Me: (finishes explaining what a computer is) So you see, that is how I am able to "publish" something without actually "publishing" anything.
E: (in usual aloof manner) Well, it seems like a great deal of trouble for a mere story.
Me: (glares)
E: (anxiously) Er…uh,…I mean, Brava, Brava, Bravisima!
Me: (taking a pleased bow) Thank you. I really enjoy our little conversations, Erik. See, you don't need that silly little ingénue. I suppose you are just really lucky that she ran off with R-
E: (glares)
Me: (nervously) Er…uh, the fop. Because that means you get to stay here with me! (smiles and hugs Erik)
E: (look of complete dejection on face) Yes...my luck never ceases to astound me :to himself: maybe I was better off with the mob of furious Parisians…
Me: What was that?
E: Uh…hm? Nothing, say is this a new chapter?
Me: (beaming) Yes! Wanna read…?
E: (sigh) Do I have a choice?
Me: (with dagger-like stare) Do I have a Punjab lasso under the laptop? READ…
Chapter Three: Of Soprano Voices
"Angel I hear you" called the young chorus girl. She paced from one corner of the room to the other, searching desperately for something, someone.
"Speak, I listen!" She spoke once more, desperation taking a vice-like grip over her throat, until she found herself gasping for her next breath.
She stopped in the middle of the dressing room, hope fading alongside the echo of her beloved Angel's voice. Perhaps he had forgotten her; the idea made her stomach lurch. He had not visited her in weeks. How could he marvel and enchant her nightly with that heavenly voice and then simply leave?
She began to wonder whether this angel had not simply been the advent of a silly little girl's overactive imagination. Christine's eyes began to well with the familiar sting of tears. Had her angel been borne from the hopes of an orphan and the dreams of an aspiring singer?
But the lessons had been real enough and the improvement of her range was more than enough to prove that he had not been a mere dream. This fact comforted her deeply, still she sang to console her bleeding heart. She sang to prove to herself that her angel would always be there, to guide and guard her.
To hear his voice return her song was pure bliss, and she fell in love with her Angel all over again on that night.
"Angel" it was the only word that her lips could pronounce at that instant. Her only thoughts were of him.
"I am here, child, though in shadow I may hide. Though you may not see my face, I am in your thoughts." And she knew he was. Like a ghost of memory he would always be inside her mind.
She had never seen his face, a disembodied voice was her sole companion.
The Opera Populaire was a cold and dismal place for a young girl, especially one with no family and no home. Meg, at the very least, had her mother to comfort and care for her. Christine had only her rickety old cot and a dream.
It was this dream that kept her going through the darkest times. She cried herself to sleep each night, and each morning she told herself that someday, somehow, her tears would run dry. Someday she would be truly happy. She would be a star, a true prima donna.
The lesson was like nothing she had ever experienced before; the voice of her angel seemed to soar and gain in strength with every minute they shared. Every note uttered by the precious Angel set her heart aflutter, nearly making her swoon. She longed to see the form attached to that miraculous voice. In her mind, she pictured the wings of a dove, white and graceful, and her father's gentle smile.
She was having difficulties with one of songs the Angel had given her to rehearse. It was the aria to The Allegory of Cupid and Psyche. Try as she might, she could not achieve such a soprano note as the one called for by Psyche's poignant pledge to Cupid. Christine feared disappointing her master, but it was impossible for her to complete the line.
"I'm sorry, master. I cannot." She could feel the hot flaming tears begin to form inside her eyes. They seemed to take all the love that she possessed for her Angel and fuse it with all the feelings of disgust she held for herself. Silly child, she berated herself internally, as she so often did those days.
"Yes, your voice is more than strong enough." He cooed, his voice coming from the very air surrounding her.
"Angel, I have failed you." Once again sobs threatened to overtake her petite frame.
"Do you trust in me?" asked the voice.
"With all my soul, Master." The response was nearly automatic; all doubt had been cast from her mind a long time ago.
She felt more than willing to do all that her Angel commanded. She would follow him into the gilded gates of Heaven and the smoldering inferno of Hell with the same blind acquiescence. She was, in many ways, a slave to her Angel, but she was a willing, eager slave, by no means was she searching for the oppressive freedom of a life alone.
"Follow my voice." Said her Angel, and for a moment she could sense something foreign in his tone.
What could emotion was this lurking in the somber tenor of her Angel's voice? She did not recognize it immediately, but was later assaulted by the realization that this foreign emotion was the same which had begun to taint her own tone. It was longing. I was the need for a companion.
Can this be true? Thought Christine, her heart nearly melting with sorrow for her Angel. Is my Angel lonely?
"First, you must close your eyes. I will show you the way." Spoke her Angel, his words quickly bringing a halt to her reveries.
The esoteric command sent her mind reeling. What would she do if, after all his efforts, she still could not meet the high demands of the song? She wanted nothing else but to please her Angel, this entity sent from the heavens in answer to her prayers…
She closed her eyes, her hand subconsciously moving up over her corseted stomach and settling on her wildly beating heart. She felt the soft skin of her chest, and the gentle warmth of her own body.
She felt a chill fill the air, her heart beat furiously under her palm. She felt someone loosen the wrap she wore over her hair, the curls falling, floating over her bare shoulders and reaching her waistline. Her heartbeat was erratic. She did not dare open her eyes.
Her Angel had begun to sing the very song which she had been rehearsing, though he sang the part which belonged to the male lead, Cupid. His voice was much deeper than hers; its masculine strength was a comfort to her fragile ears. She let her mind wrap itself around the sweet sound, its heavenly resonance filling the very core of her being.
Had she wanted to so, she could not have opened her eyes, such was the hypnotizing effect of his voice. She wanted to fall into the music which her Angel so expertly controlled. She wanted to die right then and there, certain that he would be waiting for her at St. Peter's gate with this song on his lips.
A gasp escaped her throat as she sensed the warmth of her Angel standing right behind her.
"Do not turn around, my dear." He said sweetly, she could feel his breath on her left ear. The sensation sent goose bumps running throughout her skin. He must have seen them, for he took a step backwards before continuing his speech.
"I am sorry if I frightened you, my child."
She could feel the sadness in this last sentence, and it broke her heart to hear his wondrous voice fill with such pain. It was then and there that suspicion crept into her young mind. Angels do not know of sorrow, she thought inwardly. But the thought melted away as quickly as it came.
"Angel, please." She was barely conscious of the desperation hanging from her every word.
"Do not draw back from me. I was not frightened. I could never be frightened of my Angel."
She thought she heard a sharp intake of breath coming from her Angel's direction. What could he be thinking? She wondered.
"Angel?" She asked, eyelids firmly pressed together, heartbeat still unusually elevated.
A sigh.
A whisper.
"I am here."
She couldn't repress the smile that fought its way onto her face. It was such a comfort to hear him speak. She prayed silently for her heart to slow, lest he should step away from her again.
A long pause lingered in the air. His slow, steadied breathing was Heaven on her shoulder.
Christine frowned worriedly, what was it about his breathing that both relaxed and disquieted her? Then there was the strange physical reaction she was having to this presence. She knew nothing of her own mind. Such a silly little girl! She taunted herself thusly for some seconds, and then all thoughts gave way to her Angel's soothing words.
"I will begin the second verse." Christine felt his lip brush past her ear as he spoke.
The goose bumps had returned, and she scolded her body for its cruel betrayal. She rubbed her arms in a desperate attempt at making the insolent bumps vanish. Still they clung to her arms and shoulders like sin.
"Free your mind, my child. Music is the only thing that will fill your thoughts now. Follow my voice as I sing."
Free my mind indeed! She chided silently.
He began the aria, his voice gentle and mild at first. Cupid beckoned Psyche to be his secret wife, to let him take her to a golden palace in the sky. Christine heard her Angel's words, letting them linger and reverberate inside her head before finding a warm spot inside her heart.
Christine let the voice enfold her like a warm blanket on a cold winter evening. It filled her with blissful longing, rich desires which, until that moment, had been a complete mystery. She let the caresses trickle down her neck and shoulders. Christine felt her skin flush a bright rose color, a stark contrast to the creamy white of her nightgown.
Christine's knees threatened to buckle under her skirt. She stumbled lightly, the soft green fabric of her skirt swaying gently, making her look very much like a dandelion caught in an updraft.
Before she could make the effort to pull herself straight, she felt the warm sensation of her Angel's hands of her forearms. His hold was both mild and firm, preventing her from falling but producing no discomfort to her arms.
A traitorous thought passed through her mind as she felt her Angel's arms drape themselves around her waist. She wondered what other sensations her Angel could produce for her.
She turned around and she heard the same sharp intake of breath she had sensed a few minutes earlier. But her eyes were still closed, the smile on her face widened without her knowing.
"You should lie down."
He stepped away from her, leaving her body aching for his warmth. But she dared not disobey her teacher, her Angel. She took a seat at the edge of her bed, hoping that he would sit next to her, hoping that he needed to feel her warmth as much as she needed his.
"You are tired," he said with a sigh. "We will continue our lesson tomorrow."
"Wait!" She shot up from the bed, grasping thin air in search of her Angel's hand, hoping to pull him back. She felt her fingers reach something hard and warm, the lapels of his coat. She could feel the firm musculature that lay beneath the elegant fabric. Once again the impious suspicion arose within her mind. Angels do not wear suits.
Her exploring hand continued to search for his wrist, finding what seemed to be an opera cloak, satin vest, cravat and the tiniest rim of a shirt. She dared not continue her hand's journey, surprised he had allowed this much prodding on her part. She took his hand imploringly, and asked him to stay; assuring him that she was not in the least bit tired.
"Please Angel, I am well enough to continue."
Her eyes still closed, she searched the silence for any indication of her Angel's reaction to her plea.
A sigh.
Yet another sharp intake of breath.
The latter made her pulse race once more, and she could feel heat radiating from her limbs, her chest, and areas she couldn't rightly pinpoint.
"You are well enough to stand?"
Her mind reeled, could she?
"Yes! Of Course!" She returned enthusiastically. She went to her former position in front of the mirror, thinking it rather useless now since her eyes were closed.
Once again she heard her Angel's voice begin the aria. Her heart sank. Was he not going to stand as he had done before? Was he not going to sink into her ear as he had done before?
He told her to join in the next verse, but her voice was choked with disappointment and something else she could not quite describe.
She tried to do as her Angel instructed and purge all thoughts but those of music from her mind. She joined his voice, and could only imagine heaven producing a more enchanting duet.
The candor of his tone, the swift, clear stroke of each note that passed his lips, it was all a great dream within her mind. Except that it was real, and she was living this dream, singing with her Angel.
Then it was time for the dreaded, unreachable chord.
He coaxed her voice, stroked and charmed it into the most beautiful pitch she had ever heard. It was him! She knew it was his instruction which had produced the note! She was infinitely grateful, the joy within her heart new no bounds.
"Angel! I did it!"
Turning in the direction of his voice, she spread her arms widely and threw herself to him. She lost her balance briefly, but she steadied herself with his tall, unyielding body. She clung to him for some moments, until finally she felt a hand on the small of her back. It then moved to stroke her hair, and she couldn't help but smile blissfully at the simple touch.
She needed more.
But what, exactly, was more?
"You have done very well, my child."
Suddenly it was not enough to have his verbal praise. She needed the comfort of his physical presence. Though she had embraced him- rather brazenly, she mused- she needed to know that he wanted to hold her as well.
She removed her arms from their position over his forearms, and laced them over his shoulders, which were far higher than she had thought. She felt completely dwarfed by comparison, but this only served to heighten her need for his embrace.
She tilted her head upwards, hoping that in her blindness she would at least be able to point her face in his direction.
He said nothing, but thought she felt his heart beat faster. She pressed her whole body against his; a gesture she had hoped would reflect her gratitude and admiration. She wanted him return the gentle hug, a small expression of kindness, a small measure of hope from her Angel. That was all she needed.
Had she been covered in flames he would not have pulled away faster.
He gripped her hand gingerly and, shaking it for a second or two, quickly announced the end of the lesson.
She thought it so disheartening that he did not say his usual "Your voice is progressing very nicely. We shall continue tomorrow, my little prima donna."
She opened her eyes, and found only the mirror glaring back at her, taunting her for her rashness. She had disrespected her Angel, and he was angry with her, she was sure of it. It had been because of her that he had left so quickly. Her last thoughts that night were of her Angel, and how her foolishness had pushed him away from her.
Still, one more thought lingered, threatening to set her entire life on its side. Why had she needed to sense his physical presence? What were these feelings he had awaked inside of her with that simple loosening of her hair? Most importantly, she wondered, how could she arrange for a repeat performance of that touch?
Me: (smiling broadly) Nice, huh?
E: (mind still on Christine's flowing nightgown and lacy bodice) Yeah…
Me: (angrily) Alright, I think you're enjoying this a bit too much. Just for that, the next chapter is about Raoul!
E: (groaning loudly) Aw! Great!
Me: Now please tell the readers to review my phic.
E: (mechanically) Please review her phic…(hand to the side of his mouth, whispering) and if you get the chance, tell her to write more about me and less about the insolent fop! Also, please tell me who that guy is, I'm starting to get fanmail from people I've never met!