Time for a new chapter! Hey all, I'm slowly unburying myself from a mountian of stress so I thought I'd celebrate (and have a better excuse to blow off my PLC paper (Philosophy and Literary Criticism, I'm so sick of existentialism)).
Thank you's to awesome reviewers! (So far, according to you guys, what I need to work on the most is my updating speed; that's not too bad then, eh? I usually go over my stuff a few times before I post it; I could post earlier but that means more typos and incongruencies, etc. But I'll try to work on that...)
TerpintineMind: yeah, you're right. I guess I'm just good at understating things...it is a rhetorical device according to my AP Eng. teacher but I forgot what the real name of it was. Thank you!
VictorianDream: haven't talked to you in a while...yeah...I want to hit on that later that Raoul and Philippe were uber-close. Thank you!
Dee: What do you mean Erik killed Philippe? I'm confused... like metaphorically? or what...? Anyway...Thank you!
phantomgoddess34: is your skin still holding you together? hope you haven't burst yet... -:blushes:- aww...you're so sweet! Thank you!
Allthatremains: sorry! I'll try to hurry faster next time... Thank you!
DragonheartRAB: glad you like it. Thank you!
Neori(haaa, I just emailed you...) Dude, when you rule the world, can I have a piece of the action? -:smirk:- Thank you for continuing to put up with me!
MooMoo-Sama: yeah...I didn't think Madam Giry had a first name specifically so I just pulled one out my head and it stuck. Darn right, Erik's no wuss but my goal is to at least not make him cruel per say. Yeah, Christine won't turn into a vampire from that incident (not saying about anything else yet...) but haaaa "one heck of a love bite" that made me chuckle... Thank you!
lazy.kender: Aww shucks... -:sheepish grin:- Updating! Thank you!
twinlady: thanks for the clarification,that parttook me by surpirse when I wrote it (it was one of those things where it was decidedly out of my hands, it wouldn't be written any other way) but I was really hoping that people weren't expecting that. Glad you like that line, too, one of my favs. umm...I was going to put something else but I forgot... anyway... Thank you!
EmilyWillow: weird? ummm okay. Hope you like it...Thank you!
nightbug08: Thank you!
Shadow Fox Forever: glad to hear it. Thank you!
Lizzie Black: Aww...Thank you!
You guys all rock my socks. Since school's out here soon (I graduate on Saturday!), I'll either be really bad at updating or really good, depends how much my little brother steals the computer. I hope I won't fail you guys...
Enjoy, part the next:
Christine moaned as a brilliant beam from the sun broke through the clouds and roused her from a peaceful rest. She threw her hand over her eyes to block the rays and pulled the covers over her head. Before she could fall back to sleep, a gentle knocking at the door claimed her attention.
"Who is it?"
"Mademoiselle? Can I get you anything?"
Groggily, she glanced at the clock near her bed; it was nearly ten. "I'll take breakfast in half an hour."
The maid seemed surprised but acknowledged her request, aware that the rest of the tenants had been up for some time. Christine closed her eyes, willing the sun to hide once more. She wondered briefly why she'd slept so late…then the excitement of the night before crashed down on her conscience. Her eyes snapped open and she reached for the wound at her neck, the two marks still there.
She peered at her hand again, remembering the imprint left by the strange man; Christine had scrubbed the mark from her hand viciously but she could still see it in her mind. It unnerved her.
Sighing, she pulled the white blanket from her head and stumbled over to her vanity to better inspect her scars, the two circles glaring red against her pale skin. Attending to herself as quickly as possible, she combed through her chestnut curls and called a maid to help her dress. Christine completed her ensemble with a scarf, fashionably tied.
She ate her late breakfast in silence. After meticulously replaying the evening in her head, she was first off relatively sure where to collect her belongings (assuming another lucky Parisian hadn't come upon them first which was undeniably likely):
A knife to her throat…the man turned to face her…kicked him and ran…heard brief cries behind her…kept running…a set of hands seized her arms…hands found her shoulders again and another hand across her mouth…then a sharp pain.
Absently running her hand across the scars, she again wondered what could have made such a curious mark. The mark of the stranger's lips was no less perplexing. He could have easily transferred the unusual ink by wiping his mouth on a sleeve that had accidentally been splattered while he attended to her…or perhaps she was overreacting in the first place and the blood had been on her hand initially and she'd drawn improper conclusions…or perhaps…
Christine shook her head vigorously. That was certainly not likely. Nonetheless, she brought her thumb and forefinger to the mark and measured it, bringing it to her mouth; the spacing was close, it was possible. She shuddered. Who would do such a thing?
Her mind then wandered to another perplexing aspect of that night: Christine would have sworn on all that is holy that it was Erik's voice, not at first but the last two words… But it couldn't have been, she'd read the article, she could contrive no reason for him to fake his death, and furthermore she'd seen the body. The corpse was dressed in scorched yet impeccable regal taste she'd known of Erik and the obvious white mask was found close by but what finally convinced her was the ring she'd given him around his charred neck, most of the body horribly burnt in the flames of the opera house.
She had allowed herself to believe once that it was possible the body buried in his tiny plot belonged to another; her doubts resurfaced. Christine was trying to force the thoughts from her head—certain that this hope would lead to deeper despair as it had done the past few months—when after another short knock another maid came in for the used dishes.
"Miss Christine, did you sleep well?"
"I did, thank you, Ella," Christine responded with a smile. Ella was a sweet woman, outgoing and talkative with an overall caring nature.
"Ah, very good indeed. And how are you feeling today? I was just telling Marie if her cold didn't start to get better after three days she should hop right on over and see Dr. Maurice. He's a right clever gent, to be sure, and I make the same advice to you."
Christine noticed for the first time that she hadn't had any symptoms yet that morning from the wretched head cold she'd caught on her journey. "I think it's gone, Ella."
"Such a terrible cold gone so quickly? Goodness me, how lucky you are. I wouldn't complain about that too much."
"No, I suppose not," she murmured.
Ella finished gathering the dishes. "Now if you go outside, you be careful. There are some dangerous men out there. I could have one of the DeVore boys escort you if you'd like some extra protection. They're honest boys, been working for Jean-Luc for years and I'm sure they wouldn't mind at all."
Christine gave a half smile. Dangerous men, yes, I'll have to be more careful. "Thank you, Ella. I'm sure that won't be necessary, not in broad daylight."
"Well, should you change your mind, I'll send for them immediately."
"Thank you, Ella." Christine shook her head lightly as the old woman closed the door behind her.
Christine sat back in her chair, silently wondering if perhaps she should employ a guard. Eventually, she reminded herself that she felt no qualms wandering the streets of Paris in the daylight as she rose from the table, threw a cloak about her shoulders, and left her room to meet with the Giry's.
∞†∞
Erik sneezed violently and Philippe turned to look at him. "Caught a cold, have you? Curious."
"Why is it curious?"
"I've never been sick save once. I had the misfortune of biting a man who apparently had a nasty bout of the flu. It'll pass soon enough. Christine must have been sick."
Erik's breath caught in his throat but he shrugged it off, taking every appearance of unaffectedness as he sniffed. He instead followed Philippe's gaze to the fire in the grate.
"There's something I don't understand."
"I imagine there are several things you don't understand," Philippe quipped.
Erik growled lightly but continued, "When I drew back from Christine, she was still bleeding. I don't know why, but a moment later the blood stopped. The wound had already closed itself. Then when I tried to disguise my voice, I sounded like an entirely different person until I lost my focus."
Philippe didn't respond immediately as his brows knitted together and he leaned forward in his chair, fingers steepled together. "I'm not exactly sure if I can offer any explanation. There's a lot of magic involved in being a vampire; who's to say what way it turns?"
Philippe rose from his chair and absently walked around the room, stopping at the organ.
"Don't touch that," Erik warned in a menacing tone.
"Fine, fine. I have no talent for music anyway. I'm afraid I've always been rather hopeless."
"Everyone starts that way, perhaps you were just unwilling to try?"
"Perhaps. How did you learn?"
Erik smiled briefly, "practice and time, like most everyone else. Well, maybe not like everyone else. I cannot claim to have had the best tutors such as yourself."
"You see what good they've done. Waste of money. Raoul enjoyed the lessons at least; he'd always had a soft spot for music."
"Speak no more of him."
"Perhaps that's why he fell for Christine. You apparently did such a marvelous job of sculpting her voice, how could he not?"
"Stop, Philippe," Erik commanded.
Philippe paid no attention and continued anyway, "Not that I've heard her sing out of the Opera Populaire. She's refused to grace the de Chagny estate with song. Raoul's asked her before but she won't. Hmmm I wonder if she sang at my funeral. That is if they found something to put in the plot. Ha, Raoul thinks robbers stole my body though what someone would do with a dead comte is beyond me; I hear it's put him in a right state…"
Erik was no longer listening; he could still hear the resonances of Christine's voice in his ears and there was no room for anything else. Stop singing? Why would she stop? She lived for music. His thoughts drifted absently, too caught in remembering the last words she'd sung to him to draw any real conclusions though his mind flittered to several possibilities: perhaps her new society disapproved, perhaps she had merely lost interest, perhaps she didn't want to use such a thing sculpted by a monster, perhaps she wanted to forget it all, forget him.
He sighed as he pushed past Philippe who was still talking adamantly. Sitting down in front of the organ, he launched into Bach's Toccata and Fugue. Philippe stopped his jabbering, Erik mentally noted, but he soon lost himself in the piece.
As the last few notes died away, Erik came to his conclusion. "I'm going to see her again while she's still in town, even if it's just for a short time."
"Are you sure that's a good idea?"
Erik didn't respond, he didn't need to justify himself to Philippe.
"Fine, if you're set on it, let me show you something that may help."
Without waiting for a response, Philippe seized Erik's arm and pulled him to Christine's room to stand before the mirror.
"I already know I don't have a reflection anymore, Philippe."
"No, this is something else. Not every vampire can do this. It's rare to find those who do it well."
Erik sighed impatiently, "Do what, Philippe?"
"Here, let me show you. I'm not very good at it. I tend to get stuck more than anything else."
Philippe walked over to mirror and grasped the frame with one hand. Taking a deep breath, he released it and pressed against the gleaming surface of the mirror. He stepped into the frame as Erik stared. Philippe merged into the two-dimensional surface and soon he had disappeared. Erik moved to the side, almost expecting to see a strange bulge in the mirror but its width was consistent.
Philippe whistled, "Erik, over here."
Erik stopped looking at the back of the mirror and moved to the front. Philippe was standing in the mirror; to anyone else, it would have looked like a reflection though the source was absent. Erik nodded approvingly; this would be very useful indeed.
"Hold on, let me see if I can get out this time."
Philippe pressed against the invisible barrier, struggling to find a weak spot. He tried several times in different locations, forcing his body against the surface of the mirror. Erik pulled up a nearby chair and crossed his legs; it looked as if Philippe was going to be a while.
∞†∞
Authoress ramblings: hee hee...I love that mental image...Philippe struggling against the mirror while Erik sits calmly sipping tea or coffee or something... Anyway...Hope all's well on your side of the internet AND—
Love it or hate it, please let me know what you think!