Shade: Just to let everyone know, I'm doing something different for this chapter. I'm going to switch POVs between Erik and Nasrin. I just want to know how it turns out. I hope you guys like it! THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO NATSUKI! JUST BECAUSE SHE IS AN AWESOME iFRIEND! THE 100th REVIEWER WILL GET A CHAPTER DEDICATION AND AN EXTRA SPECIAL GIFT! Ok, I'm done w/ that. Oh yeah, slight sexual content (as the chappy title portrays) but again, still under T rating.
"What sweet seduction lies
Before us . . ." –The Point of No Return
Chapter 14: A Burning Trance
Erik's POV:
Sleeping is not something I normally do. Why waste the most beautiful hours of life in a state of incapacitation? I have never enjoyed it . . . especially after last night.
I would have loved to dream of Christine and all of her svelte beauty, her angelic voice, and her fiercely alluring mannerisms, but it was not her that danced through my mind; it was Nasrin. What I had done to our bond the previous night, what I had done to her, was blatantly unforgivable. Over and over, her grief stricken face plagued my thoughts, the same crystal tears cascading elegantly from the depths of her sea-born eyes. Having stomached enough of her sorrow for one night, I forced myself into awakening.
My home was dark and cold, bereft of the warmth it had embraced when Nasrin was beside me. Some candelabras still flickered meaninglessly at me from across the sheet of silk I had erected in the threshold of the doorway.
My home's whole presence mocked me, taunted me with the memories of how Nasrin and I had begun the process of consummating our marriage. Urges to comfort her, to whisper soft words of apology vaguely overtook me and I peeled the covers back from my bed. With only my pants and my white shirt to cover me, I walked somewhat hesitantly from my room, forcing myself to embrace the coldness with which my own actions had left me.
I peered over to her dirty mess of blankets, expecting her to be curled in a tight ball, the monkey lovingly wrapped in her arms. However, she was not there and the monkey was pushed carelessly to the side of her bedding. In a feeling I felt obligated to call alarm, I searched my home for her. Already, I began to dread the painful truth. I walked by my organ, looking past it for any sign of her. A strangely bound manuscript caught my eye and I looked closer at it as it flickered in the candlelight.
"Fire Rose?" I called for a reason I didn't know. I picked up the book, running my fingers over the smooth leather binding. Holding it closer to a candle, I could read the script written on the cover. My heart twisted and my hoarse voice emerged, Nasrin's voice seeming to overtake mine. "To my 'husband.' Perhaps you were right, Erik; some statements and promises must be broken."
Hesitating, I opened the first page. There were notes scribbled on the bars, forming a simple, yet sweet melody. I put it on the organ and sat down, positioning my seasoned fingers accordingly. I began to play it softly, heeding to the dynamics she had written in. My voice rang out in the home, though it seemed Nasrin's tone-deaf voice was singing beside me.
"Trivial angel
Used and tortured
Yearning for love's passion.
Without your embrace
I suffer mutely.
Why have you vacillation?"
The melody immediately changed to become darker, more entrancing. The tune was immediately recognizable. Its dark and passionate chords were identical to the ones I had formed upon singing with Christine as I brought her below. I sang again.
"In all my time with you
I couldn't see . . .
That man and mystery
Were haunting me . . .
No matter where I run, or how I hide
The Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my mind."
I stopped playing and flipped through the pages. The book was full of lyrics of that nature; it was an inescapable torrent pouring from my poor bride's heart. I didn't recognize pity being the emotion that wrapped its icy fingers around my heart.
"Oh Fire Rose," I muttered, "where did you go?" As I flipped to the last page of the manuscript, I found that it had answered my question.
"In light of all this pain
I'll say farewell.
Perhaps I will return,
Only time will tell.
I'll spend some time above, away from lies.
And now, your little Fire Rose is here, inside your mind."
She left me . . . she was gone. I couldn't help feeling as though she had deceived me in some way; I felt like she had taken advantage of my hospitality, my only comforts only to leave when she felt it necessary. Fueled by a dark courage, I stood, readying to leap into my gondola. A vision of her flashed before my eyes.
"Erik, I told you I would remain no matter what your face looks like." She had promised me that; that was the only reason I had shown her my face, bared my most horrifying secret to her. However, she had confided in me the same secret. Her head, my poor Nasrin's head, horrifyingly destroyed in a single cruel act of jealousy and rage. She understood my pain; she shared in my emptiness, my loneliness, and my sorrow. She had held me as I wept, done what no one else had done before. How had I repaid her? I had struck her, made her bleed as my heart did. And now . . . she was gone, forsaking the one she had promised to stand by . . . to love.
Forsaking me . . .
I put my head in my hands, my guilt condensing to a large lump in my throat. "Oh, my little Fire Rose," I mourned softly, slouching in defeat back on the organ bench.
xXxXx
Nasrin's POV:
I docked the boat in the still waters, gathering my one comfort in my arms: a score of Persian dance music. I clutched it to my chest along with a large sack of money I had taken the liberty of 'borrowing' from Erik.
Across the lake, I heard him call for me. That loving concern that I ached to hear met my longing ears and I began to weep, my heart begging me to return. But I could not . . . would not return. Against all my expectations, he had harmed me. It was his right, I understand; but I hadn't expected him to display such a surge of emotion at that moment . . . I had held him, and I had been repaid with a scabbing wound on my face.
Physical pain, however, I wished was the only reason why my whole being seemed to ache. My heart was bleeding in my chest, and Erik was holding the knife that drew open the wound. I had come so close to being truly happy last night. For a few brief minutes, I felt as though I was the only person Erik wanted; I was his love, and he would have lay with me, loving me. There are no words in any language I know that could possibly personify the feeling of being locked in your love's arms, feeling as though you are truly happy, and then realizing that your love has put some one else's head on your body.
The line between love and hate, I realized, is all too thin. Both are derived of fervent passion and can blossom slowly or quickly depending on another. What irony is it that the girl whom every man sought after is denied the one man she wants? I shook my head, hearing him sing the melodies I had copied from his various musical notebooks. His voice would never leave my head. His touch would always remain fresh to my senses. His kiss would lighten my dark thoughts. How I wish, I thought, that such a beautiful, passionate man could be mine.
Christine's dressing room came into view and I realized that I was standing concealed behind the mirror. I touched the mechanism to open the secret door and sighed as the glass slid away. I stepped through, jealousy pumping hard in my veins. This room, this very room, was the room of the girl who had stolen Erik's heart from me. She slept in here, she applied her makeup here . . . she sang to him from here. For some reason, I loved hating Christine; and hatred, I found, can be far more enviable than love sometimes.
Disheartened and lovesick at the same time, I knew that I had to make myself cheerful again. I couldn't allow Erik to know how much his faux pas had hurt me. An idea struck me and I quickly found my way to the main performance hall, gazing in familiarity at the rows of plush red seats. I recognized the conductor of the band immediately. His triangular haircut was a most striking feature, as well as slightly odd. I ran over to him and smiled coyly down at the musicians, who, as men born out of congealing filth, gaped at me, their eyes fervently undressing me. I couldn't help but scowl.
"May I help you, Mademoiselle?" the conductor asked. "I have never seen you around here before. Tell me, are you lost?"
"Not at all Monsieur, but I require a favor." I jingled the sack of coins and smiled, feeling every pair of eyes bore into every inch of my face.
"What type of favor?"
"If I pay you, will you all play something to which I may dance? You see, I have had a trying day and I need to relax my nerves. Could you do me a service and play this song for me?" I handed him the score, watching eagerly as he flipped through the stiff old pages.
"A trifle amount of money it is, to 'rent out' the orchestra of the Opera Populaire," he scoffed. "You understand Mademoiselle." He handed me back the score. I grinned and poured most of the coins onto his stand.
"My dear Monsieur, will this be enough?" I cooed, smiling as most of the musicians gave gasps of astonishment.
The conductor smiled. "That will do quite fine, Mademoiselle. For the next half an hour, I am yours."
I bowed my head politely. "Many thanks Monsieur, and to all your musicians, thank you as well."
There was a masculine murmur that answered me and I gratefully climbed onto the stage, shedding my black cloak and standing in my dirty turquoise top and skirt, my familiar gold bracelets jingling on my arms and ankles. Such pleasure simple comforts can bring . . .
"Tell me when you are ready Mademoi . . . oh my." The conductor trailed off as he looked at my change in outfit.
"I'm ready," I finished, smiling demurely at him. All men were alike, wanting the same thing from me. Except for Erik, my irritating conscious remarked.
The first chords rang out and all my sorrows were once again forgotten. The beat of the drum matched the beat of my heart and I was instantly whisked away, back to my homeland, with my familiar troop around me, all wearing brilliant shades of red, blue, and purple. Already, my body had begun to move to the music, my skirt flaring up past my knees as I twirled around. My demons must be exercised the best they could be without Erik.
Eventually, the power of the music grew, and even Erik's face faded from my mind. I was once again Nasrin the Fire Rose, the Wild One, utterly and completely untamable . . . and utterly and completely alone.
xXxXx
Erik's POV:
I heard it . . .
Even from below I could hear the orchestra begin to play. This new music alarmed me, for it was not the overture from the new production, "Aladin et sa Lampe Merveilleuse." It was of the same genre, the same Middle Eastern chords that I recognized. However, this was more of a passionate melody, undoubtedly used to entice lovers to entwine in their ardent duet.
Both curiosity and rage bloomed in me. I abhorred this music, having such pain entailed with its sound. I also vaguely wondered for whom this music played. However that answer struck me upon my wondering. Nasrin must have asked for it to be played. But why? Did she simply want to traipse through musty memories, or was this more a matter of revenge? Of course, it was imperative that I know. This was, after all, my opera house; I should know what its inhabitants are up to.
Donning my cape and mask, I grabbed the pole and leaped into the gondola, pushing off and rowing casually through my cellar. The music grew louder, and, by the patter of footsteps above me, I could tell I wasn't the only one curious about this music. When I docked my boat, I saw my spare gondola bobbing languidly in the water. I leaned down to it, examining it.
Immediately, a strong smell struck me: the tantalizing odor of fresh picked roses. That was Nasrin's scent, I could never be more certain of it. Oh God was it a seductively sweet smell. Whenever she would bathe with it, her warm flesh seemed to radiate both intense heat and that smell. It was intoxicating. She was intoxicating.
I was left breathless and I hastily fled from the boat. I ran through the cellars, readying for the task at hand. I would find Nasrin and bring her back with me. There was no possible way she could deny wanting me; and, never before being wanted, I wanted her. I ran to the gaping hole where the chandelier once hung, brilliant and pure.
Peering down, I found the stage empty but for one figure clad in turquoise, spinning around, hips swaying in a way that made me burn with desire. There were other members of the opera company that gathered around the orchestra, gaping at her.
Instantaneously a surge of protective fire blazed within me. These people didn't know with whom they trifled. Nasrin was mine. She was promised to me and no one should undress her with their eyes when I was here. I tore my eyes from the exotic beauty that graced the stage and ran to the flies under which she danced.
I could see her face clearly, frozen in a state of rapture, her body moving in sensual, slow, suggestive ways. Her stomach would contort and I could see her lean muscles flex as she leaned back, almost bending her voluptuous body to the point where I was certain she would snap. But still she moved, her torso moving in one of the most provocative sequences I had ever seen. Her hips would thrust out, then her stomach and then her breasts and shoulders, slowly imitating the movements of the sea until she sped up with the drums, her body a blazingly warm ocean that held me ensnared. I had never seen a woman's body move as beautifully and alluringly as hers, and it was enough for the severe pleasure I was feeling to border on unbearable pain. What new torture was this?
Her long mane of ebony hair, false as it was, twirled about her body, caressing the bare skin and driving me mad. Her fingers danced across her exposed flesh and she shook her chest, all the while never looking to see who watched her . . . who wanted her. The men who stared at her from below were in a state similar to mine, all of them yearning for their hands to touch her flesh. All of them wanted her . . . but I would not have it. I wanted her . . . and I would have her . . . no matter what that meant.
xXxXx
Nasrin's POV:
I felt the music die at last, and I laid down on my back, thrusting out my stomach once more before the last gong sounded and all was silent. I lay panting on the stage and I opened my eyes.
Above me on the flies stood Erik, with a look on his face the likes of which I had never seen. He had maintained his normal composure (and for that I should applaud him) but his eyes were different. They were roving wildly, hungrily absorbing every inch of me and I cocked my eyebrows. When his eyes met mine, I knew I had him. The look of unrestrained male desire on his face was far more intense than when he gazed at Christine; a sense of well deserved triumph washed over me.
Not wanting to betray his position, I turned my head, looking over at the orchestra, behind which stood the most profoundly moronic looking men. As usual, their mouths were hanging open and their eyes were as wide as saucers. I batted my eyelashes coyly, playing along with the dangerous game of seduction and sat up slowly, making an obvious effort to make sure my hair covered almost half of my face.
"Yes, that's right," I thought, "you pitiful bunch of panting dogs. Lust over what can never be yours." These men could die of the plague and I wouldn't bat an eyelash. I stood on my feet, brushing my limbs free of any recently acquired filth. Noticing that the men still gaped, I vaguely wondered if any of them were raised with even the slightest hint at manners.
"Brava Mademoiselle!" I heard a rumbling masculine voice jolt me from my dark ponderings. I turned to see Firmin striding towards me, clapping me on the back and giving me a most disturbing scrutiny. I could do nothing by smile coyly and pretend that his visual inquiry didn't faze me. When he reached me, he smiled, his dark mustache curving upwards. I simpered as my mind likened his mustache to a black ferret. "It is apparent to you that we are performing a Middle Eastern play; the scenery is already completed. The only piece missing from our production is a beautiful dancer. You, my dear, would be divine as our lead dancer. We would pay you nine thousand francs a month. I do hope you consider this offer."
Nine thousand francs a month . . . such matters as finances were always determined through such a request as I was about to make.
"Make it an even ten thousand and you have yourself a lead dancer," I said sternly, making sure he heard the determination in my voice.
Firmin bunched his eyebrows. "Nine thousand is more than enough for a lead dancer."
Feigning nonchalance, I shrugged and grabbed my music. "I am sorry then, but nine thousand will not suffice. It is either ten thousand or no deal I am afraid." I began to walk slowly towards the entrance of the theater, not even hesitating to open the door into the light.
"Wait Mademoiselle!" Firmin bellowed after me, following my steps until he reached my side. He grabbed the door and pushed it closed. "All right, ten thousand francs even a month."
I smiled; such simplicity men were made of. "It is a deal. I am honored, Monsieur, to join the company of the Opera Populaire." I bowed respectively, still unnerved that Firmin's eyes hadn't ceased roving over me.
"Good to hear. Now, MADAME GIRY!" Firmin roared as he ushered me back to the stage. I saw from the shadows a woman emerge, a cane gripped tightly in her fist. As she stepped into the light, Firmin pushed me towards her. Upon making eye contact with me, Madame Giry paled until she was stark white.
"Madame Giry, meet our new lead dancer. She will be our head in our new production of 'Aladin.' Her name is . . ." He looked at me, silently asking me to finish his sentence.
"Nasrin Khanum, the Fire Rose," I finished silkily, smiling warmly at Giry, who was still locked in a state of shock.
"Mademoiselle Khanum, yes. A lovely name. Now, Madame, prepare for her Miss Daaé's dressing room, since the real Miss Daaé has left us for a while with the Vicomte de Chagny." He looked at me, and finally, his scrutiny was complete. He had resorted to smiling at me lustfully. I fought thundering urges to shatter his perverse grin with a firm strike across the face. "For now, unpack your belongings. We will verse you on your part in this production tomorrow."
"Thank you, Monsieur," I said, desiring to end the conversation as soon as possible.
Madame Giry placed a hand on my back and ushered me away from the stage, meeting my gaze with frightened reservation.
"What plot have you and Erik devised this time?" she asked softly.
"There is no plot, Madame. I assure you. I have left Erik for the time being." I hesitated. "We engaged in a most startling quarrel last night, and the encounter has left me rather disgusted by him and his conduct."
"Does he know you're here?" she hissed.
I stopped, remembering the look on his face when I gazed up at him, that look of raw desire threatening to usurp his elegance and give way to a passion I had wanted to see. Realizing I had submerged myself in my own thoughts, I scrambled for an answer.
"Yes, he knows," I answered quickly.
"And he approves?" she asked, aghast.
"That is no longer my concern," I felt myself spit, a great deal harsher than I had originally intended.
"If you are still married, it is indeed his concern," Giry pointed out.
"Perhaps you are right, and if he doesn't approve of me acting thus, let him say so."
As if on cue, a large backdrop fell from the flies, crashing onto the stage and causing utter tumult upon impact. I reluctantly admitted to myself that this violent proclamation had left me somewhat unnerved.
Madame Giry's and my eyes met and I feared that if I should return to Erik, violence would be my welcoming, and I knew now that there was no turning back.
"Here is your room, Mademoiselle. Although now I hesitate to give it to you, seeing as though the mirror . . ." Giry looked at the dressing room mirror.
"I know. I'll be all right. Thank you for all you have done. I am very tired, and I wish to retire for the day." I bowed and smiled warmly at Giry.
She returned my bow. "All right. Sleep well, Madame Khanum. I will send to you our new resident: Comte Jean de Lamarier. He has temporarily cast aside his fortune to pursue a career in carpentry. I will make sure that he makes your stay comfortable."
"Oh Madame, there really is no need for such a gesture. I'll be all right." I lowered my voice to a whisper barely audible to her. "After all, I do have my own guardian angel."
Giry looked hesitantly at the mirror. "Will you at least allow him the pleasure of an honorable introduction?"
I rolled my eyes, already foreseeing how this encounter would result. "All right all right. I will bath and change into my nightly attire. If he so desires, bring him to me."
"At once." And with that, Giry left, and I was standing in Christine's . . . pardon me . . . my dressing room. I tossed my cloak casually on the large, soft bed and turned to the full vanity, examining my haggard self in the mirror. It was time I should bathe, then change into my sleeping clothing. Only, I didn't have any. I sighed, grabbing one of Christine's night gowns and removing my top and skirt, leaving myself shivering in naught but my undergarment.
I paused before grabbing the pure white robe. I could feel someone's eyes boring into my body, and it wasn't a chaste stare. I looked around the room, finding no one was there. Suddenly, my eyes found the mirror, and I smiled.
"So you are there," I thought. "All right then. Time to make you want what you lost."
I walked over to the mirror and leaned my forehead against the cool glass surface, nuzzling into it and sighing, my breath fogging its clean surface. I turned my back to the mirror and moved slowly against it, my hips moving in figure 8s. Just as I felt the mirror warm from my body heat, I spun away from it, twirling around the room. I grabbed a rose meant for Christine and threw it at the mirror. Giddy, I began to laugh as I spun faster. As dizziness overcame me, I fell against the mirror. I was alarmed to feel something on the other side of the glass, another heat source whose blood beat hard against the veins.
Feeling as though I had tortured Erik enough, I fled into the bathroom, dipping myself into a hot path that had been prepared for me. The torrid heat of the water sent chills up my spine and I eagerly submerged myself, practically screaming in ecstasy. I had never before bathed in hot water; I now pledged that I would do it every night henceforth. I grabbed a vial of rose body wash and poured it slowly on my body, shivering as the cold oil contrasted the heat of my skin. I washed the dirt from my skin and sighed in contentment as I felt myself become clean for the first time in weeks. After my body was cleansed I submerged my head in for a moment, enjoying the thrill of completely clean heat. When I breached the surface, my wig slipped slightly on my head and I quickly replaced it.
When I felt myself become weak with the intense heat, I grabbed my towel and climbed out of the bath, noting with disgust how the water had turned dark with grime. I walked over to the main part of my chamber and sat down on the bed. My hair was dripping and some wet strands clung to my moist face. Overcome with fatigue, I fell back on the bed, breathing slightly heavier as the heat exhausted me. I held my mass of faux hair in front of me squeezing the moisture out of it and leaving it damp to drape across my flesh.
As I began to doze off, someone covering my body with theirs jolted me awake. I panicked and began to thrash until I felt familiar lips press against mine. They were shaking, eager, and I responded immediately by pushing my tongue into his mouth. I felt strong, leather covered hands grab me behind my knees and push me farther up the bed before he pressed against me again, smothering me with cloth. I pulled away to look into Erik's flushed face, his eyes dark with a stark uncensored need. He kneaded on my stomach, causing a pleasurable pain to knot inside of me. I pulled his mouth to mine, feeling the knot tighten with each time his hands touched my flesh. I was surrounded in a cocoon, fabricated of black cloth and sheltered by a passionate man. Overcome, I grabbed his gloves and tore them from his hands; I have always hated the fact that he wore them every time he touched me.
His hands, bare and rough traced my collar bone and my arms, moving down to my waist and my legs as his lips memorized the curves of my neck. I felt him open my towel and press himself against my naked skin. This need . . . this horrible, wicked need pulsed through me and I couldn't restrain myself. I wrapped my legs around his back and pulled him to me. His lips moved to my chest and I fought screaming as the knot tightened more. My heart began to thunder as he palmed my breast while hungrily devoured my neck. I couldn't help it; I moaned, my hand finding the back of his head, pulling him closer to me.
"Mademoiselle, are you alone?" a male voice on the other side of the door called.
I sat straight up, upsetting Erik's balance and causing him to practically fall from my bed. My eyes caught his and he gritted his teeth angrily. Wordlessly, he fled behind the mirror and I was once again alone, catching my breath and covering myself with my night robe. I looked in the mirror, making certain my wig was on straight.
"Yes, I am alone. Who calls?" I panted back.
"Monsieur Jean Lamarier, Mademoiselle! I come to welcome you."
"If you give me but a quick moment you may enter." I quickly tied the nightgown over me, snickering as I concluded that in accordance with breasts, Christine was severely lacking in comparison to me. The gown almost couldn't cover me. Hastily, I draped my hair over my front, concealing the overly provocative garment. "Yes, come in!" I called.
A man opened the door and, much to my amusement, he was slightly attractive. He had fair tawny locks spilling down to his shoulders and grey eyes that seemed to both sparkle and remain apathetic at once. He smiled brightly at me and I felt the fingers of a blush creep slowly to my face, though I fought it with all my strength. He opened his arms and smiled. "Mademoiselle, welcome to the Opera Populaire. I have been charged with making sure you are comfortable."
I smiled, rejoicing in the fact that he hadn't begun to rudely stare at my assets. "Well met Comte de Lamarier. I assure you, I am quite comfortable here. Actually, I was readying to retire when you knocked. If I should need your assistance, I will be sure to alert you."
He smiled and his eyes wandered down from my face. I felt myself sigh with exasperation and he caught my gaze, flushing livid crimson. "Forgive me, Mademoiselle. I conjecture many men give you the same scrutiny?"
"You couldn't be more correct, Monsieur. Though after a while, it begins to become less flattering and more irritating. The only man to not give me such an obvious and rude visual inquiry is my husband."
I saw Jean's expression crumble before me, and a part of me almost felt bad. Almost. "Your husband? But you still wear your chastity beads."
"Yes," I admitted bitterly, damning to hell the wooden chains. "He and I have not joined. However, I am still bound to him." I turned away from him in time to feel the nightshirt tear from the size of my chest. My face heated in embarrassment and I hastily removed the rest of it, grabbing another shirt as quickly as I could. Before I adorned my bare chest with the tunic, I became aware that Jean still watched me. Anger bubbled inside me and I turned around slowly, covering my breasts with my hands.
"Why do you still linger when I stand half nude in front of you? Please show yourself the door!" I barked, sounding angrier than I actually was.
Jean bowed his head, his yellowish-brown hair hiding his crimson complexion. "Of course Mademoi . . . Madame. Forgive me; sleep well." He stumbled over to the door and hastily closed it behind him. From behind the door, he called back to me, "And please, call me Jean!"
"As you wish Jean," I answered in irritation, covering my exposed torso with the nightshirt. I scowled at his boyish persistence and satisfied myself with thoughts of severing most of his rather feminine hair.
"And what may I call you?" he asked hopefully. My patience was waning. And quickly.
"Madame Fire Rose," I snarled. "Now, good night!"
"Good night, fair Madame Fire Rose!" Jean called before departing from my door at long last.
I sighed and looked into the vanity mirror, allowing my eyes to scrutinize my features carefully. The conversation reflected in my head. He was a kind gentlemen, although a bit taken with fashion. He was a count; it was to be expected. He had respected my space and once realizing that his hungry looks bothered me, he had ceased. I smiled, not knowing why his smiling face made me grin and make butterflies flit about in my abdomen.
"Fair Madame Fire Rose," I repeated fondly. "It sounds a bit more respectful than 'little Fire Rose', I think." I shot a sweet look at the mirror, assuming Erik had elected to watch the whole encounter in secret. Our previous meeting had shown me that he wanted me to want him. I snickered. If he wants my love to be manifest, he must work for it with sweat and blood, as I worked for his love in the same fashion.
Immediately, I felt fatigue wrap around me and I yawned. Heeding to my body's desires, I blew out her candles and crawled into the luxurious bed, falling asleep almost instantly.
When I awoke early the next morning, I felt a familiar weight nestled in my arms. I held the stuffed monkey at arms length, examining its simplistic features. As I looked at it, I found that the cymbals were holding a note. I dreaded what the note would say, I confess, but I read it aloud to myself quietly in my room.
"You will always be 'little Fire Rose' to me. –Erik"
For a reason rooted solely in mystery, I felt myself begin to cry. Once more I found myself weakened before him, as if escape was a fruitless attempt at deceiving destiny. I was meant to be with him; I knew it because I loved him more than I had loved anything before. He lusted after me; it wasn't the same. It could never be. Taking a silent, tearful vow, I made a pact with myself to avoid Erik at all costs. I do not want to be hurt again.
A/N: Thanks to my lovely reviewers! You brighten up my day!
Mademoiselle Justicia: XD! Raoul abuses Christine and locks her in a closet and she leaves him for Erik, ergo the phantom fires her out of a cannon. XD! That is probably one of the funniest concepts ever! Kudos to you! Yes, you and Nasrin would make Christine's death rather . . . amusing to say the least, lol. And you know Erik, if some one shows some slight understanding of him, he uses and obsesses over them. Don't worry, cuz you know Nasrin too, and she takes nothing from no one. Mwahaha! And yay for people who like angst! This chapter and the next few are FULL OF IT! It is like the angst squared story! Hey, crazy people are yay. (waves hand) I am a fellow crazy girl. Hehehe . . . ramen. BWAHAHA! (cough) Ahem, excuse me. Anyway, so glad you liked the chapter, always good to hear. And Erik doing the 1, 2 step? Let's see how it works out! Erik!
Erik: NO MORE HUGS!
Shade: No Erik, do the one two step.
Erik: What the hell is that?
Shade: (turns on Ciara) (shows Erik)
Erik: And you want me to do that?
Shade: (nods)
Erik: (sighs) Fine! (tries it) (falls over) (X).x
Shade: Oh, poor baby! (puts ice pack on head) (sweat drop) Well, I guess nineteenth century Frenchmen can't exactly get down the hip hop way. However, it was very amusing to watch, lol. Thanks for the review and here is your update! Just don't send your rats after me! .
Jessica: I know, how could he. Well, he is still greatly enamored with Christine. Grr, I find that fact frustrating as well. Nasrin will be fine, but she thanks you for your sympathy. (bows) Thank you for the review and here is your update!
xxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx: You are very welcome! Erik loves to hug his loyal phans.
Erik: I do?
Shade: (kicks) yes!
Erik: OW! (whimpers) I do.
Shade: Oh! Sorry baby! I didn't mean it. (nervous laughter) Yeah, Erik got a little emotional last chapter to say the least. . I put the warning just as a precaution, just in case. Yeah, his "Rar! Oh wait, I'm sorry!" attitude I found to come through in the movie a lot. So I used that because the Erik in this story is a hybrid of all my favorite phantoms . . . mostly Gerard Butler and Hugh Panaro in appearance, so it was easy for me to see the rarrness of both. (I've seen Hugh twice recently, so he's fresh in my mind.) If these chapters are making you cry, I'll be sure to supply you with a lot tissues for later. (nods) Thanks for the review, here is your update!
littledarkone: Glad that was one of your favorites. Welcome to my story! XD! I loved the "Ooh, the angst, the sadness, the (short-lived passion) . . ." It probably wasn't meant to be humorous, but I found it amusing. . I'm weird, bear with me, lol. And the passion will continue! YAY!
Nasrin: (celebrates to herself)
Shade: Thanks for the review, so glad you love it so far. And since you didn't get a hug before. Here is one now!
Erik: (hugs tightly)
Shade: Good job Erik. (bows) Here is your update!
Maidenhair: It's all right, working is not yay. I completely understand, there is no need to apologize. (pats) Glad you liked the chappy, and because you missed last chappy's hugging session, Erik will hug you if you like.
Erik: Not again.
Shade: HUG NOW!
Erik: (hugs tightly)
Shade: Good, now here is your update! I hope it can provide a slight solace for you after you work. Hopefully, lol.
DragonheartRAB: It's all right, no need to apologize. Yes, interesting pretty much sums up this chapter, I will concur. And I was mad at Erik too. That one mistake caused the hugest chain of events it's ridiculous, lol. Stupid Erik, sometimes, you do NOT YAY ME! It's all right, wait until Nasrin meets Christine . . . Bwhaha! Christine does tend to ruin things though . . . like the Angel of Music mystique that I find so hot . . . stupid bitch. Anyway, thanks for the review. Here is your update!
Ethlas Tuath'an: She's seducing him to make her want her in vain the way she wanted him in vain. It's kinda evil. But as you can see in this chapter, it works! And bad Erik is right! We should scold him! That was NOT a yay thing to do! Those two words trigger the most terrible chain of events! (as you will see) As for the dream, you'll just have to wait and see. Fate conspires in the oddest ways. (wink) Thanks for the review and here is your update!
Dragon-magel16: I'm glad that you're glad to be part of the reviewing family . . . (has succeeded in temporarily confusing herself. .) So happy you loved the last chapter. Names do tend to have a way of disrupting a rather desirable situation. (Sorry your ex did that to you. That must have been hard.) I have never felt that way . . . not having a serious boyfriend. Anyway, I am blathering. Thanks for the review and here is your update! (dances with you)