author's note: Out of boredom, I've decided to continue my little "fic" called "Tragedie." Yep.
bDisclaimer/b: Cheese is good, who is the scarlet pimpernel, this is Halloween, Halloween, Halloween, we wish you a merry Christmas. Hidy ho!
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Sequence II
She'd experienced it before, that feeling when you discover yourself in one place, but cannot remember how on earth you got there. II am such a fool; I cannot even recall my steps!/I I must be going mad. On one side of the drawing room sat a woman cursing herself. A man employed the same pastime on the other.
"Shall we sing tonight?" she finally settled on. Every night was filled with their song. She did not doubt the existence of a voice lesson-she would have said anything to hear his voice.
"Actually, my dear, I would rather talk to you tonight." Erik thieved a path to his piano bench.
"Talk? Talk of what?" INo lesson? Oh, but you must sing for me or I may burst! /I
"Christine," he started, but had a less-than-confident time gathering his copious thoughts, "I need to know to what degree you love that boy."
IRaoul?/I "I. . . I do not know what you mean. . . What are you implying?"
"Don't do this to me, Christine!" he shot up. What ragged waves of ardor and apathy collided behind his unhappy eyes-this was a time she craved the most. He could love and murder her all at once, and she wouldn't even notice.
It came in a whisper. "I do not love anybody."
"I see." He regained his composure instantaneously. His deftness would at once do away with him, some day. A shift so rapid can only lead to combustion.
"No. . . I am not heartless!" she implored, but he was beyond compassion. "You think I am? Oh, God, am I really?" Her urgency was unexpected and caused yet another rift in his attitude.
"Child," he started, advancing towards her. He stopped in time to be as far from yet as close to her as possible. She could hear his breathing again, slowly regaining pace up to a pant. "You endure all the love in the world. I know this."
"IForgive me. . . Tell me I'm loved. . . by. . ./I" her words were barely audible, but he could hear every syllable.
"Pardon? For what need you forgiveness?" What is she rambling about?
"ITouch me./I"
It was too much, as it always was. He stumbled back a few steps before he could realize what unexpected actions she was taking next. She rose and tentatively edged her way towards him. It was fire she would be walking into.
"I want to know that I will not go mad. I want my heart to stop scoring my lungs, and my lungs to start fanning my eyes, so that I may rid myself of foolishness for ever." She could not help but sound like a child, clearly wanting what she confessed, yet truly desiring that which is the opposite. Her arm lifted itself, it seemed, and her small fingers neared his lips, his medium of greatness. She could not touch. She dared not touch.
It was he who had to play hero. A shame; they were both cowards.