Fiend Angelical
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ Alas, my friends, all good things must come to an end. Here is the final chapter. I hope you all enjoy it, and please review. Thanks for sticking along for the ride! Peace 'n' love happy~chaos *^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^
In a drunken daze she rose with the rest of the orchestra, and exited. She ignored the slaps on her back, the congratulations, the praise. She smiled radiantly and her face seemed positively burning with passionate, fierce joy. She looked on edge, as if at any moment she would burst into a thousand, a million little fiery pieces of glory. She wandered through the hallways, enjoying the victorious feeling. Signor was gripped as always in her pale, long hand. She moved slowly, decidedly, although she did not know her destination.
It was only until the cold Parisian wind made her shiver that she realized she was on the roof. The stars were reflected in her eyes
-behind those pretty and empty blue screens, the whole world is laughing-
Her father had written that; about her. The joy ebbed away, slowly at first but then pouring out when she remembered the soft and quiet man and the soft and gentle woman and the little house on a hill in Salzkotten. After the joy was gone she felt empty, because it had filled all the forgotten places, the places she hadn't known were empty until they had been full. She put her head into her hands and leaned against Apollo, but she did not cry. But the laughter behind the pretty and empty blue screens was gone.
The wind whipped at her hair, whipping it sharply against her face. As high as she had been before, she was now at the other end of the spectrum. Her world seemed dark, bleak, and no prideful angel to make things right. She murmured some lamentations in her native German, and sighed. She didn't belong here, not really. She could be accepted and exalted and praised, but this still wouldn't really be her home. She laid Signor gently on the ground, and then swung an arm around Apollo's neck. Pushing off from the ground, she hoisted herself and astradle over his back. She folded her long legs neatly under her, and threw her head back, gazing at the stars.
Her eyes ached, but she still shed no tears. This sadness was one long held, and beyond tears, now.
"What am I doing here?' she said, but her voice was monotonous and held no question.
Unseen, but felt as a comforting presence, Erik stood behind her. The sound of a single violin, playing a waltz whispered in her ears. She pushed herself off the statue and turned, facing Erik. He inclined his head and bent stiffly from his waist. A bow. He extended his hand, and said in a low voice, "May I have this dance, Mademoiselle?"
Smiling and blushing, she nodded and took his hand. Together, the little girl and the old monster danced, on top of the world. He cradled her close, like the father who was missing should have. She felt small and precious, and liked the feeling. Swiftly and surely, certain knowledge flowed into her head, invaded her body. She knew what she should have a long, long time ago.
Shyly but with purpose, her fingers found the edges of Erik's mask. He froze, caught completely off guard. Her fingers were rough little bits of skin against a face nearly completely untouched by flesh.
He raised a hand, a warning, a stop sign, a plea, a question, so many symbols and meanings in that one simple gesture that Kristina's head filled with the complicity of it.
"No," she whispered, and Erik didn't have the heart to deny her. They stayed like that, frozen in an endless forever, Poised on the brink of so many things; childhood, adolescence, innocence, depravity. They were the populace of the world, and both were unsure of what they were. What a strange sight they would have made- a girl in an evening gown with fingers resting lightly on the mask of a cloaked and sensuous figure. Kristina has the oddest sensation that she was someone else, watching a silly little girl doing something dangerous below and unable to intervene. But then she was back inside herself and her fingers were her own. She was filled with a kind of grim determination, and the knowledge lent her sudden wisdom.
She lifted the mask from his face, and then there were no boundaries between them. Yellow eyes haunted by a lifetime of cruelty stared into suddenly mature blue ones, and found that they were, in fact, the same.
Kristina laughed, long and heartily, and Erik smiled. She caught her breathe for a moment at sight of the twisted features, but then let it out in a relieved sigh She was the child again, and he was the parent. She was given another chance, and so was he. Another chance to be happy, for the short while he had left. Kristina took his hand and swung it gaily, suddenly chattering of everything and nothing and the world was good, good.
Erik saw their future with perfect clarity. He would grow older and weaker, and watch as Kristina grew and became beautiful. She would marry (a deserving gentleman, of course) and be happy and he would die, contented.
They left the roof together. The mask, once such a terrifying wall between them, was now an almost pitiable piece of white cloth starkly conspicuous against cold ground, nothing more than a child's plaything. All the nightmarish power had fled from it.
And as this tale began with a cliché, so it shall end with one.
Kristina and Erik, the pupil and the teacher, the girl and the monster, the musician and the violinist, the daughter and the father.
They lived happily ever after.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ Alas, my friends, all good things must come to an end. Here is the final chapter. I hope you all enjoy it, and please review. Thanks for sticking along for the ride! Peace 'n' love happy~chaos *^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^
In a drunken daze she rose with the rest of the orchestra, and exited. She ignored the slaps on her back, the congratulations, the praise. She smiled radiantly and her face seemed positively burning with passionate, fierce joy. She looked on edge, as if at any moment she would burst into a thousand, a million little fiery pieces of glory. She wandered through the hallways, enjoying the victorious feeling. Signor was gripped as always in her pale, long hand. She moved slowly, decidedly, although she did not know her destination.
It was only until the cold Parisian wind made her shiver that she realized she was on the roof. The stars were reflected in her eyes
-behind those pretty and empty blue screens, the whole world is laughing-
Her father had written that; about her. The joy ebbed away, slowly at first but then pouring out when she remembered the soft and quiet man and the soft and gentle woman and the little house on a hill in Salzkotten. After the joy was gone she felt empty, because it had filled all the forgotten places, the places she hadn't known were empty until they had been full. She put her head into her hands and leaned against Apollo, but she did not cry. But the laughter behind the pretty and empty blue screens was gone.
The wind whipped at her hair, whipping it sharply against her face. As high as she had been before, she was now at the other end of the spectrum. Her world seemed dark, bleak, and no prideful angel to make things right. She murmured some lamentations in her native German, and sighed. She didn't belong here, not really. She could be accepted and exalted and praised, but this still wouldn't really be her home. She laid Signor gently on the ground, and then swung an arm around Apollo's neck. Pushing off from the ground, she hoisted herself and astradle over his back. She folded her long legs neatly under her, and threw her head back, gazing at the stars.
Her eyes ached, but she still shed no tears. This sadness was one long held, and beyond tears, now.
"What am I doing here?' she said, but her voice was monotonous and held no question.
Unseen, but felt as a comforting presence, Erik stood behind her. The sound of a single violin, playing a waltz whispered in her ears. She pushed herself off the statue and turned, facing Erik. He inclined his head and bent stiffly from his waist. A bow. He extended his hand, and said in a low voice, "May I have this dance, Mademoiselle?"
Smiling and blushing, she nodded and took his hand. Together, the little girl and the old monster danced, on top of the world. He cradled her close, like the father who was missing should have. She felt small and precious, and liked the feeling. Swiftly and surely, certain knowledge flowed into her head, invaded her body. She knew what she should have a long, long time ago.
Shyly but with purpose, her fingers found the edges of Erik's mask. He froze, caught completely off guard. Her fingers were rough little bits of skin against a face nearly completely untouched by flesh.
He raised a hand, a warning, a stop sign, a plea, a question, so many symbols and meanings in that one simple gesture that Kristina's head filled with the complicity of it.
"No," she whispered, and Erik didn't have the heart to deny her. They stayed like that, frozen in an endless forever, Poised on the brink of so many things; childhood, adolescence, innocence, depravity. They were the populace of the world, and both were unsure of what they were. What a strange sight they would have made- a girl in an evening gown with fingers resting lightly on the mask of a cloaked and sensuous figure. Kristina has the oddest sensation that she was someone else, watching a silly little girl doing something dangerous below and unable to intervene. But then she was back inside herself and her fingers were her own. She was filled with a kind of grim determination, and the knowledge lent her sudden wisdom.
She lifted the mask from his face, and then there were no boundaries between them. Yellow eyes haunted by a lifetime of cruelty stared into suddenly mature blue ones, and found that they were, in fact, the same.
Kristina laughed, long and heartily, and Erik smiled. She caught her breathe for a moment at sight of the twisted features, but then let it out in a relieved sigh She was the child again, and he was the parent. She was given another chance, and so was he. Another chance to be happy, for the short while he had left. Kristina took his hand and swung it gaily, suddenly chattering of everything and nothing and the world was good, good.
Erik saw their future with perfect clarity. He would grow older and weaker, and watch as Kristina grew and became beautiful. She would marry (a deserving gentleman, of course) and be happy and he would die, contented.
They left the roof together. The mask, once such a terrifying wall between them, was now an almost pitiable piece of white cloth starkly conspicuous against cold ground, nothing more than a child's plaything. All the nightmarish power had fled from it.
And as this tale began with a cliché, so it shall end with one.
Kristina and Erik, the pupil and the teacher, the girl and the monster, the musician and the violinist, the daughter and the father.
They lived happily ever after.
