Chapter 13

"Stupid child!"

Hands I did not recognize dragged down a bookshelf; the wood shattered, and books skittered across the floor. Another scream ripped through my throat; this time, the words carried upon its tide were unintelligible. I passed by a chair and, in my rage, threw it over onto its back as well. Had I believed that I could with any ease knock over my desk, I should have destroyed it as well; however, even in such a state, I feared it should prove more than a match for my aging body.

That I had risked my health by injecting myself again--though I had done it in a mad moment of utter despair the night before--was, I felt, enough to deserve some sympathy, for in my wrath it did not occur to me that she would neither know nor understand the dangers I had undergone for her aesthetic pleasures. That she had treated me so cruelly, had turned so cold a gaze, and so hurtful a scream, in my direction... That even as the man she had known and of whom she had grown fond, she could still refuse me...

In one of my rotations about the room--for, having wreaked havoc on what I could, I had fallen to pacing furiously about--I stepped on the torn pages of a book, and my footing slipped out from beneath me. I landed hard on the unforgiving floor, and found my temper turned instead to a sullen and childish resentment. In that moment of decreased fury, I saw clearly what I had done to my private study. Christine's crimes against me were momentarily forgotten as I took in the aftermath of my destruction.

Books which were unique and impossible to find, first editions of ancient texts, countless priceless volumes, all lay in various states of ruin. In somewhat sick curiosity, I lifted the papers which had caused my brief demise, and brushed away my footprint. Milton's Paradise Lost stared up at me, and I found an ironic laugh rising unbidden to my lips, whilst simultaneously the stinging salty drops of rage rose to well about the rims of my eyes.

While contemplating my childish tantrum, a sound began to make itself known to me, a sound which caused even more unbearable pain to my already-grieving heart. Gingerly, stiffly, I rose from my position upon the floor and began to make something of a shamed journey back into the kitchen. Though moments before I had hated her for the thoughtlessness, the heartlessness, of her actions, now I felt only compassion and heartache at having reduced her to such a pitiful state. She was curled over herself like a child upon the floor, weeping violently; I do not think she even noticed my return to the kitchen.

When I crouched down beside her, she took notice--a pathetic cry met my action, and weakly she tried to scramble away from me. I caught her up and drew her to me, and, just as would any broken woman, she out of habit collapsed against me and continued sobbing. I felt her body mold against mine, felt her shape contour to my own, and immediately experienced a renewed desire for her, as had occurred when first I had caught so intimate a whiff of her perfume.

Gently I lifted her from the floor, mostly out of fear of being too long too close to her, and carried her into the parlor. I set her upon the sofa, where she tucked her legs against her chest and fell to meek silence. I pushed her hair, damp from tears, back from her face, and then knelt down before her. She hardly seemed to take notice of me; her eyes had focused dreamily upon the far wall, and her forehead was smooth, as if not a thought existed in that pretty head of hers.

"Forgive me," I said, in a voice hoarse from screaming both moments before, and the night prior. My eyes directed themselves to her tiny feet which were so delicately pressed against the cushions, and were so near to my hands; hesitantly, I covered them, and was unhappy to find them quite chilled. "I did not intend to startle you so, this morning."

She gave a miserable sniff; I reached for my handkerchief, and held it to her.

Cautiously, she took it from me, and began to pat lightly at her eyes. She gave me no other answer, but I optimistically chose to view her acceptance of my peace-offering as a good sign.

"Are you certain you are not hungry, my dear?"

She nodded, eyes darting briefly to mine before again flitting away. I could see new tears forming in her eyes, and desperately I tried to distract her.

(To the end of my days, I suppose I shall never truthfully understand why she inspires such self-sacrifice in me, why I would amputate a valuable limb in the interest of her entertainment, should she ask it of me.)

"You truly should eat," I suggested carefully. She shook her head, but still refused my gaze; after a long moment, she managed a quiet, "No, thank you, Monsieur. I am without appetite."

I hesitated, and then raised my eyes to hers, which were staring still so fixedly and determinedly at the wall. "Perhaps you would be more willing," I began slowly, "if I were to take you out, for a nice brunch? Or," I added, as I checked the clock on the mantle, "more accurate to the times, a lunch would instead be more suitable?"

Immediately her eyes met mine, and this time they remained there for a long moment. I believe she feared some cruel jest--that, or she was considering her opportunity for escape, should I remove her to the upper world. After weighing her options carefully, she removed her eyes from my own again, and replied, "Perhaps..." Sniff. "But I am not yet dressed properly, for such an outing..."

I smiled; she saw, and immediately fear--or at least, apprehension--returned to that doe-eyed gaze. It hurt, but I attempted a brave face, and patted her knee; I chose to ignore the flinch I caught after doing so. "I think, then, that it is time to show you a little gift I have been planning."

I stood, and motioned her to rise and follow me. Slowly, and only because she was bidden and dare not refuse me, she did as I asked. I led her through my study, trying my best to avoid acknowledging the state of disrepair it was in, and hoping she would follow suit. If she looked, she deemed it wisest to say nothing, for I did not even hear a sharp breath of surprise.

Perhaps she had merely grown accustomed to me.

At the opposite end of my study was a door, though the eyes would never have guessed it, which led to a storage room of sorts. This room held all the various things I had "collected" over the years, and did not care to have arranged about my home. It was also the location of several gifts chosen for Christine which I did not desire for her to yet discover. Due to the darkness of my home, however, she could see little except that which I pointed out to her, so I felt little apprehension in bringing her into such a room of wonders.

In a far corner, which I led her towards, hung a vast array of dresses that, through much diligence, I had managed to collect. Some were of the newest fashion, and some were intended to be the newest fashion in a year or two; all had been such, when I had initially begun my collection, though that had been some time ago. I stepped aside, and presented this rack to her with a flourish.

"There shall be no other lady in Paris dressed in one of these, Mademoiselle," I said grinningly. "What you like shall be yours--what you do not can remain here. Merely choose what you find lovely, and I shall have each one removed to your wardrobe."

"Oh, Erik," she breathed, stepping forwards and brushing one sleeve with her fingertips. "They are all so lovely..."

"Then you shall have them all," I said promptly. "But for the moment, you could perhaps choose just one, to wear out?" I looked rather pointedly at my watch again, and gave a slight chuckle. "It shall be of the hour for tomorrow's breakfast, before we get free of here, if we do not make some haste."

Immediately I regretted my choice of word; at the mention of "free", her entire demeanor changed, and she beat a hasty retreat from the dresses. "I... cannot accept this gift, Monsieur," she said in a cold voice, eyes downcast. "It would not be... proper."

I cupped her chin, and lifted her countenance upwards. "Do not be ridiculous," I said with a soft smile. "What am I to do with them? I think, after all, that my wearing them should be significantly more improper than your wearing them."

She laughed, in spite of herself, and though it was a small laugh, and a pitiful one, it nonetheless gave me some amount of reassurance. This seemed to defeat her somewhat, and finally she nodded. "Very well, Monsieur. If... if you insist, I shall take a dress--but only one!" And to make her point, she held a singular finger before my face.

I resisted the temptation to kiss that finger, and instead merely smiled. "I do, indeed, insist," I confirmed, before taking a step backwards. "I do not wish to see your choice, until you have dressed--for now, I shall await you in the parlor." And with that, I left her with her dresses.

I felt that I had at least had some small victory; though I had not exactly received a declaration of forgiveness, or understanding, I felt that with each small compromise I forced her into, I was pushing her farther into my world, and more and more irrevocably making her my own. I became more confident that, given time, she would grow to feel a certain fondness for me, such as I had seen present on our more pleasant days together; I did not require love, and certainly not a love of the extent to which I felt it for her--just a compassionate hand against my cheek here and there, and a warm smile, was all I truly asked of her, and I had begun to believe that I would receive it.

Our lunch together was extraordinary, and she behaved to the utmost; not a single cry for help was made, and she did not even make a vain attempt at escape. I was pleased with her behavior, and because of it, promised her a carriage-ride through the park on our next warm night. She was thrilled with this, and nearly hugged me; at the last moment, however, she caught herself, and instead merely pressed my hand. That alone, however, was enough to send me into ecstasy.

As we sat in the parlor before a crisply-burning fire after dinner, I caught her repeatedly staring at me; she seemed to think her glances furtive, but each one seemed as obvious as a missed note in her scale. Finally I raised my eyes to purposefully catch her at it; her eyes retreated to the fire, and her cheeks colored.

"Is there something you wish said, Mademoiselle?" I asked carefully, not truly wishing to hear her answer, or at least hoping it would be in the negative.

She studied the flames for a long while, before looking back at my face, and coloring further. "It is just that... Forgive me, Monsieur, but... I do not understand..." And, for inability to articulate, she merely gestured towards her own face.

I looked down, and gave a little shrug. "It is difficult to explain, Mademoiselle, and a matter I do not wish discussed ever again."

Chastised, she quickly turned her face down to her lap, and clamped her teeth down over her lip.

"All you need know, Christine," I said slowly, "is this: that which causes me to become the Erik Sartre whom you know and for whom you care, is an inexhaustible resource, one that could last me until the day of my death." Christine risked a look at me, and frowned darkly, as if already expecting what I intended to suggest. "You need never again see me as I was, Christine--only as I now am. It is as if that part of me does not even exist, or never has--you have only to see Monsieur Sartre, and not Poor Erik."

She stood, and set aside the book she had been half-reading. After carefully straightening her skirts, and warming herself for a moment before the fire, she made a path towards the door. When she reached it, she paused, and looked back at me for a moment. Her mouth opened as if she would say something, but then snapped shut again. Twice more it opened and closed, until finally, with a frustrated sigh, she said merely, "Good-night, Erik, and sleep well."

I turned my head to look at her, and found her outlined by the light of the hall. That light glittered around her edges, and by silhouetting her granted her a glorious golden halo. In that moment, I was struck dumb by her celestine presence; my chest pressed heavily in upon itself, and air rushed from my lungs to pour furiously through my nostrils, until my poor rapidly-beating heart was left with no oxygen at all. While staring at her so stupidly, seated rigid and breathless, I saw her for more of an angel than ever before--I saw her for the angel she truly was, and not just one of silly pretense.

With every moment that my silence persisted, she grew more agitated, until she seemed on the verge of departing from me without my own farewell. Her forehead crinkled and her lips turned downwards, and already her heel had begun to turn, before somehow I found myself, and drew deeply of the air of which I had so long depraved myself.

I attempted a meager smile, and replied, "Yes, Mademoiselle... and to you as well."

She hovered in the doorway only a moment more, and then with another sigh, she nodded, and disappeared around the doorframe.


Even now, as I close my eyes, I can see that light glittering in her angel's hair, and so perfectly outlining her flawless frame; even now, it burns upon my eyelids, as it shall forevermore, reminding me of my wonderful Christine, and the tragedies that would inevitably befall us.
Author's Note:
I'm baaaaack!