Hey, guys.

So, my plans for this weekend just fell completely through. Oh well. More time for stories and The Sims. *sigh* I just hope she doesn't have the swine flu (my friend and I were supposed to go away with my mom for the weekend, but my friend got sick. She'll be fine. She's always fine). Eh, what can you do?

Erik: Do you mean that 'Jenny' girl you're always talking about?

Yeah. Anyway, back to writing. Erik, you'll like this chapter. Arabelle and a violin.

Erik: *grin*

Yep. That's my Erik-muse, folks. Well, on with the story!

Music of a Soul
XxX

"Very good," Erik praised. "You are doing much better, dearest."

Arabelle smiled up at her father from her chair, her small violin in her hand. She placed it back under her chin, and ran through the tune again. Her dress had been a birthday present two weeks ago. It was a pretty, deep red color, so fitting of her.

Erik closed his eyes, smiling. She was talented, that was certain. Perhaps the song was too simple for her.

He reached behind him to the top of the piano in the music room, and pulled from the stack of sheets, the violin music to 'Angels, We Have Heard on High'. It was fast paced, and difficult for one as young as her, but with Christmas approaching again, it seemed appropriate.

"Try this one, Arabelle."

Arabelle took the papers, nodding, and set them up on the music stand, looking over the notes before setting her bow to the string.

She was below tempo, and on some of the more difficult sections, she stumbled through, but it was her first time playing the piece. She made it through, though, and began again, this time doing much better than before.

"Beautiful, dear-heart," Erik smiled. "That's enough for today. If you play too long and too hard, your fingers may bleed. Wouldn't want you hurt, would we?"

Arabelle shook her head, curls bouncing, eyes dancing.

She got off her chair, and wrapped her arms around Erik's waist as he sat on the piano bench.

"I love you, Papa," she sighed, cheek pressed against his chest.

Erik returned her embrace, and kissed her forehead.

"I love you, too, dearest," he smiled. "I am very proud of you, you know. You are doing so well, mon cherie. So very well."

Arabelle smiled at the encouragement, leaned up to kiss his cheek, then bounded off to the living room, presumably to play her violin more. She loved the instrument, and when she wasn't playing with Phantom or her dolls, or hearing one of Erik's stories, she was playing her music, making up tunes across the strings, and losing herself in a world of music and soul-deep sounds.

Erik wondered if - and strongly hoped that - she would always be that way. She obviously loved music. Hopefully it would serve her later in her life. He closed his eyes, and could almost see her as a teenager, playing through even more difficult songs than 'Angels, We Have Heard on High'. Perhaps 'Ding Dong, Merrily On High', or reels. After all, it couldn't be Christmas all the time. She'd learned other music before, and she'd surely branch out to it again once the holidays were past.

They were drawing close to Christmas Break, which only made Arabelle even more excited. She enjoyed school, yes, but time off always seemed to excite her beyond much else.

With a happy sigh, Erik left the music room, and went to find Christine. She was in the living room, sewing something, like she often did. In his bed, Phantom chewed contentedly on his bone, making small growling sounds in the back of his throat as he gnawed on the toy.

Arabelle was curled on the other couch, looking over more music sheets, and fingering the notes on her small violin. She was lost in her world of music now.

That brought a smile to Erik's face, and he sat next to Christine, kissing her cheek, and smiling when she turned her head so that their lips met instead.

"Hello, love," Christine smiled.

Erik wrapped his arms around her, and Christine curled into his side, sighing.

On the other couch, Arabelle quietly began to play the song she was working on.

"You are doing wonderful, dear-heart," Erik told her, pride in his eyes. Her love of music was a great thing of joy to him.

Arabelle blushed slightly, a small smile on her face.

-

-

"She ought to be asleep," Christine groaned, arm thrown over her eyes.

Erik laughed.

"I agree," he smirked. "But she loves that violin."

He kissed her cheek, and slid out of bed.

"I'll get her to bed, Christine. Don't worry."

Christine nodded, and turned on her side.

"Hurry back," she murmured.

Erik smiled.

He walked out the door, toward Arabelle's room, and stopped in the doorway.

"You really should be asleep, dearest," Erik said, arms crossed.

Arabelle started, looking up and almost dropping the violin.

"Papa..."

Erik crossed the room and sat on the edge of her bed. He looked at her for a moment, and noticed the tiredness in her eyes. Gently, he pulled the violin from her grip, a small smile on his face.

"I know you love music, Arabelle," he told her. "But you need your rest. You have to be able to go to school in the morning."

"I will be," Arabelle assured him, beginning to reach for her instrument. Erik held it out of her reach.

"No," he said, a slight edge creeping into his voice. "You must go to sleep, Arabelle. You have to be able to concentrate in the morning without falling asleep."

He set the instrument in its case, and put it in it's place near the shelf of her books.

Returning to her side, he gently pushed her back down against her pillows, and tucked the blankets up around her.

"You want Santa Clause to bring you gifts this year, yes?" Erik asked, playing his trump card.

Arabelle nodded, her eyes going wide.

Erik smiled.

"Of course you do. But he won't give you anything if you don't behave, little love."

He kissed her forehead, and patted her hand.

"Now, go to sleep, Arabelle. And no more violin tonight. I do not wish to take it away from you, but I will if I must."

Arabelle nodded, and closed her eyes.

"Good night, Papa," she whispered.

"Good night, dearest."

"Papa?"

Erik turned.

"I love you, Papa."

"I love you, too, Arabelle," he replied. "Go to sleep."

Arabelle nodded.

Erik was almost out of the door when she spoke again.

"Papa..."

"What, Arabelle?" The edge had returned to his voice. "You need to go to sleep."

She was silent for a moment, then quietly; "I'm sorry, Papa. I promise I won't do this again."

Erik smiled. He knew she meant the words.

"I believe you, dear-heart," he told her, returning and kissing her forehead. "Get some rest, my dear Arabelle."

Arabelle smiled tiredly, her eyes sliding closed.

-

-

"What are you doing?" Jillianna asked as they sat in a corner of the school room at recess.

"Writing," Arabelle replied.

"That doethn't look like writing, Arabelle," the blond said.

"It's music," the dark-haired girl replied. "Papa taught me how to write it."

"I remember that," Jillianna agreed. "Are you going to play at the Chrithtmath thelebrathion at Athbury?"

Arabelle nodded. Asbury Methodist was the church her family went to. Her mother seemed far more religious than her father.

She knew her mother was catholic, but there were only Protestant churches around. And her papa didn't seem comfortable even in those plain places of worship. Arabelle liked the simple Asbury Methodist church. It was a pleasant little place, an that was where Jillianna's family worshiped, so she was more than content to go there on Sundays.

"I think so," Arabelle said. She looked back at the papers. It was a bright melody, far more happy than many of her father's pieces, which she'd seen. And yet, there was still an undercurrent of something almost bleak. Perhaps it was from her undersanding that the world could be cruel. After all, they'd hurt her papa just because he looked different, and was smarter than most everybody else. A world that did such a thing had to be cruel. And it had certainly left a bit of a mark on her; an indignant, defensive mark.

"I can't wait for Chrithtmath," Jillianna sighed.

"'Can't wait for Christmas'?" a girl said snidely. "You can't even say it!"

Arabelle bristled, and glared at the girl. Her hair was a curly, golden blond color. Her eyes were blue, but terribly unfriendly. She was smirking cruelly, obviously pleased with herself for the comment.

"Leave her alone," Arabelle ordered, setting aside her music and standing up in front of Jillianna. "She's done nothing to you."

"So?" the girl snapped.

"So stop bothering her, or I'll tell Mrs. Ingrham."

Arabelle's voice was cold and sharp.

"Do you even know who I am?" the girl demanded.

"No," Arabelle replied. And I'm not sure I'd want to.

"I'm Giselle de Chagny," the girl stated haughtily. "And you need better friends." Giselle sneered at Jillianna, and Arabelle growled.

"I can choose my own friends, thank you," Arabelle replied coldly. "Come on, Jill, let's go back to our seats."

Jillianna nodded, handed Arabelle her music sheets, and followed the younger girl back to their desk.

Behind them, Giselle glowered, but Arabelle and Jillianna didn't notice or care.

"You really are good at that, Arabelle," Jillianna said.

Arabelle smiled slightly.

"Thanks, Jill," she muttered. "Papa teaches me everything they don't teach here. At least, everything I ask about."

After school, Arabelle went home with Erik. The moment she was through the door, she was heading for her room, and her violin. Almost at once, music began to sound out.

Erik smiled as Christine wrapped her arms around him, and kissed him.

"She is doing well," Christine remarked.

Erik nodded.

"Very," he agreed. "In school as well as with her music."

"She likes school, doesn't she?" Christine asked.

Erik smiled.

"Yes," he replied. "Though, she's told me some of the students don't exactly take kindly to her little friend. And -" Erik paused, drawing breath to get out the obviously difficult words. "There are Chagny's here."

Christine laughed out loud at the look on his face.

"You'll never forgive that name, will you, my love?" she smiled.

"Not when that particular name nearly proved the death of me."

Christine scoffed, rolling her eyes, and smiling fondly.

"Your stubborn pride and jealousy were nearly the death of you," she retorted, smirking, and turning back into the kitchen to work on dinner.

Erik pouted, then followed after her.

"Forgive me for not wanting to lose you, my dear," he said playfully, spinning her around and pulling her close. "Didn't you know? The Phantom of the Opera never loses."

"Erik," Christine sighed, laying her cheek against his chest. Beneath her ear, his heart beat, and she treasured that sound. Treasured it as she did his touch, and his steady breathing.

Above them, Arabelle continued to play her music. Phantom jumped onto the bed beside her, and curled up, tail wagging as he listened to his mistress's music.

Arabelle giggled, and stopped playing long enough to ruffle Phantom's fur.

"You're a good boy, Phantom," she smiled, returning to her music.

She loved music. Something deep inside her always pulled pleasantly when she heard, or played music. It only made matters better that her interest made her father proud. She loved making him proud.

After a while, she grew tired of playing, and set the violin back in it's case. She reached instead for the book of music sheets that Erik had bought her on her fifth birthday, and jotted down what was floating around in her head.

It was a light-hearted melody for the most part, but somewhere in the middle, an undercurrent of darkness crept in. She liked it. It made it sound even more pretty, and it reflected her more than other pieces. Because she knew, as surely as her father knew it was in him, she knew that there was a bit of darkness in her. It was what made her watch in morbid fascination as a fly was caught and eaten by a spider on an outside corner of the house.

She loved to watch spiders eat. It entranced her. The way the fly struggled in the web, as the spider scuttled closer, and sunk in its fangs to imobilize - or kill, she wasn't sure - its prey.

The way the spider wrapped the fly, then, in fibers of the web was gracefully macabre, and she loved to watch.

But she herself would not hurt a living creature. Only animals had the right to hurt other animals. Because, as her papa had explained, that was nature. Man did not have to kill spiders or other 'unwholesome' creatures to survive.

That darkness, however, was superficial at best. She was, for the most part, a light little soul, if a tad morbid. A lot of what she wrote had been inspired by the mouse Mysty, and the little squirrel-kit she'd rescued that past spring. It's tail had been bitten by a bigger, more than likely predatory, animal, and she'd been furious, even as the shining crimson blood mesmerized her.

This piece, she decided, was about that squirrel. The light-hearted beginning of how she'd been playing in the woods before she'd found it, the pity of the injured little animal, the dark amazement at the red, red life-force, the quick healing, and slow growing-up of her baby squirrel.

She'd relased it in August, her heart sad at the thought of letting the young creature go. It had been with her longer than Mysty, and she'd named him Spike, for the little tuft of fur on his head that resembled a spike.

She'd miss that little squirrel, but she was happy it was free, and alive. She'd seen him since, skittering through the yard, and over the back of the rock fence.

But what her love of music all came down to was as simple as it was obvious; it reflected what was inside her, the music of a soul.

XxX
Chapter done. As a warning, little Jill's health will become a slight issue in the next few chapters. No one dies, I promise. I hope you all liked the chapter. Review, please! Reviews make me happy *spontaneous chibi-fication* *grins*