You all know it; don't make me write the disclaimer again. BTW, thanks for
suspending your belief.
~Ch.2~
Diana wandered back to her rented flat, mulling over what Giry had told her. The story of a slightly mad, soprano-obsessed musical genius living in secret below the opera house was a bit far-fetched. But it seemed to collaborate with everything that she had heard from the other opera folk. Naturally, opera folk were a little strange to begin with-it came with all that singing. That and staying in one place all the time, but all gadjos were like that.
She unlocked her door and let herself into the flat. It wasn't very decorated-she didn't plan on being here long. On the main table rested her pipes and violin in their cases. Stroking one of the long, elegant boxes a cousin had made for her, she let one hand rise to her hair. Releasing her bun, the long brown-black tresses cascaded to her waist. She lit a fire, sat in a chair, and raised the violin to her chin. Finding solace in music, she let her mind wander back to her family. What were they doing right now? Her fingers unwittingly turned to the sweet simple melody that she had first learnt. Home, home, home.
~
Dear Christine: Think no more of your poor angel (Erik muttered as he accidentally spelled angel "angle" for the third time in the dim light). Tonight I would say that I have planned to end it all, but it all really finished when you left. I am saddened to hear that you will no longer be performing in this Opera house, and so I will end the stage's silent misery by setting the fuses tonight. Please don't mourn for me, I---
"Erik?"
The tip of the pen snapped against the paper, forming a large ink blot on the letter. Erik closed his eyes in frustration. Nadir's voice echoed outside the chambers. He knocked again at the door. "Erik?" At the other man's continued silence, Nadir's voice filled with frustration and annoyance. "Erik, I know you can hear me. Don't waste your life because she left." Nadir refrained from expressing his true opinion of Christine--- the last time he did that, Erik nearly killed him. He sighed. "Look, I'm going to leave for a few weeks. I've left you some food outside so you won't have to.to go outside. Don't---don't do anything stupid, all right? Who will take care of your cat?" There was silence from the chambers. Nadir shook his head. He knew better than to try to force Erik to talk to him right now. "Goodbye, friend," he said, shaking his head.
Erik heard Nadir step into the boat and leave. "Sorry, friend," he said quietly. "Your deus ex machina isn't going to work this time." He left the food where it was, outside, and looked at his letter again. His shoulders slumped. What was the use? She wasn't going to come back. He really did have no reason to live. He glanced over to where the fuses were set, almost all of the dynamite laid down in the proper places. Then it struck him that if he was going to die, he might as well do it in the best manner possible. That decided, he went into his room to change.
Slipping out of his dirty clothes, stained and wrinkled for living in them for almost three weeks, Erik pulled out a freshly starched and ironed shirt. He dressed in his very best tuxedo and tails, carefully tying his cravat without the aid of a mirror. He washed his hands and face, even attempted to comb his hair. He pulled out his best mask, clean and spotless white ceramic, and slid that over his face. He took out the ring Christine had left him, and placed it on his pinkie finger. His hand hovered above the simple golden chain before deciding to put that on, too. Remembering the tiny gypsy child who had given it to him, his first present. He still didn't know why she had placed it in the bag with the food and violin. A part of his mind suggested that it had been intended for him to wear, that he had not just kept it out of sentimental reasons. But he rejected that thought on the absurdity of it. The child couldn't possibly have wanted him to have it---it must have been placed in there by accident. Still, he wore it as a symbol of freedom, the freedom that had been given to him on that day. All what he needed now was freedom from his thoughts.
~Ch.2~
Diana wandered back to her rented flat, mulling over what Giry had told her. The story of a slightly mad, soprano-obsessed musical genius living in secret below the opera house was a bit far-fetched. But it seemed to collaborate with everything that she had heard from the other opera folk. Naturally, opera folk were a little strange to begin with-it came with all that singing. That and staying in one place all the time, but all gadjos were like that.
She unlocked her door and let herself into the flat. It wasn't very decorated-she didn't plan on being here long. On the main table rested her pipes and violin in their cases. Stroking one of the long, elegant boxes a cousin had made for her, she let one hand rise to her hair. Releasing her bun, the long brown-black tresses cascaded to her waist. She lit a fire, sat in a chair, and raised the violin to her chin. Finding solace in music, she let her mind wander back to her family. What were they doing right now? Her fingers unwittingly turned to the sweet simple melody that she had first learnt. Home, home, home.
~
Dear Christine: Think no more of your poor angel (Erik muttered as he accidentally spelled angel "angle" for the third time in the dim light). Tonight I would say that I have planned to end it all, but it all really finished when you left. I am saddened to hear that you will no longer be performing in this Opera house, and so I will end the stage's silent misery by setting the fuses tonight. Please don't mourn for me, I---
"Erik?"
The tip of the pen snapped against the paper, forming a large ink blot on the letter. Erik closed his eyes in frustration. Nadir's voice echoed outside the chambers. He knocked again at the door. "Erik?" At the other man's continued silence, Nadir's voice filled with frustration and annoyance. "Erik, I know you can hear me. Don't waste your life because she left." Nadir refrained from expressing his true opinion of Christine--- the last time he did that, Erik nearly killed him. He sighed. "Look, I'm going to leave for a few weeks. I've left you some food outside so you won't have to.to go outside. Don't---don't do anything stupid, all right? Who will take care of your cat?" There was silence from the chambers. Nadir shook his head. He knew better than to try to force Erik to talk to him right now. "Goodbye, friend," he said, shaking his head.
Erik heard Nadir step into the boat and leave. "Sorry, friend," he said quietly. "Your deus ex machina isn't going to work this time." He left the food where it was, outside, and looked at his letter again. His shoulders slumped. What was the use? She wasn't going to come back. He really did have no reason to live. He glanced over to where the fuses were set, almost all of the dynamite laid down in the proper places. Then it struck him that if he was going to die, he might as well do it in the best manner possible. That decided, he went into his room to change.
Slipping out of his dirty clothes, stained and wrinkled for living in them for almost three weeks, Erik pulled out a freshly starched and ironed shirt. He dressed in his very best tuxedo and tails, carefully tying his cravat without the aid of a mirror. He washed his hands and face, even attempted to comb his hair. He pulled out his best mask, clean and spotless white ceramic, and slid that over his face. He took out the ring Christine had left him, and placed it on his pinkie finger. His hand hovered above the simple golden chain before deciding to put that on, too. Remembering the tiny gypsy child who had given it to him, his first present. He still didn't know why she had placed it in the bag with the food and violin. A part of his mind suggested that it had been intended for him to wear, that he had not just kept it out of sentimental reasons. But he rejected that thought on the absurdity of it. The child couldn't possibly have wanted him to have it---it must have been placed in there by accident. Still, he wore it as a symbol of freedom, the freedom that had been given to him on that day. All what he needed now was freedom from his thoughts.