a/n: I have fallen out of my slump! yay!
thank you:
cherioxxx: thank you very much:hug:
wolfegurl006: yes, as you know this story is almost pure fluff! pants
Samyo: you'll love it!
Chibi-shonenai: yeah, fluff and roses:) too bad you can't see it again, and I hit my limit now too :(
Son Ange: yeah... that would be awkward! lmao
inkie pinkie: yes that thing about the stars was mine. So for everyone to know I made that up. I'm really glad you like it!
sbkar: in all sincerity he could die, but I don't think he will, he might, but I don't really know right now because I update as I write. I'm glad you decided to read, thanks for the review!
And now on to the story!
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When I wake up I am instantly bound by pain. The pain sears through my wrist and I have to bite back a whimper that begs to escape.
I feel Raoul's arm tighten around my waist and I know that he can tell I'm awake. I turn my face to see his, hovering over me, a look of compassion on his face. I will never grow old of waking to that face, though this morning it is laced with sadness.
He silently comforts me, holding me even tighter to his chest and kissing my forehead.
The whimper escapes and he hushes me, "I'm here, Erik, there's nothing to worry about."
"It just hurts," I admit.
He nuzzles my neck and whispers to me, "What can I do?"
I put on a face of mock thinking, "I don't know," I let my voice trail a little at the end.
He laughs a little and it puts a smile on my face, "That's it."
He stops laughing, but the smile never leaves his lips, and I bring mine up to his, locking them in a deep kiss.
We pull back together and I try to get up, only to place weight on my wrist, and I yelp in pain. I fall back and he catches me.
I try to get up again, but he holds me firmly in place, "Let me help you," he pauses, "Like you helped me."
I move my face to look him in the eyes, "And how did I help you?"
He pauses, as if trying to find the words, then responds, "By showing me love, when I thought there was none left for me."
He gets up and then gently helps me stand. He moves to get clothes from one of his trunks and I move to my wardrobe to do the same. I look forlornly at my clothes, seeing only one outfit that truly matches how I feel: it's a beautifully tailored suit, the shade of nightfall blue. I take it out carefully and put it on, slowly as to make sure I don't ruin it. I smooth it out and look into the mirror. I then move to pick up my mask.
In my hands I can tell it is cold, and I think about not putting it on. But why should I mar the beauty of this suit with such an unworthy face?
I place the mask on and just as I do there is a loud sound that resonates from the other room: the organ.
I rush out into the main room to see Raoul, sitting at the organ, playing the music that I left there from the latest piece of work, and butchering it terribly. I move up silently behind him and softly place my good hand on his shoulder. He stops and turns to me.
Blushing he lowers his head, "I love the music."
I laugh, "Then play it write."
He looks up at me, lost, "I thought I was playing it right."
"The notes: yes, the song: no," I've only confused him further.
He makes room for me on the bench, "There's a difference?"
I laugh softly and take a seat, "Of course."
"I never learned that."
And I never learned that you could play before, but we all have things that we don't know, the important thing is that we learn them," I pause, "where did you learn to play?
He shies away, "When I was younger Philippe taught me."
I pull him closer to me, "Why didn't you tell me before?"
He shrugs, "I don't know."
I quickly stand up, find the vial from last night, take a long gulp, and then return to my place beside him. Raoul looks to me, "Here, let me show you the difference."
I play the music, my wrist forgotten by both of us as the painkiller takes effect.
He marvels at the sound, and when I stop he comments, "I can't play like that."
"Yes you can," I make him look at me.
"How?" he pulls his head away from my fingers that are under his chin.
"By putting your heart into it," I place my hand over his heart.
He nods in understanding, never making to look at me, and places his hands on the keys, getting ready to start again. When he does I feel that my soul has truly taken flight. I never really got to listen to the music as I wrote it, only hear it as I played, and listening to my one love pour his heart into it only makes it that much better.
He stops at the bottom of the page and I smile, "Bravo."
The word causes him to smile; "It was good?"
"No," I make him look at me again; "it was wonderful." I pull him into a kiss, and he smiles against my lips, making him taste even sweeter.
Never before had I imagined that another person could play my music the way that he just did, especially not Christine. I did love her, but I realize that it was an empty love, not meant to last. Now there is something different, what I share with this man.
I turn to play again and we find ourselves lost to the music for many more hours to come.
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Meg POVI listen as I walk through the halls to the sound of beautiful music emanating around me.
"Listen, Maman, the Opera Ghost sounds pleased tonight," I turn to my mother, who smiles back at me.
"Yes he does, doesn't he," her voice seems so distant, like it's lost in the music, and I can not blame her.
I lean back on my bed and smiles as the music takes my mind away.
I think back to the first time that I heard this music. I was raised hearing this music, the music of the night. Every night when I would go to bed I would hear the sounds from inside the walls. Not until I was seven did I know that it was the Opera Ghost that played these wonderful pieces. When the music used to get too sad or too angry my mother would disappear and the music would stop for a while. I knew that she was going to see him, and everytime she would return and the music would resume it seemed a little happier.
I never knew, until Christine told me of course, that this man, this wonderful composer, was her angel. This did not surprise me, though, and instead I feel I knew the fact all along.
My mother sighs and I hear the music stop.
"Is he alright?" I shake my mother from her thoughts.
"He was hurt, my child," she whispers.
"Was he shot?" I rush to her side, fearing the worst.
She shakes her head, "No."
"Oh, thank goodness! But then what is wrong?" I take my mother's hand and it is trembling.
"He broke his wrist, severly," she adds the second part almost cryptically.
"How?" I keep pressing, knowing the conversation will stop when she wants it to.
"When he fell he was caught, and the impact of him stopping must have done the damage," she shrugs.
"But who caught him?" I turn to her face in disbelief.
"An angel," my mother's voice becomes distant again and I know the conversation has reached it's end.
I try to preocupy my mind with the music to find that it has ended for the night.
I look to the wall and whisper, "Perhaps you'll be feeling better another time."
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a/n: well, what do you think? six reviews to update!
