Gwyndolyn woke in confusion early in the morning. Her throat ached and she was cold, lying fully cothed on top of her bed with only a light blanket covering her. Her brow furrowed slightly before memory overcame her in a rush.
Until that point she had never realized what real music could be. She sat up and hugged herself tightly, a smile stretching across her cheeks. She and Erik had created a spiritual experience in sound and Gwyndolyn was reveling in the memory.
Erik. She had only been thinking of the music as she changed clothes and primped. With the thought of Erik, the source of such music, she was rocked with an intense physical reaction so fierce she stopped in her tracks.
"Oh, oh, oh. You can not do this." She whispered to herself. "Don't ruin this, oh god!" she pleaded with herself breathlessly. "He can't know. Damn you, body!"
Restored to good humour and composure by that last bit of absurdity, Gwyndolyn decided to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary had happened. The thought of forsaking the music which had encompassed her soul so readily was painful, but Erik mustn't suspect that she felt so for him.
How prosaic, how rude; she was not half of what such a genius deserved. She was trembling with apprehension when she left her room.
Erik was sitting in a tapestried chair by the hearth reading a black leather-bound book when she entered the main room. He stood immediately and began to speak but she cut him off with a slightly hoarse voice. A light blush coloured her cheeks and she had a strangling grip on her raging hormones.
"Good morning. Let's get started early today, I've got to start work tomorrow and we've got thirty years of music to go through before I'm letting you anywhere near a radio. Now, with the popularization of the phonograph..."
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**
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.
Erik also rose early that morning and paced about his chamber like a caged animal. He was trying to compose a decent speech of dismissal for the girl without much luck.
Another part of his mind was constantly intervening and demanding that he stop at once- why run like a frightened child at the first sign of closeness?
"There is no reason for we two not to become friends!" he rationalized, even though the thought of friendship with another human being made him nervous, also.
He'd never had a real friend with the possible exception of that infernal Daroga who had followed him about Europe like a damned basset hound. Even that man had had his ulterior motives, whatever they had been. Persia was a strange land and the actions of its government in sending about its subjects were never to be taken lightly.
As Erik finally tired of casting about for suitable words, he resolved to simply ad lib and took without looking a book from a shelf in the main room and sat down in the first chair he came to. He opened the book at random and was taken a bit aback at the subject matter he had unwittingly chosen.
Thou woudst be loved?-then let thy heart
From its present pathway part not!
Being every thing which now thou art,
Be nothing which thou art not.
So with the world thy gentle ways,
Thy grace, thy more than beauty,
Shall be an endless theme of praise
And love-a simple duty.
Poe! He almost laughed- an insane bubbling of wild ironic mirth was at his lips- but was stopped suddenly by a small sound.
He stilled, listening. Was it -yes!- it was Gwyndolyn's door. He braced himself and stood when he sensed her presence in the room.
He took a breath as he turned to face her and began to say "I thank you for all your assistance, however..." but was cut abruptly off at the first syllable. He soon realized that Gwyndolyn was not about to let him get a word in edgewise.
What was causing her to act like a nervous sparrow caught in the stalking gaze of a starving hawk? Could it be that- no. Of course not.
He motioned her to sit and endeavored to pay attention as she prattled away about the creation of modern music, a subject that would have been fascinating under different circumstances. So timorous was she, he didn't even interrupt to ask what under the sun a radio was.
Without intending to he resolved to see how this living opera would play itself out. Gwyndolyn would not be evicted back into the world by his hand on this day. Perhaps, after all, she would like to hear some Poe.
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Author's Note: About time, I know. Sorry for the long wait. Thank you everyone for your lovely compliments!
Chapter Disclaimers: The poem used in this chapter really is Edgar Allan Poe, so I obviously don't own it (I have about six "complete collections" of Poe's work, for some reason. Like they're really gonna change, right? lol). It's called To F-S S. O-D. Really. I swear.
As to my comments about Persia, I'm the first to admit that I know nothing. All I know is that its called something else now. It just sounded good, so please don't hurt me, history enthusiasts. Besides, isn't it true about every gov't, anyway?
More soon. As always, PLEASE review!
Until that point she had never realized what real music could be. She sat up and hugged herself tightly, a smile stretching across her cheeks. She and Erik had created a spiritual experience in sound and Gwyndolyn was reveling in the memory.
Erik. She had only been thinking of the music as she changed clothes and primped. With the thought of Erik, the source of such music, she was rocked with an intense physical reaction so fierce she stopped in her tracks.
"Oh, oh, oh. You can not do this." She whispered to herself. "Don't ruin this, oh god!" she pleaded with herself breathlessly. "He can't know. Damn you, body!"
Restored to good humour and composure by that last bit of absurdity, Gwyndolyn decided to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary had happened. The thought of forsaking the music which had encompassed her soul so readily was painful, but Erik mustn't suspect that she felt so for him.
How prosaic, how rude; she was not half of what such a genius deserved. She was trembling with apprehension when she left her room.
Erik was sitting in a tapestried chair by the hearth reading a black leather-bound book when she entered the main room. He stood immediately and began to speak but she cut him off with a slightly hoarse voice. A light blush coloured her cheeks and she had a strangling grip on her raging hormones.
"Good morning. Let's get started early today, I've got to start work tomorrow and we've got thirty years of music to go through before I'm letting you anywhere near a radio. Now, with the popularization of the phonograph..."
.
.
.
**
.
.
.
Erik also rose early that morning and paced about his chamber like a caged animal. He was trying to compose a decent speech of dismissal for the girl without much luck.
Another part of his mind was constantly intervening and demanding that he stop at once- why run like a frightened child at the first sign of closeness?
"There is no reason for we two not to become friends!" he rationalized, even though the thought of friendship with another human being made him nervous, also.
He'd never had a real friend with the possible exception of that infernal Daroga who had followed him about Europe like a damned basset hound. Even that man had had his ulterior motives, whatever they had been. Persia was a strange land and the actions of its government in sending about its subjects were never to be taken lightly.
As Erik finally tired of casting about for suitable words, he resolved to simply ad lib and took without looking a book from a shelf in the main room and sat down in the first chair he came to. He opened the book at random and was taken a bit aback at the subject matter he had unwittingly chosen.
Thou woudst be loved?-then let thy heart
From its present pathway part not!
Being every thing which now thou art,
Be nothing which thou art not.
So with the world thy gentle ways,
Thy grace, thy more than beauty,
Shall be an endless theme of praise
And love-a simple duty.
Poe! He almost laughed- an insane bubbling of wild ironic mirth was at his lips- but was stopped suddenly by a small sound.
He stilled, listening. Was it -yes!- it was Gwyndolyn's door. He braced himself and stood when he sensed her presence in the room.
He took a breath as he turned to face her and began to say "I thank you for all your assistance, however..." but was cut abruptly off at the first syllable. He soon realized that Gwyndolyn was not about to let him get a word in edgewise.
What was causing her to act like a nervous sparrow caught in the stalking gaze of a starving hawk? Could it be that- no. Of course not.
He motioned her to sit and endeavored to pay attention as she prattled away about the creation of modern music, a subject that would have been fascinating under different circumstances. So timorous was she, he didn't even interrupt to ask what under the sun a radio was.
Without intending to he resolved to see how this living opera would play itself out. Gwyndolyn would not be evicted back into the world by his hand on this day. Perhaps, after all, she would like to hear some Poe.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Author's Note: About time, I know. Sorry for the long wait. Thank you everyone for your lovely compliments!
Chapter Disclaimers: The poem used in this chapter really is Edgar Allan Poe, so I obviously don't own it (I have about six "complete collections" of Poe's work, for some reason. Like they're really gonna change, right? lol). It's called To F-S S. O-D. Really. I swear.
As to my comments about Persia, I'm the first to admit that I know nothing. All I know is that its called something else now. It just sounded good, so please don't hurt me, history enthusiasts. Besides, isn't it true about every gov't, anyway?
More soon. As always, PLEASE review!