Miko Kayla: For answers about Erik, check out the A/N preceding chapter seven; I gave andersm I really inadequate response to a similar question, but it's the best I can do when I try to explain my Erik with words….
Gerry's Girl: (You get a series of random fragment statements! Hoorah!) Math class is the most opportune period for me to write, seeing as I would rather bludgeon myself to death with a burlap sack filled with nails than "list the theorems that pertain to properties of equality"; Cerulean is the finest breed of crayons there is; and, yes, I steal everything, but repackage it and make it look fresh, like a stolen car dealer (do you like the analogy? I rather do…). So if you ever notice something of yours has gone missing, say a sweater of a notebook, chances are I've been through your things and stole it.
I am a sneaky ninja.
I have 144 stealth points.
You will never catch me.
Ha. Haha. Ha.
Pax
When I reached my station I stared through the glass to find Meg Giry clucking and fussing over the trembling, white figure that was Marie like a mother hen over a chick. Watching with a growing smile, I viewed as she thrust a cup of water nearly into the younger's face, padded the face with a handkerchief, and wrapped a quilt about the thin shoulders, all while still in her blue silk gown.
Marie had been shed of her own finery, curls tied neatly away with a length of pink ribbon, and sat in her nightdress protesting Meg's excitement.
"How could I have just left you there? Why, of course something was to happen!-"
"Meg-"
"I should have known better! Good Lord, I saw Adèle as she went down the hall, loathsome girl,-"
"Meg…"
"And why are you not drinking that water? Come now, sip it down! I'll not have you fainting again on my conscience!"
Marie silently obeyed, bringing the brim to her lips and swallowing.
"Can you ever forgive me? I ought to have noticed you were in pain!" This was said as Giry plunked down beside her friend on the récamier and wrapped the small creature in her arms. I could not help but notice how my darling subtlety rested her head upon the other girl, taking comfort. I wish it were I from which she found solace.
"I don't blame you in the least, Meg Giry," was the reply from the little martyr, "I am at fault for nothing speaking. And even now I keep you from a fine ball! You must go and enjoy it for the both of us."
Meg seemed aghast.
"And leave you alone?"
"I shall be quite well, I promise you. Besides," this was said with such amiability that my insides clenched, "it would be cruel and selfish of me to hold you here when such an event is taking place! I will doubtless be asleep in five minutes, for I am very tired."
Giry's qualms seemed to vanish at this last statement.
"Of course! You must sleep! I am doing everything wrong tonight! First I overlook your torture, and now I keep you from sleep! I will leave and let you rest."
Kissing her cheek in a sisterly manner, Meg brought another blanket from the cupboard, and blew out the candle as the room's tenant lay down upon the settee.
"Goodnight, Meg."
"Goodnight Marie. Pleasant dreams."
And then the door closed with a click. There was no noise for a moment besides the crackling flames. Her eyes were very much open, and I observed that although she appeared fatigued, Marie did not look as if to have any inclination towards slumber. She rubbed her pretty nose into the pillow, but still peeked out, watching the hearth with shimmering eyes. I was suddenly struck, as though by lightning. She was not going to…She did not intend to… But I was, it seemed, perfectly accurate.
Soon, a great tear fell down her cheek. It was followed by another, and another, and more still, until she sat, quivering with quiet sobs, all alone, in the dark.
My heart shattered.
She had made her friend, her only friend, believe she was all right so that Meg's mind wouldn't be troubled. She had sacrificed her own contentment so that another might be at peace. And now, when she thought herself in solitude, she wept from the hurt the malicious prank had bestowed.
I would not leave her as such. You must not be seen!
I could not leave her as such. This will end in pain!
But I no longer cared if I should be harmed. Marie de Voisins was all I had in the wide, empty world. There was nothing but her smile that brought me pleasure. There was nothing but her happiness that brought me peace. For the second time, I opened my mouth and began to sing.
Viens apporter á la terre…
She tensed, recognizing the sound.
Le calme enchantement de ton mystère l'ombre qui t'escorte est si douce…
Si soux est le concert de tes voix…
Chantant l'espérance.
Still tears flowed from her eyes, but her sobs had subsided somewhat. I took a shuddering breath.
"Do not cry, my dear, for all shall be well."
Marie gasped, seeking the source of the voice.
"Look to your mirror, little one, for I am there within."
Thus our eyes met, not for the very first time, but it felt as such. She rose off the récamier and moved, spellbound, to the glass. I could read her thoughts: A man stands where my reflection ought to be! Slowly, I extended my arm in offering.
"Let me comfort you."
She stood just before me now, with no barrier between. I could hear her breath, smell her fragrance. I had been right in my estimation, for the top of her lovely head reached just to my shoulder. Such a little thing! I almost gasped when she laid her hand in mine. She had accepted me. She trusted me. Her tearful eyes met mine.
"Come." I whispered, and gently pulled her through the mirror.
It was a trail I had followed countless times; the dank, lightless hall, crawling with rats and other pests. Every day for nearly three months I'd left my home (if I had even returned) early and pursued the young Mlle. de Voisins, using passages I long since forgot and discovering new ones I had never known existed. They were all gloomy and dripping, unpleasant in their way.
Yet the tunnel I now ensued felt vastly different. It was not, for nothing had changed in a visual sense. But I was not alone. I had Marie with me. Her presence brought light to the dreariness. To hear her nimble danseuse feet just behind me brought joy as I had never experienced. What of Christine? Did she not also walk down this same hall? I frowned; though the circumstances were very similar this instance felt so new, so fresh. I shall not think of Christine; I have Marie now.
Despite the ease her company gave me, it was evident the same could not be said for the stated party. Marie clearly did not like the darkness of the route; she hurried to stay by my side, trembling with restlessness. A had not thought her of such a nervous constitution, but then, I supposed, she did not often stroll in shadows, as did I. Gently, I ran my thumb over her fingers, an attempt to placate. I began to regret that I had no horse for her to ride; the way was long, and I worried she would tire. I must visit the stables and find a good little mare for her. Remembering the recent admittance of a sturdy Pottok to the number, I felt a smile creep over my face. It would be just the thing.
Ever in silence, I lead her down the winding path that ended at the bank of the subterranean lake. Hearing her small gasp upon beholding the vast body of water, I turned. Marie surveyed her surroundings with those large grey eyes. The beautiful eyes that I loved so dearly. She then cast them back to me, still fearful, but also curious. The small boat, attached by an iron ring to the wharf as I had left it, sat in the black water, awaiting my return.
Maintaining my grip on her dainty palm, I placed my other hand on the small of her back, guiding her safely onto the cushions at the bow. There she sat as I leapt aboard, untying the rope, taking up the scull and propelled us forward into the darkness.
Working quickly, I never removed my eyes from her body. We were no longer upon the land; no one could recover her. For now, half way across the lake, we were within the inner most depths of my kingdom. I ruled everything past the water; everything upon and within were mine. As was Marie. But she was no hostage; she was my queen.
When the grate lifted was we entered the port, she put a hand to her mouth in surprise. Not abhorrent, but enchanted. I drove us to the shore, placing the pole aside and hopping out to offer her my hand, as any gentleman should. She seemed hesitant, which could only make sense, but soon accepted my offer. I pulled her to me, out of the vessel, never for a moment releasing her eyes.
I was suddenly terrified to speak. Would she repulse me? Would she hate me? I ducked my head and shuddered, extending a hand towards the settee.
"Should you care to sit, my dear?"
A short pause.
"Yes, thank you."
Ah! Her voice was a host of angels! She moved lightly and sat, her hands clasped primly in her lap. I stole a moment to collect myself, than went to stand before her. But I could not. I felt overcome, as I had in the wardrobe hall, by my love. It was devouring me alive. Sinking to a kneel, I raised my head in an attempt to regain dignity.
"I fear I do not entertain much," I whispered, "What may I do to accommodate you?"
What did young ladies like? What could I give her?
"A cup of tea, perhaps? Could a fix you a cup of tea?"
Marie smiled shyly.
"Yes, please. But-" Were there conditions?, "only if it's no trouble to you, sir."
I rose, so our faces were level.
"Nothing could be trouble for me, if you should desire it."
Was I imagining it? Could it truly be? Did she blush at my words? Bowing, I kissed her little hand. How long had I yearned to do so?
"You needn't address my so formally, my child. I but a man, and an undeserving one."
She watched me with such curiosity, that I took leave, and scuttled away to the kitchen. Digging through the cabinets, I worried that all I had was my strong Russian tea. Such could hardly fit her pretty, girlish tastes. And so I sighed a great sigh of relief when I found a small tin of peppermint leaves. Upon further rummaging a jar of honey, near empty, was also found. I tasted it, as the water boiled, and was relieved to find to still good.
While the tea brewed, I opened a drawer for a spoon. In it was the said article, but also a small vial. My heart leapt. Perhaps. Perhaps it would be best to use it… just this once. Just tonight. I looked nervously over my shoulder. Of course, there was no one there.
I spooned the honey into the cup, then, with trembling fingers, I tipped a single drop from the bottle in as well. I hated drugging her so, but I feared I must.
Marie sat quietly, with her little feet tucked beneath her. I offered her the steaming cup. She took it, and I sat at a polite distant from her upon the sofa. There was a period of silence which I dared not to break. She studied me as I did her.
"Who are you?" She asked softly.
"I am no one," I sighed, "I am but a lonely creature of darkness."
This seemed to sadden her, for her sweet brow contracted piteously. She was so good. My statement did not, however, impede her, for I was to learn Marie de Voisins was a determined child, when she applied herself to be.
"Then what may I call you?"
The corner of my mouth twitched. Clever girl.
"If you wish, you may call me Erik."
Scooting towards me, she sought to examine me.
"Erik?"
"Yes, dear one."
She looked down at her cup.
"I am Marie."
"I know."
This seemed to ignite her inquisitiveness, but I could not answer how I knew her just now. Seeking a diversion, I noticed her tea nearly gone.
"Allow me to take that off your hands."
She smiled, Oh, how I loved her!, offered it. I left and put it away, leaning upon the counter for several minutes. When I returned, the contents of the vial had begun to take foot. Marie rested against the armrest, dozing. As tenderly as I could manage, I picked her off the settee, and carried her away. She shifted against me, eyes fluttering.
The Louis- Philippe room had gone unused for some time. Tonight, it would have an occupant. Noticing the dust that had settled in my absence, I frowned. I should have to clean it soon. I placed her upon the bed, plumping the pillows. When the blanket was pulled over her form, Marie stirred and opened her eyes sleepily.
"Sleep, little one." I whispered, soothing her curls with my fingers.
She nestled into the bed, obeying. Suddenly, she froze, raising her head, looking down at the blue silk that covered the cushion.
"It was you," she murmured, words fuzzy with tiredness.
Not understanding, I shushed her, and watched as she smiled softly and fell into a deep sleep. I sat at her bedside for hours, leaving only to return once again. A new page had been turned this evening, just two days before Christmas Eve. Perhaps God was offering me a new path. Perhaps I was no longer condemned to wander in winter.
I have this thing with putting the story title into the context of the story itself. I did it in Of the Wicca, this really crappy LoTR's fic I wrote years ago called "The Last of the Himlot", and I just did it again. Peter Jackson did that with Tolkien chapter names, for all you Rings geeks out there (ex: "A shortcut to what?" "Mushroom!"). REVIEWS!