I'm really sorry about the long delays between chapters: I know getting updates out of me is like pulling teeth. It's just that since school started, I've been working for hours every night on my homework, and that just saps any creative energy out of me.
How is it so far? I know the last chapter was really mysterious and one-sided. You're probably wondering about the woman, her name, her origins, how she managed to rescue Erik, etc. Bear with me, please? I wanted you to be in the same circumstances as Erik: completely in the dark. But now, Let there be Light!
To my reviewers: A thousand thank you's. Here's a load of virtual chocolate. XOXOXO They're kisses. Get it:-)
-MasqueradingThroughLife: THANK YOU! I know. Poor Erik. Such a horrid life, and to top it off, he is courageous enough to act on his first love, and gets is heart crushed. But the fact is, what doesn't kill you will eventually make him stronger, and besides, Christine is too young and immature for him. So in the long run his heartbreak is for the better.
-Secret et Estrange Ange: You're right. She's partly inspired by Chocolat and its soundtrack, which I listen to all the time. (how utterly fab was Johnny in that movie?)
A/N: If you've heard of it (or him or her) before, I don't own it (or him or her). Also, my Erik is the 2005 Schumacher Movie version, and not the book or musical version. Although they are a great source of inspiration. So there is no Nadir, Erik's torture career in Persia, or any artistic additions Susan Kay added (like the fact that he's in his fifties when he falls in love with Christine. Ew.).
Constructive criticism, please! Are my chapters too short? Is Erik too docile? Is my OC interesting enough?
Chapter 3 - The Power of Chocolate
Thinking of her new houseguest, and ways to lure him out of that shell that he'd carefully built for the last 30+ years, Eleyna walked down the narrow spiral stairs. She mentally kicked herself for rushing headfirst and saying anything that popped into her head. Dimwit, she chided, he probably isn't used to blabbering strangers, let alone intrusive ones. But still, Eleyna wanted to reach out to the poor man. The look on his face when she'd first walked in had made her want to cry in pity. A look of pure terror and desperation had distorted his face, reminding her of a deer spotting a hunter, knowing that this moment was its last. She decided to treat him like a normal human being, no matter how long it took him to get used to his presence. He reminded her of her bittersweet childhood, and her poor mother, but she quickly pushed those memories into the back of her mind.
Entering the small kitchen, she retied her hair back with a ribbon and picked up this week's order from the table. Like her grandmother before her, she set about creating the delicious candy that not just put coins in her pocket, but gave her some measure of freedom and independence, as well. She lived well outside the small village of Augustine, where the bakery happened to be the only confectionary. No one in the village had the knowledge and skill to make chocolates. Except for her and her grandmother, before she had died. Eleyna had apprenticed herself to her grandmother as soon as she had arrived, ten years ago. She remembered how soothing the smell of chocolates was, and how the warm kitchen had seemed so safe and inviting to an orphan who'd just lost both her parents.
Mixing, measuring, and heating, Eleyna worked almost entirely by reflex, her hands acting without much thought. She had done this so often, she wouldn't be surprised if she could do it in her sleep. Again, her mind wandered up to the man upstairs, sleeping in her grandmother's bed. She had discovered him when her foot had caught on his body. Lowering her lantern, she had seen him, unconscious, lying face down in the middle of the alley. When she turned him over, his deformed face had startled her into almost shattering her lantern. Eleyna knew, within three minutes of observing him, that he didn't belong in Paris or to anyone anymore than she did. Eleyna recognized the expression on his face; it was desperation and exhaustion. Feeling almost responsible, she had made the impulsive decision to take him home. Her horse and cart were waiting at the end of the alley, and she managed to half carry and half drag his body to it. Clearing away her purchases to the side, she laid the man in the cart, and set off for home. She never liked spending any more time than necessary in Paris; she'd rather brave the country roads than Parisian alleys at night, and besides, half-decent inns were expensive.
Setting the finished products to cool, Eleyna briefly contemplated going up to check on him, but decided against it. She promised herself to go later, trying to disregard the fact that she had taken the coward's way out. Stretching out on the worn chaise in the cozy living room, she picked up the book she'd been reading, and ignored the pile of laundry beside the door.
Upstairs, Erik woke up again and finally acknowledged his growling stomach. He glanced at the tray, and managed to make his way across the small room to the dresser. The tray held a covered bowl, a small loaf of coarse dark bread, a teapot, cup, and a small plate of chocolates. The covered bowl was, surprisingly, still warm. Feeling weak, he picked up the tray and set it down on the bed carefully. After slipping underneath the warm quilt, he sat up and put the tray on his legs, and took the lid off the bowl. It contained a thick beef stew, and smelled delicious. He couldn't remember the last proper meal he had eaten. Living beneath the Opera house had limited his culinary experience. Music, and later on Christine had taken up his time and energy; trifles like meals were hastily taken care of. Just what he could steal from the kitchens: some bread, cheese, fruit, and sometimes meat, if he was lucky.
While eating, Erik thought about his mysterious savior. He couldn't remember much about her; he had been in too much of a daze to observe her closely. All he could remember was a soothing voice and a pair of eyes that was as dark as a starless sky. Erik was at a loss as to how to handle the situation. He needed a place to stay. He couldn't go back to Paris, even if Christine and Raoul kept his secret; Paris held too many bad memories for him. His savings were still below the Opera house, very well hidden. He'd have to go back for them. Then, afterwards…he didn't know. He had nowhere to go. No ties to the world. He'd isolated his only friend Madam Giry years ago, when he'd taken the identity of the Phantom of the Opera. He couldn't go to her for help, under any circumstances.
With most of the meal completed, Erik turned his attention to the chocolates. They were of assorted size and shape, and Erik picked the largest one first. Not having had sweets in such a long time, Erik hesitated, then slowly placed the candy inside his mouth. At once, euphoria filled his mouth and quickly traveled through the rest of his body, overwhelming his senses. The dark, bittersweet chocolate was velvety and robust, and melted away to reveal soft, sweet caramel. Erik leaned back into the pillows, closed his eyes, and let all his thoughts drift away. Everything, Christine's abandonment, the self inflicted destruction of his home, the loneliness that had shadowed him all his life, was momentarily drowned in a sea of blissful delight. He briefly savoured the taste before moving on to the next one. White chocolate filled with a light raspberry flavoured cream. It was almost weightless, and the flavour was subtle. That was followed by chopped almonds folded in sweet milk chocolate, and the softness of the chocolate complemented the crunchy texture of the nuts. Each one was skillfully made, and delicious. Erik had no doubt that the maker was an artist, a creator of edible art. As accomplished in their expertise as Erik was in music. He wondered briefly, as he swallowed the last piece, if his music affected people in the same way the chocolates had affected him. When the last piece was eaten, Erik was greatly disappointed to discover the empty plate.
Finishing the best meal he'd eaten in years, Erik pushed back the tray. He felt much better, and rather restless. The bed that had been so comforting and warm a moment ago suddenly seemed stifling and restraining. Besides, being idle allowed his mind to wander back to the deep wound in his heart. The years it had taken him to gather courage to act on behalf of his feelings had backfired and blown up in his face, destroying everything. Now, he didn't want to think about it. Maybe, when the wound stopped aching as much, he'd start to face it. For now, he just wanted to forget the events of the last several years that had led up to his love, his obsession, his madness. So he fought back the covers and rose, wanting to stretch his legs and bury that smarting hurt deep in his chest.
Erik was surprised when he realized that he was naked from the waist up. He was even more surprised to see an old and worn, though clean, shirt and trousers beside the bed, laid out on the chair. He put the shirt on, feeling self-conscious, and then changed out of his very dirty trousers, which, thankfully, had been left on his body. Such attire was foreign to Erik. Erik was used to wearing only full opera dress, regardless of the time of day. Now, with only a simple shirt and pants, he felt naked. Furthermore, Erik never ventured far without a mask. The lack of the article that had been with him ever since he can remember made him ill at ease. The size of the cottage and the fact that it was sometime past noon didn't help his situation, either. Surely there wouldn't be any shady corners and handy hidden trapdoors to help him.
Another thought stopped him at the door. If he encountered the woman again, what was he supposed to say? Erik had never interacted normally with other human beings. His circumstances had never granted him that luxury. He couldn't just approach her and converse with her like nothing had happened. Besides, his face…who could ever speak or treat him like a normal human being after seeing it? Erik couldn't imagine receiving such treatment.
But he had received it. Recalling the strange encounter with the woman, Erik puzzled over the strange turn of events. He couldn't remember what she'd said, but he didn't remember any screaming, crying, fainting, or hysteria. Odd, he thought. Especially compared to Christine. When she'd seen his face, she'd wept silently, frozen with fright, like a young child. The woman smelling of chocolate didn't do that. She'd looked him in the eye without batting an eyelash.
Making up his mind, Erik pulled the latch and silently slipped through the door. The house must have been old; there were no knobs on the doors. The top floor was small, just containing two small rooms: the one Erik was in and presumably the woman's. Erik saw through the open door a room much like the one he'd been in, with simple furniture, a small window, and slanted ceiling. Another sweep of his keen eyes told him more. He'd seen enough bedrooms in the Opera House to know that what a woman's private chamber was supposed to look like. Lots of cosmetics and jewellery, as well as trinkets and clutter were the norm. Obviously, the woman didn't fit into that category, for her room was neat, uncluttered, and not a singe cosmetic item could be seen, not even a bottle of perfume. Her vanity was bare except for a hairbrush, basin and pitcher, a small hand mirror, and two or three books. Suddenly feeling invasive, he hastily withdrew from the room and stepped back into the hallway.
That was all that was on the top floor. Erik again weighed his chances with going downstairs. Pacing up and down the constricted hallway, his head nearly brushing the ceiling, he contemplated his opinions. Erik decided to push his luck further, and started his descent down the narrow stairs.
Please Please Please review! I've had over a hundred hits, but only 4 reviews. I'm guessing that isn't such a great sign. Or people are just being lazy. I like to think that karma works in some form or another, so, review! It may come back to you, and your work.