Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.
Summary: ErikRaoul slash (finally). Story continuation of A Mask for All Occasions. Mezzanine seats.
Warning(s):
Pairing(s): ErikRaoul
A/N: Okay, so I was trying to get this chapter started and decided to do the easy part first and reply to my reviewers' replies:o)
Yeah… Angsty Raoul is just really appealing right now, because we all know Erik's got some major angst/emotional issues, why does he get to have all the fun:oP
As for the fact that I'm giving them time to have their feelings develop… I'm kind of guilty of doing that whole 'they see each other and just fall in love' cliché, I was laughing at myself because of your review (The Bell and the Black Dragon). I'm kind of antsy writing this because I do just want to pair them up already. I'm way into the whole instant gratification. I think this pace is extremely slow, but I try and convince myself that it's not slow so much as deliberate. ;-) I don't know if I believe myself though.
As for the length of my chapters… I like long chapters too… I'm just having so many problems writing them. The amount of words total so far in these 5 chapters is half the amount of words of my 19 chapter fic, and I'm planning on this fic to go for at least 23 chapters (don't quote me on that though). It's killing me. -- But I'm working hard for at least 5,000 words a chapter. It's my goal, and let's hope I can keep it up and not just force the words out to make the quota. I wouldn't want to write crap for the sake of a higher word count… so let me know if I do.
Thanks to : Mithril Maiden, NightmareFX, PuppetofDreams, whatevergirl, The Bell and the Black Dragon, and Kytten… for being awesome reviewers!
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Unmasking the Chains
Chapter 06
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By: Lucifer Rosemaunt
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Erik's POV
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Last Time:
I turned around, tired of hearing their conversation. The Vicomte was giving in and he no longer amused me.
That ring held an important symbolism, not only for the Vicomte, but for myself as well. It was our future. It was what we wanted. It embodied who would be the winner in our competition.
However, I knew what Christine thought of it. It was easy to tell once you knew where she kept it. I had seen her place it the first day they had gotten engaged. The ring lay amongst her costume jewelry in the dresser. It was just another play thing to put on when she acted.
o.o.o
My visit to Christine had been incredibly counterproductive. I had been tired to start, but seeing how she had been acting, I became annoyed. I could not believe that I was this irritated.
Now, not only was I uninspired, I was annoyed.
I stalked away from Christine's room and headed back down to my home. Although I had not found the inspiration I had initially been searching for, I knew I could not remain idly watching their exchange. It would only serve to aggravate me further.
I entered my home and felt a loss for what to do. In this state, I knew I would not be able to play. I was irritated and in the worse way possible, I was irritated and restless.
I forced myself to sit down. I had to at least try. For a while, I just stared at the keys. Surprisingly enough, my mind was completely blank; well, not exactly blank. There were just so many thoughts in my head that I could not actually focus on any one in particular. Placing my hands reluctantly on the ivory bars, I pulled them off almost immediately. It felt wrong to even try to play at this moment. Something in me was off and I could not place it.
I stood up and began to pace.
Back and forth. What was I doing? Where was my inspiration? Where was my passion? What was my goal? Always remember my goal.
Back and forth. My goal. I wanted her. I had wanted her at some point. It had consumed my very being. It was as though no one else had mattered. No one else had existed when I had Christine in my sight or in my mind. It had been as such.
Back and forth. My goal. I had to want her. Of course… I still wanted her. I wanted her no matter what doubts ran through my mind. I would have her. She would be mine no matter what. It would be my freedom. It would be our freedom.
Back and forth. My goal. Did she want to be free? Did she even realize she was trapped? Or was she free, and simply the captor in disguise?
Back and forth. My goal. Who did she think she was? Playing with us like that. Of course, more importantly was how she was playing me. She was playing me and I was allowing it. I would have to stop that once I had her. She would understand me, and then she would stop using me.
It was bothering me.
Back and forth. My goal. She had been my goal. Had been, still was. She had to be.
It was definitely bothering me.
I stopped pacing. I couldn't help but be bothered… the way that I had been distracted by that boy. There were moments when I had not even realized my attention had turned back to him. Now that I had seen him without pretenses, he was more interesting, but that should not overshadow the fact that Christine had been in the room. Christine was there. No one else was supposed to matter when she was in the room. She was Christine. She had been synonymous with freedom and hope for so long that I was confused. I knew I wanted those things, but why would my eyes follow the Vicomte? He was… the sigh that fell from my lips could not be contained… he was interesting. He had peaked my interest and had distracted me. I did not know what to think about this new development.
Moreover, I could not determine whether it was because of his presence or my newfound acknowledgment of Christine's real nature that had made me annoyed with her. The latter might explain the annoyance, but it did not explain why I was starting to see the Vicomte – to really see him. It was frightening in its clarity how I could see him, how I could see his mask. It did not explain why I had actually empathized with him though. Me. I had felt something other than contempt and annoyance for someone other than Christine.
I didn't… I wasn't… it was definitely bothering me.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts. The physical action made it easier and helped me concentrate. I was going to have her still. She was my goal.
The only problem was that something needed to change. Something. Anything.
I looked at the organ a little forlornly. I didn't even feel like playing. So close to finishing my opera, and I could not gather the courage to even try to finish. This was Don Juan Triumphant. This was my opera that would be that something to change. It was everything that I desired, and it would be the instrument with which I could obtain my desires. This climax was everything. That was partly the reason why I did not want to compose right now. This part of my opera was vital, and I did not want it to fail. Its failure would probably be the failure of my plans. I could not compose. I could not fail.
I scanned the room for anything to give me ideas when my eyes landed on my sketch pad. I hadn't drawn in a while; maybe I could get some kind of creative energies flowing.
I picked up the sketch pad and some supplies. I was almost out of the room when as an afterthought, I decided to take some blank sheet music as well.
I didn't need the organ to compose, but it was always nice to be able to hear my music aloud. It helped when I needed to make adjustments, which occurred often enough for me to prefer playing by the organ. When I simply played to hear myself, it did not matter whether the notes were perfect. I was just playing what was in my mind. The notes flowed and I allowed them to land where they landed. If it was good, it was good. If not, then I would play some more until I was satisfied.
I was a perfectionist though and it just could not be helped that my actual written music would have revisions. What was opera music if not perfection? I went through many versions of my music. They would all be similar to the original version, but I would always find areas that could be enhanced, and they would be after the next version. It was a process for me; something that could keep me occupied for many days. It used to be something that naturally came to me, and now I was struggling.
Right now, I had to get away from the organ though. I needed some other way to become inspired.
I knew exactly where I wanted to go. Since I knew I would not go onto the roof top any time soon, I headed towards the mezzanine seats. They were perfect for when I was eavesdropping on the practices and did not want to bother hiding the small comments I made aloud to myself. I unfortunately was too loud in the box seat and then people would investigate. There were times when I just wanted to be left alone, and it irritated me that I could not even think aloud. Since I knew when the staff would be finished cleaning the seats, I started to spend time in the back. I could make all the comments I wanted. Now, I would use this opportunity to have some quiet time to find some inspiration. Maybe, just maybe I could also clear my thoughts.
My mind was jumbled on the walk there. No one else was in the hallways, and I was left alone with my thoughts in the quiet journey. Thoughts of Christine and the Vicomte ran through my head. Most prominently though, I suddenly remembered that dream – the dream that had kept me awake for nights on end. It was the dream that made it impossible for me to sleep. It was the dream that made me loathe even thinking about the rooftop – though I would admit that the actual event itself also held some bearing in that. It was the dream that made it impossible to believe Christine was an innocent, young girl who could be everything I hoped for. I would see her staring through me as though I were nothing. I snorted; it was as though I were nothing but a phantom. It was a dream that made me see the Vicomte.
I was glad that I had made it to the seats. I was suddenly tired again. The lack of sleep was catching up to me, and all the walking I was doing, did not seem to be helping. I heavily dropped down in a seat a couple of rows from the back. The last row was always the darkest because no light ever reached it unless all the candles were lit. The row I sat in was marginally lit because of the windows nearby, not bright enough to be obvious, but enough so that I could see what I was drawing. I checked to see what the motion below was. The candles nearest to the stage were lit, and I could see the ballet dancers practicing. I could faintly hear Madame Giry's voice giving instructions, but the noise easily fell into the background of my mind.
I opened my sketch pad and once again I felt at a loss. What was I going to draw? I held the pencil ready and placed my hand on the page. Still nothing came.
My eyes scanned the area. I stared at the stage again, my stage. This was my opera house and that was my stage. This was my life. This opera house was my life and my cage, yet I reveled in it. I wondered what freedom held for me. Would freedom be everything I thought it was? But the problem with that was the fact that I could not truly fathom what freedom was. I simply knew that I wanted it. I wanted a life where I no longer had to hide. I wanted a life where people could understand me. I wanted a life where I was not alone. I did not think it was so hard a thing to ask, but from my place in life, it seemed impossible to obtain. A part of me did not think that such a life existed. At least not in this reality, and not with my face, not with my fate.
My hands moved. It was as though I was not actually controlling them.
Nothing in my life was easy though. If it would not be given to me, then I would take it. I would have to take it. I was entitled to it, wasn't I? As a human being, I was entitled to have the same opportunities that everyone else had. But I wasn't human, was I? I was a monster. I was a creature that was to be ridiculed and kept caged.
My hand knew what it was drawing, and some part of me knew too, but it was like watching it be revealed to me.
I wanted out of the cage, but I knew not how to. I had always been locked away, so how could I even begin to find the door? How could I even imagine what the outside was really like.
A soft curved line. A sketch really and nothing more.
I had only seen it from behind curtains and from the shadows. I had seen life as a third person. Never a part of it, and always just watching. I could never become an active part of the society I had observed for so many years now. I would have to leave this place. I would have to take Christine away from the Opera Populaire and find a place that would accept me. I would have to leave the opera house, but I did not think I could. This was my home.
An angry dark vertical line, followed by another, and another.
I looked at the paper and saw a faint sketching of the Opera Populaire. Its likeness was perfect, but darker lines had been drawn above it. Dark vertical lines obscured the image. Bars. The beauty of the architecture was obscured by the cage that had been drawn atop it.
From my subconscious to the paper without stopping to let my consciousness see it until it was done.
It was like when I composed. I would lose myself in the music. My mind would go into a trance and all I could hear was the music. All I could feel was the notes rising and falling. My spirit followed the crescendo and diminuendo of every piece. I was conscious yet not so at the same time. I did not need to tell my hands where to go. They simply knew.
I turned the page of my sketch pad to a blank page.
I had always thought that I would be able to get out of this place. I thought that I could be able to leave the opera house and find some other sanctuary once the circus had left. It had been my initial plan. But, it had been so safe and easy to just stay at the opera house. I had learned to love this place. I knew that I could not leave without something driving me out.
That was where I hoped Christine would come in. She would be my reason. She would help me escape from this place and find a place of our own.
The dream popped into my head again.
The Christine of my past imaginings – the perfect Christine who would understand me better than anyone ever could, who would not be frightened by my face, who would not pity me – nowadays always conflicted with the Christine of that dream, of reality – the Christine who looked through me, who saw the surface and the music but nothing beyond, who could speak ill of me so easily. I wanted one and wanted to kill the other, and yet I knew the latter was the one I would receive.
My hand began to draw again. A simple line. All drawings began with a simple stroke.
It did not matter because I loved Christine. I loved. I did not know what love was. I knew passion. I knew lust. I knew obsession. I was uncertain about love though. I knew her. I had watched her grow up from a young girl into a young woman. I overheard everything she told Meg, and I knew the secrets she told no one – the secrets that I had been able to witness at least. I had to know who she was. I had been there for most of her life, but I was starting to doubt myself.
The figure of a body. A female body, with long flowing hair.
I knew her schedule: when she ate, danced, slept, or visited her father. I knew with whom she ate, how she combed her hair, how she smiled, laughed, cried. I had seen it all. I knew every facet of how she sang.
An outstretched hand. The nose, the ear...
I did not know her though. I knew the surface, and what lay beneath was too murky for me to look through. I did not know her ambitions, her real ambitions. I did not know why she chose to use me, to use the Vicomte, to use us all really.
The eyes.
Her motives were a mystery to me, and that was the most important part of knowing someone. I could not even begin to guess where this would all lead because of her. She was a major variable in this equation and I knew that I had to be on guard whenever around her. She could turn on me in an instant. I had heard her praise me and then scorn me. I had seen her eyes shine at the sight of me and then harden when she realized someone else was around.
A long flowing dress, much like the one in her debut.
I had to have her still though. Even though I no longer think I love her, I would have her. She was the one. She had to be.
Shading and quick lines to separate her from the background.
Who else was there? There was no one else.
I refocused my eyes to really see the drawing. It was Christine. It was a drawing of her back really, but she had turned slightly so that she looked over her left shoulder. The hair fell perfectly down her back. The dress flowed nicely in comparison to her curls. Her hand was outstretched as though waiting for someone to grab it. She was inviting. However, her eyes looked passed me. It was the dream once again.
I turned the page quickly.
My thoughts drifted to the Vicomte. The Vicomte was a mystery. He was intriguing, and I was caught. I was always curious by nature. Curious and obsessive, but I hoped the second would not apply to the Vicomte this time. I could feel myself falling though. Just like in the dream. I could feel myself falling into another obsession. My obsessions were far from healthy, and they consumed me completely. I wondered briefly where Christine would fit in all of this. What would she become if I let myself truly become obsessed with the Vicomte?
My hand drew again.
If the scene at her room was any indication, she would simply become a pest. She was annoying me. She had been the reason I was irritated. It was either that or because of her interaction with the Vicomte in general. I did not know.
It was a smooth curved line, large, taking up a good portion of the page.
I should be more annoyed with the Vicomte. But how could I? How could I when he frowned like he did, when he sighed like he did, when he laughed like he did?
Another line.
That frown was more revealing than anything the Vicomte could have ever said. It made me realize how blind I had been. It was always with the Vicomte: first the dream, and now the room. I had been blind to Christine, and only in the dream had I fully realized how much I was deluding myself. Then in the room, I realized I had never truly seen the Vicomte either.
It was a portrait.
It was true that I would never have realized if the Vicomte did not believe he had been alone. I should have realized nonetheless. When he reverted back to smiling just to appease Christine, I felt disappointed. That frown was special. It was different. It was something. It changed the whole way I thought of the future. It was a change.
A nose, a mouth. A little uncertainty, but the knowledge was there.
I knew I should be more wary of him than of Christine considering the fact that I had been fooled so completely by his act, but I could not bring myself to do so. He did not seem to be a threat even though it was obvious that he would be. He had to be a threat. He was going to take Christine away.
The eyes. A shade, I suddenly wished I had some other colors with me. I only had charcoal though. Black.
Then the ambiguous feelings would arise. Should I just let him have her? No. I couldn't. He would not be the victor in this battle. I would. I would win because I had to.
I looked down at the sketch pad. It was the Vicomte. A very large portrait of his face. My eyes were drawn to his immediately, just like it had in that room. It was an odd mixture, this drawing. Somehow, he looked sad and happy at the same time.
I forced myself to look away. I stretched my neck to the side.
I was getting lost in his eyes again, and they were not even real. There was just something about it that made me wonder. Was I that guarded? I had a real mask to cover most of my expressions. He had his own. There was something familiar about it though. It felt as though there was something that I should remember.
He was only partially smiling, a small upturn of his lips. It was like the open expression I had seen earlier. This smile was not forced. I wondered what it would be like to really see him. I wondered if anyone ever really saw him. Somehow, I knew the answer was no.
I looked at the drawing completely now. Something was wrong. It was not in the expression.
I frowned when I realized that I had drawn him with his hair short. It was cropped, and though I had to admit he did look handsome, it did not seem right.
I immediately rectified the problem and drew his hair longer. Wisps of it falling in front of his eyes.
He looked much better with his hair longer. It seemed natural. I preferred it longer too. He would be too much like all the other elites. I did not like the thought of him blending in with the others. It did not sit well with my thoughts. I briefly wondered what it would be like to run my hands through it. I quickly followed that though with the fact that I could never grow my hair that long. The implications of that statement left unchecked in my mind.
I looked at the portrait again and smiled. Long hair. An open expression, though sad held a mixture of happiness. Life was filled with both. A small smile that looked almost conspiratorial, like he knew something that you just had to know.
Freedom must look like this.
I shook my head when I realized what I was doing. I turned the page quickly.
I had been staring at him again. I was losing my thoughts of Christine, and I was allowing it without a fight. I did not know what it was about this boy that made me think about him so much.
We were similar. I knew that. I had realized that earlier. We were more similar than I had initially thought, and that did give me some pause to think about. There was nothing more though. The Vicomte could not actually ever truly understand what I was feeling. It was desperation and desolation. It was wanting to be a part of something, to have a purpose, to live however I wanted to live.
I, who had always been trapped, knew that he could not begin to understand. Some part of me rebelled at the idea that he could even begin to fathom what I was feeling and what I had experienced.
Yet, it was that clarity. That image I had of him. When I saw him, it was almost like being on the roof top again. It was like almost grasping the ability to change and feeling as though I could, that I would have my desires. It was there, and it made me believe he would understand. For an instant, it made me believe that the Vicomte would understand what I was feeling. He would understand my past and my desires.
I saw that my hand had begun to draw another portrait. I knew who it would be off, and immediately shut the sketch pad resolutely.
There would be no more portraits of a certain blonde. No more portraits unless they were of Christine.
I had forgotten Christine again. I had forgotten that she was my freedom. She would be the only way I would obtain my desires. The picture I had drawn of the Vicomte flashed in my head and I turned around to escape from it.
I froze immediately. I knew my mouth was open but I could not believe my eyes.
I turned away for a moment just to make sure that I was not hallucinating. I turned back around and saw that he was still there. The Vicomte. He was just sitting a few rows behind me. Staring at me.
I was about to yell at him when I realized that he was not really looking at me. He was lost in his own thoughts. I was annoyed with myself for not noticing that someone had been behind me the whole time. The irony was not lost on me though. The Vicomte had been staring at me and I had been staring at him. The annoyance was quickly replaced by the familiar feeling of amusement I was starting to get whenever I saw the boy.
I wondered what he was doing here and why he had not left when he saw that I was here. Was he planning on killing me? I highly doubted that because unless the boy was completely stupid, he would have tried to do so earlier. Still, that did not completely rule that possibility out. There was no other possible reason though, unless he wanted to just talk with me. That idea was absurd though.
He had been talking to Christine though. That should have lasted at least another hour or so. I wondered how he got out of that situation. I knew Christine liked to talk about everything and anything when she got started. I was surprised anyone listened to her at all. Meg always knew how to make her stop. It was a skill I still lacked. I always chose to simply leave and come back later to see if she was still talking – most of the time she was.
I looked at him and could not help but stare again. Damn it if the boy was not smiling right at me. It reminded me of the portrait I had just drawn, but there was no indication of sadness in his expression. Technically though, the Vicomte's eyes were glazed over, but the unguarded expression of happiness was obvious. His smile was natural and more than the quasi smile in my portrait.
I could feel myself begin to smile as well. It was like sunlight. It was radiant.
I fought against the urge to open the sketch pad and draw another portrait. At least this time I had the actual subject in front of me, and I did not think I could have imagined this expression if I had tried.
I looked down for a moment and when I looked back again, the smile was gone. I could not help the wave of disappointment that crashed upon me. I quickly stood up and moved toward him. Something made him frown and I could not quash the sudden urge to find out what it was. My legs moved faster than my thoughts had and I was standing in front of him in an instant.
I saw his eyes finally clear as he looked at the spot I had just been in. They widened in fear and he stood up immediately. Finally seeing me, he screamed. I rolled my eyes and clamped my hand over his mouth immediately. That was such a female reaction, to scream.
Amusement was definitely what I was feeling. I pushed him back into the chair and left my hand where it was. He had stopped screaming of course, realizing that it was futile – or maybe realizing something else. His breath was warm and he stared up at me in fear.
I looked at him pointedly, trying to gauge whether he would understand not to scream again when he nodded.
I removed my hand and leaned against the back of the seat behind me. I did not know what I was actually going to do now that I had his attention, but I would just wait and see how everything played out.
By all accounts, he should be dead by now. No one would be able to save him, and he had no weapons. It did not seem like he was going to try and attack me, so that left us nothing to do but stare at each other or talk. I was not going to talk though.
I could see that he was nervous. He was thrown off by the turn of events, but what should he expect? He had been the one spying on me. I looked at him closely. We had yet to break eye contact and I could see that in his shock, he had yet to revert back to his persona. He still had the open expression I was starting to appreciate.
I was content to just watch him, and I could see him wracking his brain for something appropriate to say.
"So," he stated uncertainly, "you're alive."
I tried to hide the smirk on my face, and hoped that I looked unimpressed. I had the urge to laugh though.
Oh, this would definitely be amusing.
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End ch06
word count: 4,845
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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)! Hmm, well someone did make a good point about the R/R; well I always thought of it as 'now that you've read it, review it!' :o)
I jinxed myself… I didn't make 5,000. :o( I'm sad now… review and make me happy again!
Okay, I don't really like this chapter. I'm sorry for any typos but I am so antsy today, I don't know why. I wanted to post it though, so I worked on it, but my mind is somewhere else for some reason. I'm like Erik in this chapter: there's so much going on in my mind, I just can't concentrate.
I apologize if something seems completely off. I'll rewrite again, if I can, but I wanted something out there for you guys.