Fiend Angelical

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^bonjour, mon ami! As our lovely, murderous friend Erik would say! I'm sorry for all the terribly long delays, but my muse had fled, and took all will to write this story with her. I deeply apologize! Another part will soon follow this one, very soon. I'm nearly done with it.Thanks so much for reading, and please don't forget to review, it brightens my whole day!*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

And so, the girl and the monster continued their lessons. Erik was aware of the fine thread of sanity he was leading her by and was extremely gentle with her. Kristina, although she still thought of him with worshipful devotion; was simply not able to love him without the mask. When he had it on, she could converse with him like the father, the mentor, the friend she'd never had. The single time he'd appeared without it (how he hoped she wouldn't notice!), she'd hardly been able to bring her eyes off the floor, her voice above the quietest whisper. And her playing was atrocious. So Erik, going back to habits ingrained upon him in earlier days, never left his apartments without the mask. It hurt him, hurt him deeply that he who'd only shown her kindness was not able to be in the same room with her without his face hidden. He knew it was awful, god knows he knew it! But she had no reason.no reason.like a worm in the apple of their affection; the mask slowly ate away at all the goodness.

That's not to say Kristina didn't love having a real tutor, one she could touch and speak to, and watch. Erik despite what he though, was extraordinarily charming. Kristina thought him to be better than anyone she's ever met and she loved watching him almost as much as listening to his angel's voice. He moved with an eerie, liquid ease that never stopped to amaze her. She had been a clumsy child, and the fact that he could just walk with such grace was profoundly beautiful to her.

He astounded her, with his magic tricks and ventriloquism and the pure radiant brilliance of his mind. He would tell her stories until his beautiful voice was hoarse from speaking and still she would beg for more, hanging onto the loveliness of every word. He could produce roses out of thin air, conjure up angels with his voice, show her glimpses of paradise with his words. His hands, always gloved, were painfully, unnaturally thin and contradictorily sensual. She adored watching them move, whether just heightening the effects of a story with his magnificent gestures or guiding her own, comparatively uncoordinated hands to the right heights on her violin. In short, she adored her Erik, loved him like the family she'd never had. Erik had never been loved before, never had a little girl run across the room at the sound of his foot steps and throw her arms around him in a clumsy embrace. The first time she had done so, he had cried a little under his mask. He had never been voluntarily held close before, except that one time.

But Kristina loved him and she was an affectionate child. She held onto his hands when they hung in his lap; she threaded her arm through his when they walked the corridors at night. And indeed, she leapt up when he came and saw her.

But still, she could not bear him without the mask . . .