Author's Note: Hello dear readers! We've reached the double digits in chapters. I've always felt it takes a some time before a story really finds itself and becomes interesting. Even in Jane Eyre I have difficulty reading the first several chapters and not just skipping to Jane leaving Lowood and arriving at Thornfield. I apologize for any errors you may notice in reading, it's always difficult to edit your own writing. There are some characters I have left out of recent chapters but fear not they'll soon be back. I've been reading and doing a lot of research on Lord Byron, Jane Eyre, Othello, gothic fiction, Victorian England, and a number of other topics relating to the story and time period. I realize I told you this would be heavily inspired by Jane Eyre and that still has not changed; however I will be bringing in events in history and borrowing lives of individuals in history.
Of course I'm sure you may have noticed that, while heavily influenced by Jane Eyre there are a number of things I've chosen to alter greatly. Just a few: Erik has no children by an opera dancer, though that would have fit in very well; Christine is not an orphan, something I chose to change from Leroux's story and all those following it; and Erik is not married. For those of you who have not read Jane Eyre don't worry, this is just an explanation of my writing choices. I think it's obvious to all those who have read it that the fire in Rochester's room marks a change in his and Jane's relationship. I wanted to have that, but since there's no Bertha I couldn't very well have fires spontaneously appearing. So, I wanted to have that same feeling created in a way that would match the storyline. Perhaps it's just me but I noticed that until Rochester really tells Jane how he feels about her, he tries so very hard to hide them behind indifference and friendship. I'm striving to do so with Erik as well. With Christine he will soften and become more amicable but keep up that fabulous personality we love and know so well. I will try my best to keep my characterization of him in those lines. It's not very difficult to see similarities between Rochester and Erik. I think if Gaston Leroux's Phantom of the Opera had been a requited love story between Christine and Erik we would have seen those similarities more clearly.
I've also lapsed in responding to you, so here we go.
Masked Man 2: Don't worry, they'll both be lovesick puppies all in good time. And of course you're right, he hasn't exactly been a gentleman. But we wouldn't want them to come together too quickly. Where's the fun in that? And we all know Erik falls for Christine faster than she would fall for him, it's just how their story goes. I'm so glad all of my Jane Eyre references are being noticed! Thank you so much! you are too kind, really. I do have to agree with you on Rochester's character in Wide Sargasso Sea. I understand what Rhys was doing but I'm not sure I agree with her characterization of him at all. Of course in Jane Eyre Rochester does discuss the recklessness and mistakes of his youth. What I like about Wide Sargasso Sea is that it gives us more on Bertha Antoinetta Mason or Antoinette Cosway (in WSS). What I think Rhys really missed was the consequences the marriage had on both Rochester and Bertha. It's a deeper analysis of her character to show that every action we take influences to lives of others. And that's really what I like about it. But again I agree with you on the Rochester piece.
And don't worry, it certainly isn't the first time Erik has broken something and it won't be the last.
Everyonedeserveslove: Of course I had to include that! The line fit too well with both men. And what an opportunity indeed. It may be making appearances through out the story so be on the lookout.
Alright everyone, sorry for the long introduction but I'd be remiss if I didn't explain some things. As per usual, if you notice anything; have any questions, concerns, or suggestions; or just want to comment on something, please let me know. I do so enjoy hearing from you. And now finally chapter 10. Here we go!
Before the arrival of Christine Daae at his home, Erik Destler could determine how each day would begin and end. Those who were under his employ were of course terrified of him but they kept quiet and out of his way. He didn't want to have to deal with any of them any more than necessary, not when all they were going to do was cower or stare blatantly at him. He supposed he should have been used to that now, after years of men doing worse than that to him. He had taken beatings but it never ceased to surprise him even the slightest bit that human beings didn't have the decency to not stare. It wasn't as though they knew what he hid, but his own paranoia caused thoughts of them screaming at just the sight of him even with the mask. Few had even seen what lay beneath it and now due to his own foolishness and self-loathing, Christine Daae had seen it. It, his face or what could only be called an excuse for one. His twisted, grotesque flesh, that had been the cause of his entire tortured life: and she had seen it.
It had been his own fault of course. Erik knew no better torture than forcing himself to stare at the horror his own mother couldn't bare to look at. He'd been doing just that when his demons grabbed hold of him, forcing every horrid thought to seem a reality. Putting his fist through the glass seemed the only viable option. He hardly registered the feeling of pain as each blow caused his reflection to become more distorted than before. He may have ended up trying more had she not burst through the door when she did. In truth he was disturbed that he hadn't heard her the moment she'd entered. No one had ever startled him that way before. But he knew the moment he looked up he'd made a terrible mistake and he could see in her eyes that she had as well. His movements in the moments after that were practiced and calculated. Of course Erik didn't want her to see anymore than she already had. He expected she was traumatized enough as it was.
But then she did something that had surprised him beyond anything he had ever. She helped him. And more than that she talked back to him, something he hoped did not become a habit among the others in his house. It wasn't that which had confused him the most, but that she had done it because she could. That confused him most of all.
"Let me help you." Erik simply stared at her in response. He did not want her help so she could take it and-
"You do not like me and that is fine." She moved back a step and raised her hands to show she would not interfere, "But however much you wish to deny it, you are in need of assistance." He reluctantly moved his eyes down to his wounded hand and almost reeled at the sight of it. It looked worse than it probably was but that didn't make it any better. The girl was right, he required assistance but she was wrong if she thought he would give up willingly.
"Very well," he growled. "You may do as much…," he paused to look her up and down, "as much as you can." More than likely the girl was excited to be inflicting more pain on him. Yes that had to be it, make him suffer for having to live with the memory of seeing his face.
He felt her hand on his arm, saw the towel in her other, and nodded in response to her unspoken question. She promptly grabbed the towel and walked back to the wash table. He'd broken the mirror there some time ago and was glad for a break from her questioning eyes. She returned to the bed, having brought over basin and a spare towel. Erik's hoped his cold stare was enough to relay his annoyance. He knew one look and she'd understood, and set to work.
The two sat in silence for several moments with Erik thrumming his fingers in an attempt to make the moments move quicker.
"I wasn't-", his focus snapped to her and she drew back, clearly startled. She cleared audibly her throat. "I wasn't going to scream sir," she spit out, soaking the towel in the basin. Her eyes stayed locked on clearing as much blood as possible.
"When?
"Before, when you told me not to." Erik grunted in response. "Honestly Mr. Destler I'm not sure why you thought I would. Women do see more blood than men." Such a thing to say! And from Miss Christine Daae no less. He didn't know many women, any women, but he could only assume such a thing was not something that was discussed. But her tone indicated humor? No one had ever joked with him. In all honesty his jokes would more than likely send her running for the hills. Daring a peek he could see she did indeed have a very smug look of satisfaction on her face.
She continued, "I was going to ask if you were all right. Really, there was quite a bit of blood and I couldn't see where you'd… hurt yourself." He simply offered a mirthless laugh before responding.
"So that's it." He ground his teeth at his own thoughts. "You came running in here to see if the monster bled? Well Miss Daae are you pleased?" He tore his arm away and let a sharp cry at the stabbing pain it caused. To her credit Christine appeared confused and somewhat frightened at his sudden burst of anger. Her eyes wide, but with something that couldn't be boiled down to simply fear. She appeared concerned and not for her just her own safety. But for his as well.
Erik felt a strange sensation wash over at him at the sight before him. Perhaps it was the way the evening light hit her in precisely the right way, forcing every flawless feature further into his mind. She was by definition beauty and grace. Of course he had noticed that from the moment he'd met her. Christine was graceful in the textbook sense of the word but he could feel it in her every move. And now he knew she was kind, something he had never experienced in another human being before. Not without cash or threats, although he supposed that didn't count. Here she sat before him with doe-like eyes and hair tied neatly in a braid and he had no words. He wanted to scream at her, throw something, force her to run from the room and never come back.
And yet he couldn't. Not a single black though came to him in the moments he sat staring at her. It seemed they were the only two left in the house. Just Erik and the angel who sat before him.
He sat for quite a few minutes with his eyes locked on her. And although he didn't know it, Christine had become uncomfortable at the weight of his eyes and gone to fetch her tweezers. When Erik finally brought himself back to the present, he found her waiting patiently with the tweezers in hand.
"May I?" She asked, gesturing to his injured limb before gently beginning the task of removing the remaining glass. Her touch nearly had him jumping off the bed. Erik had realized that he was feeling something he had never experienced before and he did not like it. It was… too giddy for him.
A stab of pain forced all other thoughts out as he was reminded of what he had done. He openly cringed and took in a harsh breath.
"Oh! I'm trying to be as careful as possible sir." Again her eyes were full of an emotion he couldn't place. Something else he had never seen.
"It… is not something you can control. I brought this on myself," he mumbled. His demons mocked and scolded him, damn right you did.
Several apologies later, she had finished the deed. "It doesn't look as though you'll need stitches. I suppose the cuts weren't as deep as I thought." She visibly brightened. "Well that's nothing to complain about!" Erik sat like a dumb fool, simply staring at her.
It wasn't until several hours later, when his mind had finally calmed down enough to allow himself to get in bed, that he felt something small digging into the palm of his uninjured hand. Lifting it, to inspect the offending object, he found a small pebble of glass. He thought he should be angered or at least bothered by it; however he found quite the opposite. Setting down the article on his bedside table, he felt something spark in him that he hadn't felt in ages: hope.