Il Commiato, la Mia Principessa
Note: I know I didn't mention this before, but you're all a smart bunch of readers. I have no doubt that you obviously realized that I do not, despite what you may have heard, own the POTO characters or concept. Just thought I'd clear that up, in case someone decides to file a lawsuit or something. Don't want to go through that again ......... haha, but seriously. Anyway, continuing ...............
Bianca's eyes went wide with fear as she saw the white hand break through the dangerous river's foaming surface and flail about helplessly. She scanned the dark waters for some sign of anything that could assist her in rescuing Mama . Caught between a gnarled branch and several sharp rocks, Bianca could see Mama 's head break through the white caps. Her mouth opened wide in a strangled gasp for air before she disappeared beneath the icy rapids once more . Bianca couldn't move. She shut her eyes tight, and clenched her fists into tiny balls of denfiance. Perhaps if she shut out the frightening image; if she shut out the entire world which surrounded her, it would all cease to exsist. Everything that had ever caused her pain or fear or cold; everything would be swallowed up by some strange, black water, never to be seen again . Like Mama . Ignoring her mother's pathetic cries for assistance, Bianca slowly knelt down on the ground and wrapped her hands around her knees, molding herself into a little ball of shivering helplessness. She didn't think, she didn't speak, she didn't move. She barely even breathed. She didn't even look up when the screaming stopped .
She awoke with a start. Her heart throbbed in her heaving chest, and nervous persparation glistened on her pale face. Closing her eyes, she tried to placate the seemingly spinning room by placing a trembling hand on her damp forehead. A gauzy piece of stiff cloth met with her touch, and she drew back, curious as to what had happened while she had been unconcious . She drew in a shuddered breath as the vivid nightmare came flooding back , like a tidal wave capturing ususpecting sailors in a storm at sea. Shaking her head, she mouthed the word, "No" over and over, trying to push the memories out of her mind, until she realized that she wasn't mouthing, but fervently chanting, "No, no, no!" while rocking back and forth on the hard ground. Where was she? What had happened ? She paused, sitting absolutely still, trying to remember exactly what had occured the day before . The ruby! Her hand instantly flew to her neck, where, to her utter shock and relief, it met with the familiar stone which sat so placidly beneath her dirty shirt. But how? She had lost it, this much she knew. Returning to the immense caverns below the streets in search of her only valuable possesion, she remembered how afraid she had been. And how cold . There was nothing after that ; only fear and blackness and the Nightmare. She shivered in the chilly air, and wearily rubbed her aching forehead.
"I'm glad to see that you are finally awake , mademoiselle. I trust you will forgive my lodgings. I was not expecting a visitor." Bianca whirled her head around to face the mysterious, yet quietly beautiful voice. Her green eyes flashed with fear as they rested upon a shadowy figure; shrouded by the inky curtain of night . That voice. It was so wonderfully familiar, like the voice of an old friend, perhaps . One she had not seen for a long while. Peering through the dark in an attempt to catch a glimpse of her elusive host, her eyes narrowed . Though his throat resonated comfort , his stride did not. She instantly drew back, afraid to trust this dark stranger. There was something not right about him; about the whole cavernous room. She felt as though she had stumbled into the tomb of a long dead Pharao , and hadn't yet realized the curse that was cast upon his final resting place . Scowling into the blackness, she murmered harshly,
"Sono dolente, il Signore . Non parlo la sua lingua." 'I'm sorry, Signore. I don't speak your language.' He laughed softly, a strange sound to be hearing in such an ominous place, and replied,
"Realmente ? Non lei l'ha parlato completamente semplicemente appena ieri sera ." 'Really ? You spoke it quite plainly just last night .' Bianca drew in her breath sharply, taken aback at his quick reaction to what she thought was a strong defense.
"You speak Italian?" she asked in his native Parisian, trying not to show her shock.
"You speak French ?" he mocked her lightly and laughed again , this time with less enthusiam as before . She scowled a second time and whispered, hoarsly,
"I don't make a habit of speaking to strangers."
"Neither do I." His response seemed to Bianca quite similar to the dangerous river in her dream; symbolizing so much more than what was simply on the surface.
"Where am I ? Who are you? What has happened ?" Her demands were quick and cutting. They sliced through the thin silence which hung in the air between them, breaking any tension either occupant might have felt .
"So demanding for such an innocent little child," he remarked, with slight crispness. "I believe I have already answered two of your three questions. However," he glanced at the bandage on her forehead, "I imagine that you do not recall much of the past several hours ." He paused and walked slowly around her, like a lion circling its prey. "You are currently residing in what was once referred to as my home, several levels below the Paris Opera . I can only assume that you returned here yesterday to retreive the fine gem you mistakenly left behind the night before . I have yet to learn what brought you to my residence in the first place ." His home? This dead and forgotten cave of eternal night actually served as a house for a man? Or, at least, she thought he was a man. Bianca could not be sure . His voice may have belonged to an Angel, his aura and mannerisms possibly to the Devil himself. If only she could see him clearly in the light , she might not feel so ill at ease. After a long silence, he continued, aware that she was deliberately refusing to answer him.
"You will fogive my reaction to your intrusion; I had no intension of causing you to fall unconsious. You are quite fortunate your wound was not serious. It should heal completely within a week or two . " Her hot temper flaired as Bianca finally recalled the cold hands of Death around her thin neck; grasping with intense strength and danger.
"No intension? Really ? I find that your rather forceful hold around my throat with such strength would suggest otherwise ! Tell me , monsieur , do you always nurse your victims back to health with such a gentlemenly hand, or am I simply an acception?" Her hard breathing echoed throughout the cellars. Instantly , Bianca wondered if maybe she should not have spoken with such bitter discontempt. Sensing his sudden movement toward her, she backed away with quiet fear. She knew nothing about this man, nothing about his past or character. Perhaps she was not his first intended victim of murder. Perhaps he had even succeeded in....
Suddenly, he was there, standing next to her cowering figure with an ominous aura of power. She was no longer Bianca the Cat , fearless and temperamental, but Bianca the Mouse , small and afraid in the presence of some immense giant. Grabbing her small arm with a shocking forcefulness and dragging her to her feet, he forced her head up towards his so their eyes met in the darkness. His touch was far colder and more deathly than Bianca could have even imagined. He could not have been human, it was not possible for any mortal on Earth to posses such a morbid grasp and yet such a heavenly voice. His eyes glowed as they stared into her's, and she suddenly gasped as she realized the similar intense fear and uncertainty which reflected in them. Still grasping her arm tightly, he whispered hoarsely,
"No. You, dear Signorina, are an acception. The only acception I have any intension of making ever again ." He then released her from his iron hand, and backed away slowly into the dark . She could almost feel his mood change from dangerous to helplessness as a small sigh resonated throughout the room.
"I have managed to obtain other candles. The one you so purposefully extinguished was my last. You will find them just to your left, on the seat of the organ. I have no use for them anymore, but I can not deny my guest the warm comfort of candlelight." His voice contained the slightest hint of bitterness, and Bianca silently wondered if he really thought of her as "his guest." How strange, almost laughable that this Dark Angel would serve as a host to any human being. She slowly moved towards the musical instrument, sensing its frightening presence as well in the blackness . Fingering a long, delicate candle in her palm, she carefully struck a match; instantly relaxing ever so slightly at its curious, familiar light. Strangely enough, she always felt more at ease when she could see things clearly; hardly the qualities one would expect from a cat. The soothing warmth from the candle calmed her shattered nerves as she placed it in an intricate holder which sat upon the organ, and strained to see the shape of her mysterious accquientence. Perhaps if she could just see his face, she might not feel so ill at ease...........
If she had been frightened at all, she certainly didn't show it. Having a keen talent for sensing others emotions , Erik could notice very little fear radiating from his mysterious guest. He watched her intently as she lit all three of the candles he had discovered in some unknown drawer. Apparently , he was more prepared for darkness than he had thought. As the light flared and danced across the walls in eerie patterns, her figure was illuminated at last. She was very small, several inches shorter than Erik himself, and wore the same dirty coat she had worn the night before . Her hair was a long, jet black curtain that hung down her back in a tangled mass, and atop it sat a dusty brown hat, usually worn by younger boys. She was quite thin, and her strange green eyes were hollow; framing her gaunt face and making her features rather similar to a cat's. The candles must have cheered her slightly, for Erik thought he caught a glimpse of her smile in the illuminated pool of light.
"This is not exactly what I would call an inviting residence, monsieur. How is it a person such as yourself has come to find a home down here ?" Startled at the slight forewardness of her question, Erik thought for a moment before replying simply,
"I prefer to be left alone."
"I can see how one must find lonliness accomidating in conditions such as these." Her reply was thoughtful, and absent-minded, as though she wasn't singularly concentrating on what she was saying. He watched as her eyes drifted over to the organ. The light danced on the smooth surface, and she gazed at it, almost in awe of its grand presence. "You are a musician? A composer ?" There was genuine intrigue in her voice. "Only a true master of music would own such a respectable item." She stroked its surface gently, sounding distant now , as though she were recalling something from the very depths of her past, or perhaps even her soul . Curious and slightly impressed by her appreciation for his fine instrument, Erik took a step closer, and asked, with mild interest , "You are familiar with music? It is something you have been educated in, perhaps ?" Still trance-like , as though she were sleep -walking through a wonderful dream , the girl murmered,
"Yes. Yes, you could say that, monsieur. Very long ago, when I was-" and suddenly, the strange dream-girl was gone, and the cold, suspicious little cat with fear glowing in her green eyes returned . "I - I mean, I don't know much. It's nothing to speak of, really . I don't want to discuss it." She turned towards him with a swift, sudden motion and thrust the candle foreward; illuminating the area in front of her with the bright flames. Gasping softly, she slowly stepped backwards in surprise as she finally acknowledged the porcelein prison which still rested on his face. The light was cast upon him in such an angle that only the white mask was visable; everything else lay in shadows.
"Surprised, are you?" he asked hoarsely. Her shock at his unusual accessory had brought back too many of the same memories and emotions he had tried so hard to surpress. Caressing his face, he said in a soothing whisper, "You need not be afraid of my mask, mademoiselle. It implies no danger to you, providing you keep your distance. I trust I shall not have to speak of it again ." She shook her head ever so slightly, and turned back to the organ, taking in a shuddered breath.
"It's perfectly alright , monsieur. I understand that everyone has things they feel they must hide. I respect your wishes ." Her reply echoed strangely throughout the Labyrinth, and Erik half-wondered if she too knew what it was like to want to disappear from the earth forever . Stroking the organ keys once more , she murmered softly, "My name is Bianca ." She glanced up at him, her eyes still filled with fear, but now with questions as well, and silent tact. He realized suddenly that he did not have to answer to her; he could keep all the secrets he chose, and she would never ask. So different from another wandering child he once knew.......
"I am Erik ." His words floated towards her in the dim light, resonating understanding and trust. He knew she would keep her promise .
So Erik had a secret as well. Maybe more than one, Bianca may never know. She would never ask, not after what had just occured between them . She somehow knew that he was not someone to betray; as though perhaps he had been betrayed before. Perhaps by someone very dear to him. He was obviously well-associated with music; she could derive that simply from the fine organ and littered sheet music which covered the floor in a delicate, white carpet. He must have been a brilliant composer once, long ago in his youth. Weariness and the ravaging effects of time were present in his strangely beautiful voice, and she could almost hear his whole life resonating throughout the entire Opera when he spoke. She silently bent down and reached for a torn piece of paper, studying it slowly and noticing the sharp, accurate marks which dotted the staves. Closing her eyes, she tried to hear it in her mind; it truely must have been the most beautiful music to listen to. There was something about this man and his strange, forgotten home that told her , despite his frightening outward facade, he must worship and always strive for beauty. It was his voice, his heavenly yet helpless voice, which rang throughout her mind and echoed perfection .
"I should love to hear your music, Monsieur Erik . I have no doubt it is quite lovely. I have always had a great respect for those who appreciate fine composing. Perhaps , someday ..." her voice trailed off as she noticed his heavy breathing once more in the darkness . Feeling she spoke when it would have been wise to remain silent, Bianca gently stood up to lay the paper on the organ, brushing it softly with her long hair. A strange emptyness seemed to fill the air, and she could feel something frightening forming between them.
"I used to compose music," his voice was now hoarse, as though whatever he was imagining brought him great pain. "Music that I derived from my very soul . There was nothing my mind could not culminate; no chord or scale or rhythm I could not string into an endless web of eternal beauty." He paused, and for a very long time , Bianca stood quietly in the darkness , listening to the strange, irregular sound of his breathing. She could almost hear everything inside his heart . It was all there, so close and yet so far away that it wasn't quite tangible in the blackness which closed in around him. Again , Bianca recalled the murky waters from her dream, and how she had failed to rescue Mama from their churning wrath. Suddenly, it seemed to her that perhaps Erik , too, was drowning in some dark, mysterious lake; created by the anguish and pain he had so keenly known. If he was not rescued; pulled back from the precipice which had such a fixed hold on his very exisitence , would he drown as well ? An unknown sailor, taken from the world and thrown remorselessly into an unmarked grave, with only the jealous moon to weep for his loss.
"When the world holds nothing but shadows of a shadowy past, and the future holds nothing but death, you find it hard to see anything for its wonderful beauty anymore." The depth of his voice told Bianca that he was fading softly now ; down into a world of surpressed memories and shattered dreams. Turning towards her, he stared into her green eyes. It were as though he were hypnotizing her with his glowing gaze, and she found it impossible to look away. "The music which you speak of so fondly exists only in the memory of very few. Only echoes of a once happier time that will never be ressurrected." Releasing her from his powerful stare, he began to walk down into one of the many corridors which created the cellars; away from his music and into his future . Seating herself at the organ, Bianca watched him go. She had opened a wound, and now he must go and attempt to salve it once more . Try to forget; Bianca realized how vividly she remembered repeating those words to herself so often .
"Try to forget, try to forget......" she whispered softly after him. Turning away as he went, she ran her fingers along the opposite end of the instrument's smooth surface. Her thin hand suddenly brushed up against a circular object, resting near the very edge, by the ivory keys. Picking it up gently, she carefully studied the small treausure she had discovered in this cave of wonders . A dainty, golden ring rested softly in her palm............
Note: I know I didn't mention this before, but you're all a smart bunch of readers. I have no doubt that you obviously realized that I do not, despite what you may have heard, own the POTO characters or concept. Just thought I'd clear that up, in case someone decides to file a lawsuit or something. Don't want to go through that again ......... haha, but seriously. Anyway, continuing ...............
Bianca's eyes went wide with fear as she saw the white hand break through the dangerous river's foaming surface and flail about helplessly. She scanned the dark waters for some sign of anything that could assist her in rescuing Mama . Caught between a gnarled branch and several sharp rocks, Bianca could see Mama 's head break through the white caps. Her mouth opened wide in a strangled gasp for air before she disappeared beneath the icy rapids once more . Bianca couldn't move. She shut her eyes tight, and clenched her fists into tiny balls of denfiance. Perhaps if she shut out the frightening image; if she shut out the entire world which surrounded her, it would all cease to exsist. Everything that had ever caused her pain or fear or cold; everything would be swallowed up by some strange, black water, never to be seen again . Like Mama . Ignoring her mother's pathetic cries for assistance, Bianca slowly knelt down on the ground and wrapped her hands around her knees, molding herself into a little ball of shivering helplessness. She didn't think, she didn't speak, she didn't move. She barely even breathed. She didn't even look up when the screaming stopped .
She awoke with a start. Her heart throbbed in her heaving chest, and nervous persparation glistened on her pale face. Closing her eyes, she tried to placate the seemingly spinning room by placing a trembling hand on her damp forehead. A gauzy piece of stiff cloth met with her touch, and she drew back, curious as to what had happened while she had been unconcious . She drew in a shuddered breath as the vivid nightmare came flooding back , like a tidal wave capturing ususpecting sailors in a storm at sea. Shaking her head, she mouthed the word, "No" over and over, trying to push the memories out of her mind, until she realized that she wasn't mouthing, but fervently chanting, "No, no, no!" while rocking back and forth on the hard ground. Where was she? What had happened ? She paused, sitting absolutely still, trying to remember exactly what had occured the day before . The ruby! Her hand instantly flew to her neck, where, to her utter shock and relief, it met with the familiar stone which sat so placidly beneath her dirty shirt. But how? She had lost it, this much she knew. Returning to the immense caverns below the streets in search of her only valuable possesion, she remembered how afraid she had been. And how cold . There was nothing after that ; only fear and blackness and the Nightmare. She shivered in the chilly air, and wearily rubbed her aching forehead.
"I'm glad to see that you are finally awake , mademoiselle. I trust you will forgive my lodgings. I was not expecting a visitor." Bianca whirled her head around to face the mysterious, yet quietly beautiful voice. Her green eyes flashed with fear as they rested upon a shadowy figure; shrouded by the inky curtain of night . That voice. It was so wonderfully familiar, like the voice of an old friend, perhaps . One she had not seen for a long while. Peering through the dark in an attempt to catch a glimpse of her elusive host, her eyes narrowed . Though his throat resonated comfort , his stride did not. She instantly drew back, afraid to trust this dark stranger. There was something not right about him; about the whole cavernous room. She felt as though she had stumbled into the tomb of a long dead Pharao , and hadn't yet realized the curse that was cast upon his final resting place . Scowling into the blackness, she murmered harshly,
"Sono dolente, il Signore . Non parlo la sua lingua." 'I'm sorry, Signore. I don't speak your language.' He laughed softly, a strange sound to be hearing in such an ominous place, and replied,
"Realmente ? Non lei l'ha parlato completamente semplicemente appena ieri sera ." 'Really ? You spoke it quite plainly just last night .' Bianca drew in her breath sharply, taken aback at his quick reaction to what she thought was a strong defense.
"You speak Italian?" she asked in his native Parisian, trying not to show her shock.
"You speak French ?" he mocked her lightly and laughed again , this time with less enthusiam as before . She scowled a second time and whispered, hoarsly,
"I don't make a habit of speaking to strangers."
"Neither do I." His response seemed to Bianca quite similar to the dangerous river in her dream; symbolizing so much more than what was simply on the surface.
"Where am I ? Who are you? What has happened ?" Her demands were quick and cutting. They sliced through the thin silence which hung in the air between them, breaking any tension either occupant might have felt .
"So demanding for such an innocent little child," he remarked, with slight crispness. "I believe I have already answered two of your three questions. However," he glanced at the bandage on her forehead, "I imagine that you do not recall much of the past several hours ." He paused and walked slowly around her, like a lion circling its prey. "You are currently residing in what was once referred to as my home, several levels below the Paris Opera . I can only assume that you returned here yesterday to retreive the fine gem you mistakenly left behind the night before . I have yet to learn what brought you to my residence in the first place ." His home? This dead and forgotten cave of eternal night actually served as a house for a man? Or, at least, she thought he was a man. Bianca could not be sure . His voice may have belonged to an Angel, his aura and mannerisms possibly to the Devil himself. If only she could see him clearly in the light , she might not feel so ill at ease. After a long silence, he continued, aware that she was deliberately refusing to answer him.
"You will fogive my reaction to your intrusion; I had no intension of causing you to fall unconsious. You are quite fortunate your wound was not serious. It should heal completely within a week or two . " Her hot temper flaired as Bianca finally recalled the cold hands of Death around her thin neck; grasping with intense strength and danger.
"No intension? Really ? I find that your rather forceful hold around my throat with such strength would suggest otherwise ! Tell me , monsieur , do you always nurse your victims back to health with such a gentlemenly hand, or am I simply an acception?" Her hard breathing echoed throughout the cellars. Instantly , Bianca wondered if maybe she should not have spoken with such bitter discontempt. Sensing his sudden movement toward her, she backed away with quiet fear. She knew nothing about this man, nothing about his past or character. Perhaps she was not his first intended victim of murder. Perhaps he had even succeeded in....
Suddenly, he was there, standing next to her cowering figure with an ominous aura of power. She was no longer Bianca the Cat , fearless and temperamental, but Bianca the Mouse , small and afraid in the presence of some immense giant. Grabbing her small arm with a shocking forcefulness and dragging her to her feet, he forced her head up towards his so their eyes met in the darkness. His touch was far colder and more deathly than Bianca could have even imagined. He could not have been human, it was not possible for any mortal on Earth to posses such a morbid grasp and yet such a heavenly voice. His eyes glowed as they stared into her's, and she suddenly gasped as she realized the similar intense fear and uncertainty which reflected in them. Still grasping her arm tightly, he whispered hoarsely,
"No. You, dear Signorina, are an acception. The only acception I have any intension of making ever again ." He then released her from his iron hand, and backed away slowly into the dark . She could almost feel his mood change from dangerous to helplessness as a small sigh resonated throughout the room.
"I have managed to obtain other candles. The one you so purposefully extinguished was my last. You will find them just to your left, on the seat of the organ. I have no use for them anymore, but I can not deny my guest the warm comfort of candlelight." His voice contained the slightest hint of bitterness, and Bianca silently wondered if he really thought of her as "his guest." How strange, almost laughable that this Dark Angel would serve as a host to any human being. She slowly moved towards the musical instrument, sensing its frightening presence as well in the blackness . Fingering a long, delicate candle in her palm, she carefully struck a match; instantly relaxing ever so slightly at its curious, familiar light. Strangely enough, she always felt more at ease when she could see things clearly; hardly the qualities one would expect from a cat. The soothing warmth from the candle calmed her shattered nerves as she placed it in an intricate holder which sat upon the organ, and strained to see the shape of her mysterious accquientence. Perhaps if she could just see his face, she might not feel so ill at ease...........
If she had been frightened at all, she certainly didn't show it. Having a keen talent for sensing others emotions , Erik could notice very little fear radiating from his mysterious guest. He watched her intently as she lit all three of the candles he had discovered in some unknown drawer. Apparently , he was more prepared for darkness than he had thought. As the light flared and danced across the walls in eerie patterns, her figure was illuminated at last. She was very small, several inches shorter than Erik himself, and wore the same dirty coat she had worn the night before . Her hair was a long, jet black curtain that hung down her back in a tangled mass, and atop it sat a dusty brown hat, usually worn by younger boys. She was quite thin, and her strange green eyes were hollow; framing her gaunt face and making her features rather similar to a cat's. The candles must have cheered her slightly, for Erik thought he caught a glimpse of her smile in the illuminated pool of light.
"This is not exactly what I would call an inviting residence, monsieur. How is it a person such as yourself has come to find a home down here ?" Startled at the slight forewardness of her question, Erik thought for a moment before replying simply,
"I prefer to be left alone."
"I can see how one must find lonliness accomidating in conditions such as these." Her reply was thoughtful, and absent-minded, as though she wasn't singularly concentrating on what she was saying. He watched as her eyes drifted over to the organ. The light danced on the smooth surface, and she gazed at it, almost in awe of its grand presence. "You are a musician? A composer ?" There was genuine intrigue in her voice. "Only a true master of music would own such a respectable item." She stroked its surface gently, sounding distant now , as though she were recalling something from the very depths of her past, or perhaps even her soul . Curious and slightly impressed by her appreciation for his fine instrument, Erik took a step closer, and asked, with mild interest , "You are familiar with music? It is something you have been educated in, perhaps ?" Still trance-like , as though she were sleep -walking through a wonderful dream , the girl murmered,
"Yes. Yes, you could say that, monsieur. Very long ago, when I was-" and suddenly, the strange dream-girl was gone, and the cold, suspicious little cat with fear glowing in her green eyes returned . "I - I mean, I don't know much. It's nothing to speak of, really . I don't want to discuss it." She turned towards him with a swift, sudden motion and thrust the candle foreward; illuminating the area in front of her with the bright flames. Gasping softly, she slowly stepped backwards in surprise as she finally acknowledged the porcelein prison which still rested on his face. The light was cast upon him in such an angle that only the white mask was visable; everything else lay in shadows.
"Surprised, are you?" he asked hoarsely. Her shock at his unusual accessory had brought back too many of the same memories and emotions he had tried so hard to surpress. Caressing his face, he said in a soothing whisper, "You need not be afraid of my mask, mademoiselle. It implies no danger to you, providing you keep your distance. I trust I shall not have to speak of it again ." She shook her head ever so slightly, and turned back to the organ, taking in a shuddered breath.
"It's perfectly alright , monsieur. I understand that everyone has things they feel they must hide. I respect your wishes ." Her reply echoed strangely throughout the Labyrinth, and Erik half-wondered if she too knew what it was like to want to disappear from the earth forever . Stroking the organ keys once more , she murmered softly, "My name is Bianca ." She glanced up at him, her eyes still filled with fear, but now with questions as well, and silent tact. He realized suddenly that he did not have to answer to her; he could keep all the secrets he chose, and she would never ask. So different from another wandering child he once knew.......
"I am Erik ." His words floated towards her in the dim light, resonating understanding and trust. He knew she would keep her promise .
So Erik had a secret as well. Maybe more than one, Bianca may never know. She would never ask, not after what had just occured between them . She somehow knew that he was not someone to betray; as though perhaps he had been betrayed before. Perhaps by someone very dear to him. He was obviously well-associated with music; she could derive that simply from the fine organ and littered sheet music which covered the floor in a delicate, white carpet. He must have been a brilliant composer once, long ago in his youth. Weariness and the ravaging effects of time were present in his strangely beautiful voice, and she could almost hear his whole life resonating throughout the entire Opera when he spoke. She silently bent down and reached for a torn piece of paper, studying it slowly and noticing the sharp, accurate marks which dotted the staves. Closing her eyes, she tried to hear it in her mind; it truely must have been the most beautiful music to listen to. There was something about this man and his strange, forgotten home that told her , despite his frightening outward facade, he must worship and always strive for beauty. It was his voice, his heavenly yet helpless voice, which rang throughout her mind and echoed perfection .
"I should love to hear your music, Monsieur Erik . I have no doubt it is quite lovely. I have always had a great respect for those who appreciate fine composing. Perhaps , someday ..." her voice trailed off as she noticed his heavy breathing once more in the darkness . Feeling she spoke when it would have been wise to remain silent, Bianca gently stood up to lay the paper on the organ, brushing it softly with her long hair. A strange emptyness seemed to fill the air, and she could feel something frightening forming between them.
"I used to compose music," his voice was now hoarse, as though whatever he was imagining brought him great pain. "Music that I derived from my very soul . There was nothing my mind could not culminate; no chord or scale or rhythm I could not string into an endless web of eternal beauty." He paused, and for a very long time , Bianca stood quietly in the darkness , listening to the strange, irregular sound of his breathing. She could almost hear everything inside his heart . It was all there, so close and yet so far away that it wasn't quite tangible in the blackness which closed in around him. Again , Bianca recalled the murky waters from her dream, and how she had failed to rescue Mama from their churning wrath. Suddenly, it seemed to her that perhaps Erik , too, was drowning in some dark, mysterious lake; created by the anguish and pain he had so keenly known. If he was not rescued; pulled back from the precipice which had such a fixed hold on his very exisitence , would he drown as well ? An unknown sailor, taken from the world and thrown remorselessly into an unmarked grave, with only the jealous moon to weep for his loss.
"When the world holds nothing but shadows of a shadowy past, and the future holds nothing but death, you find it hard to see anything for its wonderful beauty anymore." The depth of his voice told Bianca that he was fading softly now ; down into a world of surpressed memories and shattered dreams. Turning towards her, he stared into her green eyes. It were as though he were hypnotizing her with his glowing gaze, and she found it impossible to look away. "The music which you speak of so fondly exists only in the memory of very few. Only echoes of a once happier time that will never be ressurrected." Releasing her from his powerful stare, he began to walk down into one of the many corridors which created the cellars; away from his music and into his future . Seating herself at the organ, Bianca watched him go. She had opened a wound, and now he must go and attempt to salve it once more . Try to forget; Bianca realized how vividly she remembered repeating those words to herself so often .
"Try to forget, try to forget......" she whispered softly after him. Turning away as he went, she ran her fingers along the opposite end of the instrument's smooth surface. Her thin hand suddenly brushed up against a circular object, resting near the very edge, by the ivory keys. Picking it up gently, she carefully studied the small treausure she had discovered in this cave of wonders . A dainty, golden ring rested softly in her palm............