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. Inspiration has its price.
Warning(s): cursing, nothing much else really (surprisingly after the previous chapter)
Pairing(s): ErikRaoul
Story note: I am so mean to Raoul. I don't actually know why. He's just so damn easy to hurt. TT That was not done in vain though, there were some important plot points that I hoped you picked up on… (I'm not just making excuses for hurting Raoul).
If you didn't notice, I have problems with time… cuz if you think of it… it took 8 chapters for 1 morning, and I've just passed a whole month in 1 chapter or I mean 2 chapters. Weird.
A/N: A month. :o( Sorry this is so late in coming, but I was out of town for about a week at thanksgiving dealing with some issues. Since then I have not felt like writing at all. Literally, I cannot bring myself to do it. I have been avoiding my computer like it was the black plague. Though technically, I haven't felt like doing anything at all. I keep trying to finish this story though because it's all laid out and it should be easy, but the words just aren't coming. I'm trying though. I'm making more of an effort now too because I realize it's been forever, and I should give you guys some sort of holiday present, right? How about I try to finish this story?
So, I was re-reading the previous chapters to get back into the mindset of what I was trying to accomplish, but damn it's too long and my attention span is officially spent. I can't believe those chapters were so freaking long. So… if my writing and the tone seem a little off it's because different mindsets produce different results and I read up to chapter 3 and could not bring myself to read the others. I am quite long winded it seems. I need to stop giving so much exposition (though I think that was the purpose of this fic) and give some more action (I'll try, but I was originally trying to make it a lot more thoughts than actions… I don't know, now I'm torn and confused). Additionally, I had already written about half of this chapter so if there's an obvious tone change halfway in this story you at least know why.
I'll shut up now (bc writing A/N's is a way I avoid having to write the chapter).
o.o.o.o
Unmasking the Chains
Chapter 10
o.o.o.o
By: Lucifer Rosemaunt
o.o.o.o
Erik's POV
o.o.o
Last time:
"There was no time. He says that you must come home immediately. He says it's urgent and it pertains to your mother's health."
After hearing this, I saw him freeze in his place. Something sounded wrong about the message. It seemed suspicious to me, but Raoul believed it completely. It was his mother's health, but I would know nothing about that. He nodded his thanks to him and sparing one glance around the mezzanine seating, he bolted out into the hallway.
I tried to ignore the happy feeling I got when he spared a glance back to the dark corners of the mezzanine seating, but I could not. I waited until I was sure no one would bother me, and then I walked out of my hiding place and sat in the seat I had just vacated. I took the blank sheet music and began writing the culmination of my opera.
The words flowed easily out and the music was clear in my head. I lost track of everything else.
o.o.o
The notes and the words were all there ready and waiting to be written. Whatever had been blocking the flow of inspiration was gone. I had never felt so certain of my music in my life. Of course there had been songs I had played simply from my thoughts and emotions, but those were incomplete. They were subject to being changed. This was different. This was perfection. One misplaced note and the whole piece would lose its essence.
It was as if the song had always been there in my mind. The song had always been present and I was just discovering it right now. Nothing else mattered besides this work. Writing it, I even managed to mostly ignore Carlotta's entrance onto the stage. Even her loud voice and tone deaf attempt to sing could not bother me as it normally did. I was untouchable. This song made me feel invincible.
As the last note was written on the sheet, I knew I had to hear it aloud. I had to play it. I stood up to leave and finally spared a glance at the stage again. Everyone was present. The managers were avidly watching the scantily clad chorus girls warm up. Carlotta was complaining about something. Piangi was trying to appease her but was causing his own ruckus. Christine and Meg, like the other girls, were whispering to each other, not quite paying attention to their warm-ups but rather to their excitement. Madame Giry watched it all in disappointment. A single crack of her staff on the floor brought everyone to attention. For a moment it was silent, then Carlotta and Piangi began complaining again and the noise resumed.
I wondered how anything ever got done in this opera house. They did not need me to cause a commotion. They did fine all by themselves. It was only because of me that they got anything done. It seemed in the lack of my presence, they had gotten too relaxed. That would change of course. It would change in the masquerade. I could hardly wait.
I watched them disdainfully, but they faded. They did not matter. My words, my passion, my emotions took their place. I saw my opera. I was on stage. I saw Don Juan Triumphant being performed. I saw Point of No Return being sung. It was perfect. It would be magnificent. It would awe them all.
I just knew Raoul would appreciate it. I wondered if he would recognize some of the words – words that had seemed integral to making the song what it was now.
Annoyed at myself, I stared down at the sheet music in my hands. I should not care what he thought of it. In fact, I did not care what he thought of it. I didn't. Christine on the other hand, would like it though. She had to. This was the bridge – the bridge to close the gap that was steadily widening between us.
I doubted if she would really understand it completely. Would she understand the words? Could she understand what they meant? What they really meant? Not just on the surface. The words were by no means subtle, but there was so much more to it. My desires were being laid bare; hers as well.
I was only starting to realize that I should be a little worried that the Vicomte's words had set the song into motion. His presence, not hers. His words, not hers. His voice, not hers. Were these desires his too? Were these thoughts, these feelings that had come through in the song not Christine's? Not hers, not for her?
This song was important though. It was the most important song of the opera, and it was not as though I could remove it because I was afraid of what it meant. Could I even understand what the words really meant? Did I want to?
I looked at the stage again. Christine was beautiful. Her voice had been tutored into an angel's voice. She had been born to be on stage. Everything that had happened in her life had brought her to this stage so that everyone would see her. All her trials and tribulations had become stepping stones to bring her to her glory. The Vicomte had been a part of it. I had been a part of it. Would we just be things of the past as well?
With spirits noticeably lower than before, I quickly made my way down to my home. I had an opera to finish. All these questions and thoughts could wait. Just like everything else, I would put them on hold until after I finished my opera. Then, and only then would I confront these thoughts.
I was suddenly glad that I had yet to finish Don Juan Triumphant.
Reaching my organ, I placed the sheet music down but found that I could barely keep my eyes open long enough for me to play. This last bout of insomnia was finally catching up with me. I struggled against my exhaustion. I worried that I would see them on the rooftop again. I hated that dream. I hated that feeling. I hated falling, but I was so tired. I wanted a good night's rest. Maybe even a good rest that lasted a couple of days.
It was only now that I felt the real exhaustion my body was experiencing. I did not know how I was still standing. My limbs felt heavy and my mind was slowing down.
I brought my hand up to my head. I did not feel hot, so at least I was not getting sick. I guessed that it really was just exhaustion.
Turning slowly towards my bed, I looked at it torn between listening to the side of me that hoped the dream would not come again and listening to the cynical side of me that said trying to sleep would only cause me to wake up twenty minutes later even more tired. Most of the time the cynical side would win over and I would stay away from the bed and force myself to continue working on my opera. The few times I had conceded to the former, my cynical side had a good laugh at my expense. I had felt more tired. I had felt like falling asleep for those five minutes had actually been worse than staying awake.
Something was different this time. That unnamable something that had taken away my inability to continue my opera surprisingly gave me enough optimism to drag myself onto the bed and let the darkness of fatigue take over.
o.o.o
I woke up slowly and disappointed that I had woken. Actually, I was not certain I had woken at all. Everything was black. A pitch black darkness that was so familiar to me I knew I should remember from where I knew it. It was hauntingly familiar.
It suddenly dawned on me that this darkness reminded me of my home when I allowed all the candles to go out. There was a major difference though. I could see in that darkness. I had become accustomed to it and could at least see shapes and figures. I had not seen this kind of darkness in a long time. This was similar to what I had known in the circus. There had been light there but thinking of that time, I could only see darkness. I could only feel darkness. Then I had come to the opera house that had been a physical equivalent of that time. I had risen above that though. I had lived in the darkness so long that I was comfortable in it. This was different though. It was cold. Colder than my home.
I could not see anything at all.
I reached up to rub my eyes, but it was so cold here that I was not sure if I was touching anything at all. I held my hands up to what I thought was in front of my eyes, but saw nothing. I squinted, but still nothing was clearer. In fact, I could not even feel my body. I did not think I had a body.
Even without it though, I could tell that it was cold. So cold.
What happened? Where was I?
It was so empty here. A deep hollowness that reminded me so much of how I constantly felt, it seemed as though I was trapped within my own mind.
It was odd to think that any place could be worse than my home. Yet this was. It was darker. It was colder. It was more isolating.
But I still knew this darkness intimately. I thought I had left it all behind. I thought a candle could banish the darkness. I thought a few moments in the light of day could banish the cold. I thought that placing myself amidst a group of strangers who did not stare, point, and gawk at me could banish the isolation. I thought that I was past these sorts of things. It would seem I was simply fooling myself.
This darkness was an all-consuming force that took everything I ever had. Things I thought could never be taken from me were gone in an instant: hope, dignity, pride. It grabbed my very soul and refused to release it from its clutches. This was despair. This was where I could lose myself. I had lost myself for a while here. Somehow I had managed to break free though. Christine had given me hope. She had cut through the darkness and given me hope. Were we now so hopeless that I was falling back into the darkness? This was insanity. It was everything dark and dangerous. This darkness was death.
This was what I feared the most. This was a part of me. This darkness. This isolation. These emotions and thoughts bombarded me. They were glimpses of emotions that I tried to rise above. Being trapped here. Dying like this. Living a life that was hardly a life at all.
I could not allow myself to succumb. I looked around desperately. Complete darkness. I struggled against the despair that was creeping into my heart. It was not hopeless.
"It's not hopeless!" I yelled though no sound came forth.
Suddenly, a single beam of light cut through the infinite darkness. The color was so radiant compared to the void. I moved toward it somehow. I forced myself to not look away though its brilliance was almost blinding. It looked so promising compared to the void.
I was moving closer. It was becoming brighter, and I could feel my spirits lifting.
Closer still. I could almost reach my hand out and touch it.
Would I see a hand, my hand? So close to it, I strained towards the light. I knew I had to reach it and everything would be okay. I had to reach the light.
It was the yellow of the sun. Yellow? Maybe not so much… maybe blonde?
The light suddenly exploded and blinded me. I brought my arms up to protect my eyes from the light. I realized that it was like on the rooftop before. The light had saved me. This was the same. Could I really escape this darkness?
Suddenly I stopped floating in that oblivion and felt my body on solid ground. I swayed a bit and reached out to steady myself. When I finally felt oriented I opened my eyes.
That was odd. He wondered why he had suddenly felt dizzy.
Shaking his head, he stared at his face in awe. Whenever he looked in the mirror, it was the same thing. He could not believe who looked back. He reached a hand up to slowly rub his now unmarred cheek. There was no deformity. He had not had one in a long time, but still he could not believe it. His face was perfect. Could fate really be this kind to him? This face never had to wear a mask.
No one stared in horror. They stared for other reasons now. Reasons that should have made him feel proud, but he could not bring himself to feel that. He could not bring himself to look at others without judging them.
Inevitably, whenever he saw anyone the thought would come unbidden, 'he would have paid to see a monster' or 'she would have screamed in fright.' In his mind, it was certain that everyone would have sent or joined a mob to kill him.
It had been so many years that he had been accepted into mainstream society but he could not fully be a part of them. He had yet to become close to anyone. Still, it surprised him that no matter how much he wanted to be alone, people would crowd about him. He would be dismissive, but he could not be completely rude. He remembered what uncaring and thoughtless actions produced. He remembered the life on the receiving end of those actions all too well. However, people mistook what civility he showed everyone as an invitation to be around him. He often longed for the times when people had shunned him because the loneliness he felt now amongst the throng of people was worse. It was worse to be surrounded by people who knew nothing about you and did not really want to know you.
Still he searched. He desperately scoured the world for that one person. He had been searching for so long now that he felt lost. He felt as though it had all been in vain. He had promised though. He had sworn to find that one person who would understand him. That one person who would see past the surface and tell him that it was okay to be who he was. Was it so hard to ask?
He would go out again today. He would walk the streets ignoring the looks people gave him, ignoring the suggestive glances from the women, and the glares from the men. He would look for that certain face that he could never forget. He would search because he had to. He needed this one thing and it was all that mattered. That person was all that mattered.
He wondered so often how much longer. Where was he?
I woke up slowly. The question echoed in my mind. I could not quite remember though. Where was who?
Those thoughts were drifting farther and farther away. I tried to force my mind back to that last dream. It was already slipping away from me, but I knew it was important. There had been a feeling there I wanted to keep. I knew I had been desperately searching for someone. I was not me but at the same time was. I… I had been different. I had been someone else but not. It was confusing. What had it been?
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to grab the last tendrils of sleep. Maybe I could force myself back if I tried hard enough. The harder I tried, however, the more awake I became.
I finally gave up trying. If it was that important, then I would remember it. I knew that particular sentiment was a lie, but I did not want to dwell on that dream. There were other things that were more important, like how long had I been asleep?
I felt great. I was still a little tired, but just the normal amount of sleepiness after waking. The warmth of the bed was actually calling me back, but my mind was alert. I had slept well. I had not dreamt that falling dream. There had been some other dream, but it was okay. It had allowed me some hours of sleep.
I looked at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. It was either very late or very early depending on the time of day. Better yet though was it even the same day as when the Vicomte and I had spoken?
I stood up slowly and stretched my limbs. I felt incredibly better. I could not believe that the insomnia had disappeared. I looked around my empty home. It was dark because most of the candles had already gone out, but since only the taller ones remained, it meant that approximately a day and a half had passed. I could not believe that I had slept so long.
My gaze fell upon some burnt out candles.
Darkness. There had been darkness in my dream. Not like this though. I had felt unnerved. This was home though. Why would I feel unnerved in this darkness?
I looked around the room again. Empty. Would it be ever anything but empty? I looked at the organ and turned away.
Although I felt as though I could now write without reservation, I still wanted to put off finishing the opera. It seemed that even though I could now finish it, I was still reluctant of what would happen when I did finish it. Of course I would find out once the masquerade came, but that was still a month away. I did not have to think about Raoul's or Christine's reaction. I did not have to think about what it all meant just yet.
I decided to go upstairs and visit the managers' office for news. Going upstairs, I realized that it was very late at night so the managers might not even be here. It amazed me though that I had slept for almost two whole days. I had never slept that much even without the insomnia. Nightmares were a common facet of my sleep. Truly, the only time my defenses were dropped was when I was unconscious and no matter how much I thought I had managed to suppress the darker times of my life, they always found a way to resurface at night. Sleep had always been simply a necessity, like eating.
I reached the managers' and was relieved. Luckily, they were still holed up in their office. I watched silently at their exchange. They were speaking about meaningless stuff about the masquerade and things that should not have even been their concern. I was about to leave when they finally said something that sounded interesting.
"I hope that the Vicomte will be back in Paris in time for the masquerade," Andre stated.
I wondered what he meant. 'Back in Paris?' Didn't the Vicomte just go home because of his mother?
I was conflicted. I thought the message had sounded suspicious. Was there foul play against the Vicomte or was the foul play all the Vicomte's doing?
It was absurd to be worried about my rival though. Because it did not matter what he had said, he was still my rival. Even if something had happened to him, it was to my benefit. An injured and absent Vicomte meant that I was free to pursue Christine without any competition. However, if what Raoul had said before was true, there already was no competition. We were not rivals. On the other hand, I could be wrong. I was probably wrong. It had been stupid to trust the fop. I felt a surge of anger thinking that the Vicomte had simply run away to avoid his promise to me. It had all been an elaborate ruse. Maybe he was going to elope with Christine. Maybe his words of breaking the engagement off were really lies. I thought I could read him, but he was an incredibly good liar. I should have remembered that he had fooled me before. If he had done it once, he could easily do it again.
Not to mention that it was also easier to just be mad at the Vicomte. It simplified matters. I knew that Raoul was one of the reasons I wanted to put off finishing the opera. I did not want to think about the many questions that his presence seemed to raise. Discrepancies on how rivals should act and on how enemies should think about one another had obviously arisen. They confused me. As though I was not confused enough as it were. I had been already wavering about my desires for Christine, but Raoul had grabbed my attention. I could not waver in my intentions. I could not waver from my goal. Christine was my everything and Raoul had been distracting me from her.
It was much easier to be mad at him.
Firmin waved off the statement with his hand replying, "Does it matter? The Comte has been here in his stead. If the Vicomte wants to go gallivanting off, it does not matter as long as we have their support."
The Comte? So the Comte was actually here? I wondered at this development. Raoul had seemed genuinely worried upon hearing that his mother had fallen ill. I had not heard any news on the Comte's arrival, but I had been behind on the current events lately since I had been working on my opera. So, the part about the brother having sent the note was apparently true. I had yet to hear of the mother's illness though. What did it mean? Surely, the managers would know that his mother was sick. Yet, they think he has simply left.
Andre considered his comment, "But he left in such a rush. We saw him just yesterday."
"Yes," Firmin agreed, "I know it was a bit odd, but seeing how the Comte came, it would be understandable for the Vicomte to take a break. He looked a bit ragged."
He had looked a bit ragged. I had simply assumed it was the stress of having confronted me, but maybe it had been something more. It should have been obvious since I had seen him look despondent in Christine's room. It should have been obvious because he had slipped in his appearance not only in front of Christine, but in front of me as well. What if something had occurred?
This was confusing. I was supposed to be angry with him. Why was I worrying about him?
"It does appear as though the Comte has become a substitute," Andre continued, "for every role the Vicomte once held here at the opera."
Firmin laughed, understanding what Andre was alluding to, "Yes, these past two days he had seemed very interested in Miss Daae."
"Childhood friends?" Andre jokingly suggested.
Firmin nodded and replied sarcastically, "Of course, childhood friends."
I had heard enough. I had to find Christine. I had a bad feeling about this. Raoul had had a penchant for visiting at late hours, maybe his brother held the same affinity. Maybe I could catch a sight of what this Comte looked like. I prided myself in knowing what kind of character a person had from one look. Only one person had proven me wrong so far. I had mistaken Raoul's personality completely. Every assumption I had made of him seemed erroneous or based on an erroneous thought. I did not know him. It had only been what, two days ago that I discovered all this. I thought that I had started to really understand him once my illusion had been shattered. I thought he had dropped his pretenses. I had been wrong if Raoul had really left Paris.
Maybe one other person had fooled me. It was sad to admit that Christine was that other person. It was not so much because I had been wrong. Maybe fooling myself did not count though. I knew what she had been like. I knew what she had grown to. I had simply allowed the illusion to persist. It was because of my disillusionment that I started to waver in my desires.
I sped through the passageways towards Christine's room, but before reaching her room, I nearly passed her as she was walking through a hallway towards her own room. What had she been doing wandering the hallways? I noted the direction from which she had been walking and realized she must have come from the entrance of the opera house. The Comte.
I only momentarily paused wondering if I should follow Christine or try to catch up to the Comte. I ran towards the entrance of the opera house. I had a feeling I would want to see what the Comte looked like. If he looked anything like Raoul, Christine was sure to be interested. Reaching the entrance, I looked out just in time to see a rider on horseback leaving. I could see nothing of what he looked like unfortunately, thanks to the cloak, hat, and darkness of night.
What business did the Comte have with Christine? I wondered what he was planning, what they were planning. Christine was not one to be duped, and I was beginning to suspect that neither was the Comte.
Annoyed, I considered going to watch Christine, but the urge to complete my opera had returned. I did not want to wonder why its return coincided with the irrational worry for Raoul.
Instead of thinking any more unnecessary thoughts, I made my way to the organ with a purpose. I settled down and began to write.
o.o.o
The days blurred together, but it was a different pattern from when I had initially started composing. I would add, revise, and play Don Juan Triumphant from morning to early evening. Not only was I also eating regularly, I found myself going to bed earlier. I did not leave my home to stalk the hallways in the dead of night. Instead, I would lie down and sleep. I would have the dream of darkness and a life without this deformity.
After the second time the dream had occurred, I knew that I had to remember it. The details eluded me though. I could remember glimpses of the darkness. Once again annoyed, I set to working on my opera. Early in the evening, I found my attention slipping towards my bed. Under the pretense that I was still tired from my insomnia, I convinced myself that sleep was all that I had needed. Going to bed, I had worried that the dream would not occur again, but it did. It did every night following. Furthermore, upon waking, I could remember more and more with each night that passed.
Oddly enough, the dream stayed the same. I could recreate it in my head after the first week. Still, in the dream I could control nothing. I could not change anything, not my thoughts, or my actions. What was worse was that no matter the length of sleep I had, the dream would not continue. It would always stop at the insufferable question.
Where was he?
I still did not know for whom I was searching, but I knew that the person searching in the dream was me. We shared the same face, more or less. We shared the same past. The person in the dream remembered my deformity. He remembered my past. We shared it. We shared the same thoughts. We shared the same desire. I woke up every morning wanting to find that person and knowing that it was not Christine. It was a disheartening way to wake every morning knowing that the only person I could hope to truly understand me was not Christine. It was obvious now that she was not who I was truly looking for, but I was not willing to let her go. She would learn to love me. She would learn to understand me. I could hope for that much at least. With these thoughts, I would work on my opera.
With only one more week left to the masquerade, I finished it finally. Don Juan Triumphant was complete. I was relieved and apprehensive at the same time. It was now that I could spend the time to contemplate everything that had occurred since I started writing it.
It was now that I could wonder what those two dreams really meant.
I think I could understand what the first one meant. It had served to shatter my illusions of Christine. That dream had been trying to tell me that Christine was not the person I really wanted her to be. The second dream only asserted that fact more. In the end, it did not matter though. It did not matter what those dreams really meant or what they had been trying to tell me. I did not have to think about them. I did not even want to. In the end, I would still choose Christine over loneliness. Christine was the only person left.
Having settled that, I wondered what I would do now. It was late in the afternoon, and I considered just going to sleep. I was not tired though. I did not recall ever being this slothful. Admittedly, it was the most rested I had felt in my entire life, but I would not admit I had been intentionally going to sleep just to have the dream. The terror I felt in the darkness was nothing compared to the feeling of seeing myself without the deformity.
Nowadays, I found myself staring at my face. I had taken more mirrors out from behind curtains and other furniture solely for this purpose. I could not help it. I could now picture myself without the deformity. My life then had seemed better. It was still empty however, and I would always scoff at myself when I remembered that I had wanted to go back to being ignored by society. The feeling was so earnest in my dream though that I could not dismiss the sentiment entirely. Maybe a person could be lonely in the light.
The thought inevitably brought me back to the Vicomte though. Not the Vicomte, but Raoul. Vicomte was a mask that I did not want to have to think about because the Vicomte was someone I despised. That role was my rival. He was the one that had initially taken Christine away from me. Raoul on the other hand was all honesty, wit and smiled as though we were never rivals. He smiled and joked with me as though I had never harmed him, as though I had not been wearing a mask.
Damn it.
Whoever the boy was, I was beginning to become annoyed. I could not think of him. In fact, I decided from that moment on I just would not.
That left me back at square one. I wondered what I was going to do for a week without having anything to do. I usually spent the time tutoring Christine and terrorizing the opera house. I could do neither at the moment however. I was supposed to be gone. Only one person had actually seen me since that night I killed Buquet. Raoul.
It had been Raoul.
I sighed. That had been wholly unintentional and the fastest that I had broken a resolution. Clearing my mind from that unnecessary train of thought, I tried again. It dawned on me that I had not gone above to the opera house since that first night. I decided that the best course of action to take would be to find some diversion upstairs. I could gather news of what had happened over the past few weeks I had been working.
The first place I head towards was Christine's room. It was a force of habit to check her room even though she might be elsewhere. Her room was the easiest place to access her. It was the easiest place to watch her unnoticed and so close.
Approaching her room, I heard giggling.
"Not so loud, Meg," Christine whispered. She looked around before giggling herself. They were seated on her bed conspiring together.
Meg pouted, "It's not fair, Christine. You're hogging all the de Chagny's."
I could not believe my ears. Either the Comte was making it obvious or Christine was. Wasn't she supposed to be engaged to Raoul? I ignored the resolution completely. Thoughts of the Vicomte were inevitable when thinking about Christine. Especially when his brother was encroaching on dangerous territory, mine.
"No I'm not," Christine pretended to look hurt, "he's just comforting me in Raoul's absence."
"That's a lie," Meg exclaimed. After Christine quieted her, she continued, "I saw you two kissing."
Christine had enough sense to at least blush.
I was ready to break the glass. Maybe Raoul had sent his brother to… to… to steal away his fiancé? It made no sense whatsoever, but this news was greatly disturbing. Christine was not making my life any easier, but when had she ever really made my life easier? She had made it worthwhile for some time, but not easier. Whenever she was involved, it seemed to make things only more complicated actually.
Meg looked at her suspiciously. "What about the promise ring the Vicomte had given you?"
Promise ring? I realized that Christine really had not told her about the engagement. Who would believe that it was only a promise ring though? I wondered what Christine's response to that would be. Had Raoul come back and broken off the engagement while I was unaware? I hoped he had not lied to me. He only had a week left though, and it seemed as though he had not yet returned if Christine's comment meant anything.
Christine shrugged, "He had only given it to me as a gift. You know men. They don't know what appropriate gifts are."
I highly doubted Meg understood because even I did not know a man who gave a ring without thinking about its implications.
Meg nodded anyway, "Can I see it?"
Christine considered a moment before standing up to rummage through her jewelry cabinet. It took her a few moments before she returned to the bed with the ring. I was still disappointed at seeing it. It only solidified the fact that Raoul had yet to break off the engagement. Unless he let Christine keep the ring? I doubted that possibility though. I was planning to stay longer to hear more information about the Comte, but they started to speak about jewelry and the different men that Meg could possibly be interested in. Leaving their conversation was best.
I was livid, but I did not know whether it was because of Christine or Raoul. I dreaded the fact that I was not mad at Raoul. Something was very wrong with the situation with him. With the news of his brother taking over, it did not make any sense. Then there was Christine's involvement with this new development that indicated there was definitely something more. Christine made no actions that did not improve her situation. She knew what she was doing.
I wandered the pathways through the opera house just walking. I checked on all the people within the building and nothing was amiss. The Comte was not around. I let my mind wander. I was disturbed and the anger was still simmering beneath the surface. At moments like this, I would usually find myself at my organ playing to release some of my emotions, but instead I found myself lying on the bed.
Fed up with trying to fight against this urge to revisit the dream, I allowed myself to drift off to sleep.
o.o.o
The week passed pitifully the same. I would wander restlessly around the opera house letting my mind similarly wander. I had not seen the Comte. He was quite elusive. I was certain he was avoiding me, but how would he even begin to know how to. It was frustrating, so I decided that patience was my only recourse. I did not want to leave my opera house to go their estate. It seemed unnecessary to me even though the thought recurred often as I wandered the hallways. I avoided my organ again. Something was wrong with me. Something was bothering me, but whatever it was, I had to ignore it. Tonight was the night.
Tonight was the final day in my ultimatum to Raoul. Tonight would be the night that determined everything that occurred from here on. Tonight was the masquerade. I left my costume out and headed upstairs to watch the guests enter. I could change into Red Death later. For now, I wanted to see if Raoul would finally make an appearance.
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End ch10
word count: 6,049
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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!
It was very ironic to write this chapter because I ended up writing too much of what I was feeling into this (ahem, Erik not being able to touch his organ, man that sounded dirty; but yeah) and though it's partially what I had planned to happen, I had not intended to put so much emphasis on it.
Could I use the word darkness any more times? sigh, I hope this was good. More action even though Erik is not doing much, right?
The promise ring concept is kind of modern, but Christine's not supposed to have told anyone and if you realized so many chapters ago, she said Meg suggested something to her. So Meg knew she had the ring, and therefore a lie had to be made.
Once again sorry for the delay. Thanks to whoever has been waiting. I promise I won't quit writing until I finish this.