An Anti-Sheep Cheese Muffin- Yes, I would be pissed if he drugged me too…however, let's assume Marie DOESN'T KNOW he drugged her tea. She somehow managed to let someone pull her corset uber-tight with realizing, so, why not presume ignorance on her behalf this time as well? P.S. I love dissing my own characters.
MoonLiz- I solemnly swear never to repackage ALW lyrics and place them in this phic. I completely agree with you on this topic. Doing so is so hokey on so many levels of hokeidom. Original lyrics belong in songfics, and no where else, in my opinion. I'm glad there's someone out there who feels the same way!
Queen of Perfectionism- Ok, blush blush. Thank you kindly, my friend. More on the way!
Pax
It had been early in the morning when I had suddenly felt inspired to compose. Leaving Marie's side, for she still slept the sweet thing, I sat before the organ and rested my hands on the keys.
Before Christine, my fingers had often danced across the bands of white and black, music flaming and blazing from the mighty pipes overhead. Those had been the days of my purity, of sorts. Before I had been corrupted by the irresistible seduction of the female variety of my species. There had been desire within me for a woman before I came to L'Opera, but never the intoxicating ambiance of love and lust combined.
Nonetheless, today, the as I played, there was music. Not simply notes and noise, but music in its truest form. It captivated me, bewitching my senses. Shivers wracked my body; the air was close. My chest heaved; sound became sensation, and sensation engulfed me. As I pounded the finale out I rose to the pinnacle that such a musical experience always brought me to. Where was the concluding chord? Where? God, help me to find it! There is was! There it is! There!
As the final tone echoed about the room, I fell forward, exhausted, resting my forehead against the keys. It had been long since I'd made such music. Reaching out a shaking hand, I seized a pen and wrote it down quickly. Then I leaned back in my seat, sighing. The flesh beneath my mask felt hot and moist with sweat. Did I dare remove it, what with an angel just down the hall?
I cast my vision to the closed door; behind it, she slept. My love. My Marie. Should I eradicate the barrier between fantasy and reality, and she come upon me… I could not bear to think of the consequences. That is where I failed in my charming of Christine. My guard had been relaxed, even for the smallest fraction of time. But in that moment, she had seized my mask and beheld what she was never meant to see. I must not make the same mistake again. Often had those words run through my mind of late, but they had been directed at the wrong aspect of my relationship with Marie. For indeed, what harm could possibly come from my knowing her? A simple friendship; a lonesome crow comforted by a sweet sparrow. No ill could spring from such a connection.
With one more quick glance at the door, I doffed the subject of irritation and mopped my disfigured flesh with a handkerchief. Then I thrust the leather burden back in its accustomed place. Marie was none the wiser of my secret.
As it turned out, she would sleep for a good hour longer. The previous night had no doubt been trying upon her poor nerves, and so I used the offered time to think what I ought to do now that I had her here. I could not keep her forever, I acknowledged ruefully. She had friends who would notice her absence (one of the Girys had no doubt already found her missing)and, of course, there was her budding career to think of.
I reclined in my seat; not only a fine little dancer, but also a singer, or so I stated M. Amaud during his discourse with M. Garnier. I had heard all of what was said, for I did more than stalk pretty ballet girls. L'Opera was a business that needed to be run with efficiency, and so when such conferences concerning the operating of the theater took place, it can only make sense for me to be present. It was my opera house, after all.
A smile began to curve my mouth. If she were to obtain a singing role, she would need practice. And a teacher. My heart started pounding, as it had done so regularly of late, and I began delve through the lofty piles of scores and drawings. Thinking back to the sound of her voice, I pondered her range. Certainly not alto, no, much higher than that. Mezzo or soprano? I found pieces suited for both sorts, and studied them.
It appeared I had unconsciously been listening for movement, for when I hear a stir within the Louis-Philippe room I leapt to my feet. She was awake! Feeling overwhelmed with excitement and fear, I scrambled to find her a housecoat, for she could not walk about in her little nightdress and catch her death! A suitable article of blue-grey velvet was found and with it I hurried to her.
I knocked thrice upon the door, and then went in. Marie was still abed, though awake. She sat rubbing the sleep from her dear eyes, and upon my entrance looked up at me with such darling sleepiness that my knees felt weak.
"How was your sleep? Are you well rested?"
She nodded, then, appearing to think herself rude, said:
"Yes, thank you."
I held the robe out to her. She looked from it, then back to me, questioning.
"It is cold. I shouldn't want you to fall ill."
A feeling of apprehension had arisen within my mind; surely, she must by now be wondering why I had stolen her away. Placing the smooth velvet in her hands, I moved to the door.
"There is a bathroom just there," I pointed, "Should you want soap or a brush. Come to the dining room when you done. I will await you there."
Upon her arrival, I would be ready to explain.
When I awoke, I thought that last night must have been a most remarkable dream. The walk from the mirror to the lake, the little boat, the sitting room beneath L'Opera. It seemed amazingly far-fetched, but it had been magical. Oh, so wonderfully delightful! But there was no trail behind my dressing room. No mysterious lake with its dinghy. No Erik.
Then I opened my eyes, and was astonished. For I found myself somewhere quite foreign; a bedroom, decorated with all sorts of lovely things. It was a lady's room. No sooner had I sat, then there came three taps to my right. There stood a door, which opened. A masked man came over the threshold; Erik! He asked how I'd slept, and I answered that I had very well, for I had. There seemed to be a gap in what I remembered of the previous night. He had taken away my tea cup, but there after I could not recall what had happened. How had I come to sleep in this pretty bed chamber?
Erik gave me a soft robe and told me to meet him in the dining room. I had seen no such room last night, but decided not to ask its whereabouts. How hard could it be to find? The bathroom he spoke of was lovely, covered with a shiny, white stone. The water was warm, but I saw no flame. This was a very strange house! I felt very refreshed after my washing, for it was not a commonplace thing for a ballet girl to clean herself with anything but what the icy well provided. There was also a little bottle of eau de toilette beside the sink, which I had, after carefully sniffing the contents, used a small amount of. I hoped Erik would not mind.
As instructed, I donned the robe and left the comfort of my temporary apartment and moved into the hall. There was a glow to my left, which I followed, not failing to notice the multitude of doors about me. Such a large house couldn't have gone unobserved beneath L'Opera? Someone must have discovered it by now….
The light was cast from a room which held a fine, wood table, set for one, and dozens flowers, all tied to their baskets with silk ribbons. Before I had but a moment to wonder were I ought to sit, Erik swept in through a door across from me.
"Please, sit." He said, bowing and reaching to pull out the chair facing the single place setting. When I did so, he moved swiftly away with my plate and returned after filling it at a small serving counter to my side. He was serving me? Never had such an experience happened to me, and now that it did, I blushed.
"Eat, my dear." Was what he said. I looked down; the platter had been neatly arranged: two slices of toast with marmalade, a serving of cold chicken, and several pieces of some sort of sliced fruit. He had also placed a large cup in front of me which held café au lait. It was then that I realized that Erik sat quietly at the edge of table perpendicular to my own, watching me rather intently. I had not noticed him move.
"Are you not going to eat anything?" I asked, feeling embarrassed. It could hardly be proper to consume his food when he did not.
"I…I am not inclined to dine at present." He replied, shifting in his seat, "But pray, eat all you like. You must be starving."
I was. Terribly. My corset had been so incredibly tight last night I had harbored to appetite other than a cup of wine. But still… Simply because I wanted what lay before me did not make it right to take it. He was being very polite; I should have to follow convention. I sat back.
"No, thank you." I said, forcing my hands into my lap, away from the meal, "I am not very hungry."
He was silent for a beat, during which his eyes bore into my very soul. He had an exceptionally remarkable pair, a bright color that contained green, grey, and brown, all mixed together. I had seen the hue before (Meg had called it 'hazel') but never in such a striking shade as I found in his face. The thought brought a warmth to my cheeks, and I endeavored to think of something else.
"If I breakfast as well," I was startled by his voice, "Will you eat?"
It seemed Erik had discovered me. I felt silly; averting my gaze, I nodded. And so I was surprised when he chuckled softly. He rose (I had noticed last night that he was very tall, but when I sat he appeared massive) and fetched another plate, on which he put a small amount of chicken and some bread.
"Now eat, my dear." He commanded firmly, his voice powerful. I obeyed meekly, hardly daring to defy him again. The fruit particularly interested me. It was winter, after all; where had he come by such crop? My familiarity with the food was limited, if nonexistent. I knew that well-to-do ladies enjoyed them as sweet delicacies and that when a member of the corps had received a box of oranges from a Comte there had been pandemonium. Cutting a slice, I picked up the bit on my fork and smiled.
Once, long ago, the Sisters had rationed out a box of pears and given all the children a piece. It had been Christmas time, as it was now; some rich widow had delivered the carton that morning, so that we all might have a gift. I was young at the time, perhaps nine or ten years. I had sat by the frosted window, savoring my sliver of pear as long as I could. I remembered the taste to this day. Sweet and mellow in flavor, with a juicy, smooth texture. That had been my loneliest time; Abel was gone. The institution failed soon after, leaving me with no one. And so I had walked. Walked until I starved for food. Walked until there was nowhere left to walk…
I become conscious of Erik watching me. Indeed, I must have looked strange. Shaking my head, I strove to appear normal, putting my fork to my mouth and eating the morsel. It was a pear. I closed my eyes for a moment, relishing the essence of it against my tongue. It was delicious.
"Do you like pears?"
I nodded shyly. A saw something flicker within the pools of extraordinary color. We ate in silence for a period. The café au lait was delightful, and my pleasure was only increased by knowing I had an entire cupful to myself. I felt selfish to think so, but could not help it.
"Allow me to refill your cup, Marie."
Leaving me no time to answer, Erik whisked it away to the serving counter. I returned to my breakfast, figuring there was nothing to be done. Suddenly, I felt a small touch on my back; glancing to the side, I saw nothing. Erik was still standing a good distance away, and there was nothing else in the room. I turned back, feeling absurd. But then, after another moment, I felt it again, the tiniest of taps, this time hip. I jumped, seeking the source.
"Is something wrong, my dear?" Erik asked noticing my movement.
"No, no." I replied, touching my cheek, "I think my head is just a little sluggish."
"Then come," He said, taking my cup in one hand and gesturing with the other, "Let me escort you to the drawing room. You can finish your meal there."
I shook my hands.
"Oh no! Really, I'm quite well-"
"I insist. It's right this way."
Again, he used that tone; it was not dangerous or angry, but some resolute that I not but comply. When I reached for my plate, Erik placed a hand on the small of my back.
"I will carry it."
I nodded uneasily. I knew I had somehow fallen into the hands of a man of not just great kindness, but also great power and mind; and although I felt safe in the peculiar house, I felt there was a foreboding layer of ire and insanity lurking, in a mist, just above my head. Ready to descend at any moment, should the occasion provoke it.
Moving towards the door and past the counter, I saw a small tape measure lying upon it. I frowned; I did not remember it being there when I entered the room. Shrugging I moved on; I had not looked in that exact direction before. It had probably been there the whole time.
She slept now; I had sent her to bed when the timepiece upon the mantle struck eleven. The day had been eventful, and she would need rest. I, however, had several things to do.
I had her measurements, having taken them during breakfast. Indeed, I had been so tempted by the prospect of touching her, I had allowed my hands to linger. She had felt me then, and had been confused. I berated myself on my infantile behavior, but could not say that I regretted it.
Into the dark streets I went, trembling with twisted desire. She was so small. The greatest breadth of her body was but eighty one centimeters (A/N that's 32 inches). What with her figure so narrow and her height so short, I could only wonder at her weight. It was an aspect of Marie which I found myself loving more and more as our acquaintance grew. In comparison, I was a sturdy giant. Christine had not been tall, but came at least to my eyes, with a full, shapely body. She had been the epitome of the Parisian woman.
Marie though…I shuddered again. She was so waiflike, so fragile. A smile twitched at my lips. She was elfin. That was the perfect adjective. For she was an elf; a pale, ethereal creature who stole my heart away before I realized it.
I reached the tailor; it was late, but the proprietor of the shop never postponed an order of mine. I was one of his best customers, and certainly one of his richest. Reaching into my cloak, I smirked down at the list I conjured.
My little elf would find a gift waiting for her on tomorrow morn.
"I love elves. They rock. And not just because Legolas is an elf. Just because they rock."
That is my poem of the day. I just wrote that. And just decided it was the poem of the day. Are you floored by my poetic genius?
R-E-V-I-E-W.