Paladin18
Erik stared unblinking at Sophia for a moment, unsure of what to do. In all of his years no one had ever begged his pardon. He was always at fault, always wrong. It didn't matter what he said or did, his face marred his existence. He had the mark of a monster, the soul of the devil. Nothing could change that.
But now someone offered him their apology and he didn't know why. His cynicism would not allow him to believe she was sincere, but doubt had to grapple with hope, the only thing he clung to as tightly as he did to apathy.
Hope that he could change, that his life could change despite years that passed without reform. Hope that Fate would at last show him mercy, that one day the nightmare would come to an end and he would wake a young man with the face of an angel and the soul to match.
A little glimmer of faith that survived the eternal darkness was the only thing that kept him alive. Despite the cruelty he had faced, the constant barrage of shrieks and taunts, Erik still told himself that someone would rouse him from the only life he knew. He could be different, he could be seen as different if only he could withstand his hardships a little longer.
He could be loved. If given the chance he knew he could prove history wrong. He was not yet beyond redemption.
"You…you're apologizing? To me?" he stammered.
Sophia looked equally bewildered, as he had gone from seething to stunned in a heartbeat. She nodded cautiously, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear.
"But of course, Monsieur."
"Why?" he demanded, retreating toward his desk. He turned away quickly, replaced his mask, and hoped to regain his strength and fierceness before her. With his shoulders back, he faced her again, green eyes turned cold and gray.
Sophia was staring at the floor when he looked at her, which gave him the opportunity to study her once more. She looked ashamed, though Erik couldn't fathom what reason she had to berate herself when she stood before a monster, a leviathan fear that had crawled from the deep.
"Because I behaved in a manner that is inappropriate for your household," she said slowly. "I am a servant now and I must behave as one."
He saw her swallow as she forced her eyes to meet his. She struggled to maintain eye contact but Erik knew she wanted to examine his mask.
It would have angered him, but she looked genuinely sorry for something he didn't consider her fault. He couldn't help but stare at her as well, though his reasons were completely different. She looked so young and unsure of herself, so in need of his approval. Her consumption had been his doing. She should have been furious with him.
"What were you before?" he asked, his curiosity getting the best of him. He inhaled sharply, taken aback by his questioning.
She smiled shyly. "Nothing," she said with a slight chuckle. She shrugged and cleared her throat, her cheeks reddening. "A Dupree. A winemaker's daughter."
Erik nodded once and realized he had no further questions. Conversation was foreign to him, as his usual communication with the outside world usually involved correspondence through notes. It was much simpler to write a letter and leave it rather than face someone. Cowardly, he thought, which added to his bitterness. He had acted cowardly.
"You are worried your employment is at stake, is that it?" Erik asked as he turned away again, beckoning his familiar anger to return.
"No, Monsieur Belmont. If you wish to release me…I blame myself for my ignorance."
Erik balled his hands into fists. Mademoiselle Dupree was not supposed to remain within his room. She was supposed to be gone from his sight, from his memory. But the longer she remained the more difficult it was to summon the rage he was so comfortable with.
Erik exhaled through his teeth, his shoulders pulling up slightly. He couldn't bring himself to demand that she leave his estate at once. As much as he wanted to demand that she gather her belongings and relinquish her position within his home he couldn't turn to face her.
However, if he couldn't ask her to leave perhaps she would make the offer.
"Should I release you from your duties?" he asked. He walked toward the window to gain distance from her and peered outside. The snow was still falling with no sign of stopping any time soon.
"That is not for me to decide, Monsieur," Sophia answered.
He sighed, and the feeling of relief he felt inside surprised him. He wanted to be relieved when she was finally gone, yet he couldn't force himself to be rid of her.
His eyes remained on the world outside of his window, his body stiff with apprehension and uncertainty. She had bought herself another moment of his time, and he was more than willing to allow her to stay.
"If you excuse me…I don't believe I could leave the Manor until tomorrow. The snow—"
"I see the snow," he snapped.
He turned to face her suddenly, his eyes as hard as stone as he searched her face. He wanted her to give him a reason to excuse her from her duties, but the longer she stayed the more he realized he couldn't ask her to leave. He wanted her to stay and he hated himself for needing something as miniscule as human contact. A ghost needed nothing. With each heartbeat his strength diminished until all that existed was raw, disgraceful, and easily destroyed. Once his title was stripped away the only thing that existed was a very desperate man, one who had been abandoned by the world.
"Do you wish to find employment elsewhere?" he asked gruffly.
She was silent for a moment, her eyes set on the floor again. "I enjoy working here," she said at last, her voice a whisper. "But I have not been appreciative of your kindness."
"My kindness?" he asked, feeling a spark of anger. No one thought he was kind. She was clearly attempting to sway him, to deceive him. He would not tolerate her lies. This was the opportunity he had searched for, the chance he needed to tell her to leave.
He hesitated.
"The lessons," she said quickly. "No one has ever offered to teach me to play the piano. And once my eye…" her voice faded away and Erik heard her inhale a ragged breath. She shook her head, unable to continue. "Good day, Monsieur. I apologize."
She started to leave but Erik stepped forward, his emotions forming an invisible string that pulled him toward her. He couldn't bear to face her a moment longer yet he couldn't tolerate being alone again. Either way he was damned. Either way she would reject him. That was the only part of humanity he was familiar with.
"Stop," he told himself. Stop this foolishness, this neediness. Stop thinking she will offer something no one else has ever been strong enough to give.
"Monsieur?"
Oh, hell, Erik thought. She assumed his request was meant for her.
Sophia stopped when he moved and glanced over her shoulder. Erik felt the heat of her body as they stood side by side. He wanted to touch her, to know that she was real. It didn't cross his mind that he wanted anything intimate from her. That, he knew, would never be. But he wanted to know what her skin felt like, to refresh his memory of how soft and smooth her hands were, how the heat of her flesh had felt against his.
He needed to know that she was real, that she felt real. He needed to know he was not alone, that her heart beat within her chest, that blood pulsed in her veins, that she was there with him. It was a strange thing to want.
Sophia turned to fully face him. She smelled like cinnamon, warm and enticing. His mouth went dry, his palms suddenly damp for reasons he didn't understand. She looked up to meet his eye, her arms straight at her side.
"Monsieur?" she questioned again softly.
"You must practice more often," he blurted out. "If you have any desire to improve."
Sophia's mouth dropped open before she nodded readily. "I will, Monsieur," she smiled at him, curtsying twice. "Tonight, in fact, and tomorrow as well, and—"
"Mademoiselle Dupree!"
Erik turned away at the sound of Karl Turro's voice. He had completely forgotten that another male was in his house, one whom he had not invited. Slowly he recovered his senses and had enough wits to return to his desk where he sat with his back to her.
"Your lessons," he said, surprised that he still had a voice, "will continue tonight at ten sharp, Mademoiselle Dupree. If you are a minute late you will find the parlor empty and your lessons cancelled. We will see how serious you are about music."
Her hands fluttered together. "Oh thank you, Monsieur Belmont! I look forward to my lessons! I will do everything—everything I can to please you, Monsieur. I swear it."
Erik nodded, his tongue rolling along his mouth, sweat beading on his brow. His only hope was that she would not do as she promised. Already he felt sparks threatening the cooled embers within his heart. If she were to do much more it would turn him to ash.