Chapter 3: Could One Ever Dream?
Inside the lair in the rafters, the young singer lay unconscious for several hours. When he would wake, it would be slowly. First, he would come back into awareness of his surroundings. After that, he would blink away the sleep, calmly. When he realized were he was, though, Armin panicked and nearly jumped off of the mattress that Jean was suspected of placing him on, after passing out.
Though his attack was short, it grabbed the attention of the gypsy, who was masked once more, and at work in front of an ancient pump-organ. Jean looked towards the countertenor and rasped out "I see you're awake. It's been almost sixteen hours. How was your rest?"
At this, Armin seemed confused at first, but his memories from the night before rushed back into his mind. "I was lead here, in the dead of night... High above the stage; and you, the stallion, were the one to guide me from a music-less night." He whispered tiredly. "Then, you showed me..."
"Yes." the mysterious darker blond replied with a hint of aggression. "Come here, now." He then spoke with a more relaxed mood. "I wish to show you something that you'd be pleased with."
Hesitantly, the petite boy rose to his feet and stumbled a bit towards Jean, fearfully, yet curiously. Armin thought to himself about the incident the night before, and the horror he had seen. He had hardly even seen Jean's frightful face, before fainting. The performer wished to get a better look. Once he got closer to the masked boy, he glanced at the play write Jean had written. Then, he moved his hand close to the mask.
The disfigured boy moved Armin's hand away, sensing the tension. The lighter blond gasped silently, but proceeded to move his hand to an area slightly lower than before. With one swift movement, he moved the mask away from Jean's face, to reveal his deformities. This was not what would frighten him. He actually felt slight relief before Jean would be thrown into a fit of rage.
"You idiot!" He yelled as he slapped Armin with a force that knocked the poor singer off his feet. "Don't you ever do that again, or there will be harsh consequences. I will keep you here for eternity, if you don't behave, got that?"
The shorter blond nodded quickly through tears, staggering on the ground as if he had become a rag-doll. "Y-yes, Jean. I understand." He sobbed out of fright.
"Look up." the gypsy demanded through clenched teeth, openly showing his retched face. Once Armin agreed and stared up in a mix of horror and intrigue, Jean continued "This is what you see- a demon- a monster... How do you like me now? Are you frightened? Are you disgusted by the horror of the real me?"
"In all true honesty, yes, but that does not define a person. It is how pure the soul is, that matters." He replied, picking up the horse head and handing it to Jean. Putting it back on, the demented boy took the countertenor's hand, helped him up and began to lead him back to the main floor of the theater. "We must get back. The managers and the rest of my theater's employees must be searching everywhere for you." He changed the subject, as if nothing had happened. They left, and Armin raced to his dressing room, after Jean left him alone.