Fairy Tales Shattered, Part 2
I thought about calling this second part, which is Christine's disillusionment, "Timor Mortis Conturbat Me", which is a quote from Dunbar. But, I think that, will be saved for when I write something about the finale. The Latin translates to "The fear of death disturbs me," very appropriate for Christine. But I will leave that quote for later. So here is the unmasking scene, in Christine's point of view.
I woke to the sound of the music box. Such an odd little tune it played! Cheerful and mournful all at once. Yet it, and the feel of the bedclothes brought me out of my daze into cold reality. My Angel!
He wasn't an Angel, though. He was a man. That he should deceive me so was unpardonable. Yet how he had sang to me, that strange smile of his lighting what part of his face I could see. Such an oddly sweet smile… Almost as if he didn't know how to smile, and was only just learning. The touch of his hand upon mine was so light as to be unsure.
How different my Angel had become. No longer the imposing tutor, he seemed so young and uncertain. A suitor too shy to declare himself. I did not understand the sadness that touched him. That he was a genius, I knew. And to cope with such strains on the mind and soul, genius is often eccentric. So then, I could understand his living under the opera. But the mask! It had caught and held my fascination almost as surely as his voice had won my heart.
Strange, that I can admit I loved him, then. But the mask tantalized. It begged me to come and know it's secret. And so I did, to my eternal regret.
I don't know what hurt me more: his momentous anger, or his abject misery. I think perhaps, it was the latter. How he had pitifully clutched his face, shielding his deformity from my view. How his sweet voice was roughened by horror surpassing my own. I realized then that he had sought to protect me from it, and to protect himself.
Oh, I knew he loved me. And I knew that he knew he had no hope of approaching me without the guise of the Angel, and that the mask shielded us both.
That was why I handed the mask back to him. I could not bear to see him shaking so. Pitiful and forlorn and needing the mask. In some strange way, he must have felt it was his safeguard, a security. It was his red scarf.
As soon as it was secure on his face, I dared to look up. And there he was, no longer a cringing, weeping creature, but once again a dark angel, invested once more with all the charm and mystery he had ever possessed. And he spoke, low and heady, words which did not register into my dazed brain. If he had tried to kiss me then, he would have met no resistance.
And then, I realized that, as much as his voice, the mask itself was part of his allure, and his curse. And God help me, I loved him for it. I still do…
There it is. I won't beg, but if you read it, please review. It warms the cockles of my heart and helps me procrastinate by writing stories rather than studying for finals.
K.S.