Lachesis' Weavings, Ch. 08
By AngelCeleste85
Disclaimer, Blame and Setting: Same as always.
Other notes: In response to the reviews I've gotten since my last post: - Kristina, Opera Ghost Kid, Lee22, Deanna and Dahna Kasydi, thank you very much for your kind comments, they are heartening since this story is not an easy one to write! - Opera Ghost Kid, re: the placing of the mask. Consider it artistic license? =) After all, in Leroux it's his entire face that's covered, ALW took a few liberties himself. I generally mix ALW and Leroux anyway so this is just one subtle way of making the story undeniably mine. =)
I apologize to everyone for the brackets, etc, being used in place of italics. I can't get this site to accept HTML from my computer and can't use another for it. Je suis desole, but I can't do anything about it, I've tried everything I can think of to get Fanfiction.net to accept it. It just won't, sorry.
Finally you get to understand the meaning of the title, if you didn't already!
Erik's a gentleman, yes. Note the compound word: gentle man! I'm tossing the hard, cold image of a man who doesn't need or want human contact right out the window now to some extent. Keep in mind that this is the Victorian Era these characters live in, and as late as 1905 women could be arrested for wearing a skirt more than three inches short of her ankles (I bet the constables loved measuring that)!
That said, on with the phic!
~*~*~*~*~*~
Lachesis' Weavings By AngelCeleste85
~*~*~*~*~*~
Ch. 08 - What Price To Pay?
Erik awoke first, his good cheek pressed into something that was warm and soft in a comforting and pleasant way. It was with a bit of shock that he felt his pillow move! With that, memory returned again. [[ I seem to be having these memory blackouts more and more often these days. ]]
He knew that this entire situation was highly improper. Christine had been an orphan girl and that had prompted his bold course of action regarding her, but Meg would have to face Isabelle Giry, and Erik did not wish that on anyone. Madame Giry would likely do more than throw fits his way if she ever found out, but for some reason he just couldn't bring himself to move. For one thing, his arms were still locked around Meg's waist and moving them would certainly disturb her.
[[ Oh, do be honest with yourself, Erik. You're enjoying this too much. ]]
It was true, he decided. Erik had never understood why men sought out women, even paid women, for a few hours in the dead of the night. He knew well enough what was going on, and yet this was what he had dreamed about for years. Just being able to hold and be held by a woman, without fear, who saw and understood him.
Christine, he realized with a cold clarity of thought, could never have understood him. She simply was not mature enough mentally: she wanted a man obviously stronger than her who would direct and control her life, and Erik could not, would not, do that. Aside from his face, it was plain by her behavior that it would never have worked. In many ways, she would be dependent on the man she married and Erik simply could not afford that kind of demand on him.
[[ Is that why I drove her away? Did I know? ]]
Meg was waking, he could tell by a slight change in her breathing, in the rise and fall of his head on her stomach. A light blue dress of soft wool, he noted absently, he hadn't paid enough attention the night before. He should get up now, should have gotten up the moment he woke, and yet something about the way one of her small hands rested on the back of his head, cradling him, and the other on the back of his thin shoulder. it held him as surely as if it were a vise. [[ My mother never held me, and I could never have gotten a woman to stay in the room even if I'd unbent my pride enough to pay her. So why does Meg stay? ]]
Reluctantly Erik sat up and withdrew his arms from around little Meg. She mumbled something in her sleep. "Maman. five more minutes. please?" Erik bit back a laugh, a good, honest laugh, as it would have most certainly woken her completely. Carefully, he lowered her off the oaken headboard and laid her head down on the crushed pillows.
He blushed then as he realized his mistake. In doing so her ankle-length skirts had pushed up to her knees, well beyond decency. She had a dancer's legs, strong and hardened by years of ballet, and the tousled golden curls around her head added a certain charm to her youthful innocence. Just in sleep the bodice of her dress had twisted askew and no longer quite covered everything it should. Quickly he laid a corner of the rumpled covers over her to the neck, though not without an admiring glance at her ankles, and moved to the chair that she had used.
[[ I suppose La Sorelli is the one with the calf's eyes, but Meg has a harder edge to her. She's made of sterner stuff than the rest of the corps de ballets. Perhaps I will have to bring this to Monsieur Andre's attention, she may well have the drive to be a prima ballerina. ]]
His quarter-full bowl of broth and mash was still sitting by the water cup and, though cold, still looked and smelled good. [[ Cold leftovers, but it's a good sign all the same. ]] Erik picked up the spoon and finished it with small bites, thinking all the while.
[[ No, I can't bring her to the attention of the managers. They likely believe I've left, since they found my home and destroyed it, and have not heard from me since. I have a small score to settle with them there. Perhaps I should leave them a note, reprimand their guest manners: after all, it is my Opera House. ]]
It was his second shock of the morning and hit Erik with the force of an epiphany. [[ I don't know what kind of bewitchery that girl did on me, ]] Erik smiled, it was unpracticed and wry, but a genuine smile all the same. [[ But for some reason, I feel like continuing on. ]]
[[ Lachesis, the Weaver of Fate, the Measurer of Lives. What are your plans for me now, what have you hidden in the warp and the woof of the pattern that you craft of the threads of life? So fickle you and your sisters have been, sometimes kind, more often cruel. Clotho, cruelest of all, for you spun my thread and dealt me the cards that, for better or worse, I play. Even Lachesis cannot alter what you decree in your threads. Atropos, as fond of games as your younger sisters, you who close your shears on my thread almost to the point of cutting it and then hand it back to the Spinner. What will you take away from me now, in exchange for the peace of one night with someone who can see? The Moerae. Christine told me that you are known in the stories of the North as the Sisters of Wyrd, and in Norse myth there is always a price to be paid. ]]
Meg's breathing had relaxed again into deep sleep and Erik, again full, laid his bowl aside with three spoonfuls left in the bottom. Was there any way he could arrange a bath of some kind, he wondered at the back of his mind. His gaze fell again on the sleeping Meg.
[[ Lachesis, I beg you, show some kindness to one whom you have thus far toyed with. ]]
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A short chapter, I know. I had intended something entirely different this chapter, but I'll save it for the next. As always, please feed me, I'm a starving student and feedback makes a good breakfast.
AngelCeleste85
Disclaimer, Blame and Setting: Same as always.
Other notes: In response to the reviews I've gotten since my last post: - Kristina, Opera Ghost Kid, Lee22, Deanna and Dahna Kasydi, thank you very much for your kind comments, they are heartening since this story is not an easy one to write! - Opera Ghost Kid, re: the placing of the mask. Consider it artistic license? =) After all, in Leroux it's his entire face that's covered, ALW took a few liberties himself. I generally mix ALW and Leroux anyway so this is just one subtle way of making the story undeniably mine. =)
I apologize to everyone for the brackets, etc, being used in place of italics. I can't get this site to accept HTML from my computer and can't use another for it. Je suis desole, but I can't do anything about it, I've tried everything I can think of to get Fanfiction.net to accept it. It just won't, sorry.
Finally you get to understand the meaning of the title, if you didn't already!
Erik's a gentleman, yes. Note the compound word: gentle man! I'm tossing the hard, cold image of a man who doesn't need or want human contact right out the window now to some extent. Keep in mind that this is the Victorian Era these characters live in, and as late as 1905 women could be arrested for wearing a skirt more than three inches short of her ankles (I bet the constables loved measuring that)!
That said, on with the phic!
~*~*~*~*~*~
Lachesis' Weavings By AngelCeleste85
~*~*~*~*~*~
Ch. 08 - What Price To Pay?
Erik awoke first, his good cheek pressed into something that was warm and soft in a comforting and pleasant way. It was with a bit of shock that he felt his pillow move! With that, memory returned again. [[ I seem to be having these memory blackouts more and more often these days. ]]
He knew that this entire situation was highly improper. Christine had been an orphan girl and that had prompted his bold course of action regarding her, but Meg would have to face Isabelle Giry, and Erik did not wish that on anyone. Madame Giry would likely do more than throw fits his way if she ever found out, but for some reason he just couldn't bring himself to move. For one thing, his arms were still locked around Meg's waist and moving them would certainly disturb her.
[[ Oh, do be honest with yourself, Erik. You're enjoying this too much. ]]
It was true, he decided. Erik had never understood why men sought out women, even paid women, for a few hours in the dead of the night. He knew well enough what was going on, and yet this was what he had dreamed about for years. Just being able to hold and be held by a woman, without fear, who saw and understood him.
Christine, he realized with a cold clarity of thought, could never have understood him. She simply was not mature enough mentally: she wanted a man obviously stronger than her who would direct and control her life, and Erik could not, would not, do that. Aside from his face, it was plain by her behavior that it would never have worked. In many ways, she would be dependent on the man she married and Erik simply could not afford that kind of demand on him.
[[ Is that why I drove her away? Did I know? ]]
Meg was waking, he could tell by a slight change in her breathing, in the rise and fall of his head on her stomach. A light blue dress of soft wool, he noted absently, he hadn't paid enough attention the night before. He should get up now, should have gotten up the moment he woke, and yet something about the way one of her small hands rested on the back of his head, cradling him, and the other on the back of his thin shoulder. it held him as surely as if it were a vise. [[ My mother never held me, and I could never have gotten a woman to stay in the room even if I'd unbent my pride enough to pay her. So why does Meg stay? ]]
Reluctantly Erik sat up and withdrew his arms from around little Meg. She mumbled something in her sleep. "Maman. five more minutes. please?" Erik bit back a laugh, a good, honest laugh, as it would have most certainly woken her completely. Carefully, he lowered her off the oaken headboard and laid her head down on the crushed pillows.
He blushed then as he realized his mistake. In doing so her ankle-length skirts had pushed up to her knees, well beyond decency. She had a dancer's legs, strong and hardened by years of ballet, and the tousled golden curls around her head added a certain charm to her youthful innocence. Just in sleep the bodice of her dress had twisted askew and no longer quite covered everything it should. Quickly he laid a corner of the rumpled covers over her to the neck, though not without an admiring glance at her ankles, and moved to the chair that she had used.
[[ I suppose La Sorelli is the one with the calf's eyes, but Meg has a harder edge to her. She's made of sterner stuff than the rest of the corps de ballets. Perhaps I will have to bring this to Monsieur Andre's attention, she may well have the drive to be a prima ballerina. ]]
His quarter-full bowl of broth and mash was still sitting by the water cup and, though cold, still looked and smelled good. [[ Cold leftovers, but it's a good sign all the same. ]] Erik picked up the spoon and finished it with small bites, thinking all the while.
[[ No, I can't bring her to the attention of the managers. They likely believe I've left, since they found my home and destroyed it, and have not heard from me since. I have a small score to settle with them there. Perhaps I should leave them a note, reprimand their guest manners: after all, it is my Opera House. ]]
It was his second shock of the morning and hit Erik with the force of an epiphany. [[ I don't know what kind of bewitchery that girl did on me, ]] Erik smiled, it was unpracticed and wry, but a genuine smile all the same. [[ But for some reason, I feel like continuing on. ]]
[[ Lachesis, the Weaver of Fate, the Measurer of Lives. What are your plans for me now, what have you hidden in the warp and the woof of the pattern that you craft of the threads of life? So fickle you and your sisters have been, sometimes kind, more often cruel. Clotho, cruelest of all, for you spun my thread and dealt me the cards that, for better or worse, I play. Even Lachesis cannot alter what you decree in your threads. Atropos, as fond of games as your younger sisters, you who close your shears on my thread almost to the point of cutting it and then hand it back to the Spinner. What will you take away from me now, in exchange for the peace of one night with someone who can see? The Moerae. Christine told me that you are known in the stories of the North as the Sisters of Wyrd, and in Norse myth there is always a price to be paid. ]]
Meg's breathing had relaxed again into deep sleep and Erik, again full, laid his bowl aside with three spoonfuls left in the bottom. Was there any way he could arrange a bath of some kind, he wondered at the back of his mind. His gaze fell again on the sleeping Meg.
[[ Lachesis, I beg you, show some kindness to one whom you have thus far toyed with. ]]
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A short chapter, I know. I had intended something entirely different this chapter, but I'll save it for the next. As always, please feed me, I'm a starving student and feedback makes a good breakfast.
AngelCeleste85