Howdy- just a brief note. I know I have been updating this frequently (compared to my other story - sorry Alli - but I'm going to be updating it only on the weekends and sometimes during the week because it was starting to interfer with my school work- and that is a nono. So I all hope you can forgive me... Kudos to you all!
Disclaimer: For all of you who thought I owned every character that appears in my story having to do with "Phantom of the Opera" I hate to disappoint you.
Box ~uh~ Chapter Five: This face, the infection which poisons our love…
Erik pulled back. **My name… how did she know my name?**
"How did you know my name?" he said, echoing his thoughts.
Marguerite sat up slowly. Erik watched as she slowly wiped the tears and sleep from her eyes. He was completely oblivious to the fact that she was not wiping sleep and tears from her eyes but was infact, rubbing them to discard an illusion. But no, when she opened her eyes the sight of the horridly scarred visage was still there, contaminating the right side of his face. She also dully noted that he was staring at her, waiting. He had asked her a question…
**What was it!?!** She searched her mind quickly until she came upon what she was searching for.
"M-My mot-ther," she paused to straighten out the stammer in her voice. "My mother once spoke of a teacher whose imagination had no limits and whose voice soared to the very heights of heaven. But he had deceived her and betrayed her confidence. He regained it though, by sacrificing something for her."
Marguerite was trembling but forced herself to stop. Why was she afraid? This was the very same man, the kind but strict teacher who had gave up his free time just to tutor her on her voice. Why should his face make him different to her? She peered closer.
**Wait! That looks familiar…** Her hand drifted unconsciously to her lower back.
She was strangely silent and peering at him curiously. **I wonder what's wrong- fool- she just screamed… possibly from a nightmare and you are wondering what is wrong with her!**
"Are you all right?" he asked, genuinely concerned.
His inquiry broke into her thoughts. She answered frankly, not wanting to get into details, "Yes, thank you."
**He doesn't know his mask is not on… perhaps I should tell him?**
"Monsieur, my mother also told me that you always wore a mask. So, if you would like me to shut my eyes while you go and put it on that's fine. But," she added quickly, "if you are comfortable without the mask that is okay too." She watched the emotions play across the plains of his face as he digested what she said.
That's when Erik noticed how comfortable his face felt and how easy it had been to breath. **MY MASK!** His hands flew up to his face. **I forgot to put it back on when I woke up! Poor Marguerite, she must be so fright- wait - why isn't she screaming?**
He peeked through his hands to see Marguerite smiling softly at him, looking both concerned and curious. This was new… she didn't look scared at all. He slowly lowered his hands waiting for the inevitable flinch but it never came.
"You're not scared?" he inquired.
Windows started to align in her mind but still something was offsetting them. "Would you rather that I ran and screamed in fear?"
He shook his head. Of course not, that's just what he had gotten used to.
Her mind found what was missing… but the question she must ask to fill the tiniest gap. It was horribly rude yet completely necessary. **I can only hope that he will forgive me** She looked down ashamed before raising her gaze and meeting his head-on. "Monsieur, I hope you do not think me rude when I ask you this but, how did you get those scars?"
His baffled gaze turned to that of rage when he heard her request. She was just like the rest, a scavenger trying to pick him apart piece by piece. "Birth defect," he spat.
"Oh," she nodded. Gathering her thoughts she could have sworn she heard a *click* when everything aligned and made sense. "You and my mother- you were friends?"
He raised an eyebrow at her entire switch of topic. Was she trying to wheedle her way out of this situation? **Of course, you idiot!**
"We weren't very chummy but if you had to categorize our relationship I would say it would fall there," he replied bitterly.
She nodded again, she could tell though that he was lying. **It is time that he knows the truth of who I am… perhaps I shall tell him of my past as well… soon.**
"Did you know that I look nothing like Raoul or anyone on his side of the family?" she stated.
His eyebrow seemed to go higher on his forehead. **Where is she going with this?**
"Really, I was unaware of this."
"Yes and in fact it's not at all uncommon. My sister looked nothing like her father either, in fact she was an exact replica of mum right down to the dimple in her left cheek. But you see, what truly bothers me about my situation is that I don't look entirely like my mum either. Mum' s hair is pure chestnut spirals, my hair is as dark as a raven's wing and as straight as a line. But perhaps, my grandmother had the same hair as I for my mother does not remember her well. My eyes, you see, are very rare though. Like amber honey, you are the only person I have ever seen with my eyes," She grabbed his gaze and held it as she laid the bomb on him as gently as possible. "And even more so, the scars that populate the right side of your face, which you claim is a birth defect, also populates my lower back." She watched his eyes widen as she paused for both effect and saturation. "Now, can you look me in the eyes and tell me honestly that there was no time when you and my mother were more than just 'friends'?" She was now the one who raised her eyebrow as she waited for him to put it all together.
He listened as she stated fact after fact, each one starting to tug at the pure realization stirring in the back of his mind. As she struck him with her last truth, it rang as true as a slap in the face. He was bewildered…**But Christine and I had only been intimate once… she couldn't have conceived the first… Marguerite couldn't be…**
"You're my…"
She looked just as shocked as he when it all finally hit her.
"…daughter," she finsihed.
***
Christine gripped the two letters in her hand. She knew it! She had known something was wrong with Marguerite- she had to go to Paris… as soon as possible. It was noon now. **I shall leave as soon as the clock strikes twelve again and I can only hope I wont be too late…**
And for the first time in thirteen years, the night sung to her as she swiftly but carefully slipped away that night...
Disclaimer: For all of you who thought I owned every character that appears in my story having to do with "Phantom of the Opera" I hate to disappoint you.
Box ~uh~ Chapter Five: This face, the infection which poisons our love…
Erik pulled back. **My name… how did she know my name?**
"How did you know my name?" he said, echoing his thoughts.
Marguerite sat up slowly. Erik watched as she slowly wiped the tears and sleep from her eyes. He was completely oblivious to the fact that she was not wiping sleep and tears from her eyes but was infact, rubbing them to discard an illusion. But no, when she opened her eyes the sight of the horridly scarred visage was still there, contaminating the right side of his face. She also dully noted that he was staring at her, waiting. He had asked her a question…
**What was it!?!** She searched her mind quickly until she came upon what she was searching for.
"M-My mot-ther," she paused to straighten out the stammer in her voice. "My mother once spoke of a teacher whose imagination had no limits and whose voice soared to the very heights of heaven. But he had deceived her and betrayed her confidence. He regained it though, by sacrificing something for her."
Marguerite was trembling but forced herself to stop. Why was she afraid? This was the very same man, the kind but strict teacher who had gave up his free time just to tutor her on her voice. Why should his face make him different to her? She peered closer.
**Wait! That looks familiar…** Her hand drifted unconsciously to her lower back.
She was strangely silent and peering at him curiously. **I wonder what's wrong- fool- she just screamed… possibly from a nightmare and you are wondering what is wrong with her!**
"Are you all right?" he asked, genuinely concerned.
His inquiry broke into her thoughts. She answered frankly, not wanting to get into details, "Yes, thank you."
**He doesn't know his mask is not on… perhaps I should tell him?**
"Monsieur, my mother also told me that you always wore a mask. So, if you would like me to shut my eyes while you go and put it on that's fine. But," she added quickly, "if you are comfortable without the mask that is okay too." She watched the emotions play across the plains of his face as he digested what she said.
That's when Erik noticed how comfortable his face felt and how easy it had been to breath. **MY MASK!** His hands flew up to his face. **I forgot to put it back on when I woke up! Poor Marguerite, she must be so fright- wait - why isn't she screaming?**
He peeked through his hands to see Marguerite smiling softly at him, looking both concerned and curious. This was new… she didn't look scared at all. He slowly lowered his hands waiting for the inevitable flinch but it never came.
"You're not scared?" he inquired.
Windows started to align in her mind but still something was offsetting them. "Would you rather that I ran and screamed in fear?"
He shook his head. Of course not, that's just what he had gotten used to.
Her mind found what was missing… but the question she must ask to fill the tiniest gap. It was horribly rude yet completely necessary. **I can only hope that he will forgive me** She looked down ashamed before raising her gaze and meeting his head-on. "Monsieur, I hope you do not think me rude when I ask you this but, how did you get those scars?"
His baffled gaze turned to that of rage when he heard her request. She was just like the rest, a scavenger trying to pick him apart piece by piece. "Birth defect," he spat.
"Oh," she nodded. Gathering her thoughts she could have sworn she heard a *click* when everything aligned and made sense. "You and my mother- you were friends?"
He raised an eyebrow at her entire switch of topic. Was she trying to wheedle her way out of this situation? **Of course, you idiot!**
"We weren't very chummy but if you had to categorize our relationship I would say it would fall there," he replied bitterly.
She nodded again, she could tell though that he was lying. **It is time that he knows the truth of who I am… perhaps I shall tell him of my past as well… soon.**
"Did you know that I look nothing like Raoul or anyone on his side of the family?" she stated.
His eyebrow seemed to go higher on his forehead. **Where is she going with this?**
"Really, I was unaware of this."
"Yes and in fact it's not at all uncommon. My sister looked nothing like her father either, in fact she was an exact replica of mum right down to the dimple in her left cheek. But you see, what truly bothers me about my situation is that I don't look entirely like my mum either. Mum' s hair is pure chestnut spirals, my hair is as dark as a raven's wing and as straight as a line. But perhaps, my grandmother had the same hair as I for my mother does not remember her well. My eyes, you see, are very rare though. Like amber honey, you are the only person I have ever seen with my eyes," She grabbed his gaze and held it as she laid the bomb on him as gently as possible. "And even more so, the scars that populate the right side of your face, which you claim is a birth defect, also populates my lower back." She watched his eyes widen as she paused for both effect and saturation. "Now, can you look me in the eyes and tell me honestly that there was no time when you and my mother were more than just 'friends'?" She was now the one who raised her eyebrow as she waited for him to put it all together.
He listened as she stated fact after fact, each one starting to tug at the pure realization stirring in the back of his mind. As she struck him with her last truth, it rang as true as a slap in the face. He was bewildered…**But Christine and I had only been intimate once… she couldn't have conceived the first… Marguerite couldn't be…**
"You're my…"
She looked just as shocked as he when it all finally hit her.
"…daughter," she finsihed.
***
Christine gripped the two letters in her hand. She knew it! She had known something was wrong with Marguerite- she had to go to Paris… as soon as possible. It was noon now. **I shall leave as soon as the clock strikes twelve again and I can only hope I wont be too late…**
And for the first time in thirteen years, the night sung to her as she swiftly but carefully slipped away that night...