Hey everyone! Sorry for not updating for so long, really really sorry, but I had testing and….dreaded writers block! I'm still sorry. I hope you guys engoy this chap. It took forever to write, I got stuck on every other word! Grrr.
"Happiness? Is this what it feels like, this surge of warmth and physical euphoria? Oh Christine, if there were a loving God in heaven it would be my arm you take now, my shoulder upon which you lean in your utter exhaustion. ...Beneath the mask my face is wet with tears. Happiness is like the first blissful intoxication of morphine. It doesn't last very long." - Erik

The nobler sort of man emphasizes the good qualities in others, and does not accentuate the bad. The inferior does the reverse.
Confucius

.:Magical Lovely By WinterRose:.

.:Chapter Seven: You Always Knew:.


As she came awake the moist cloth against her forehead slipped to the floor. Her eyes blinked, trying to adjust to the candle light. She struggled to get up until the noticed the large form moving toward her. Slumping in the bed she recounted the events of the early morning.

Nothing came to mind.

She couldn't remember how she had gotten to this dim lit place. Panic seized her. Why did her head rebel when she tried to reach into her mind and draw out the information she so desperately needed? A groan escaped her lips. She instantly regretted the slightly pained sound, when a formally dressed figure appeared in front of her.

"Are you awake?" he asked in a hard, but somehow gentled voice.

Could she trust this man? She prayed for guidance as she searched her mind again for a slight bit of something; anything to tell her weather she should trust the man standing near her. The pain in her head came instantly, without a hint of warning.

Pain consumed her and she cried out. The cloaked figure instantly reacted. He put his hand around her shoulders and pushed her head into his shoulder. She clung to him; her hand griped his formal dress, making the stitches tear.

When the pain ebbed away she heard his gently cooing voice, trying to placate her. Who was this man sitting above her? Why was the air damp, and the darkness so consuming?

"Where am I," she asked in a hoarse unrecognizable voice.

"Don't fret, my dear, you are safe," he said, his satin soft voice echoing. She couldn't help but look up at him. The white porcelain mask was the first that caught her attention. The slight ache in her head told her that she should remember this man.

His facial features were hidden from her. As the ache ebbed away, she tried to speak again.

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice soft, but stronger than before.

"Do you not remember?" he asked, worry swam in his head. She had hit her head against the wall, trying to get away from him. But he had told the twit not to interfere! Now, the bruises on her arms weren't the only things that plagued his mind.

"Do not move, my dear, I'll be right back with something for your head. It must be in considerable pain," he helped her lie back onto the bed. Then he stood and took off the cloak and gloves he had ignored to discard earlier.

She watched him, knew that he had something to do with her 'considerable pain' but she couldn't recall. The answer was so close, yet so far away!

As he mixed a potion he looked at her. Her beautiful face was turned to the pillow, her eyes closed, her white dress covered her figure. He had never before noticed how oddly she dressed. He unconsciously reached for the components of the mixture. Her dress was a deep sapphire, almost the color of an angry sea at the death of night. However it wasn't the color that was different, but the style. It was not layered with petticoats, or any other garments. The silk dress simply flowed down her body, it moved with her. He found it rather hard to believe she was Christine's kin. Christine would never where something so bold out in public. Although she had worn several revealing costumes during several plays.

He poured the completed mature into a china cup, decorated with red roses. He brought it to the table near the bed. He wasn't sure of what he thought about her in his home, but he really hadn't had a choice. He knew that there was a chance that she had injured her head badly, or that he had done something to her arm. He heard her whimper into the pillow.

She felt like she was dying, her head was splitting in two. She couldn't help the small desperate sound that came out of her lips. And, unfortunately, Bly Dyami hadn't thought her spells to cure headaches. It was pitiful, she had so much power and couldn't cure a simple headache!

She flinched when he touched her. "You must sit up, this will make your head better," he said, his voice soothing. She turned, but seemed bereft of the power to lift herself up.

He slid his hands under her knees and back, gently lifting her and placing her in a sitting position on the silk covered bed. Then he was gone, returning with a cup of light pink liquid.

"I-," she was about to tell him she couldn't drink it, knowing she wouldn't have the strength to so much as lift the cup. But he silenced her by gently taking a hold of her chin and placing the cup by her lips.

The wonderfully smelling fluid tasted fantastic. It warmed her instantly, and sent her into a paradise of delicious tastes. It was amazing, the pounding in her head was already lessening.

Erik removed the cup from her mouth. She looked like a goddess, her face portrayed pleasure from the warm brew. He stood and placed the cup in the sink (A/N: did they have sinks back then? …ow well, Erik's a genius, he made himself one! ()) he looked back at her, she blinked her eyes several times. Already they were clearer, bereft of pain. But as it left something else came in its place. Her eyes flickered and she looked at him.

"I remember you," he froze, his back to her. "Yes I saw you, in the circus, that horrible place." he swung around fiercely. His body stiff. "A-and in Persia, I saw you in Persia, I'm sure it was you…" her voice trailed off as his mind began to race. She had seen him, she knew who he was, she knew he was a murderer. It was a well know fact in Persia. And she knew what his face looked like, he only prayed that she had seen him as the magician not the 'devils child.' yet as his mind speed one thought swirled in his mind.

She didn't run…she stayed...she came...


Hope you enjoyed PLEASE R&R!
Tha gradh agam ort