Fiend Angelical
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^bonjour encore, mes amis! This part is rather poetic-ish and kinda of dreamy, I guess. It's also fairly long. I hope you enjoy, and please don't forget to review!!! It makes me so happy! Seriously, I like jump up and down with joy when I get reviews, even when they're like 'you suck" so go ahead and make my day! Don't be shy! lol, now go on and read the tale!*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^
It was her first performance- she was terrified. Absolutely, unbelievably terrified. After playing in the streets for bread, after playing for the Queen- but no, wait, that memory was much too tragic to recall at this crucial moment. But, after everything she'd been through, she was frightened.
She sat so still she was scarcely breathing, scarcely alive. Her face was deathly pale under the flush of nervousness, her eyes huge and glassy, so dark blue they were nearly black. She sat in a black gown supplied for her by Erik. She no longer looked like a little girl, but the young woman she was, in that off-the-shoulder dress. Erik had known this and had promised himself to be particularly watchful of her, in case one of the young rich brats got a little.out of line.
She sat, Signor resting on her lap, her hands hanging uselessly at her sides. She was staring at herself in the mirror, with an almost frightening intensity. She was waiting for her Angel to come, for him to come and soothe her with his loving, passionate voice. It was almost time to go, the clock handle ticking closer and closer to her time of departure. She sang softly to herself, only her lips moving. Her eyes remained locked on the images of themselves in the mirror; and all she saw in them was fear.
The door opened. Kristina didn't move. "Freline!" called Pierre, one of the percussionists. They had taken to calling her the German word for 'miss.' Kristina found it amusing. "It's time to go on, Freline." trailed off Pierre, a little disturbed that she wouldn't turn and look at him. "I'll be right.right there." she said, still not turning. Pierre shrugged and gently shut the door, shaking his head as he left.
"Erik." whispered Kristina, and a tear traced it's way down her cheek. Suddenly, he appeared in all his deathly glory, right behind her. She swept up, and turned, burying her head in his cloak. "I'm scared." she whispered into the lapels of his coat. He awkwardly raised a hand and patted her head. "Nonsense! You know you're better than all those fools out there. I won't hear of you talking badly of yourself. Now go, you're going to be late." She murmured something, and he took her chin with his finger, forcing her to look at me "Hmm, my dear?" She closed her eyes and drew in a long, shuddering breath "I thought you weren't coming." Erik laughed. "Of course I was coming! Why wouldn't I? I'll be watching the whole time, as well. Now hurry, or you'll miss your first show!" Kristina smiled and for the first time, Erik saw how beautiful she could be. She squeezed his hand for final reassurance and than turned and ran, all but galloping down the hallway.
Erik smiled and sighed; wondering at the sudden, irrational stage fright that had taken over the child. Tonight she would triumph, but it would be a quiet triumph. No wildly applauding audience, no bouquets after the show. She was hidden, her radiance hidden under the stage, her talent tucked neatly away into the orchestra pit. Erik sighed. At her age, he had felt the desire for applause more strongly than anything. He didn't know how she could bear it, having such a gift.and simply hiding it away. He had seen her bowing, oh yes! He had seen her curtseying in front of the mirror, accepting silent applause from invisible audiences.it had amused him at first, before he began to see himself in these escapades.how it almost paralleled what he had been doing to Christine.using his brilliance, all of his strong and passionate mind to convince her he deserved applause.he just wanted.he had only wanted.But, no.
Now was not the time to think of his fallen idyll. He had a new angel, this girl that was neither beautiful nor hideous, but so loving it nearly broke his cantankerous heart. He stared at his hands for a moment, remembering the touched from his different angels.
Christine's soft, soft hands, like living silk gently caressing his deadened flesh. Kristina's callused fingers, rough little scars adorning the tips, the finger nails cut painfully low, to ease her transitions on the violin.
Suddenly he balled his hands into fists, tucking his own supernaturally long fingers into his palm. Some memory stirred in the depths of his twisted brain, one that we cannot see but know must have caused him great pain. His eyes glazed over, he became stiff and cold. He vibrated slightly, as if the music was reaching toward for him, through the walls, and beating it's own time into his skull. His hands pressed so hard that the fingertips broke through the gloves, imprinting little crescent scratches into his palm. When his white gloves began to stain crimson, jumped and cursed, waving off the offending clothing with a flap of his hand. They flew across the small changing room and landed, forgotten on the floor; white scraps of cloth, besotted with little bits of blood. Erik scowled and turned, a dark mood overtaking him. And all the lovely music he heard that night was only just enough to bring him back together.
Her heart was pounding so hard she thought all the musicians could hear it. Her knuckles around Signor were white, but she had enough control now that her fingers were the only sign of her nervousness. The conductor raised his hand, signaling for silence. Kristina raised Signor to her chin, tucking him into her so swiftly and neatly it was like they were one, the instrument and the girl. And then they played.
This was the only time Kristina ever felt whole. It didn't matter her parents didn't care, or were dead or dying or wherever they were. It didn't matter she had lived on the streets for so very very long. It didn't matter that she had been hungry and cold and dirty and abused and used and hit and smacked and bled. It didn't matter that the only person she loved was a man with an angel's voice and a devil's face.
all she knew was the sound
the glorious sound
she felt connected to a brighter, sweeter universe. one without limits or boundaries, nothing was stopping her, nothing at all.she was free, flying, sweet sound filling her and bursting through to reach towards everyone, and anyone and she was a part of everyone and everyone was a part of her.
This time, however, the loveliest sound ever dominated her waking-dream. Erik's voice was with her, teaching, guiding, chastising, encouraging, praising.
She made the best music she ever had.
The audience applauded and it was like a drug. She craved, wanted, needed more; but she looked wildly around for the one face she cared about, the one whose respect she desired more than anything.
And glinting from box five was a mask and now she could see the black garments that clothed her angel (for at this moment, he was her beloved angel once again) and she could see his hands, for the first time uncovered (his fingers were such an odd sight!) and he was applauding, the sounds loud and un-muffled and proud.
And suddenly, that was enough, and she fell
into europhia and she knew
no
more
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^bonjour encore, mes amis! This part is rather poetic-ish and kinda of dreamy, I guess. It's also fairly long. I hope you enjoy, and please don't forget to review!!! It makes me so happy! Seriously, I like jump up and down with joy when I get reviews, even when they're like 'you suck" so go ahead and make my day! Don't be shy! lol, now go on and read the tale!*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^
It was her first performance- she was terrified. Absolutely, unbelievably terrified. After playing in the streets for bread, after playing for the Queen- but no, wait, that memory was much too tragic to recall at this crucial moment. But, after everything she'd been through, she was frightened.
She sat so still she was scarcely breathing, scarcely alive. Her face was deathly pale under the flush of nervousness, her eyes huge and glassy, so dark blue they were nearly black. She sat in a black gown supplied for her by Erik. She no longer looked like a little girl, but the young woman she was, in that off-the-shoulder dress. Erik had known this and had promised himself to be particularly watchful of her, in case one of the young rich brats got a little.out of line.
She sat, Signor resting on her lap, her hands hanging uselessly at her sides. She was staring at herself in the mirror, with an almost frightening intensity. She was waiting for her Angel to come, for him to come and soothe her with his loving, passionate voice. It was almost time to go, the clock handle ticking closer and closer to her time of departure. She sang softly to herself, only her lips moving. Her eyes remained locked on the images of themselves in the mirror; and all she saw in them was fear.
The door opened. Kristina didn't move. "Freline!" called Pierre, one of the percussionists. They had taken to calling her the German word for 'miss.' Kristina found it amusing. "It's time to go on, Freline." trailed off Pierre, a little disturbed that she wouldn't turn and look at him. "I'll be right.right there." she said, still not turning. Pierre shrugged and gently shut the door, shaking his head as he left.
"Erik." whispered Kristina, and a tear traced it's way down her cheek. Suddenly, he appeared in all his deathly glory, right behind her. She swept up, and turned, burying her head in his cloak. "I'm scared." she whispered into the lapels of his coat. He awkwardly raised a hand and patted her head. "Nonsense! You know you're better than all those fools out there. I won't hear of you talking badly of yourself. Now go, you're going to be late." She murmured something, and he took her chin with his finger, forcing her to look at me "Hmm, my dear?" She closed her eyes and drew in a long, shuddering breath "I thought you weren't coming." Erik laughed. "Of course I was coming! Why wouldn't I? I'll be watching the whole time, as well. Now hurry, or you'll miss your first show!" Kristina smiled and for the first time, Erik saw how beautiful she could be. She squeezed his hand for final reassurance and than turned and ran, all but galloping down the hallway.
Erik smiled and sighed; wondering at the sudden, irrational stage fright that had taken over the child. Tonight she would triumph, but it would be a quiet triumph. No wildly applauding audience, no bouquets after the show. She was hidden, her radiance hidden under the stage, her talent tucked neatly away into the orchestra pit. Erik sighed. At her age, he had felt the desire for applause more strongly than anything. He didn't know how she could bear it, having such a gift.and simply hiding it away. He had seen her bowing, oh yes! He had seen her curtseying in front of the mirror, accepting silent applause from invisible audiences.it had amused him at first, before he began to see himself in these escapades.how it almost paralleled what he had been doing to Christine.using his brilliance, all of his strong and passionate mind to convince her he deserved applause.he just wanted.he had only wanted.But, no.
Now was not the time to think of his fallen idyll. He had a new angel, this girl that was neither beautiful nor hideous, but so loving it nearly broke his cantankerous heart. He stared at his hands for a moment, remembering the touched from his different angels.
Christine's soft, soft hands, like living silk gently caressing his deadened flesh. Kristina's callused fingers, rough little scars adorning the tips, the finger nails cut painfully low, to ease her transitions on the violin.
Suddenly he balled his hands into fists, tucking his own supernaturally long fingers into his palm. Some memory stirred in the depths of his twisted brain, one that we cannot see but know must have caused him great pain. His eyes glazed over, he became stiff and cold. He vibrated slightly, as if the music was reaching toward for him, through the walls, and beating it's own time into his skull. His hands pressed so hard that the fingertips broke through the gloves, imprinting little crescent scratches into his palm. When his white gloves began to stain crimson, jumped and cursed, waving off the offending clothing with a flap of his hand. They flew across the small changing room and landed, forgotten on the floor; white scraps of cloth, besotted with little bits of blood. Erik scowled and turned, a dark mood overtaking him. And all the lovely music he heard that night was only just enough to bring him back together.
Her heart was pounding so hard she thought all the musicians could hear it. Her knuckles around Signor were white, but she had enough control now that her fingers were the only sign of her nervousness. The conductor raised his hand, signaling for silence. Kristina raised Signor to her chin, tucking him into her so swiftly and neatly it was like they were one, the instrument and the girl. And then they played.
This was the only time Kristina ever felt whole. It didn't matter her parents didn't care, or were dead or dying or wherever they were. It didn't matter she had lived on the streets for so very very long. It didn't matter that she had been hungry and cold and dirty and abused and used and hit and smacked and bled. It didn't matter that the only person she loved was a man with an angel's voice and a devil's face.
all she knew was the sound
the glorious sound
she felt connected to a brighter, sweeter universe. one without limits or boundaries, nothing was stopping her, nothing at all.she was free, flying, sweet sound filling her and bursting through to reach towards everyone, and anyone and she was a part of everyone and everyone was a part of her.
This time, however, the loveliest sound ever dominated her waking-dream. Erik's voice was with her, teaching, guiding, chastising, encouraging, praising.
She made the best music she ever had.
The audience applauded and it was like a drug. She craved, wanted, needed more; but she looked wildly around for the one face she cared about, the one whose respect she desired more than anything.
And glinting from box five was a mask and now she could see the black garments that clothed her angel (for at this moment, he was her beloved angel once again) and she could see his hands, for the first time uncovered (his fingers were such an odd sight!) and he was applauding, the sounds loud and un-muffled and proud.
And suddenly, that was enough, and she fell
into europhia and she knew
no
more
