Sorry it's been so long, but with a cold comes writer's block, so what can you do? Anyway, I don't usually do this, especially so early on in the story, but seeing as how it's been a while... I'd like to recap:...
...Erik was ditched by his mum, and now he's friends with a 14 year old gypsy named Electra.
How pathetic was that?
lyon
Erik did not know why he was traveling with the gypsy troupe. All he knew was that he must not have been very important because he slept in a cage. Where he was locked up for most of the time was a small box made of metal bars and coated in dirty hay. He felt like an animal, a locked up animal on display. What he did not comprehend, however, was that most animals people looked at were beautiful. The picks of the litter. Erik knew that he was not the pick of this litter, not the most beautiful of the gypsies. Perhaps that was why…
Electra was shadowing the fortune-teller, finding out all the secrets of the talent, the path to the Inner-Eye. Erik did not know why she did it, because she was always complaining to him. He often did not understand a lot of it. She was angry, and he let her rant, let her words flow to him and over him then continue to swirl behind him in a scary flash of memories.
She knew, of course, that he could not understand what she was talking about, but it helped, she said.
"It's nice to know that someone is always there so you can talk. Even if they're not listening."
Erik was not sure he understood that either, but when she told him "You can tell me anything", that, he understood and for the first time in his life, Erik did not feel alone.
He had a friend.
The two of them often ate together. Sometimes, Electra had to run off with her master and inspect a strange materialization in the crystal ball, or an interesting pattern in the tarot cards. When that happened, Erik would just eat from his wooden plate in a corner, slipping his fingers under his mask to eat the food.
His mask had become a face. He hardly ever took it off. On occasion, when he was alone with Electra, but never when other people were around. He hated the stares. He was frightened of what would happen when the traveling fair reached their next destination, frightened of what Abastado would do. If he would rip the mask off his head and hold him up for the entire world to see the Devil's Child, just like he had when his mother abandoned him.
One day, when Electra had snuck off from her cabin where she slept with the fortune-teller to spend the night with Erik, as she had done so many times before, she had told him something he had never heard before. His mask was sitting beside him and he was clutching the bars, his head pressed up between them like a child gazing with relish at a candy store just out of reach. His wretched pink face was smiling contentedly as he spoke with Electra.
She was not wearing any makeup and her appearance was much less frightening, less threatening. She did not look as much like a gypsy.
Electra had stopped speaking and was just looking at Erik. There was no smile on her face, no hidden joy in her eyes, she just looked at him, her fierce eyes peering through his thick, disfigured mask.
"You really are beautiful," she had said. "You really, truly are beautiful."
Erik had not known what to say. He just starred right back at her, his mouth somewhat open.
Electra smiled, flashing her pearly whites, turning her gaze to her bare feet, seemingly embarrassed. "If only you were five years older." And she laughed again. He nodded, not sure what he was agreeing to. "What is it you like, Erik?" she said.
"I like cheese," he said, unsure, once again, of what she meant.
Electra laughed. "No, I mean, what is it you like doing?"
"My mother would sometimes sing in the room next to mine."
"You like singing?"
"I like how it sounds."
"What does it sound like?"
"Music," he said shyly.
"Have you spoken to Kalidas?"
"No."
"He sings."
"I'd like to meet him."
"Maybe he could give you lessons."
"Lessons?"
"You know," said Electra. "Teach you to sing."
"Me?"
"Why not?"
"I didn't know I could sing."
"Everyone can sing … I mean, isn't it talking, but moving your voice up and down a bit?"
Erik looked down at his dirty fingers. His black hair had grown a significant amount and was shadowing his eyes so he could not see the girl in front of him. But he could feel that she had lain down and was preparing to go to sleep on the dirty ground next to him.
"Good night, Erik."
"Good night, Electra."
They had reached Lyon, their destination. A big city, full of people ready to watch simple gypsies do simple tricks.
Erik had never felt so unprepared in his life.
Abastado had continued to assure him that everything would be alright, but whenever Erik spoke to Electra, asking her what would happen, she would frown slightly and smooth down his mask with her long, spindly fingers. He hated it when she would do that. The itchy mask would rub uncomfortably against his distorted face, but he never said anything.
People were starting to enter the traveling fair, already set up. The caravans had created a circle with an entry for visitors. Erik had his own compartment. It made him feel safer.
Abastado hurried him into his cage and said, "This won't be me, kid. You understand?"
Not liking the feeling of stupidity which so often plagued him recently, Erik nodded.
"Good."
Abastado left the caravan and started shouting outside, words that Erik could not understand.
And then, the crowd entered and surrounded his cage…
Sorry it's a half cliffie...
I just wanted to make a little announcement. It has recently been made inescapably clear to me that the play by Andrew Lloyd Webber and the novel by Gaston Leroux are both very very very very very very very different. This story is based off of the ALW version, no GL's. I may, at one point, write one about GL's, but this one is ALW. I'm saying this so as to avoid confusion and/or anger, and all of these things...
Let me know if there are any changes that might make this better, and if you would like to ... I dunno, somehow, contribute in a strange way (I don't mean by writing part of the story, but by a character based off of yourself or something like this) just drop a review and give me some useful info.
Now, to my few, but precious reviewers:
PentagonMerlin: HA! I can make you cry! Almost ... did I tell you the fourth viewing of PotO made me cry? So all you need is to see it four times. But now, my goal with this story is to make you cry. Even if it's just a tear. Then, we'll put it in a cup and keep it by the red rose that Eric with a c WILL give to me... ahem. But I will make you cry, one day. I swear it, you little, hollow tin creature. MUA HA HA HA! (I love you, Moony...)
Chibi Hime: Yay! I got sadder. How pathetic is that? I'm trying to make it sad. Lol. I'm glad you liked the whole "I'm not a monster." To tell the truth, I was actually quite proud with that scene. It showed internal struggle. lol. Can you tell I've been taking advanced English classes since seventh grade, and now I'm paying for it? lol. Hope you enjoyed this chapter.
ModestySparrow9: I'm glad I've managed to capture the essence of youth, in your eyes, at least. I've always had trouble writing about characters younger than myself, and Erik's character is proving to be quite a challenge. If you can think of any other cute child ticks, let me know. lol. Sorry it took so long to update. Hope you're still somewhat into the story.
I am sad that I have lost sparklyscorpion and Doomed Delight as readers. Oh well... See you ... soon, hopefully...
BTW: Kaladis means "the poet, musician". I don't know why, but I'm having so much fun with the names.
