Wow, hello guys! It's been such a long time since my last update...Well, I will say you haven't been waiting in vain. I have in fact been working. The positive feedback and watches I've gotten are extremely encouraging, and I thank you all for sticking around!
Before you ask, I do want to make two things apparent. "Joys of the Flesh" didn't start like my normal novels do, in that it really has no direction. This is one of those stories that just comes to me as I go, so please realize – I don't know what's going to happen ahead until it's on paper!
And the last point I'd like to make is the design of Erik. I use three distinct versions of Erik - that portrayed by Charles Dance, by Michael Crawford, and by Susan Kay's novel version of Phantom (based on Gaston Leroux's version, respectfully.) That said, I'd just like to make it clear that the design of his mask(s), clothes and other concepts are generally all original – with regards to the originals, of course.
Happy reading, mes amis.
--
The night dragged on incredibly slowly. Despite himself, Erik had deigned to free her wrists from her restraints so that they may talk in a civil manner. It was a decision he was curiously uncomfortable with, after they had begun to speak.
"You have been brought here, to serve me." he said quietly, clinging to the shadows. Where she was concerned, he was still only an ethereal voice.
Seraphina watched a sneaking silhouette slide through the shadows of the dark room. His voice never seemed to match the position of the cloaked shadow, and she began to believe she was dealing with a spirit. She did not satisfy him with a response, and merely pulled her legs beneath her, vividly aware she was still dressed in full costume. The shadow spoke again, moving slowly from the confines of darkness. Seraphina noticed with mild surprise, that she was only allowed to see half of an incredibly well-carved face. The rest, was tilted away, and covered in shadow.
"So quiet," it breathed, "I was assured you were quite talkative."
Seraphina shot him a disgusted glance, but remained silent.
He came further into the light, still staying carefully poised so that his entire figure would be difficult to decipher. Her silence, as much as her figure, began to enthrall his imagination. He let the time pass slowly, letting the silence slowly creep upon her conscious. He had spent many years in solitude, but was well aware that Gypsies were not hardened to the same loneliness.
"Who are you," she said warily, "And what do you want?"
Her voice was hypnotic, strangely as alluring as his own, in it's unique way. It was light, and cracked, as much as his own was dark and solid. He spread his arms disarmingly, "I am called Erik."
"What I want as a matter entirely not of your concern," he paused, "But what I shall have, does certainly concern you, my dear."
Seraphina averted her gaze, sullenly aware of his point. She crossed her ankles with discomfort, carefully noting as he stepped closer.
She was only mildly surprised by the mask, and the limpid, pale skin that showed through where the mask did not cover. Her concern was not focused upon his eccentric face, but his very presence. Go away she thought viciously, go away.
Though not cruel by nature, Erik found himself in a taunting mood. He did not like people, as a rule, so he found it too easy to detach his words, from himself. There was an incredible void between his emotions, which allowed him to think many things, and feel nothing.
"What's wrong dear, it looks as if you've seen a ghost?" he goaded.
Seraphina had become very faint and pallor in the passing time. Her skin, though dark and rich, had slowly drained of it's vibrance, though she shrugged it off in a shiver.
"Do you have a name, or shall I call you Ghost?" she countered tremulously.
"Opera Ghost." he corrected, but resigned to tell her he'd been given the name Erik.
"Opera?" she questioned suspiciously, "Why Opera?"
"Ah, this brings us to a point I had been meaning to make to you tonight," he coughed, bringing himself closer to the bed. He leaned on one of the bed posts, causing her to tense noticeably. She couldn't have been more uneasy if she'd written it on the wall, "We are seven stories beneath the Opera Garnier in Paris. I have built all you see around you, and I assure you, there is no escape. So it is wise, you do as required. Comprenez?"
Seraphina toyed with his words moentarily, taking them into consideration. Erik made no move toward her, and though his eyes could not be seen under the mask, she knew he was watching her for a reaction.
"And what is...required?"
'That entirely depends upon your behaviour," he said morbidly, watching her fidget with the thin layers of her costume, and the bands on her ankle, "There are certain things I really cannot be bothered to do, and certain things I cannot do alone, if you catch my meaning."
"I knew your meaning from the moment I heard you," she said sharply, "But I daresay, what would you do if I was not inclined to assist you?"
"That is not an option," he cooed, turning to face her, "You will avoid a lot of unnecessary pain, if you do not resist me."
Seraphina shrugged, sensing the conversation was fading into an argumentative direction, and she was not in a position to argue. The night dragged on wearily and she suddenly realized how exhausted she was. Though she had made no indication of her need to sleep, Erik had sensed the precise moment when to cut her off from the conversation.
"Tonight, you can safely sleep untouched. Tomorrow..." he paused, "there is work to do."
Seraphina did not question, or pester him when he turned to leave. She did not get up or shout threats in his wake. She did not tremble or cry or do anything associated with someone who had just been seized from reality, and thrust to the dungeons of black despair. She barely stared after him, and seemed to be oddly relieved of his departure. She was incredibly uneasy around people, Erik noticed. For someone who had traveled as a gypsy for many years, she was very unaccustomed to speech and contact with the human race. The thought of her behaviour made him reflect onto his own dismal history, but he shrugged off the thoughts quickly.
He had noticed (amongst many other things) that she was incredibly stubborn. Her trembling voice faded to smooth confidence through the night, and he began to imagine the many reasons the gypsy troupe leader, Jehan, had been so willing to get rid of her. He was beginning to prefer her unconscious.
Erik retired to his own bed chamber, after quietly composing renditions on the piano. His mind was on many things, things which hardly resided in his guest bedroom. He didn't know if she'd ever fallen asleep that night, but he was broodingly aware that it was the first time he had fallen asleep to the bated sound of tears which were not his own. He managed to tune out the sound only with the lingering carnal thoughts he clung to...Tonight, you can safely sleep untouched. Tomorrow, there is work to do.