooded me. For that very brief instance, I was afraid to be in the same room with his man whose moods changed without notice and a temper as unstable as a powder keg. All I wanted at that moment was to leave, to get away from him, and I desperately searched for an excuse to do so.
"I…I'm sorry." I stammered, feeling very stupid in my meager form of an apology. "I won't speak of it again, I swear. May I go now, please? It's getting late, and my cousins will begin to suspect that I'm up to something…"
Erik's anger cooled down significantly when he spoke again, although there was still a dangerous edge to his voice. He still would not look at me. "In the future, you will not be dismissed until I dismiss you." In the future? Did that mean he expected me to return, even after that frightening outburst of anger? "But it is getting late. Tomorrow we will continue with where we left off today."
I silently released the breath I was holding, unsure if I was more relieved that he was no longer angry with me – not outwardly, at least – or that he had not given up in my voice lessons. "Yes sir." I said humbly, then turned to leave.
"And, mademoiselle," Erik called after me, his voice still hard. "If you insult Ayesha again, or ask about my past, I can guarantee you that you won't be coming back."
I said nothing as I left his chambers.
I got about half-way back to my own rooms before stopping my quick stride and sinking to the floor in a quiet indignant manner, resting my forehead on my knees as I tried to will myself to stop shaking.
Erik…Erik…Erik…
Who are you Erik? What are you? And what happened to you to inspire such sadness, such loneliness, such anger? When I looked into your eyes…it felt like I would never feel joy again… Will you ever show me what's really in your heart?
Or am I asking for a death wish by asking that of you?
Maybe I'm not ready to know yet…
Will I ever be?
I don't know how long I sat there, curled up around myself, debating on my return to Erik's lessons or not the following night, and the night after that. There was so much more to this masked magician than anyone else I had ever known in my life, or that I had dared to dream about. He was like the ocean, like the cosmos, too compelling for humans comprehend, far too powerful for one measly little girl like myself could ever hope to understand. I had only known him for a day, and I already was beginning to feel lost in his presence, wallowing in his storm of emotions and secrets. How long would it be before I was at last swept away by him, unable to find my way back to the world I knew, the world I was safe in?
Or was I already too late?
Author's Ending Note: Yeay for Ayesha! She doesn't get enough fic time. Of course, I can't help but to feel a trifle foolish for putting her in. There's a thread on PFN that expands on the thought of Disney making their own version of PotO, and one of the jokes within that topic is Disney slapping Erik with a talking cat companion. But, I felt it would fit this story a little more; the fantasy emphasis has to be emphasized somehow.
Also, I guess there's some confusion I should clear up. I've had a couple of people ask me when and where they would be seeing the Miazaki influence within the story. What I actually was referring to was not one particular Miazaki movie in general, but rather to his style of storytelling and the overall mood and worlds he creates, especially in movies such as Spirited Away and Howl's Moving Castle. Both of these movies have very real-world aspects in them, and he makes him so incredibly fantastic it might as well be a whole other world altogether. In other words, this fic isn't a reflection of one of his movies in particular, but more of his style in general. If you've ever seen any of his movies, you'd know what I'm referring too. The two I mentioned aren't the only movies of his you can see to know what I'm alluding to. Any would do, he's a fantastic storyteller and has a wonderful imagination.
The part with Christine looking at herself in the mirror and then pulling the hat down over her eyes is a direct allusion to Howl's Moving Castle, where the main protagonist, Sophie, does the same. I thought the part was cute, so I had to put it in. The Christine in this story isn't a drop-dead beauty like she's usually referred as, but is rather much more average in appearance.
The next chapter is actually the first interval; a chapter that's not told from Christine's POV. Most of these will be rather short, so I'll see if I can't get that out by the end of the week. No promises, though.
Orit Petra: I'm glad Erik made such an impact during that one scene. I'm glad I decided to go with that than what I originally had planned. And Nadir will return; he plays a hefty part in the storyline, and isn't just there to smack Erik's hand when he's done something wrong.
Miss Daae: I knew it was a Sarah Brightman song, but I actually heard it for the first time off my Celtic Women CD, which is a much prettier version IMO. And yes, Erik has made his return!
Golden Lyre: Yes, Orit's a sweetie, and I'm so glad she agreed to beta this for me. I really enjoyed your fic as well. Thanks for reviewing!
MouetteHeartsErik Thank you for your feedback on Erik! Also, thank you for adding me to your C2 site!
Kates Yeay, my first SQUEE! Waaah, I didn't realize you were that Kates until I looked at your profile! I absolutely loved Le Fantome et la Belle, it was so well done! I'm glad you seem to be enjoying this as much as I enjoyed your fic!
Aragornnme Thanks for your comments, it took some time to work out exactly how it was going to work.
Patiens-liberi Wow, I don't even know where to begin, lol. Thanks for pointing out my redundancies, it's one of those writing demons I can't seem to get rid of. I'll make sure I'll watch out for them more in the future. Also, thank you for all your comments on All Forgiving!
YoukoElfMaiden I hope you enjoyed the first lesson. And yes, evil Giselle. Don't worry, she'll get hers, in one way or another.
AngelofSilence1881: Another squee! Thanks much!
Lady Skywalker: Yes, I'm going to try really hard to not make this into a sappy Erik story. It's just a tad out of bounds for him. I just hope I can keep him in character now that so many people seem to like the Erik I created for this fic. Sorry for the delay in updates!
ErisofChaos8: He does seem to be everyone's "my Erik", isn't he? Thanks for reviewing!
