Disclaimer: A small section of this was inspired by a portion of Mary
Shelley's Frankenstein. Not copied, but the general premise is there.
A/N: *wipes forehead* well continuing with my trend of writing chapters that I originally intended to contain more information but became too long, I bring you this. I previously mentioned that I had cut a bunch of stuff out but would add it later, well it's here so I hope it doesn't come across as too condensed or too boring, it really wasn't something that was detrimental to the story. Over all I'm happy with this, and happy to finally have an update for this story, please let me know what you think ^_^
// = Erik's thoughts
~*~
Another chair went crashing across the room, knocking a china dish to the floor after it collided with an end table. Erik did his best at avoiding going near anything of real value as his thoughts raced relentlessly through his head. In a mad fury he paced the room, a danger to any object which randomly offended him.
The obvious truth of the paper burned into Erik's mind, stirring all the old emotions he had so carefully constructed a thick wall around. Emotions that as long as he forgot he possessed them, forgot that he really were after all human; he could at least find some sort of peace within this underground cage he had buried himself in. Anger, frustration, pain; these were not all that uncommon to him, but hope and betrayal; they were not something he would allow himself to think of, as one would inevitably lead to the other. Hope, that was his coup de grace. The bitter sweet irony of his entire existence seemed to rest on that one word, that continuing promise which always seemed to betray him. This was just another of its deceptions, another torment to add to the vaults.
Again a crash echoed through the room. He did not know what it was he had sent flying away from him, he didn't even see really. It did not matter, that paper was the only thing that mattered.
/ A child, my own, my flesh! And all these years I knew nothing. All these years I believed the only thing I would leave to this world was this ostentatious building, my only legacy. But a child! How could she deny me this, after all I did? A child who would love me... children love unconditionally, don't they? I loved my mother didn't I? A babe is not born with fear, it is learned and taught. She would have loved me, and I could have taught her so many things! And she would have loved me! /
"Oh Christine... why didn't you tell me?" It was a weak moan of a voice, but it filled the entire room with its lamentation. Erik removed his mask and let his hands run over his fretful visage, cruelly reminding him of his fate.
/ Did she hate me so much? No, it wasn't her fault, she didn't know, she thought I was dead. Even if she did know, she was married to her Vicomte, that boy. He certainly wouldn't have allowed her to tell me. As far as I'm concerned, he's the reason she's no longer here. She was too old, too frail to be still having children, the fool. No, I mustn't think of him now, he is no longer a concern. What is is that I have a child, a baby girl who is now a woman and flung to the streets by her own brother! Well, I'll deal with him later, but what chance does a woman raised an aristocrat, have on the streets! I don't even know what she looks like! I have a daughter and she could already be dead. /
~*~
Danielle turned down another street, briskly walking towards the ominous building before her. She was so tired now, it was only beginning to become dark but she hadn't slept since that night her father died and her fatigue was starting to get the best of her. A cold wind, whipped past her face, freshly stinging the surface with its crisp air. Danielle raised a hand unconsciously to the pain on the side of her face, feeling the swollen surface where Nicolas had struck her. Oh that had been a night the staff won't soon forget, she thought to herself with a wry grin.
It had not had not taken long after Raoul's death for Nicolas to pull out the will and coincidently an old letter from Christine to Danielle for Raoul to give her when he thought it appropriate. It was not a detailed note, only really stating that another man by the name of Erik, whom she had known through the opera and was now deceased, was actually her father, not Raoul. Well at least that's all that Nicolas told her it said as he laughed in her anguished face, keeping the paper from her sight. A screaming match soon followed finishing with him stating 'no bastard child of an opera whore would be allowed to stay under his roof and that his father was a fool for marrying some common tramp.'
It was then that Danielle's fury hit its peak and with her face glistening from fallen tears and her body overcome with a state of trepidation, she slapped him hard across the face, only to be met immediately by the back of his hand, flowing with a force that sent her staggering back. She was then roughly pushed to the ground before ducking her head, expecting another blow. It was then she heard a cry from Etienne.
"You bastard!" she heard him shout. Raising her head, Danielle watched his fist connect forcefully with Nicolas's jaw. Etienne was then immediately at her side, helping her up from the hardwood floor. Nicolas only glared at the two while spitting a wad of blood to the side in contempt before replying.
"No actually, I believe that's her" came his voice dryly as he rubbed his mouth and watch the two leave the room, Danielle being fully supported by Etienne. Her youngest brother had stayed with her the entire night as she cried like a child into his arms. Desperately he tried to comfort her but the poor boy knew that there really wasn't anything he could do.
The morning was another spectacle to be witnessed, but in the end Danielle left holding her head high as she walked through the front door. She refused to loose her dignity in front of the staff and Josephine who with only a few years of life couldn't fully grasp the reality of the situation. The child threw a temper tantrum the likes of which had never been seen when only a night after her father died she was told her sister would also be leaving her. Danielle was allowed only to take the clothes on her back, a few pieces of jewelry, and money enough to buy a day's meals before being discharged from the estate.
Knowing she couldn't face the humiliation of going to a friends begging for shelter, Danielle let her thoughts stray to her mother and to the grand opera house. There was only one person that crossed her mind, which could possibly answer some of the relentless questions disturbing her mind though she hadn't seen the woman in years. Danielle had last seen Mme la Baronne de Castelot-Barbezac at Christine's funeral, as the two had been good friends for a number of years before going their separate ways after marriage, and hoped the woman would not turn her back on her once good friend's daughter.
After hearing Danielle's story, Meg had immediately offered her a room for the night, as it was already late day by the time she made it to her estate. Upon questioning, Meg had also been quite vague on the information she gave Danielle, saying she didn't know the whole story and did not want to give the girl the wrong impression, though she was thoroughly intrigued and obviously knew more than she was saying. Instead she mentioned that Christine had indeed kept a diary, which she had hidden in a false bottom desk at the opera. Though Christine had not been there for years, Meg enjoyed returning to the place of her former employment quite regularly and knew that that room was still believe to be haunted and was simply used as storage now, with all its old belongings still in place.
Well then Danielle's mind was made up, she would do her best to find this diary and perhaps figure out who she really was. But beyond that she didn't have a clue what she would do. It would be near impossible for her to find a job, as she had no real labor skills. She couldn't cook, she couldn't sew, didn't know a thing about cleaning, and the only thing she could think of was perhaps a governess position but then who would hire her? Anyone who could afford a governess would know who she was and if not, would probably find out not long after. No family would want to deal with the possible gossip, which would inevitably follow her. Well it was no matter now, now she would find that diary if only to keep her mind focused on the task at hand, instead of worrying about her future.
She finally arrived at the steps of the opera building and silently thanked her for once good fortune that there wasn't a performance that evening, allowing her to slip in unnoticed. Once inside, she carried herself like the true aristocratic daughter she was, making everyone she passed aware that her presence should not be questioned and that she had every right to be there. She only hoped there would not be some one there who would recognize her.
Spotting what appeared to be a stagehand, Danielle approached him, hoping he could direct her to the former prima donnas dressing room. She spoke quickly and with authority, making sure he was well aware of his status next to hers so she could receive a quick, unquestioning response.
Once the information she required was received, Danielle made her way through the backstage maze in search of this infamous dressing room, which on upon mentioning she received a shocked confused look from the old stagehand before he reluctantly directed her on her way.
A strong wave of dizziness swept over her while she made her way down the empty corridors. She was so tired, she thought to herself as the dim lighting added to her weariness. She still did not have a place secured for the night she reluctantly remembered; there was no way she could make it back to Mme de Castelot-Barbezac that night. A stab of pain in her stomach also reminded her that she had not eaten since the previous night when Meg insisted on feeding the poor girl what seemed like anything she could find. Pushing the thoughts from her mind, she instead refocused on her task.
At last she came to the inauspicious looking room. The eerie abandonment of this area of the building made it easy to see how rumors of its being haunted could seem reasonable. A gloomy essence seemed to fill the whole space and Danielle couldn't help but tremble just a little bit, despite her belief in her strength of will in such situations. She did not believe in ghosts, and the mere suggestion of one seemed preposterous, especially knowing that her mother once occupied the room just beyond the door she now lingering outside of.
Slowly, with bated breath, she grasped the handle and tried to enter. The door did not give easily but after applying a fare amount of pressure it gave way to the musty old room. Danielle stepped inside, becoming enveloped in its darkness and looked around carefully. It was not all that cluttered with supplies, only a few large boxes along the walls made up the storage part of the room, the rest could be seen as a regular small sized dressing room. Lighting a candle, she set out on her work.
~*~
Erik quickly pushed through the old dressing rooms door with a heedlessness born from years of its disuse. He had made sure a long time ago that no one would ever again occupy her room again, and though the opera ghost had seemed to disappear for many years, eventually he couldn't help but make 'suggestions' to the staff when their focus seemed to fall to their bank accounts rather then the appreciation of music.
He stopped instantly upon entry and silently cursed under his breath for his recklessness. With the door already closed behind him, his eyes fell to the small sleeping form of a young woman curled up on the old bed in the corner. A candle rested on the bedside table along with a small book, it gave the room a soft glow and cast a golden shadow upon the girl's youthful face.
He saw her stir, her limbs slowly moving in the actions of one about to wake and her eyes shooting open. It was too late now, she saw him. An alarmed look crossed her face as she made a short gasp. Quickly he turned to make his way out of the room. Let the ballet rats have another story to pass around, he though off handedly.
"Erik?" a soft questioning voice called from behind him.
He froze, then moving with deliberate calm, he faced her. With only the small glow of the candle illuminating the room, Danielle could see the glaring blaze of the man's yellow eyes boring into her. A strange fear crept over her as she stared back, finding it impossible to break eye contact. Those eyes which burned trailed calmly and rested momentarily on the book, Christine's diary, which rested leisurely at her side. They lingered there for a moment before trailing back to her, and holding her eyes in a piercing gaze like a fire was burning behind them. He knew that book, knew how this girl must have learned his name.
/ Why do they do it? Do I ask for them to come here? To disturb her things. To disrespect her personal belongings! /
Again he cursed his own foolishness for not taking his lasso with him; it would've made this much easier for him. He truly wished he didn't have to kill the girl but she had left him no choice, if she had learned his name from that book she was sure to have learned too much else from it as well.
"You are Erik?" again she asked, propping her self up on her elbow. She appeared completely calm; unaware of the danger she was in. Little did she know that if he had had his lasso with him, she would already be dead.
Best to make this quick, he decided with only a skilled killer's indifference. Before she could comprehend his actions, the masked man, this all encompassing shadow of black, was towering over her, his hands firmly gripping her neck, and forcing her body flat against the bed with incredible strength. She tried to cry out but already her air was cut off with a pressure increasing painfully against her throat.
He would not look at her; he would not look at her struggling or her face twisted in anguish. Instead he focused on the headboard, merely waiting for the girl's movement beneath him to stop. He did not want to know her, to know anything about her; it was easier that way, when they were faceless. And then he would simply drag her to the streets to leave her in anonymity. Let her be found in some back alley, another one of the city's silent victims, simply a woman who turned down the wrong road at the wrong time. He could see it all forming in his mind as he stared at that headboard, he didn't even feel the girls nails digging into the flesh of his hands and wrists, scratching deeply, and drawing blood in a desperate attempt to free herself.
Perhaps he should have paid her mind, for then he would have noticed her legs flailing, kicking out at him, and even striking him though he didn't really feel it. For then perhaps he could have avoided her swift kick to his groin, causing his grip to momentarily loosen from the unexpected pain.
With all her strength Danielle pushed at him and struggled to get away. Just managing to roll of the bed as when his hands no longer gripped her neck, she darted to the other side of the room. Immediately she grasped a knife, which was lying idly on the dresser, she had used it earlier to pry out the bottomless drawer and thanked her luck for the second time that day for it being there. She coughed violently as she held the knife between the two of them, clinging to it as though it would be a shield against this man.
Erik reeled on her instantly but did not advance. As cruel as it was, he could not help but chuckle under his breath as he looked at the sad girl. It was pathetic, seeing her barely standing, thinking that a mere knife could save her. Again she attempted to speak but painfully found her voice fail her. He didn't want to watch this anymore; it really was too pathetic.
In only a moment and with one swift movement, he had twisted the knife from her hand and held her tightly against his body; the blade firmly pressed to her throat with his other arm holding her across the waist. A gasp escaped her as the truth of her situation finally overwhelmed her. Silent tears began to fall from her eyes as she desperately fought to regain her voice. If only she could speak! But did it really matter now? She had nothing left, no family, no identity; no one would miss her now. Was she crying because she was afraid, or because there was no one left who would care?
Erik tightened his grip on the hopeless girl. He could not do it here; it would be far too messy, so he began to pull the girl towards the mirror. Perhaps he could just knock her out and throw her in the lake. The idea satisfied him, knives really were too crude a method for his taste.
He stopped before the mirror to reposition himself before releasing one of his hands to open it. Danielle trembled under his grip, feeling the pressure of the knife increase against her throat. Though he would never admit it to himself, Erik really was enjoying this little foreplay between the two of them. He had complete control over the girl, complete power over this woman who under any other circumstance would be trembling with disgust of his face, not from the cool knife's blade, which now rested against her delicate pale skin. He allowed himself to glance down at her tear soaked face; yes, she was just another beautiful, youthful woman, just like all the rest of them, the kind who would never look upon him with kindness or compassion, why should he show any to her?
"Please, no." Danielle finally squeaked out. Her voice was beginning to come back.
He lowered his head to her ear and spoke quietly in a voice entwined with malevolence and a callous calm. "You should know better my dear, then to read that which does not belong to you."
Danielle swallowed involuntarily, feeling the pain of the blade all the more acutely by the action as the man straightened himself. She herself straightened, this was the only chance she had, and if he didn't care she would soon die, Danielle was sure of it.
Again in her pained voice she replied, this time with forced confidence. "My name is Danielle de Chagny, and that book is rightfully mine."
~*~
Please R&R ^_~
A/N: *wipes forehead* well continuing with my trend of writing chapters that I originally intended to contain more information but became too long, I bring you this. I previously mentioned that I had cut a bunch of stuff out but would add it later, well it's here so I hope it doesn't come across as too condensed or too boring, it really wasn't something that was detrimental to the story. Over all I'm happy with this, and happy to finally have an update for this story, please let me know what you think ^_^
// = Erik's thoughts
~*~
Another chair went crashing across the room, knocking a china dish to the floor after it collided with an end table. Erik did his best at avoiding going near anything of real value as his thoughts raced relentlessly through his head. In a mad fury he paced the room, a danger to any object which randomly offended him.
The obvious truth of the paper burned into Erik's mind, stirring all the old emotions he had so carefully constructed a thick wall around. Emotions that as long as he forgot he possessed them, forgot that he really were after all human; he could at least find some sort of peace within this underground cage he had buried himself in. Anger, frustration, pain; these were not all that uncommon to him, but hope and betrayal; they were not something he would allow himself to think of, as one would inevitably lead to the other. Hope, that was his coup de grace. The bitter sweet irony of his entire existence seemed to rest on that one word, that continuing promise which always seemed to betray him. This was just another of its deceptions, another torment to add to the vaults.
Again a crash echoed through the room. He did not know what it was he had sent flying away from him, he didn't even see really. It did not matter, that paper was the only thing that mattered.
/ A child, my own, my flesh! And all these years I knew nothing. All these years I believed the only thing I would leave to this world was this ostentatious building, my only legacy. But a child! How could she deny me this, after all I did? A child who would love me... children love unconditionally, don't they? I loved my mother didn't I? A babe is not born with fear, it is learned and taught. She would have loved me, and I could have taught her so many things! And she would have loved me! /
"Oh Christine... why didn't you tell me?" It was a weak moan of a voice, but it filled the entire room with its lamentation. Erik removed his mask and let his hands run over his fretful visage, cruelly reminding him of his fate.
/ Did she hate me so much? No, it wasn't her fault, she didn't know, she thought I was dead. Even if she did know, she was married to her Vicomte, that boy. He certainly wouldn't have allowed her to tell me. As far as I'm concerned, he's the reason she's no longer here. She was too old, too frail to be still having children, the fool. No, I mustn't think of him now, he is no longer a concern. What is is that I have a child, a baby girl who is now a woman and flung to the streets by her own brother! Well, I'll deal with him later, but what chance does a woman raised an aristocrat, have on the streets! I don't even know what she looks like! I have a daughter and she could already be dead. /
~*~
Danielle turned down another street, briskly walking towards the ominous building before her. She was so tired now, it was only beginning to become dark but she hadn't slept since that night her father died and her fatigue was starting to get the best of her. A cold wind, whipped past her face, freshly stinging the surface with its crisp air. Danielle raised a hand unconsciously to the pain on the side of her face, feeling the swollen surface where Nicolas had struck her. Oh that had been a night the staff won't soon forget, she thought to herself with a wry grin.
It had not had not taken long after Raoul's death for Nicolas to pull out the will and coincidently an old letter from Christine to Danielle for Raoul to give her when he thought it appropriate. It was not a detailed note, only really stating that another man by the name of Erik, whom she had known through the opera and was now deceased, was actually her father, not Raoul. Well at least that's all that Nicolas told her it said as he laughed in her anguished face, keeping the paper from her sight. A screaming match soon followed finishing with him stating 'no bastard child of an opera whore would be allowed to stay under his roof and that his father was a fool for marrying some common tramp.'
It was then that Danielle's fury hit its peak and with her face glistening from fallen tears and her body overcome with a state of trepidation, she slapped him hard across the face, only to be met immediately by the back of his hand, flowing with a force that sent her staggering back. She was then roughly pushed to the ground before ducking her head, expecting another blow. It was then she heard a cry from Etienne.
"You bastard!" she heard him shout. Raising her head, Danielle watched his fist connect forcefully with Nicolas's jaw. Etienne was then immediately at her side, helping her up from the hardwood floor. Nicolas only glared at the two while spitting a wad of blood to the side in contempt before replying.
"No actually, I believe that's her" came his voice dryly as he rubbed his mouth and watch the two leave the room, Danielle being fully supported by Etienne. Her youngest brother had stayed with her the entire night as she cried like a child into his arms. Desperately he tried to comfort her but the poor boy knew that there really wasn't anything he could do.
The morning was another spectacle to be witnessed, but in the end Danielle left holding her head high as she walked through the front door. She refused to loose her dignity in front of the staff and Josephine who with only a few years of life couldn't fully grasp the reality of the situation. The child threw a temper tantrum the likes of which had never been seen when only a night after her father died she was told her sister would also be leaving her. Danielle was allowed only to take the clothes on her back, a few pieces of jewelry, and money enough to buy a day's meals before being discharged from the estate.
Knowing she couldn't face the humiliation of going to a friends begging for shelter, Danielle let her thoughts stray to her mother and to the grand opera house. There was only one person that crossed her mind, which could possibly answer some of the relentless questions disturbing her mind though she hadn't seen the woman in years. Danielle had last seen Mme la Baronne de Castelot-Barbezac at Christine's funeral, as the two had been good friends for a number of years before going their separate ways after marriage, and hoped the woman would not turn her back on her once good friend's daughter.
After hearing Danielle's story, Meg had immediately offered her a room for the night, as it was already late day by the time she made it to her estate. Upon questioning, Meg had also been quite vague on the information she gave Danielle, saying she didn't know the whole story and did not want to give the girl the wrong impression, though she was thoroughly intrigued and obviously knew more than she was saying. Instead she mentioned that Christine had indeed kept a diary, which she had hidden in a false bottom desk at the opera. Though Christine had not been there for years, Meg enjoyed returning to the place of her former employment quite regularly and knew that that room was still believe to be haunted and was simply used as storage now, with all its old belongings still in place.
Well then Danielle's mind was made up, she would do her best to find this diary and perhaps figure out who she really was. But beyond that she didn't have a clue what she would do. It would be near impossible for her to find a job, as she had no real labor skills. She couldn't cook, she couldn't sew, didn't know a thing about cleaning, and the only thing she could think of was perhaps a governess position but then who would hire her? Anyone who could afford a governess would know who she was and if not, would probably find out not long after. No family would want to deal with the possible gossip, which would inevitably follow her. Well it was no matter now, now she would find that diary if only to keep her mind focused on the task at hand, instead of worrying about her future.
She finally arrived at the steps of the opera building and silently thanked her for once good fortune that there wasn't a performance that evening, allowing her to slip in unnoticed. Once inside, she carried herself like the true aristocratic daughter she was, making everyone she passed aware that her presence should not be questioned and that she had every right to be there. She only hoped there would not be some one there who would recognize her.
Spotting what appeared to be a stagehand, Danielle approached him, hoping he could direct her to the former prima donnas dressing room. She spoke quickly and with authority, making sure he was well aware of his status next to hers so she could receive a quick, unquestioning response.
Once the information she required was received, Danielle made her way through the backstage maze in search of this infamous dressing room, which on upon mentioning she received a shocked confused look from the old stagehand before he reluctantly directed her on her way.
A strong wave of dizziness swept over her while she made her way down the empty corridors. She was so tired, she thought to herself as the dim lighting added to her weariness. She still did not have a place secured for the night she reluctantly remembered; there was no way she could make it back to Mme de Castelot-Barbezac that night. A stab of pain in her stomach also reminded her that she had not eaten since the previous night when Meg insisted on feeding the poor girl what seemed like anything she could find. Pushing the thoughts from her mind, she instead refocused on her task.
At last she came to the inauspicious looking room. The eerie abandonment of this area of the building made it easy to see how rumors of its being haunted could seem reasonable. A gloomy essence seemed to fill the whole space and Danielle couldn't help but tremble just a little bit, despite her belief in her strength of will in such situations. She did not believe in ghosts, and the mere suggestion of one seemed preposterous, especially knowing that her mother once occupied the room just beyond the door she now lingering outside of.
Slowly, with bated breath, she grasped the handle and tried to enter. The door did not give easily but after applying a fare amount of pressure it gave way to the musty old room. Danielle stepped inside, becoming enveloped in its darkness and looked around carefully. It was not all that cluttered with supplies, only a few large boxes along the walls made up the storage part of the room, the rest could be seen as a regular small sized dressing room. Lighting a candle, she set out on her work.
~*~
Erik quickly pushed through the old dressing rooms door with a heedlessness born from years of its disuse. He had made sure a long time ago that no one would ever again occupy her room again, and though the opera ghost had seemed to disappear for many years, eventually he couldn't help but make 'suggestions' to the staff when their focus seemed to fall to their bank accounts rather then the appreciation of music.
He stopped instantly upon entry and silently cursed under his breath for his recklessness. With the door already closed behind him, his eyes fell to the small sleeping form of a young woman curled up on the old bed in the corner. A candle rested on the bedside table along with a small book, it gave the room a soft glow and cast a golden shadow upon the girl's youthful face.
He saw her stir, her limbs slowly moving in the actions of one about to wake and her eyes shooting open. It was too late now, she saw him. An alarmed look crossed her face as she made a short gasp. Quickly he turned to make his way out of the room. Let the ballet rats have another story to pass around, he though off handedly.
"Erik?" a soft questioning voice called from behind him.
He froze, then moving with deliberate calm, he faced her. With only the small glow of the candle illuminating the room, Danielle could see the glaring blaze of the man's yellow eyes boring into her. A strange fear crept over her as she stared back, finding it impossible to break eye contact. Those eyes which burned trailed calmly and rested momentarily on the book, Christine's diary, which rested leisurely at her side. They lingered there for a moment before trailing back to her, and holding her eyes in a piercing gaze like a fire was burning behind them. He knew that book, knew how this girl must have learned his name.
/ Why do they do it? Do I ask for them to come here? To disturb her things. To disrespect her personal belongings! /
Again he cursed his own foolishness for not taking his lasso with him; it would've made this much easier for him. He truly wished he didn't have to kill the girl but she had left him no choice, if she had learned his name from that book she was sure to have learned too much else from it as well.
"You are Erik?" again she asked, propping her self up on her elbow. She appeared completely calm; unaware of the danger she was in. Little did she know that if he had had his lasso with him, she would already be dead.
Best to make this quick, he decided with only a skilled killer's indifference. Before she could comprehend his actions, the masked man, this all encompassing shadow of black, was towering over her, his hands firmly gripping her neck, and forcing her body flat against the bed with incredible strength. She tried to cry out but already her air was cut off with a pressure increasing painfully against her throat.
He would not look at her; he would not look at her struggling or her face twisted in anguish. Instead he focused on the headboard, merely waiting for the girl's movement beneath him to stop. He did not want to know her, to know anything about her; it was easier that way, when they were faceless. And then he would simply drag her to the streets to leave her in anonymity. Let her be found in some back alley, another one of the city's silent victims, simply a woman who turned down the wrong road at the wrong time. He could see it all forming in his mind as he stared at that headboard, he didn't even feel the girls nails digging into the flesh of his hands and wrists, scratching deeply, and drawing blood in a desperate attempt to free herself.
Perhaps he should have paid her mind, for then he would have noticed her legs flailing, kicking out at him, and even striking him though he didn't really feel it. For then perhaps he could have avoided her swift kick to his groin, causing his grip to momentarily loosen from the unexpected pain.
With all her strength Danielle pushed at him and struggled to get away. Just managing to roll of the bed as when his hands no longer gripped her neck, she darted to the other side of the room. Immediately she grasped a knife, which was lying idly on the dresser, she had used it earlier to pry out the bottomless drawer and thanked her luck for the second time that day for it being there. She coughed violently as she held the knife between the two of them, clinging to it as though it would be a shield against this man.
Erik reeled on her instantly but did not advance. As cruel as it was, he could not help but chuckle under his breath as he looked at the sad girl. It was pathetic, seeing her barely standing, thinking that a mere knife could save her. Again she attempted to speak but painfully found her voice fail her. He didn't want to watch this anymore; it really was too pathetic.
In only a moment and with one swift movement, he had twisted the knife from her hand and held her tightly against his body; the blade firmly pressed to her throat with his other arm holding her across the waist. A gasp escaped her as the truth of her situation finally overwhelmed her. Silent tears began to fall from her eyes as she desperately fought to regain her voice. If only she could speak! But did it really matter now? She had nothing left, no family, no identity; no one would miss her now. Was she crying because she was afraid, or because there was no one left who would care?
Erik tightened his grip on the hopeless girl. He could not do it here; it would be far too messy, so he began to pull the girl towards the mirror. Perhaps he could just knock her out and throw her in the lake. The idea satisfied him, knives really were too crude a method for his taste.
He stopped before the mirror to reposition himself before releasing one of his hands to open it. Danielle trembled under his grip, feeling the pressure of the knife increase against her throat. Though he would never admit it to himself, Erik really was enjoying this little foreplay between the two of them. He had complete control over the girl, complete power over this woman who under any other circumstance would be trembling with disgust of his face, not from the cool knife's blade, which now rested against her delicate pale skin. He allowed himself to glance down at her tear soaked face; yes, she was just another beautiful, youthful woman, just like all the rest of them, the kind who would never look upon him with kindness or compassion, why should he show any to her?
"Please, no." Danielle finally squeaked out. Her voice was beginning to come back.
He lowered his head to her ear and spoke quietly in a voice entwined with malevolence and a callous calm. "You should know better my dear, then to read that which does not belong to you."
Danielle swallowed involuntarily, feeling the pain of the blade all the more acutely by the action as the man straightened himself. She herself straightened, this was the only chance she had, and if he didn't care she would soon die, Danielle was sure of it.
Again in her pained voice she replied, this time with forced confidence. "My name is Danielle de Chagny, and that book is rightfully mine."
~*~
Please R&R ^_~