Shade: This chapter is dedicated to Mademoiselle Justicia who gave me my 100th review! Pats for you! Everyone else, thank you all so much for reviewing! You all made it possible! (I know 100 isn't that big of an accomplishment, considering some other fanfics . . . but it's my first so bear with me as I celebrate.) (celebrates)
Oh and on a random note, since you guys enjoyed me writing 1st person so much, (at least from what you told me) I'll stay in 1st person, though the characters will switch from time to time. Of course, I'll always alert you. Are you ready for some angst? Then, let's get ready, and go!
"Let me be your shelter
Let me be your light . . ." –All I Ask of You
Chapter 15: Eternal Love
The next few months I spent in the Opera Populaire were devoid of any contact with Erik. Perhaps he had retired to his lair and resorted to licking his wounds in a corner. I tried to pretend that I didn't care, that his absence didn't worry or hurt me. But who can really pretend that they are all right when so much of them is missing? I hadn't realized that Erik held so much of my heart until I was forced to live without him.
I cried in my room each morning I awoke and was unable to recall the way his hands felt against my skin, the sound of his voice against my ear, and my lips could no longer recollect the way his kiss fell upon them. I didn't want this . . . I didn't want him to fade . . . but some one saw it fit; I hated the arcane source with everything I was.
Time passed slowly, dully, as if my world that had been full of vibrant colors faded to gray and the quick days of happiness were fatigued, resorted to trudging slowly across the breadth of infinity.
I had promised myself that I would never return to his lair, never fall prey to his alluring tactics that would ensure my stay. He wanted me to keep me, not to love me, and that fact had branded itself in my heart and mind, searing the fragile flesh of my piteous dream of happiness.
Though I loved the members of the Opera Populaire, they couldn't hope to fill the void that Erik and all he entailed had left behind.
In order to keep myself occupied, I taught the eager, yet slightly irritating ballerinas my dancing technique. Soon after, I would see them belly dancing in the dormitories rather than practicing their ballet. They couldn't dance well at all, unfortunately, though they seemed to be quite pleased with themselves. I was torn between being flattered or aggravated.
One particular day, the rest of the ballet rats had left to go to the park for a rare day of freedom. The only one that had remained was my most persistent and eager novice, Meg Giry. Her bright blue eyes would bore into mine most uncomfortably when I would demonstrate the positions and sequences she was so eager to learn. I was told she was the best confident of Christine; but I don't quite understand how she could stand the presence of such a bumbling, untalented creature. My prior statement could be directed towards either girl.
"Remember Meg," I told her calmly, "your body must move like the waves in the sea. First your hips, then your stomach, and finally your breasts. Move them in a sequence, like this." Again, I demonstrated the move, not understanding why her body couldn't move with the same grace and sensuality.
"Madame Fire Rose!" Jean called from behind me. His soothing voice sent unwanted chills up my spine and I shivered. His voice . . . why . . . how . . . could his voice trigger the same sensations as my beloved Erik?
"Yes Jean?" I answered smoothly, turning to face him. I hadn't realized he had planted himself quite so close to me. Upon turning to face him, my lips brushed his. I drew back immediately, feeling a searing blush burn my cheeks. I hadn't known Erik's lips to be so soft, so . . . inviting. The singular sensation called desire was all that drove Erik's lips to mine. This . . . this was different, more composed and gentle, yet with the same compassion and longing. I hate to say that I found myself rather flattered, as well as nervous at the slight brush.
I realized that, once again, my thoughts had consumed me and I looked up at Jean, who flushed as scarlet as I presumed myself to be. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for any taunt or jest he would throw upon me.
As I inhaled his scent, I found it to be comprised of a mixture of wood and blood. I felt a jolt stab mercilessly at my stomach as I remembered my dream the night Erik and I quarreled. His scent was identical to the man who lay with me. Could Jean be the one I dreamt of? And if so, why would I lay with him? I didn't love him . . . not yet at least.
I examined him in order to perhaps figure out why he smelled so. Upon my scrutiny, I found that he had a shallow cut on his chest, which was undoubtedly where the blood stench had come from. Madame Giry had related to me that he had temporarily left his fortune to become a carpenter, which would explain the wood.
"I . . . I was wondering if it would please you to come to dinner with me?" Jean flushed dark scarlet and took a step back, his hand scratching the back of his head. He looked very much like an unsure little boy; I found it rather charming, as most men who approach me are overly confident in their own ability to pin me down and satisfy themselves in me.
Though I was tempted to acquiesce and give in immediately, Erik's face flashed through my mind and I felt my insides churn, as if his image both disturbed and weakened me. Reluctantly, I began to lose control of myself and I fell back against the wall.
"Madame, are you well?" Jean asked me with concern that made the stone walls of my heart melt.
"I'm fine, Jean, don't make a fuss. As for your offer . . . Jean, you know that I am a Madame. I have pledged my body and heart to another. I cannot."
His expression fell, and this time, I felt pity jab at my exposed heart. He moved his head forward imploringly, his eyebrows knitted in innocent, yet determined beseeching. I found myself weakening when I looked in his eyes, the same weakness that led me to obey and love Erik in every way.
"Won't you reconsider?" he asked, pleading despair in his gray eyes. "It's just dinner. I'm not asking you to bear my children or sleep with me. I'm only asking you for your company as we eat." I could see his eyes glitter for a brief moment, as if he saw my weakening and knew it would only take a slight more tapping for my wall to crumble. Handsome bastard.
"I don't know . . . Jean . . . you have been kind to me and I like you but . . . something feels wrong about this." I presented my case far more tasteful than I was tempted. "No."
I assumed he would stalk off, dejected, but instead he persisted. I realized that Comtes are usually accustomed to getting what they want, when they want. Well, that would certainly provide an adequate explanation of his determination.
"Please. I have never seen your husband; I don't know where he is or who he thinks he is to leave such a beautiful girl alone for so long." He reached out to touch my face. For a moment, I allowed it, just to feel what his hands felt like upon my flesh.
When his fingers outlined my jaw line, I was alarmed to find that there was no desirable sensation about it. In fact, when he touched me, something seemed wrong . . . wrong in a deadly and fear instilling type way. His touch . . . I almost couldn't admit it . . . frightened me. I immediately ended the contact, looking into his gray eyes, apathetic once more.
"Whether you see Erik or not, he is always with me, in here." I pointed to my head. "And here." I curled my fingers on my chest, circling the area under which my heart beat, steadfast and strong.
"You are in love with him?" Jean asked, crestfallen. His shoulders slumped and his whole persona seemed to sag, as if the vigor had been strangled from him. After his gentle caress, I was no longer sorry. I would answer him, but play along with the piteous little girl game that he played into so much.
"I am; but he can never love me. I know that, and reluctantly accept it." I bowed my head in mock sorrow; perhaps Jean would be my answer to Erik's Christine. He had but to admit he loved me . . .
"Then come with me. I can love you . . . I do love you, Madame Fire Rose. I don't care that you are married. I love you; I will love you until the flesh crumbles from my bones." He approached me with intense passion gleaming in his eyes. I was flattered, yet unnerved all at once. I felt my instincts scream against him, but the benign look in his eyes made me smile. Now that the pieces were set, it was time to play the game.
I pretended to be shocked, overcome by his comment, and I clutched my hand to my breast, my mouth hanging languidly open.
"You barely know me. How can you make such a devotional, passionate claim?"
"Because I see the rest of my life in your eyes," Jean answered, touching my cheek once more. I fought back an impending shiver.
Once again, the benign look returned to his eyes, and his touch softened. I no longer felt fear or unease at the slightest, and I felt as though I could just stay this way all day. I suddenly had the strangest urge to fall gracefully into his arms. I detached myself from the wall and walked slowly up to him, my eyes never straying from his. I wouldn't risk my body for revenge if my body were to come to certain harm.
Surprisingly, he smiled warmly, opening his arms and enclosing me in the most tender embrace I had ever experienced. It was then I saw it: he wanted nothing more than to hold me. He had no dark and sinister ulterior motive as I had wrongfully predicted. Jean just wanted my love. My, my, my, doesn't this situation seem familiar? As I wrapped my arms around his back, I prayed Erik was watching somewhere, his eyes absorbing this hateful sight. I saw him darting about the flies and for a moment, our eyes met. I was certain that mine were narrowed with anger.
"I'll go to dinner with you, Jean. When do you want to leave?" I pulled away from the embrace and looked up at Jean fondly.
"Whenever you're ready. I'll be waiting outside for you." Jean released me and smiled warmly . . . a smile that made my heart thrum. This was a man who loved me. I was jolted out of my reverie the moment his fingers began to run through my hair. In a moment, I pulled out of his reach, yanking his hand out of my tresses. I wasn't surprised that he looked perplexed. I needed an explanation, and quickly.
"Please forgive me, I don't like people touching my hair," I said lamely. "I'll meet you outside in a half an hour."
Jean simply smiled at me, his eyes devoid of any type of dark suspicion. Perhaps he truly was a dolt after all. Whatever caused him to believe the worst lie that had passed my lips, I was thankful for it and said a silent prayer. If Jean was to be my answer to Christine, he must not see what lies beneath my wig. If I lost him, it would only be a matter of moments before the rest of the opera discovered my distortion, and then I would have no choice but to returned like a whipped puppy to Erik.
My pride does not settle for such unbearable circumstances as the aforementioned.
Jean bowed benevolently and strode off, his hair remaining miraculously immaculate to the breeze he stirred in his strides.
It was then I realized that Meg had stood by my side throughout the encounter; as I turned to her, I found her smiling widely at me, her eyes retaining the same saucer-like shape.
"Go on!" She ushered me in the direction of Christine's room. "You mustn't keep a Comte waiting, you know!"
"All right, all right!" I called back, hurrying off without another look back. I raced through the corridors, feeling as though my shadow could scarce keep up. Once in my room, I laughed loudly, elated that the pieces I had set fell into play exactly as I had planned. I twirled around, my skirt sweeping up over my knees.
"Why so cheerful, my lovely bride?" a demonic voice spat from an unknown source. Erik. As predictable as always, he had listened into the whole conversation, and now it was my turn to be unreachable, 'infatuated' with another so much that it would be impossible to take another lover.
"Oh who could that be? Is it Erik? The man who abandons his bride for four months? I am elated to hear from you again, my darling! Perhaps I should tell you, I am going out to dinner with Comte Jean Lamarier. He has pledged to me his eternal love. Which is far more than I can say for you." I put on dress earrings after I pointed to the mirror, his favorite and only hiding place to my knowledge.
"So . . . you are abandoning me as well? Must I lose both my Angel of Music and my Fire Rose? Are you doing this to spite me?" He sounded utterly miserable, and I felt my healing heart split open once more as his voice induced gooseflesh on my limbs. However, rage got the better of my pity as I recalled the reason for my departure.
"You lost me when you called me Christine!" I ran to the mirror and struck the glass, teeth gritted in loathing. "I would have given myself to you; but you denied me! I am sick of waiting for something that will never be! You will never love me, I know!" I hit the mirror again, becoming mad with rage.
"Little Fire Rose . . ."
I didn't want to hear that damned nickname again. I didn't want to be his 'pet,' his 'companion', his 'comfort' anymore.
"My name is Nasrin! Nasrin Khanum! That is my name, not little Fire Rose!" I screeched, beating at the mirror. "I am not just some little girl! I am your bride, your wife! I was given to you to be your lover and your friend! But you won't even touch me with love and affection! It's only lust, and I am bloody sick of it all!"
There was silence behind the mirror and I shook, grabbing a candle holder, readying to shatter the glass impediment which stood menacingly before me.
"Answer me, dammit!" I bellowed as I grabbed the lever for the mirror and pulled with short, powerful yanks. It was stuck . . . odd . . . that lever was never stuck. "Erik! Get back here right now! I'm not done with you!"
"I'm still here; I'm just barring the way so that you don't get in." His voice was strangely calm, yet I could tell he withheld an intense emotion, for his voice quivered.
"Why? Are you frightened of me?" I shrieked even though I knew it not to be true. Erik would never fear a little, irate girl like me.
"You would seduce your own father if it meant revenge against me. You disgust me, Fire Rose. I . . . I don't want you as a wife anymore." His last sentence was choked out, and I could hear both his anger and his pain.
I froze, the candle holder shaking in my fist. No . . . he didn't . . . he couldn't. "Erik . . . don't say that. I was given to you for a reason." I approached the mirror and peered up, trying to catch a glimpse of his powerful, yet beautiful reflection beyond the mirror.
"And here I thought that I could make you understand the veracity of it all." His voice became whimsical; he knew I was his now. I had been so weakened and insulted by his accusation that I was nothing but a worthless slave prostrated at his feet. He alone could bring me to my knees.
I grabbed at the lever again, pulling it to the point of snapping it. The mirror slid aside with ease and I gazed into the wretched blackness of my personified despair. The corridor was devoid of any presence. "Erik!" I called; only the rats answered.
From all around me, his voice boomed angrily, "If you come down here, I will not receive you! From this day forth, you are no longer my wife!"
I fell to my knees, not even noticing as rats scampered across my legs. I remained still for a moment, struck dumb by his proclamation. No . . . this wasn't happening. It's not real, I assured myself. He would return . . . he must.
You would seduce your own father if it meant revenge against me . . .
Those words ran in my head over and over and over until I was shaking, my blood roaring and pounding hard against my veins. How DARE he say such a degrading statement to me. No one makes a fool of me and comes out of it unscathed.
I knew he still wanted me, his voice betrayed it. One way I could torment him was bring harm to that which he desired. Perhaps it would be easy . . . perhaps I could just run recklessly down the labyrinth until one of his traps took me. No matter what I did, it was war now. He would be the victim of my madness. However, for now, I had to feign nonchalance once more and simply leave for dinner.
I walked out of the mirror, closed it gently behind me and grabbed a sheet of small paper. I dipped a large quill into a well of red ink and wrote him a quick note, wetting the back with my saliva and stuck it to the mirror. It was clearly not the strongest adhesive, but it was all I had.
When I was fully dressed I looked at myself in the vanity mirror, that empty look returning to my eyes. Now, I was the living dead . . . nothing more than a brilliant imitation of my former self. I hated my reflection . . . abhorred myself in every way.
Looking down, I realized that I still held the candle holder tightly in my fist. I looked up at the mirror, an evil grin twitching at the corners of my mouth. Drawing back and gathering all the force I had, I hurled the object at the mirror, laughing as the glass shattered my twisted reflection into hundreds of irreparable pieces. I quickly strode out of the room, my head raised high in venomous defiance.
I met Jean by the door, watching for a brief moment as he scuffed the dirt with his heel. Upon seeing me in the doorway, his face lit up in a brilliant smile. He walked towards me, arms open and welcoming. Tilting his head down in a bow, he extended his arm, willing me to take it.
"Let us go now, Madame."
Madame . . . not any longer. "Please, just call me Nasrin," I implored desperately, insistent on forgetting Erik completely, erasing him from my mind until his name didn't even register in my head.
Jean smiled at me, and I vaguely wondered if he truly loved smiling at me, or if it was some Comte etiquette I was unaware of. "Nasrin. Such a beautiful name; it suits a beautiful girl."
"Thank you," I replied weakly.
Jean helped me into the carriage and soon it was off, thundering down the cobblestone street and jerking me all over the place. I much preferred walking. I hungrily absorbed all the sights of Paris, having not looked upon them before in the darkness. Darkness brought the best and worst out of everything within it. I knew that to be true, and Paris included. But it still remained beautiful in its complex splendor.
Throughout dinner I smiled coyly at Jean, putting on a pleasant façade as I ate and conversed with him. The last conversation I had with Erik drilled itself into my mind, repeating itself again and again until I felt sick to my stomach.
You disgust me, Fire Rose . . .
That night, all the food turned to ash in my mouth as I fought back a massive flood of tears.
My pride would not allow me to cry . . .
xXxXx
Erik's POV:
My heart was numb, my senses dulled to almost nonexistent.
I had freed myself from her . . . I had liberated myself from the chains that bound me fervently to my Dark Aphrodite, or as I called her aloud, my Fire Rose. But my little Fire Rose was mine no longer.
Why was it that I felt no relief?
I stumbled down to my lair, a large part of me yearning to go back and retract my hateful words. I knew that I damaged her pride . . . it was evident in the broken look on her face when I left her.
I shattered her . . .
I reached my bed and collapsed in it, defeated and overcome. I stared up at the rocks above me, falling into memories . . .
I had come to Nasrin tonight to offer her to come back home. I wanted . . . no . . . needed her beside me again. I was determined to do anything to show her that she belongs with me, not with that despicable Comte, who seemed to feel it was his right to take her away from me. I would never allow that to happen a second time.
Earlier that day, I had walked around the flies, searching for her on the stage and in her dressing room. However, she was not at either location. Suddenly, I heard her voice, gentle and soft. Gooseflesh raised on my skin as her voice caressed my ears. I watched her from above, her unknown guardian angel. I saw her trying to teach that useless rat: Meg Giry, how to dance as she did. Meg attempted to mimic her and I had sneered to myself; no one could move as sensually and as beautifully as my Dark Aphrodite: my night born goddess of passion, sensuality, and love.
Then I heard him; that disturbingly feminine Comte de Lamarier. I watched as Nasrin turned to face him, and growled as he stepped closer to make it seem as though their lips connected on accident. By the way Nasrin had flushed, she had fallen into his pitiful snare. My blood boiled as I heard him extend an invitation to my bride for dinner.
I saw her clearly hesitate, and I smiled malevolently to myself; I knew she thought of me.
My power over you . . . grows stronger yet . . . I mouthed to her, though she knew not where I hid. I heard her agree! She agreed to his invitation! Was she actually attracted to this womanly creature? I was both disgusted and horrified with her.
When I had lost control a few months ago and abandoned my cover just to feel her beneath me, she had responded with such passion that I almost hesitated; but her kiss assured me that this was what she wanted. I had opened her towel and seen her, nude and quivering underneath me. I had never seen a real naked woman before, having only been educating in their anatomy by the statues scattered throughout Paris and some Persian word of mouth as to how to please one. She had wrapped her legs around my back, pulling me closer to her as I kissed her neck, hungry for the taste of her flesh.
If that insolent Comte hadn't knocked on the door, I would have had her . . . I have never wanted some one so horribly, and I knew she wanted me just as badly. We would have become husband and wife, complete in every way . . . but due to the Comte's interruption, I had fled to my lair.
I have never felt so vulnerable before, so weak at the thought of her. I had decided that I couldn't afford feeling that weak around such a sly creature; and so, I avoided her for four months, watching her from behind the mirror every night, only to see her wake up and cry as my memory faded from her mind. It was then that I had known that we both needed each other.
And so on this day I had planned to take her once more, with futile hopes of happiness and fulfillment. That was my first act of insolence.
When I watched my Nasrin embrace Jean after accepting his proposal, she had met my gaze for an instant . . . only an instant, but disgusting flashes of anger and pain were communicated through a blink of an eye, from her eyes to mine. I fled from the flies, infuriated and enraged at her.
I remained in waiting behind her mirror, waiting for her to return. It was imperative that she and I speak. Soon enough, she had come, laughing as brightly as silver bells in the summer wind. It was enough to make me want to take her right then and there. Obviously, I am far too composed for such rash actions.
I had spoken with her, and she responded in snide, accusing remarks, the type which she uses when her heart hurts. Finally, she snapped, beating at the mirror and screaming in anger, her eyes dark with black hate. Her temper had startled me; I had never seen her display such tactless violence towards me.
This must end . . . a voice in my mind had said. You failed her in every way . . . you must let her go. Clearly, her heart resides with the Comte. If you love her . . . release her.
Did I love her? I didn't know . . . I wasn't certain. One fact I knew was true: I had been the reason for this outburst. It was I who had caused her such anguish. It was no wonder to me that her heart was with Jean; he loved her. I knew that fact and hated it vehemently.
Then, a truth struck my sick heart and flared up a fire of infernal rage. She was leading Jean into believing she loved him to spite me . . . to make me miserable and want her. She had achieved what she had set out; I began to hate her. I would release her . . . yes . . . but not for the reason the voice had said. I would release her because I no longer wanted to be bound to such an immoral and evil creature.
"You would seduce your own father if it meant revenge against me. You disgust me, Fire Rose. I . . . don't want you as a wife anymore." That was something I never believed I would ever say to her.
Then I saw it; I saw that I had made a terrible mistake. The look on her face was destroyed. Her jaw dropped and her eyes began to dart, her chest heaving. I had decimated her rage in an instant and left her in nothing but shock.
However, I could not retract my words now, I had to hold true to them. She moved to approach the mirror and I backed away into blackness, fading just out of her sight when she opened the glass.
She called out to me, my name drawn out long and beautiful on the wings of her voice.
My voice boomed back, still enraged at the prospect of her abandonment for revenge. "If you come down here, I will not receive you! From this day forth, you are no longer my wife!"
She had fallen on her knees, abandoning her rage in favor of her hurt confusion. I wanted so horribly to emerge and lead her home, to where she truly belonged: with me.
However, I had walked away, completely disregarding her kneeling figure, her head hung low in despair. That was my second act of insolence.
And now I was here, laying in my bed, defeated as well and attempting to sleep off my worries.
Suddenly, I heard a loud crash from above and I sat up immediately. Something was very wrong; I had never heard a noise from above reach me with such frightening volume. I hurried to the mirror and looked beyond it. There was a piece of parchment stuck to the glass. As I reached out and grabbed it, I saw that Nasrin had gone, and the vanity mirror was destroyed, shattered into hundreds of jagged shards, irreparable even for me. Among the shimmering glass was the candle holder she had wielded against me previously. Her rage had not quelled.
I suddenly felt weak at the thought of looking at the note she obviously had left for me. I presumed it to be a death wish, a promise of revenge, of pain. But as I turned it over, growling at the red ink, which existed to taunt me, I read the note.
"Erik,
If that is what you want, than let it be so. I only pray for one thing, darling: that my memory of you fades as quickly as your memory of me undoubtedly will.
Nasrin Khanum, Mademoiselle"
Enraged, I grabbed a torch form the side of the chamber and lit the letter on fire, grinning madly as the red ink bubbled like blood in the flames. When it was nothing more than ash, I placed the torch back on the wall and walked desolately back to my lair. I thought myself angry when truly, it was heartache that kept me awake and staring at the rock above me.
My pride would not allow me to cry . . .
A/N: Thanks to all my reviewers! I love you all!
Maidenhair: Yes Erik hugged you, for reviewing my chapter. Whether or not he forgives you is up to debate.
Erik: People have done worse to me . . .
Shade: Well there you go! Huzzah! Well, thanks for the review and here is your update! Yo ho yo ho and a bottle of rum! Argh!
Mademoiselle Justicia: XD! Your reviews amuse me, you know that? XD! I loved it! Erik swing dancing? What's next break dancing?
Erik: SHH Shut up!
Shade: O.O OH sorry! (nervous laughter) Anyway . . . XD! Christine stuffing her bra? LMAO! That is a hilarious though! It'd be like . . .
Erik: I am your Angel of Music. Come to me . . .
Christine: Just wait a second. (shoves tissues in her nightgown) Much better. All right, you were saying?
Erik: (O).O Never mind.
Shade: OMG that would have been the most hilarious alternative in the movie! (sorry emmy!) Yes, Jean is kind of like a fop. Well if you look at pics of counts in France in the 1800's, they're all rather foppish. Anyway, I love your rants, so amusing, lol. And since you gave me my 100th review, I have commissioned Erik to be your slave for a while! Do whatever you wish with him, he is yours from the time I post this until the I post chapter 16. Have a blast! Thank you for the wonderful review and here is your update!
Erik: Hello Mademoiselle Justicia, what can I do for you?
xxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx: A fellow Hugh lover? HUZZAH! Yes, I LOVE Hugh, he is my favorite phantom. (nods) I'll supply the tissues where needed. But if you find you need them another time, let me know, lol. You have just leaped on the boat of angst and it's now leaving port! (blows horn) ALL ABOARD! Anyway, thanks for the review and here is your update!
Dragonmage16: XD! Cut Christine's head off with a guillotine, eh? LMAO! And a blunt one no less. Oh how I would LOVE that! Yes, Nasrin teases him so cruelly doncha think? Dangle a piece of meat above a starving animal is such cruelty . . . but hey, lol. She was pissed. You think Erik should get something in return? Well, he almost had sex with her in the last chapter. If Jean hadn't come along she most likely would have done it, provided he didn't call her Christine again. As you saw in this chapter, he didn't quite react the way she wanted him to. Don't worry, he won't give up on her that easily. It's a game of cat and mouse now. (To quote Mademoiselle Justicia): MOO. HA. HA. Anyway, thanks for the review and here is your update!
Girl Formerly Known as Mallie: Hello again! (waves) Nice to hear from you. (supplies another tissue box) You might be needing these for later. Well, thank you very much! The grin on my face is quite of the wide nature. I am glad you like it. (bows) It's always nice to hear. Anyway, thanks for the very flattering review and here is your update!
DragonheartRAB: Yes they are, mwahaha. (is evil) It's hard to describe what Nasrin does, but trust me, 'tis evil. The chapter where they meet is very, VERY angsty though. (the chapters after that, I love!) Well, I love all the chapters but 8, I'm blathering . . . sorry. And just because people liked it so much, I'm staying in 1st person POV. The characters will have to change, (you'll see why) but I'll do it! (I kinda like it better than 3rd person anyway, it's much more personal.) All right, Shade, STOP BLATHERING! Okay, thanks for the review and here is your update! Huzzah!
Ethalas Tuath'an: Wow, this chapter was a lot of people's favorites . . . YAY! The tormenting Erik aspect is the most fun about doing this in Nasrin's POV. She knows how to do it, w00t! Erik deserves it, and Nasrin is to be pitied, but she will do things that you might not pity her for and start to be like, "omg, Nasrin!" But maybe not, depends on your feel for the character and the situation. As for Jean, the Comte de Lamarier? Oh boy, plans indeed . . . Nasrin is a crafty little one, perhaps she begins to mimic a certain singer in regard to our favorite phantom? Or perhaps not? Does she have plans? Well, we'll wait and find out, won't we? Thanks for the review and here is your update!
Maska: LOL, yeah, Nasrin's temper leaves much to be desired. (nervous laughter) But that's her! And her temper flares quite a few times over the next few chapters. Glad you loved it! (and the line, I love the line too. I use it muchly.) LOL, yes, he didn't really take that well in stride. Erik is still infatuated with Christine though. She's his pure, virginal and angelic beauty that he sees as his way to happiness. Nasrin on the other hand is darker, more passionate in a sexual way, more like Erik himself. He's more intensely attracted to her at the moment, because she is so much like him. I think he's still kinda confused, lol. Anyway, thank you for the reviews and here is your update!
littledarkone: OK, awesome. Sometimes I tend to laugh at stuff that isn't meant to be funny . . . yeah, get a lot of weird looks. Glad you loved the chapter. YAY! It's always good to hear. O.O;; Hopefully I'm not bordering on par, closer to a bogey. Anyway, thanks for the review and here is your update!