Chapter 20

Erik took his breakfast alone in his cell. Almost as soon as he had finished, Céleste came back, Clémence on her heels, and proposed, with a gentle smile, so gentle he was almost surprised of it, to join them. But he had refused. He had simply too much on his mind at that moment, for the Mother Superior's words were haunting him.

He wasn't the only suffering soul in the world.

Erik had seen enough, throughout his life, to know how much this fact was true. He had even been, once in Persia, in a time which seemed so far away now, a cause of suffering.

Pictures of his past, that he was desperately always trying to forget, came back to him.

To resume his entire life in one word, chaos would be probably the best noun to describe it.

He had always struggled for happiness, always struggled to be human, always struggled to fight the monster within him. But he had just made things worse, not only for him, but also for others.

He was selfish. In this moment of extreme lucidity, he could see it within him, like it had struck him on the night of Don Juan Triumphant. But it wasn't as intense as now. It was strange, since the situation was a lot more dramatic back then. All his life, he was so busy trying to survive that he never realized the consequences of his acts. Even in the last several weeks, he had only acted for himself, for his own satisfactions, with a desperate need to control everything… not only his life, which was already quite hard to manage, but also other people's lives.

His life experience was indeed a good excuse for his selfishness. Anyway, Erik had learned at a very young age that he could trust nobody. Even Nadir and Antoinette, who were both the closest thing he had to friends, could be ripped off from him, or, for a moral reason, would refuse to help him. But little did he realize, until this moment, that the suffering he provoked around him could, eventually, come back to him.

When noon came, and that the Mother Superior arrived, knocking gently on his door, and, hearing no answer, asked him if he wished to have dinner, Erik refused. She did not insist, guessing that he needed to be alone. It was true. But there was more than that. Now, Erik was mad at the nun, for her torturing him this way by what she had made her realize earlier. He even felt his murderous instincts rising in him, and, to stop the harsh voice of his long-forgotten conscience, he was even ready to kill Mother Marie-Anne with his own hands. Then, a few minutes after, he would curse himself.

He would never change, no matter what.

Distractively, Erik headed towards the window of his cell, trying to think of something else; though he knew already it would be useless.

But suddenly, two silhouettes caught his eye. A tall, thin one, and a small, rather chubby one, and they were both holding each other's hand. The small silhouette would skip all around the place, dragging the taller person around, while the latter walked gracefully, with certain distinction, and some sort of happy resignation. It didn't take much time for Erik to recognize Céleste and Clémence.

A smile, rusty because of the lack of habit, appeared on his lips, though it was totally unwanted, so to say. He suddenly surprised himself admiring Céleste, making her way in the snow, in an almost feline way. He could see her blond hair waving a bit in the winter breeze, and, if he looked really closely, her cheeks had a very light shade of pink, giving a mother-of-pearl-like complexion to her pale skin. He even found himself trying to guess the shape of her neckline under the fabric protecting it from the winter's cold…

What are you doing, Erik?

He suddenly wanted to slap himself.

Why was he even caring about her?

He thought of the kiss he had given her on the forehead, a few nights before. That had been just incredibly foolish of him. He should have known better. But surprisingly, Céleste, though she had seemed rather amused, hadn't seemed disgusted or furious about it. A well-brought lady like her would have every reason to do so. No. She actually appeared to have liked it.

Did she?

Erik, you are an idiot. How could she love you? The fop's sister? The sister of the man who just took everything from you?

Did Raoul really take away everything?

It had been almost a year since Christine had left him. Though he still felt bitterness towards her, and that he wasn't too sure if the vicomte would come back unhurt if he ever found himself in his way, he wasn't quite certain anymore if he really wanted Christine to be with him.

She would never love him.

That was the plain, ugly truth.

And somehow, Erik, though he wished things would have happened in another way, was relieved that Christine was gone. The fascination she had for him once, or perhaps, rather, for the Angel of Music, had been worn off by too much horror. He wouldn't have endured to see her fawn-like eyes full of pity, then later fear and even, perhaps, disgust.

And what about Céleste?

She didn't seem afraid of him, for sure. Or at least, she didn't show it. Either way, she was brave. She even felt well at ease to tease him, from time to time. Normally, Erik would have been more than annoyed of such an attitude… But with Céleste, he couldn't help feeling amused. It was even funny, sometimes. He had to admit it. She was quite good at retorting, and Erik, who was a master at snapping short sentences so his adversary would finally shut his mouth for good, sometimes had to find treasures of intelligence to reply wittingly to her. And it wasn't to displease him.

Well, she almost treated him like a normal person.

Goodness, if she knew what he had planned for her.

His plan was indeed insanely complicated. He was even wondering now if he had all his head at that moment. He was blinded by the ashes of revenge, only wanting Raoul and Christine to twist themselves in the fires of despair in the most poetical way possible, and manipulating Céleste as an unwilling puppet. A puppet he had at first somehow satisfied by giving her what she wanted – which was, here, a good training in violin, then after, help her climb towards the rank of prima donna. With time, as he had started to train her voice, he saw that he would have to be strict for the choices of operas. Céleste, unfortunately, didn't have a soprano voice, but a mezzo-soprano one, with a rather large range, but still a mezzo-soprano. And, being twenty-four, her voice had fully matured.

But there was more than that. He admired her talent. Of course, her voice would never be as angelic as Christine's. Erik was quite certain no one would ever be her equal. But still, Céleste had a certain maturity his former muse never had and that he was frantically trying to find in her. Christine was a child of light, who seemingly knew nothing of darkness and evil, and desperately ran away from anything approaching it. Céleste had the potential of becoming a great mezzo, and her violin playing… it was divine. She wasn't just playing. She was one with her instrument. And to Erik, she seemed like the only person worthy of playing on the Stradivarius. Besides himself, of course.

And, with time, he had realized that she somehow wasn't as much of a Chagny as she pretended to.

He couldn't do it. He had felt totally incapable of proving to the world that he had dishonored her. It was ridiculous. But it was still there. He felt incapable of dishonoring her, to provoke the Vicomte in a duel for the cause. Not that he minded about Raoul's life. Hell no. But he was going to fight against Céleste. And against the music trapped in her soul for too long.

Then, thanks to God (sarcasm, sarcasm), Soliman had come in.

And now, they were both caught in this together.

It was thank to her that he had started to compose again. He knew it. He found himself writing arias. Arias for mezzos. And soon, so many ideas had invaded him, for future operas… Operas with mezzos starring, and not sopranos. Of course, that was quite against conventions… But Erik couldn't care less about them. The world knew that well enough after hearing Don Juan Triumphant.

Yes, he had to at least admit he was attached to Céleste.

Do I love her?

God damn it, of course I do.

He loved her. Great. Just great. And she somehow seemed to trust him.

Why?

Did she only know what he had planned for her, a few weeks earlier?

A knock on the door got him out of his thoughts. Somehow relieved of this distraction, since the tension was starting to fade away thanks to it, he mumbled: "Come in!" to see Céleste entering, leaving the door open for proprieties, her cheeks still a bit rosy.

God, she's beautiful.

STOP THINKING ABOUT IT!

"Are you going to stay here all day?" she asked.

"Why not?" Erik snorted, annoyed by her question and his earlier thoughts racing back in his head.

"I don't know, I just thought you would like to look around. I believe you have a rather curious nature… And you know, there's an enclosed garden, if you feel like going there." Céleste answered, ignoring Erik's rather cantankerous glares.

"Aren't you afraid of being with me?" he asked quite unexpectedly, but quite frankly for what was of his point of view.

Céleste, for a moment, stared at him. "No," she answered, seemingly not understanding what he meant. Erik retained himself from hitting his head on the wall. Was she stupid? Or was she truly not afraid?

He got up, as casually as he could, heading towards the door… then, suddenly, slammed it, so quickly Céleste didn't even have time to react to it. It was only when she heard the bang that she gasped, and looked at Erik, puzzled and somehow worried.

"What is going on?" she inquired with a rather firm voice.

"What do you mean, what is going on?" Erik replied, getting angrier and angrier as he spoke. "How come you're not yelling for help? Don't you get this? Didn't you think one second that I can just rape you, or kill you, or – anything!"

Céleste bit her lips, and looked towards the ground. Then her eyes lifted up, watching intently into Erik's, who almost trembled by their calmness, reminding him of the sea because of their blueness. No, Céleste's eyes weren't disturbed by Erik's, who were flashing green and gold in a terrifying way, almost hypnotic. "No, I didn't. It's strange to say, but I don't think you would do that to me."

"Oh really? Don't you only know what I wanted to do to you?"

Céleste lifted up a brow. "Erik, stop being such a drama-queen. It isn't working – not at all. Well, not with me, at least."

"You think I gave you violin lessons for free?" he started, anger and some sort of strange bitter mockery in his voice.

"No, Erik," Céleste replied, getting apprehensive by how everything was seemingly turning out, but determined to stay calm in front of Erik's storm. "I know what business you have with my family. And I know what you wanted to do with me. You could have done things so much simpler, but no – you wanted all of us to suffer." By "us", Céleste meant not only herself, but also Christine and Raoul.

"Who told you that?"

"You don't need to know."

"I know Nadir did."

"So why do you ask?"

"What else did he tell you?" Erik almost growled. This time, Céleste couldn't help shivering. The more this heated discussion was making progress, the more he was becoming sort of feral, man and beast struggling for "right of way".

"He… he told me about your past." Without paying attention to Erik's reaction, Mlle de Chagny continued: "I think that's what prevented me from doing anything against you."

"Because you pitied me, maybe?" Erik snorted, somehow painfully. And, without being able to give herself any explanation, Céleste tightened. With a soft smile, she replied:

"No. You are not to be pitied. You're…" she hesitated, experiencing some sort of awkward modesty to affirm such a thing. "You cannot be pitied," she finally declared, not daring to say her true thought, which was here that Erik was, well, too "great" to be pitied. "Just…" Céleste sighed loudly, exasperated by the fact she simply couldn't find her words. "Why can't you just settle!? You… you don't have to act like this!" She paled, as she got angrier. "Why… why are you letting your face just controlling your life?"

"Have you only seen it, woman?" Erik shouted, not caring much if anyone heard him. For a moment, Céleste thought that he was going to unmask himself. Not wanting any more damage today, and fearing her reaction, she added immediately:

"No, I haven't. And if you don't want me to see it, you don't have to show it to me. But it's just that… I think you're able to go beyond what other people think of you. I've heard of Don Juan Triumphant, you know… and to be perfectly honest, to compose such music when you know that such a thing wasn't composed before, and how… how blocked people are, and how… how scandalous of a subject you chose… You didn't care about what people would think of your opera, didn't you? You're able to live without the world's pressure, Erik." A heavy silence installed himself, until Céleste, almost on the borderline to cry, declared, in a strangled voice:

"And you know what? I actually admire you for that!"

Céleste gasped, surprised of her own declaration, of her audacity and her frankness. She lifted down her eyes, not daring to look upon Erik, almost ashamed of herself. Well, to be honest, the shame was big enough for her to get up, and to mutter, in an extinguished voice:

"I… I'll just go."

Immediately, she headed towards the door, not even looking at Erik, and slammed it behind her. As she walked through the corridor, she saw Clémence come out of a corner where she was hidden.

"Clémence!" Céleste gasped, afraid that the little girl had overheard the rather heated fight between Erik and herself. "What are you doing here? Did… did you hear anything?" she asked impulsively, retaining herself from making a face-palm for her lack of tact.

"Yes, but just a little bit," the little girl nodded, her eyes wide (And for a good reason, thought Céleste). As if it was going to make them both forget everything, the young lady took Clémence by the hand and quickly, headed towards the stairs, as if it was going to put a stop to any embarrassing question. But unfortunately, it didn't.

"Mademoiselle… Why does your friend wear a mask?"

"It's a long story… very sad." Céleste heard herself reply.

"He looks sad too," said Clémence.

By the tone of the little girl's voice, an alarm bell immediately rang in Mlle de Chagny's head.

"Clémence, whatever you do, if you meet him, don't ask him anything about his mask."

"Of course not," the little girl nodded negatively, shaking her auburn curls at the same time. "But why does he want to be all alone, now?"

"Because…" Céleste couldn't find an explanation that would satisfy Clémence. She was retaining herself from just telling her to stop asking such inappropriate questions, especially for a little girl of her age. That was the answer she was often replied with when she was young herself… She could still feel the sting of it. And that held her from answering this. She simply took off her hand from Clémence's grasp, crossed her arms, and closed her eyes, nodding softly her head.

"Oh, Clémence, it's just so complicated… and I even have trouble understanding all this myself."

Opening her eyes again, she looked down at the little girl, hoping she would accept her explanation once and for all… to see that she was gone. Nervously, she looked around her, to see that Clémence was heading back towards the corridor where the cells were, and more precisely, towards Erik's cell.

"Clémence! Clémence!" shouted Céleste. But it was no use. Already, the little red-haired rascal was knocking on Erik's door, whispering, in a childish and bell-like voice:

"Monsieur! Monsieur!"

No answer came from the cell. Céleste ran to Clémence, strangely happy to see that Erik wasn't giving any answer, though she was starting to get worried. But the little girl, seeing that time was growing short for her, muttered those last words:

"Do you want to build a snowman?"

Céleste, almost ready to mutter a prayer so the floor could just swallow Clémence's and her body, grabbed the guilty by the shoulder.

"What were you thinking?" she whispered.

Clémence shrugged, like if the situation didn't impress her at all.

"Soeur Louise told us we must help those who are sad. Like the Good Samaritan."

Céleste closed her eyes, to hide an expression decency forbids us to describe. But soon, the sound of Erik's door made her rise up, facing him. Surprisingly, he didn't seem angry at all, but rather… Well, his face was unreadable.

"We're sorry we disturbed you, aren't we, Clémence?" she immediately said, looking dourly at the little girl.

"No, not at all," he replied in a calm voice. Immediately, he seized his cloak, putting it on his shoulders, while Céleste's eyes widened and that Clémence smiled of childish victory. "Tell me, mademoiselle," Erik asked the little girl, in a very serious tone, do you know a place where I could go outside without being seen?"

"Yes, of course!" Clémence replied eagerly. "The inner courtyard!"

"You… you don't have to, really," Céleste blubbered, amazed by Erik's quick change of mood. Presaging that he was up to no good, she tried to tick him off. "Really… you're not seriously going to build a snowman."

Erik leaned towards her, lifting up a brow and crossing his arms. "I'm surprised to hear you say that. After all, you're the one who said my opera was scandalous. I bet what your dear brother told you about it just made you realize babies don't come from storks."

"Not in front of her," whispered Céleste, blushing of embarrassment and of annoyance because of Erik's remark and pointing Clémence with her chin. But the little girl cheekily replied:

"Storks don't bring babies, I know that. It's the doctor that brings them in his satchel."

As soon as Clémence was done talking, Céleste turned immediately towards Erik, signaling by one look this very clear message: No comments.

But it didn't stop a little crooked smile, the one she hated and liked so much, to appear.

Céleste was rather surprised of the sort of "docility" Erik showed towards Clémence. At first, without further ado, the little red-head had rolled a snowball which arrived at the level of her waist, declaring that this was going to be the snowman's base. Erik had lifted a brow, and had stood just beside it. Céleste had retained a smile, observing that he seemed even taller than ever, and the future snowman's body appeared quite ridiculous.

Immediately, Erik rolled the snowball with his feet around the inner courtyard, until it was so big Clémence could hardly see above it. The little girl had clapped her hands of joy, and soon prepared the snowman's chest, than his head, which Erik, almost solemnly, placed.

When Clémence rushed to the kitchen to ask a nun for a carrot to use as a nose, Céleste, who had seated on a bench while Erik and the little orphan were busy with the snowman, felt embarrassment now that she was all alone with him. For a moment, the naïve joy Clémence showed at the pleasure to have a new playmate (and what a playmate, thought Céleste), and to see Erik just… well, lowering himself to the little girl did make her move a little bit. It was rather surprising, to see how well he got along with her.

But now, the little pixie was gone, and with her her fairy dust which seemed to spread joy even in the darkest hearts. Céleste could only but think of their arguing, and of what she had said. Once again, she had said to Erik things she would have never dared to say, for the simple and good reason that she sincerely thought it was silly of her to feel that way.

Yes, Céleste had dreamt of a life full of adventures, when she was a mischievous little girl, a life where she would always be the victorious heroine. With time, she had realized that because of her birth, her family, and so many other things, it wouldn't be possible. She had resigned to this state as she grew up… but what hurt the most, and what she didn't totally accept, was how she was held from music. That was what had been killing her from the inside for years.

She knew she wasn't the first lady to rebel herself against conventions. There were a group of women, who claimed that a certain author called George Sand (pen-name for Aurore Dupin) was their inspiration and model and who lived quite promiscuously, in Céleste's humble opinion, taking lovers as much as they wanted, not caring about what society would say about their behavior, and, even, sometimes, wore men's clothes just for the pleasure of provoking. Of course, Céleste would never, ever go to such an extremity.

On the contrary, she had rather resigned herself to be married one day, to be at the heart of an estate while her husband would be at the head of it, to bear children… It wasn't because it was an arranged marriage that it would be loveless. No. Céleste had always been convinced that Philippe would find her an honorable man, absolutely worthy of her esteem, and that love, or at least a great friendship and tenderness would follow.

But everything had just changed so much, when Soliman had irrupted in her life, and at the same time, in Erik's… Somehow, the confidence link which had always existed between Philippe and herself, since their parents' death, was broken. It seemed now like she could trust no one.

Céleste wished that she could say what she thought, that she could be herself. But she knew how much it would be selfish. Doing what she wanted meant betraying her family. And she had been raised in high ideals, where constantly, Corneille, speaking to her using Don Diègue's mouth, would repeat: "L'amour n'est qu'un plaisir, l'honneur est un devoir. (Love is nothing but a pleasure, honor is a duty.)" She had been raised with the patriarchs of the Bible, the saints, and the heroes from Le Cid and Polyeucte as models. It was all too omnipresent to be completely and grossly rejected.

But more and more, Erik would come, though unconsciously (or not) and knock at her soul's door. He had a gift to tick her off, just as much as she seemingly had a gift to tick him off and bring him back on good, solid Earth. Erik, who seriously didn't care of what society thought of him, for society had always rejected him. Because of his face…

It was a curse, indeed. She had received glimpses of Erik's talents, which didn't only limit themselves to music. He could have been so famous… And, with the half-mask on, she could imagine perfectly well his face without it, but the disfigurement being replaced by smoothness. Now, she didn't say to herself that he could have been handsome. No. He was handsome.

When he came near her, Céleste breathed deeply, but in mind only. She didn't want Erik to see the pressure that was overwhelming her. All was left to hope for her was that she wouldn't blush, or pale, or anything… In a way to show some sort of boldness, she looked towards him. She tried to speak, but words died on her lips. Really, what could she possibly say? That she was sorry? That she didn't really mean what she had said to him? No. It would have been lying. And Céleste didn't want to lie to Erik. The only thought of it oddly disgusted her more than anything. An idea suddenly struck her as a beginning of conversation, not quite bright, to be honest. But this awkward silence was becoming too heavy. Where had the young lady brought up to anime at dinner tables brilliant and almost diplomatic conversations disappeared?

"You know… if ever you feel bored in your cell… There's a piano in the theater where the girls have their music lessons or prepare themselves for plays. No one ever goes in there when there aren't any students. You could be all alone there, if you ever need it."

Erik simply nodded his head. "Thank you," he simply replied, with the shadow of a smile. Yes, it was nothing but a shadow, but Céleste felt incredibly relieved to see it.

"Well… when you'll be done with the snowman," she continued, unable to retain a grin, "I could show you the way."

"Well, now I can say I built at least one snowman in my life," shrugged Erik, trying to have a joking attitude, but bitterness still appearing. Céleste emitted a sigh full of bitter-sweet sadness for Erik. He had just reminded her of the glimpses of his childhood that were revealed to her, where, at the very beginning of his life, he was most certainly forbid of playing in the outdoors like every average little boy…

But Clémence was already back, holding pebbles in one hand and a carrot in the other. Without waiting for Erik to come back, she wanted to model the snowman's face… but she was too tiny to even touch its head. Céleste, wanting to help her, got up, but Erik was quicker. Without further ado, he seized Clémence, lifting her up, which provoked a shriek half of fright, half of delight from the little girl. For a moment, she seemed to forget her task, looking at the whole new world she could see up high. But soon, she drew back of her contemplation, and placed the pebbles and the carrot onto the snowman's head. When she was finished, Erik posed her delicately back on the ground.

Clémence then turned to Erik, and the light smile, entirely a child's smile, appeared on her face, not only on her lips, but in her whole features, as a silent and meaningful way of saying thank you. And at that moment, even with the winter cold, not only Erik, but also Céleste, felt warm.

Answers to reviews:

TheCrimsonPen: Splintered really looks so good! I checked it out on Goodreads and the sypnosis… Goodness, pure genius. I'm finishing Emily of New Moon and I'm jumping in it!

Lydia the tygeropean: LND is BS. Sorry, but yeah. The music is beautiful, but the plot and characters… Everyone is massively out of character: Erik is fluffy and darn stupid, Christine is the one who's the less OOC, still kind of stupid but she is very selfish and she has a spine (until a certain point, if you ask me), Raoul totally pisses me off (excuse the language) by his jerkiness (I think there is a reason for him becoming drunk and gambling, like he knows Christine cheated on him and it destroyed him, but being abusive with her and Gustave? No. I don't buy that AT ALL.), Mme Giry is manipulative, a horrible mother and some sort of evil witch, and Meg… extremely self-centered, psycho, with a not very good self-esteem. Gustave is actually kind of cute; he's a bit of a mini-Erik. Mini-Erik = serious cuteness. Well, Erik, Raoul and Meg basically don't exist in LND, if you ask me. I can sort of buy Christine and Mme Giry, but their in-characterness is dubious at a lot of points. I think I'm going to yell about LND very soon on my Live Journal.

PhantomFan01: Well… remember Nadir knows by experience it's better not to take any risks, and he has a rather paranoid nature, so… it doesn't help at all. XD

Question of the week: since I feel like talking about Love Never Dies (that can be translated by I feel like getting mad, as you can see XD), well, what are your thoughts about it? What did you like most? Hate most?