Thank you to my beta reader (of sorts) Kat, who got me in to this whole quasi-cult. And I realize Erik would probably wake up, but he's really tired, okay? I'm splicing together my opinion on his parent's from various books and even a few fics.
Disclaimer: See part 1
Part 2
It had been a month since the dinner incident. Christine was worried; Erik had barely spoken to her at all. He was always at the piano, or outside. He didn't sleep. Erik had slept on the couch in his study the few days she had actually found him in the morning.
Finally, it was too much to bear. She had not allowed him to find her again to be ignored. She felt it would be fruitless to argue with him, so Christine waited for Erik to come in that night. She crept downstairs an hour later to find him asleep on the couch. Christine pushed him until he rolled over, amazingly still asleep. She sat on the couch and folded her legs under her skirt. Erik moved again, so his head was beside her skirt. Christine realized he was wearing the mask. Maybe she should have let him wear it to sleep, she reflected. Christine had wanted him to feel that he didn't have to be ashamed around her. But maybe, in some way, she was trying to deaden herself against his face. She pulled the mask off his face, gazing down in the predawn half-light at his poor, terrible face.
Christine's head spun. She rarely thought of Erik's twisted visage anymore, but he had been through thirty-five years of hell before that. The entire two years she had lived in poverty did not begin to compare to a day of his life.
He began to stir and sat up.
"Christine? You should be asleep," he told her.
"Erik, you don't love me anymore, do you? Are you angry because I am carrying your child? I didn't plan to be, and I want to leave if you will be a distant father. I haven't seen you in a month!" Her outburst startled Christine more visibly than Erik.
He contemplated.
"I love you, Christine. But, what if..." he took one of her hands in both of his "our child should suffer, as I did, in my childhood?"
He must be afraid our child will fear him, if the baby ever sees his true face, she thought.
But realization struck her.
What if their child looked like Erik? Deformed almost beyond recognition, never being able to enjoy real companionship? Did Erik think she could hate the child, treat him like Erik's mother had? Or love the child, but blame Erik for its deformity?
"Can you bear that, Christine? A child, never able to play with other children without a mask? It would be my fault, carelessly fathering a baby condemned to a life of fear."
His words echoed her horrible thoughts, and drowned out any others.
After breakfast, Erik kissed her and told Christine he would be gone awhile.
Four days at the most, he promised her.
He wouldn't think of leaving unless it was terribly necessary.
Christine was angry, but she hid it well enough to say good-bye to him
Erik finally arrived late that day. The house he had been born in stood in front of him, old and creaky. There was a "Condemned" notice on the front gates, so he went around the back. Upstairs was the bedchamber of his late mother, the room where he had first drawn breath.
Erik had heard his mother cry about the scene so many times; he could picture the scene perfectly. A last gasp, a push, then a baby's scream. The midwife calling on a priest. His mother, awakening hours later, eager to see the rosy, cooing treasure her late husband had bestowed in her and receiving him, scrawny, yellow, noseless creature. She had been in favor of drowning him in the nearest well, but the priest had talked her out of it.
Erik strolled to the cellar, his bedroom for the first decade of his life. The spiders were only a bit worse than he remembered. He sat down on the cold stone floor. Erik did not wonder how he had survived. He did place his hand on the lower right part of his jaw. It was the only part of his face that was flawless. Sometimes, when he was very young and his mother was out, he would creep up to her room, holding her looking glass very close to this one patch of perfection and imagine himself a cherubic little boy. His mother would love him and never have any reason to cry except in happiness that her husband lived on in him. Erik had once heard his mother describe his father, a tall, stately man with fine black hair and charming moss green eyes. Erik assumed his golden eyes came from a mixture of his mother's gin colored brown eyes and his father's. He did become tall, but his hair was very thick. Erik thought he and Christine's baby might have her cat's brown eyes. Or golden eyes like his, which he felt would go nicely with her black-brown curls. And fair skin like hers. With her pert nose. But nothing would compliment his lack of one. Erik stood up suddenly at the thought and went out of the house.
His next stop, a day later, was to a sparse field next to the Madeleine church. It could barely be called a graveyard, with few flowers to honor those who had passed with no one pulling at their hands to keep them back. Erik walked to a larger stone near the back. It read:
Here lies Charles Mulheim
1814-1844
Next to him lies his wife Madeline Mulheim
1816-1875
Erik knelt next to his parents' gravestone. He placed the flowers he carried with him in front of the grave. Erik cleared his throat.
"Mother, you never loved me. I cannot forgive you that. You were never asked to love my face. But there was a child under that, and he grew afraid and starved."
He turned his head to his father's side of the stone.
"Father, I never met you. I doubt you would have loved me either, but since you cannot see my face now... you would be proud of my life. A wife, music, and home. But I may not trust myself enough to have this child. Should it be condemned to a life like mine, I am afraid I might, in a delirium... want to spare him the agony."
Erik rose. It did not help to do this. But his parents deserved a loyal son, if only a duty-bound one. Now to see real family. The daroga would be surprised to see him.
"Erik? Christine hasn't thrown you out, has she?" Nadir asked as soon as Erik opened the door to his apartment.
"No, I'm just visiting for today. I must be back soon; she will need me, in her condition. I'm afraid I've been off in my thoughts of late."
The daroga studied Erik carefully.
"I'm to assume baby, Erik? What are you doing about that?"
Erik hung his coat and hat on a peg on the wall and sat across from his friend on one of the couches.
"I'm not doing anything. I don't think we'll be able to do this. Too many risks..." He ran a hand over his masked face.
"I would give anything to know what happened to me to make me as I am. What if my mother fell, or ate something to cause this... me?"
The daroga laughed at Erik's logic, not at him.
"Erik, you can't do anything about it. Whatever it looks like, the baby's mother will love it. Go home to your wife now, I'd kill you if I were her."
Erik's face tensed pleasantly, the facsimile of a smile he offered to everyone except Christine. She had every right to be angered with him. Still, he felt he should stay a little while.
"Nadir, any suggestions on names?"
They both laughed.
"Why don't you just have the child christened Erik the junior now and save Christine the trouble?"
Erik sighed. "I doubt Christine would like that, I was thinking-"
Nadir held up a hand. "Erik, I forgave you your sins, please don't bore me into reconsidering."
Erik rose now, shaking the daroga's hand on his way out.
"I'll send you the birth announcement," he called over his shoulder.
"Just doesn't sending me anyone's funeral announcement for along time, Erik."
Christine waited at home, sewing a christening dress for the baby. She sat in the bay window of Erik's study. She had already finished silk cradle wraps lined with fleece for the baby. Elle had to forcibly take her away from the window to eat, dress, and bathe. Christine insisted sleeping in Erik's study. She read a good deal of the books in the room in the five days he had been gone. Her life had alternated between sewing anything for the baby and reading Erik's books on trap doors and plays. Elle had organized a baby tea for Christine in a last-ditch attempt to get her out of the house. It had been a wonderful distraction for a few hours, but Erik was not back. Elle had told Christine all the sewing and studying was her way of preparing for the change in her life like a general stockpiling reasons and supplies for a long siege.
She finished attaching the pearls to the neckline of the little gown and picked up the fleece to make receiving blankets.
Near dusk that day, she heard a carriage approach the house. Erik stepped out and walked to the front door. The butler opened the door for him. He whisked in his characteristic manner, removing his cloak and hat. Erik saw her in the study doorway and walked over in crisp strides. He took one of her hands and kissed it.
"Christine, I am so sorry, the roads were terrible. You look as though you are wasting away, my dear, what troubles you?"
The tirade Christine had built up in the past two months rose up out of her lungs, but became caught in her throat. She could not speak. Christine pulled her hand out of his grasp and slowly walked upstairs until she could close the door and not have to think about his false face.
Please, please, please, please review!
Disclaimer: See part 1
Part 2
It had been a month since the dinner incident. Christine was worried; Erik had barely spoken to her at all. He was always at the piano, or outside. He didn't sleep. Erik had slept on the couch in his study the few days she had actually found him in the morning.
Finally, it was too much to bear. She had not allowed him to find her again to be ignored. She felt it would be fruitless to argue with him, so Christine waited for Erik to come in that night. She crept downstairs an hour later to find him asleep on the couch. Christine pushed him until he rolled over, amazingly still asleep. She sat on the couch and folded her legs under her skirt. Erik moved again, so his head was beside her skirt. Christine realized he was wearing the mask. Maybe she should have let him wear it to sleep, she reflected. Christine had wanted him to feel that he didn't have to be ashamed around her. But maybe, in some way, she was trying to deaden herself against his face. She pulled the mask off his face, gazing down in the predawn half-light at his poor, terrible face.
Christine's head spun. She rarely thought of Erik's twisted visage anymore, but he had been through thirty-five years of hell before that. The entire two years she had lived in poverty did not begin to compare to a day of his life.
He began to stir and sat up.
"Christine? You should be asleep," he told her.
"Erik, you don't love me anymore, do you? Are you angry because I am carrying your child? I didn't plan to be, and I want to leave if you will be a distant father. I haven't seen you in a month!" Her outburst startled Christine more visibly than Erik.
He contemplated.
"I love you, Christine. But, what if..." he took one of her hands in both of his "our child should suffer, as I did, in my childhood?"
He must be afraid our child will fear him, if the baby ever sees his true face, she thought.
But realization struck her.
What if their child looked like Erik? Deformed almost beyond recognition, never being able to enjoy real companionship? Did Erik think she could hate the child, treat him like Erik's mother had? Or love the child, but blame Erik for its deformity?
"Can you bear that, Christine? A child, never able to play with other children without a mask? It would be my fault, carelessly fathering a baby condemned to a life of fear."
His words echoed her horrible thoughts, and drowned out any others.
After breakfast, Erik kissed her and told Christine he would be gone awhile.
Four days at the most, he promised her.
He wouldn't think of leaving unless it was terribly necessary.
Christine was angry, but she hid it well enough to say good-bye to him
Erik finally arrived late that day. The house he had been born in stood in front of him, old and creaky. There was a "Condemned" notice on the front gates, so he went around the back. Upstairs was the bedchamber of his late mother, the room where he had first drawn breath.
Erik had heard his mother cry about the scene so many times; he could picture the scene perfectly. A last gasp, a push, then a baby's scream. The midwife calling on a priest. His mother, awakening hours later, eager to see the rosy, cooing treasure her late husband had bestowed in her and receiving him, scrawny, yellow, noseless creature. She had been in favor of drowning him in the nearest well, but the priest had talked her out of it.
Erik strolled to the cellar, his bedroom for the first decade of his life. The spiders were only a bit worse than he remembered. He sat down on the cold stone floor. Erik did not wonder how he had survived. He did place his hand on the lower right part of his jaw. It was the only part of his face that was flawless. Sometimes, when he was very young and his mother was out, he would creep up to her room, holding her looking glass very close to this one patch of perfection and imagine himself a cherubic little boy. His mother would love him and never have any reason to cry except in happiness that her husband lived on in him. Erik had once heard his mother describe his father, a tall, stately man with fine black hair and charming moss green eyes. Erik assumed his golden eyes came from a mixture of his mother's gin colored brown eyes and his father's. He did become tall, but his hair was very thick. Erik thought he and Christine's baby might have her cat's brown eyes. Or golden eyes like his, which he felt would go nicely with her black-brown curls. And fair skin like hers. With her pert nose. But nothing would compliment his lack of one. Erik stood up suddenly at the thought and went out of the house.
His next stop, a day later, was to a sparse field next to the Madeleine church. It could barely be called a graveyard, with few flowers to honor those who had passed with no one pulling at their hands to keep them back. Erik walked to a larger stone near the back. It read:
Here lies Charles Mulheim
1814-1844
Next to him lies his wife Madeline Mulheim
1816-1875
Erik knelt next to his parents' gravestone. He placed the flowers he carried with him in front of the grave. Erik cleared his throat.
"Mother, you never loved me. I cannot forgive you that. You were never asked to love my face. But there was a child under that, and he grew afraid and starved."
He turned his head to his father's side of the stone.
"Father, I never met you. I doubt you would have loved me either, but since you cannot see my face now... you would be proud of my life. A wife, music, and home. But I may not trust myself enough to have this child. Should it be condemned to a life like mine, I am afraid I might, in a delirium... want to spare him the agony."
Erik rose. It did not help to do this. But his parents deserved a loyal son, if only a duty-bound one. Now to see real family. The daroga would be surprised to see him.
"Erik? Christine hasn't thrown you out, has she?" Nadir asked as soon as Erik opened the door to his apartment.
"No, I'm just visiting for today. I must be back soon; she will need me, in her condition. I'm afraid I've been off in my thoughts of late."
The daroga studied Erik carefully.
"I'm to assume baby, Erik? What are you doing about that?"
Erik hung his coat and hat on a peg on the wall and sat across from his friend on one of the couches.
"I'm not doing anything. I don't think we'll be able to do this. Too many risks..." He ran a hand over his masked face.
"I would give anything to know what happened to me to make me as I am. What if my mother fell, or ate something to cause this... me?"
The daroga laughed at Erik's logic, not at him.
"Erik, you can't do anything about it. Whatever it looks like, the baby's mother will love it. Go home to your wife now, I'd kill you if I were her."
Erik's face tensed pleasantly, the facsimile of a smile he offered to everyone except Christine. She had every right to be angered with him. Still, he felt he should stay a little while.
"Nadir, any suggestions on names?"
They both laughed.
"Why don't you just have the child christened Erik the junior now and save Christine the trouble?"
Erik sighed. "I doubt Christine would like that, I was thinking-"
Nadir held up a hand. "Erik, I forgave you your sins, please don't bore me into reconsidering."
Erik rose now, shaking the daroga's hand on his way out.
"I'll send you the birth announcement," he called over his shoulder.
"Just doesn't sending me anyone's funeral announcement for along time, Erik."
Christine waited at home, sewing a christening dress for the baby. She sat in the bay window of Erik's study. She had already finished silk cradle wraps lined with fleece for the baby. Elle had to forcibly take her away from the window to eat, dress, and bathe. Christine insisted sleeping in Erik's study. She read a good deal of the books in the room in the five days he had been gone. Her life had alternated between sewing anything for the baby and reading Erik's books on trap doors and plays. Elle had organized a baby tea for Christine in a last-ditch attempt to get her out of the house. It had been a wonderful distraction for a few hours, but Erik was not back. Elle had told Christine all the sewing and studying was her way of preparing for the change in her life like a general stockpiling reasons and supplies for a long siege.
She finished attaching the pearls to the neckline of the little gown and picked up the fleece to make receiving blankets.
Near dusk that day, she heard a carriage approach the house. Erik stepped out and walked to the front door. The butler opened the door for him. He whisked in his characteristic manner, removing his cloak and hat. Erik saw her in the study doorway and walked over in crisp strides. He took one of her hands and kissed it.
"Christine, I am so sorry, the roads were terrible. You look as though you are wasting away, my dear, what troubles you?"
The tirade Christine had built up in the past two months rose up out of her lungs, but became caught in her throat. She could not speak. Christine pulled her hand out of his grasp and slowly walked upstairs until she could close the door and not have to think about his false face.
Please, please, please, please review!
