Disclaimer: I do not own PotO or Othello. There ya go.
I followed Erik out of his bedroom, more than happy to be led away from the dreary darkness. I had been utterly terrified to see he kept a coffin, and even more so when I found out he slept in it! What kind of life had this man had, to make him want to sleep where only the dead ventured?
Once out in the drawing room, he sat at the piano, and explained to me the nature of the music he wrote. I felt insulted at hearing that I could not handle to listen to his Don Juan—that I was far too innocent. And then he insisted we sing music form the opera with a strange, almost offending tone. Once again he played the duet from Othello, and I shuddered at his seductive voice, so full of love of longing.
Now in the dark night every noise is silenced,
my beating heart is lulled in this embrace and stilled.
Let war thunder and the world be engulfed
if after infinite wrath comes this infinite love!
I felt that if I did not sing with him then, I would surely die. I sung out Desdemona's part with a thrilling and terrifying sincerity I had never before achieved.
My proud warrior! How much suffering,
how many sad sighs and how much hope
have led us to these sweet embraces.
Oh! How sweet it is to murmur together:
do you remember?
When you told of your life of exile,
of its daring deeds and long drawn pain,
and I listened, my soul ravished
by those terrors, and ecstasy in my heart.
In that moment, Erik was Othello himself, and I was his beloved. We sung out the last lines, both knowing this illusion was coming to a close.
And you loved me…And I love you…
And I looked at him, to the face covered in darkness, and I wanted—no, I needed—to see the man behind the mask. In a swift, unthinking motion, I pulled away his disguise, letting it fall to the floor with a sickening thud.
The cry that came from him was like nothing I had ever heard. It was superhuman, the absolute epitome of anguish. My eyes opened wide in shock, as did my mouth, and I stood there like a statue, unable to comprehend the sight before me.
It was the face of a skeleton, or a corpse laid to rest long ago. And yet here it was, writhing before me in pain and anger. He had no eyes, only black sockets, and a gaping hole where any normal man's nose would have been. His lips were thin and twisted, and his flesh was bony, and unhealthily pale—nearly yellow. He was the most hideous and horrifying thing I had ever seen.
I sunk soundlessly to my knees, shaking while he cursed at me, and spat incoherent ravings. As though to wake me he leaned down to my ear and shouted:
"You wanted to see, Christine, now look!" I could not bring myself to do as he commanded. I couldn't… "Feast your eyes, and sate your soul with my cursed ugliness! It wasn't enough to hear your angel, you had to see his face! You're so curious, Christine! So damn curious!" He laughed, a bellowing, mad laugh that struck me harder than if he had hit me. I tried to crawl away, but he grabbed my hair with a brutal force and turned me to face him.
"Are you afraid of me, Christine? Do you think I still wear a mask? Come, then, let us pull it off together!" I tried to fling away from him, to roll onto the floor, but he grabbed my hands, and he put my fingernails up to his ghastly death flesh. I gave a gasp as he lacerated his own flesh with my hands, and I sobbed violently as his blood spilled onto me.
"I'm made entirely of death, Christine! It is a corpse that loves you, adores you, and will never leave you, never! I'm going to have the coffin enlarged, for when we've come to the end of our love!" He faltered for a moment, his face glossed with tears. "Look: I'm not laughing now, I'm crying, for you…You've pulled off my mask and now you can never leave. You could come back when you thought I was handsome. You would have come back…I know you would have…But now you'd run away forever. I'm keeping you!" He shuddered, and fell to the floor, bring me down with him.
"Why, Christine…? My father never saw me, and my mother gave me my first mask so she wouldn't have to look at me!" He let go of me, and slithered out of the room. I was left alone.
I sat for several moments in silence, soaking in my thoughts and the consequences of my actions. What have I done? I thought. He had told me what to expect, he had warned me! Refusing to think of the monster's face, I cursed my own rashness, and realized that he had been right. I would have come back if I had never seen his face. I was already connected to him in a stronger way than I could explain, and I knew I would have returned. But now…
I thought of the scene we had shared, and realized that after all the pain I had caused him, he had not hurt me. He could have stricken me, killed me without any resistance on my part, but he did not dare. Perhaps he was an angel, to control himself like that. I felt a surge of guilt and pity.
I barely had enough strength to carry myself into my room, where I sank down on the bathroom floor, holding the scissors against my left wrist. But I could not do it; I was too cowardly to even save myself. No sooner had I rested my head back against the cool stone then I heard the thunderous boom of Erik's organ.
I understood then what Erik had meant by referring 'to music of the opera' so contemptuously. I knew in an instant that it was his Don Juan Triumphant, which he had immersed himself in to forget the horror of the moment. At first it was a long, terrible sob in which he poured all his frustration and anguish.
I cried silently as I listened. Poor Erik! I saw images of his lonesome form banging his cursed ugliness on the cold stone, hiding away so as not to scare others, and weeping under the remnants of a smashed mirror. I stood up shakily, suddenly ablaze with compassion. In a drunken state I followed through the doors that separated us.
Erik stood up when he heard me, but did not dare turn around. Over and over my mind ran the question of why. Why had I unmasked him, given him more pain to add to his already excruciating life? I had to set things right—I had to still my fear and look him in the face.
"Erik," I told him, "Show me your face without fear. I swear you're the most heart rendering and sublime man in the world, and if I ever quiver again when I look at you, it will be because I am thinking about the splendor of your genius!"
All the faith I had in myself melted away when he turned around. He fell to his knees, weeping and shaking as he crawled towards me. From his death mouth sprang words of love and adoration, words that, had they not been coming from him, would have been the sweetest sounds ever to fall on my ears. He bent down and kissed the hem of my dress as though I were something pure enough to be worshipped.
But I was not, for I had closed my eyes.
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A/N: Well, here's a short chapter, just because I felt like writing it, lol. Also, I KNOW that Erik was described as 'lipless' in the novel, but I needed to give the man some kind of lips! So I did. ;) Anyway, big thanks to:
Reading Redhead—Oops, sorry about the breaking, I do it on Microsoft word, but I forget to put in back in when I get to ffnet. Thanks so much for the review!
Pickledishkiller—lol, yes, she is very innocent. Erik's in denial or something. ;) Thanks for reviewing!