To my two reviewers: Thank you so much for your kind encouragement. I'm glad that my story has caught your interest.I did intend for my story to have that "classic fairytale" feel to it; I'm glad that my efforts have shown through. :) As for characterization, I'm striving to stay as true tothe cannon personalities as I can, with the exception of Charlotte-Christine, who's characterization is largely influenced by Susan Kay's Christine, as much as I loathed her. I felt that Kay's more child-like and innocent Christine would fit better in the storyline that the more manipulativeLeroux Christine.
On with the second chapter!
Chapter Two:
The Beginning of the Strange Affair
High up in the tower, a dark figure stood, robed in shadow and wearing a white mask that hid his entire face. From the shadows he gazed out the window, staring intently at a delicate form far below. She had been coming steadily for two weeks, now; she would always sit in the same quiet corner of his garden; sometimes she would speak, and sometimes she would sit quietly and think with a distant, sorrowful look in her eyes. His favorite days, however, were the days that she would sing. Never had he heard a purer voice in all his life. Her voice was untrained and twinged with uncertainty from disuse, yet it had a perfect pitch and clarity that stirred him deep within and filled him with a delight he never thought he could have experienced again. And to share his delight, he made the earth sing for her. He had first lured her there with his siren songs, and it was the same wordless melodies that compelled her to return each afternoon. Soon enough, his prison had become her haven, the place to which she retreated to cleanse and unburden her soul.
He never spoke with her, but he always listened. He listened to her earnest prayers and supplications; she constantly invoked the name of the Angel of Music. She thought it was his voice she heard humming the wordless melodies that lured her back each day, and try as he might, he could not bring himself to shatter her happy illusion. The thought of her angel brought her such joy, and he could not dash her soaring hopes now - poor, unhappy child that she seemed. A child and strangely yet, a lady. More than just one happy illusion rested precariously on those afternoon visits.
It was wrong, he knew - he shouldn't be stringing the poor, delicate soul along in such a way - but to see the look of rapture on her young and pretty face, the way she clasped her hands in delight and caught her breath, the way her eyes would dance; it was a strange, new feeling to him to bring a measure of happiness to another's life. And though his conscience pricked him, he couldn't help but relish in her company, if only from a distance. But oh, to break that barrier, to communicate his distant adoration through words, to make her see the beauty of his sprawling palace which was invisible to her now!
Meanwhile, Charlotte sat in her designated corner of the castle ruins, oblivious to the masked admirer above. She found a strange peace among the twisted ruins - perhaps it was the all-consuming darkness which brought her soul a sense of calm - and an elation at being granted the gift of hearing the voice of her long sought-after Angel. She knew it was her Angel of Music, the one her father had promised would speak to her one day, for who else could have sung the hauntingly enchanting wordless melodies that drew her to the forsaken castle grounds each day? Her Angel caused the earth around her to sing in answer to her long years of supplication and humble endurance. Though he never spoke to her through words, his melodies were enough to assure her that she had done right in Heaven's eyes. That knowledge alone gave her the strength to bear the rough realities of her inconsequential life.
One afternoon, Charlotte approached the ruins with a particularly downcast spirit. She was often saddened by the bleakness of her poor little life and always preoccupied with worry for her dear ailing father, but on this particular day, her thoughts were bordering on despair. For the funds which the good professor had provided were running low due to increasing medical bills for her father's care, and in order to maintain their modest household, many of their meager possessions had to be sold. The hired hands had been dismissed for lack of salary, and Charlotte would once more be bound to her father's side, away from the voice of her Angel. Even now as she sank to the soft, moist ground in her haven-corner, her father was journeying to the village to sell most of the livestock they had acquired, some household wares, and most heartbreaking of all, his treasured violin which had brought such joy to their plain and weary lives. Charlotte wept at the thought of never again hearing the happy folk tunes which always sent her spirit soaring, or the tender, loving melodies which often lulled her to sleep.
"Oh, Angel," she cried, tears streaming unheeded from her sorrowful eyes as she related her sad affair, "what am I to do? Will I still hear you when I'm bound at home? I cannot bear the loneliness; I cannot bear the solitude!" With that, her voice broke and she wept bitterly. "To never hear him play again... Oh, Angel!"
What was he to do? Missions of mercy were not his forté, yet he felt compelled to offer some form of consolation to the child. He had, after all, assumed the role of her angel. Perhaps it was time to break the barrier and dually fulfill his desires and quiet her tears. Ever so softly, he began to sing.
It began as a low hum, barely audible, yet growing in strength and warmth that filled Charlotte's whole being and penetrated into her soul. It was a sound of pure peace that brought light to her dark and dank spirit. Then, suddenly, a voice!
"Hush," he spoke, "dry your tears, for you have found favor with the Angel of Music. You will not be abandoned."
She caught her breath in sheer elation. Her Angel had spoken? Surely this could not be! She had risen to her feet without feeling herself rise, and stared wide-eyed into the veiled heavens above.
"Angel?" she asked tremulously to the sky.
He returned her wide-eyed gaze with a much keener one from behind his mask, feeling a strange arousal at the fact that she was now gazing directly into the tower window in which he stood, though she could not see it.
"Open your eyes, child," he replied in a gentle, yet commanding tone, holding her - unseen - in his gaze.
Slowly, very slowly, the night around her began to fade as pinpricks of sunlight streamed in through the mist. All at once, the over-run ruins were transformed into lush, sprawling palace grounds: where tangled vines and weeds once grew over crumbling walls, lavishly kept gardens of exotic flowers now spread through the magnificent courtyard leading to the grand palace entrance. The sights and smells assaulted her senses, and she felt stunted by the magnificent beauty that now surrounded her. A breathless exclamation of, "Angel!" was all she could manage to vocalize before her very logic was completely overrun.
"Now you see your haven for what it really is," he answered, "and I would give it to you freely if you but follow my instruction." He kept himself well hidden in the shadows now, lest he reveal his façde too soon. He would have to proceed with the utmost caution if he wanted his plan to succeed. He watched her as she nodded dumbly.
"Return to your home," he continued, "and bide your time there for a while. I promise you that before long, you will return to this palace - your haven - again, and then you will hear my voice as often as you like. You will not be abandoned."
Charlotte did not know how to respond. She simply nodded her humble assent and waited dumbly for further instruction, one more chance to hear his captivating voice.
"Go!" he urged, his impatience beginning to flare.
As if in a trance, Charlotte turned and left, continuously glancing over her shoulder to ensure that her palace was not some cruel twist of her imagination.
As he watched her leave, a small smile spread its way across his twisted lips. Her father would be passing by this way on his journey back from the village, and he would be ready for the old man's approach.
