Fiend Angelical

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Kristina sprang to her feet, sending her invaluable violin to the floor. She didn't notice, didn't hear at all, there was only one thought, an enormous and resounding that filled her head. To hear that voice again! It was beautiful, no other word. Pure, sad, sweet, angry.even in the two annoyed words the voice had given her, she knew it to be a voice of magic and secrets and music. Music, best of all.

It was then she realized Signor was lying face down on the floor. Biting her lip to keep the tears from coming, she knelt over and discovered that he was fine. She stood up again, and feeling a bit foolish, spoke.

"Bitte- I mean, please, sir, who are you?" The hand around her violin's scroll turned white when no one answered. "Sir," she began, and tears were evidently on their way. "Sir, please! Who are you? Again, silence met her pleas. "Sir, if you don't speak, I'm sure I'll die." She spoke elegantly and simply, because it was the truth. Already; the two words that had been spoken were resounding in her head, over and over and over and she felt madness stirring like dust in her veins. Gently, she sat down in the chair and picked up her violin. "I will play for you, Sir. Would you perhaps applaud me?"



Erik lay on the floor, slumping against the wall that allowed him to see and hear the girl's music being played. His heart was skipping erratically, ironically enough it seemed to be in time with the notes of the violin. He couldn't breathe and fire seemed to be consuming him from within. He grasped at the air with his long, sensual fingers but the darkness could not support and he did not stand. Again, he fell against the wall, slightly panting.

Beautiful.it is beautiful..." he breathed to himself, wondering where a little girl could learn to play like that, so perfectly. Her technique, of course, had room for improvement. Almost like punctuation to his though, the girl hit the wrong note and Erik cringed. It was barely noticeable, in fact the conductor probably wouldn't have noticed. But Erik heard it and to his perfectionist mind it was a blaring mistake.

Once more he struggled to get up, and once more he failed. He wanted to go, go to his rooms and just read and sleep and wait for the end. Christine was gone; gone and happy with the young Raoul, which was all very grand and fine but left him with little or no reason to wake up every morning. He cursed when he rose and found himself still facing the same tomb; wanting, hoping, wishing to wake up either deeper underground, or (dare he say it?) a little higher.

Perhaps this girl, who had an instrument instead of a voice would become his new Angel. an Angel that led him upwards instead of dragging him down to hell. Suddenly, he was overtaken with the memory of Christine; the sweet and beautiful girl whose mind he had taken, kidnapped, perhaps even raped was the right word, all for his love of music. He remembers.oh, he remember her eyes, her sweet blue eyes and her shining hair that was the only sun in the darkness of his mind. He.he remembered her kiss.

Finally, his heart slowed and his panting ceased and he found the strength to stand. Erik leaned against the mirror for support, resting his hand against the cool glass. He watched her face, her dark blue eyes clear and sharp in concentration, her light hair falling into her face. Her fingers were slim and long; they reached notes effortlessly. Her forehead was creased, her brow furrowed. She was playing an old, slow song that Erik recognized but it could not remember. "She's playing for you." he thought to himself. And what if she really did die? It would be his fault. And what harm could come, really, in befriending a girl who was already crazy enough to talk her violin? Surely, no one would take her seriously if she raved about an Angel of her dressing room! And who was to say she'd rave about it, anyway?

Quickly, before he'd have any second thoughts, he sang a soft song, just loud enough to be heard over the solitary violin.

"night time sharpens, heightens each sensation...darkness stirs and wakes imagination."

Kristina stopped playing and caught sight of her own reflection in the mirror, and for a moment she did not recognize herself. Her eyes were sparkling and on her face was an expression of pure joy never known there before. But it didn't matter. "Oh, oh, oh, Sir! Thank you, sir, thank you!" She was nearly weeping with happiness. Behind the glass, Erik was smiling through his tears. He said: "Play for me, child"

She did so.