"Divulge the secrets of thy embassy
To the proud orbs that twinkle – and so be
To ev'ry heart a barrier and a ban
Lest the stars totter in the guilt of man!"
- "Al Aaraaf", E.A.P.
,')-'-,-'----
Tension, clouded heavily with indecision, seemed to frame his livelihood. He was torn between two extremes: one that his nature entailed him, and the other that he was slowly taking on, despite his best attempts. It was the latter of the two that was the most difficult to suppress, and, by far, the harder to explain. Like all other unsuitable, troubling matters in his life, he discarded them, one by one, watching them fly off, as if they had no meaning whatsoever.
However, it appeared that now, for the first time, he wished that the admiration that shone in the eyes of the one person he cared for would last, even if that meant that he had to discard his reserve, and more so, his suspicions of and contempt for the human race.
Yet it was the crueler of the two extremes with which he regarded her.
"I have finished the letter, Erik," she said shakily, her voice holding but a slight trace of trepidation.
"I thought I had told you that I would collect the note myself."
"You did, but I thought I might save you the trouble and deliver the message myself."
Loathsome thing that you are, Erik, for making such an angel sound so ashamed…
He could not help but cringe slightly at the unmistakable, yet controlled annoyance in his voice, so quietly cruel that the girl had great bravery to stand and face him, as if he were…as if he were…
A man.
"How very thoughtful of you, Christine. However, as I distinctly remember asking you to stay to your bed, you might recall that you are still not well, and it is indeed surprising that you have traveled thus far without collapsing."
She nodded sadly, as if he were right to punish her thusly with his magnificently patronizing voice. After all, she was still weak, an observation Erik lamented in witnessing.
Her intentions had been kind, even as she knew the outcome of doing so, he later mused. She is beginning to conceive just how great a beast I am. "How very thoughtful of you, Christine. However, as I distinctly remember asking you to stay to your bed, you might recall that you are still not well, and it is indeed surprising that you have traveled thus far without collapsing."
Being the bashful creature that she was, she accepted his criticisms gracefully, a trait Erik was both relieved and irritable over, as he wished that no other man - save himself - would ever speak so condescendingly towards her. She did not deserve such treatment. Yet for every time that he punished her with his words and tone, he punished himself tenfold.
"I was not sure which would anger you more, my defiance of your wishes or my failure to obey your demand, so I simply chose one before the other and hoped for the best."
He looked at her in surprise. His irritability was offset momentarily by his hurt, acknowledging the truth behind her rather keen insight.
"You would assume I am so wrathful that I would incur my fury on a weaker being, despite the fact that she disobeyed my command?"
Once more, the will that Erik had seen before rose again, willing to stand against the pillar of fear and lift its small eyes to his own. "You misunderstand my intentions, Erik. I simply assumed that you would use your berating tone to silence me into obedience and that I would wait for the moment you would bring me into good graces once more."
Erik was shaken by her last comment. True, he had noticed the strength and ability within the dormant regions of her soul, but most surprising of all was the fact that her wit challenged him. He knew her to be intelligent, but was Christine clever as well?"
His displeasure vanished – she was trying, was she not? Surely this was her way of displaying some sort of acquiescence to his ever-persistent presence? It was the littlest crumb, and he would take it gratefully.
She smiled to his response. The moment passed quickly, however, when his attention returned to the letter in her hand. "If you please, mademoiselle?"
Her smile wavered slightly, and she seemed a little paler to his sharp eye, but she did so without hesitation. He noted her reactions with interest, as well as concern, but decided to make show of the latter.
"It has been far too much excitement for one day, Christine. If you would return to your room, I shall fetch you some remedies and send this presently."
She nodded in concurrence and turned away, walking slowly back to her quarters. When her footfalls had dispersed, Erik looked at the letter with suspicion. Tearing the seal, mindful of not making any sound, his eyes scanned the letter for any detection of betrayal. He reread it several times. Some of the words were ambiguous, but he found himself bound to his decision. He would send the letter – had he not said he would? – after resealing it properly, and have the business done with. If her word was truly against him, how would the Vicomte suspect? The worst he would do would be to ask her guardian in person, only to find Christine had told him falsely; more so, she had lied. If anything were to come of the ordeal, it would be that the Vicomte would worry more. Yet however mad the obsession drove him, he would not find her. She was, after all, hidden, far, far from human eyes.
And in this tomb – his tomb – she would succumb.
,')-'-,-'----
The very next day, Erik had made the determination that Christine was well enough to leave her room for small intervals, with the mandate that she would not partake in any strenuous activity. This meant, to Erik's dismay, Christine would not be able to resume voice lessons until her respiratory system had strengthened. This, however, did not discourage him, for he set about right away to practice breathing exercises with her, in between administering draughts of herbs and drugs that, combined, slowly remedied her weakened state.
The overall mood, however, was quite tense. Christine appeared withdrawn, even while being compliant and at ease. Erik, on his part, was dubious and irritable once more. The fact remained that his suspicions of Christine's willingness gave an impression of hostile disappointment that even he could not comprehend, let alone Christine. Yet he could not admit his aroused distrust, for if he did it would be disaster. However, Christine gave him the opportunity to lash out, even when he would have her remain conceding and listless.
"Erik."
It was not a question, nor was it a statement. It was an insistence. Up until that moment they had avoided all communication that did not pertain to their current situation. Now, however, what had occurred could not be ignored any longer.
She emerged from behind him, causing him to turn his head to the direction of her voice. He noticed that for the first time since she arrived, she actually looked healthy, but overshadowing this fact was the determined and decided look upon her face.
"Is there something you need?"
She said nothing, only continuing to look at him in a strangely curious way. Slowly, she moved to sit on a chair facing him, so that they were sitting close, only not close enough so that it was uncomfortable. She sighed deeply, as if preparing herself for what was to come.
"I can't stay here any longer, Erik, you know that."
He said nothing, the hardness of his mannerism throwing a deadly quiet over the room.
"I need my freedom," she intoned, as if begging him to understand, but in such as way so that it was neither blunt nor obvious.
"Is that what you would call your occupation at the Vicomte's residence? Freedom? Rightly correct me if I am mistaken, Madam, but I am like to say otherwise." His voice was pure ice to the senses, as if first winter's wind had thrown itself upon the threshold of the soul and stood there a moment, its glory pervading in its advance to cause suffering.
She shook her head at the callousness of his tone, refusing to look into his masked face and see the animosity in his eyes. "That isn't fair."
His eyes blazed fiercely, ranging from the brightest tawny to the darkest onyx.
"Indeed? Then perhaps you would allow me to demonstrate what is fair?" Here he rose and leaned over her, showing her the entirety of his mask before her face. She did not shudder, yet her eyes widened considerably. "Is it fair that I am captive to this piece of fabric upon my misshapen face, a face that no one could glance upon without revulsion or abhorrence?" When Christine's eyes watered in surprise, he continued. "Oh yes, my dear, I am certain you have wondered, for I have seen you cast sidelong glances at my mask. I would ask that you do not try to see, for I am sure you would catch your death by doing so." His voice embodied Scorn itself, driving through the forces of his soul into the crevices of his tongue. He moved away from her, angrily pacing in front of her with an unholy air of malevolence.
"What is not fair, Christine, is that I should have any semblance of normalcy denied me. That this facade which everyone deems to call life is inaccessible, due to the fact that no one will tolerate my presence. Even you." At his last words, Christine could not but let her eyes search his pleadingly, for the sake of denying all he had said. Only, he would not look at her.
"Erik, please, that is not true -"
"Spare me any pity you harbor, Christine, I can assure you I will not welcome it," he spat, turning away from her in disgust.
"I do not pity you, Erik. If I did, I would not have come to you and told you the truth."
He continued pacing, only not so fiercely as before but with merely a meaningful, yet agonized stride. His aura provoked such feelings of despair that it left the observer quite immune to unresponsiveness.
"I also respect you far too much to burden you with so trivial an emotion."
He turned to her, searching for any trace of dishonesty in her pale, resolute face. There was none.
"I have been honest with you, Erik. Please respect me as I have you and tell me the truth."
"What truth do you seek, exactly, Madam?"
She looked down at her hands, silent for a few moments before she found the correct question to ask first. "Why didn't you tell me?"
He raised his eyebrows behind his mask, an action she could not see, yet he believed she could infer. "I would think that would be obvious, Christine."
"Not so," she murmured quietly. "What I ask is not why you didn't tell me after you began to instruct me, but why you did not tell me when we first met."
His body language reflected a look that she took as skeptic. "Do you honestly believe that there exists some reasonable way of telling you? Do tell, Christine, as I have contemplated this for many an hour and no solution had come to my mind."
She blushed, realizing, he noted with quiet repugnance on his own part, the folly of her question. She cleared her throat, readying herself for the next question. "If you truly are…I mean…that is…" She shook her head desperately, her loose tongue fighting to say what was on her mind. "If you truly are who Raoul said you are…why take interest in the likes of me?"
Her words stung, but he recovered quickly and adeptly. "I suppose you could say I was curious."
"About what?"
"Whether or not you were truly talented. And capable, as well."
"Capable of what?"
Erik tried not to let his patience run thin, nor his tolerance, for that matter. She was pushing a subject that he would rather not discuss, for as long as he had a feeble hope, he would not admit his intentions.
"It may seem preposterous that I would even consider an appeal such as the one you made that first night, but after hearing you sing, I tried – ineffectively, mind you – to convince myself that you were untrained and emotionless. I could detect some technique, but any schooling that you had received had long ago been forgotten. I thought that perhaps, after hearing your voice, there might possibly be some hope of greatness yet. This, of course, was thought of before I discovered you were about to become nobility," he added bitterly.
"As for being capable, I was doubtful. You were, after all, engaged at the time, thus disabling you from any prospect of a career."
"But you persisted," she commented, confused.
He said nothing, only looking at her, his thoughts unknown to her.
She lowered her eyes once more, and stood before him, silent. Then –
"Am I?"
He blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"Am I capable?"
"Christine, that hardly –,"
"You would not have allowed yourself to waste your time on someone as useless as me had you not thought I had potential."
"Yes!" he roared, unable to any longer keep his anger at bay. "Are you satisfied, Christine? Have you sated your curiosity by knowing that you could have very well been one of the greatest divas to perform before Paris? Well?"
She shrunk from his outburst, sitting down once more and tucking her legs beneath her.
"You had a chance, the greatest chance, to very well outshine any performer in Europe, had you the resolve to deny any earthly bonds and simply give yourself over to all that is Music. You once gave me hope that you would do so, but now I am convinced that you would rather marry a Vicomte than have all France treasure you."
"You knew that I could not have done so Erik, for all that I would have wished to!"
"You must forgive me my doubts, for I have proof to the contrary," he said coldly.
She picked her head up suddenly. "Let me prove it."
He jerked his head sharply in her direction. "What?"
"Teach me once more. Let me try and make of myself something before the eyes of Paris. Let me show them the outcome of your brilliance."
"You speak like a child, Christine. What of your reputation? What of your Vicomte? What if he were to discover your partaking and learn that you are making a mockery of his engagement by beginning your marriage with a career? As a singer, no less?" His tone was derisive, blindingly scathing in its disbelief.
"If he cares, it will be his fault. He will have no one to blame save himself."
After saying this, the sparkle of defiance towards those who oppressed her took hold of another member, and broke off into some unarmed sadness that came wretchedly into the open. He knew she was thinking of the night she ran away, the night in which her precious fiancé had let his brother shower curses and shortcomings upon her name. He saw what Christine was doing behind her words. It was not only that she wanted this, for herself – she wanted revenge for what Philippe had said to Raoul about her. She wanted justice.
Erik smirked. There was hope after all.
"You know of what you ask?"
She nodded. "I do."
"Very well," he said tonelessly, walking towards her with conviction. "Let us begin."
,')-'-,-'----
I know this looks a little strange to you now, but trust me, I know what I'm doing. I also know that at times I seem to be a little off when it comes to historical reference and accuracy, and if you note this, please tell me and I will do my best to correct my discrepancies.
I know I do not answer many of the questions you have, so as to ease a few of your worries, let me divulge: Philippe isn't a horrible person (well, alright, so he is a little), but the reasoning behind his character is mostly because he is pompous and he is over-protective. We will also be seeing in later chapters some of the reasoning behind Sorrel's character, as I believe that every person has a reason for being who, what, and why they are (even if it is just because they have bad genes).
Erik and Christine, on the other hand, are not going to be lovey-dovey right off the bat. Sure, there will be some scenes that will make your hearts fly, awaiting that 'happily ever after', but I do love to install drama. Expect the unexpected.
Next chapter will include some other points of view, including Raoul's, as I know some of you are interested in his.
Thank you so much for your reviews! Send me a quick comment, I assure you I am most obliged.
