Disclaimer: I don't own POTO, or Corpse Bride – it's coming out soon, so I'll see it though! – or any myths and legends. Which is a shame, because I like them a lot.
Bonjourno, everybody! Here I am, back from Venice, with a tan – of sorts – bearing witness to my holiday, as well as a glass pen and a nice little mask and some postcards to hang on the wall. I was seriously not expecting for it to be so hot in Venice; I ended up taking showers at least twice a day and washing my clothes in the sink; and being forced to watch MTV all day, since tht was the only channel with some English on it. Plus my taste got a severe knock, since I liked our room but Lucie didn't, she said it looked like something out of a 'bordello' – look that up if you don't know what it means. Which says a lot about my taste. And back to school on Monday! But at least I'll get to wear black this time. I've worn brown, bright blue and navy blue, but never black.
I really, really want to do shout-outs for all my nice reviewers – but alas and alack, the rumour that replies to readers' reviews has gotten me scared, and I am a bit of a coward, I must admit – I don't want to lose this phic. So, until further notice, I daren't risk shout-outs. Oooo; curses on whoever thought up that ban! A pox on them! But I feel I just have to say this bit to Ripper…A single kiss woke up the Sleeping Beauty in the wood…what do you think brushed her lips now? Heh heh heh.
So, more E and C for you lucky lot – not necessarily E/C yet…
I found supper already laid out. My host, who stood on one side of the great fireplace, leaning against the stone-work, made a graceful wave of his hand to the table, and said:
'I pray you, be seated and sup how you please. You will, I trust, excuse me that I do not join you; but I have dined already, and I do not sup.'
Bram Stoker's Dracula.
….Back to the Thicket slunk
The guilty Serpent, and well might, for Eve
Intent now wholly on her taste, naught else
Regarded, such delight till then, as seem'd,
In Fruit she never tasted, whether true
Or fancied so, through expectation high
Of knowledge, nor was Godhead from her thought.
Greedily she ingorg'd without restraint,
And knew not eating Death…
John Milton, from Paradise Lost
Feast
Nadir sat back in his chair, and gazed thoughtfully at the opposite wall of his study – his abode was not nearly as elaborate or ornate as that lair created out of Erik's fanciful, slightly twisted mind. At least here he knew that everything was as it seemed; that he could retreat here after the strangeness of Erik's shadowed palace.
But he cared not for all that he accumulated, by long hard work and diligence, in the years since he had come down here, and been forced to make a new existence for himself. No, he let his mind drift back to that conversation with Erik, on the bank; and the memory of the poor young woman – Christine, the name spoken with such reverence by Erik; with reverence that any other man might have reserved for the Almighty himself – trapped, in the lair under the earth.
Poor girl…
And he thought, too, of Erik; of his new form – he still had no idea of how he had managed to reunite himself with his body.
Unless…
He focused on the walls of his study once more; lined with row upon row of books. In life he had yearned for knowledge above all else; and this desire had never receded even in death. The scope of his library went beyond mortal scope; stored in here were books beyond even the wildest dreams of any antiquarian, librarian, collector or any person whose first love was the written word, stored in pages and bound with leather.
And somewhere in there, surely, was the answer to his questions – and the solution to the dilemma; the book which would provide the answer to everything. He knew it.
Now, if he could only find it…and he must find it, and soon. Erik had to be persuaded to release the girl, she had to be returned to the world of the living. Who knew the torments going through the minds of her nearest and dearest; who knew for how long she had been missing in her true world?
And though Erik had sworn that he would never harm Christine, who knew what the young innocent herself was suffering?
In fact, the young innocent was at that moment suffering from the pangs of the extreme temptations of hunger.
Christine could not take her eyes off the elegant bowl piled high with fruit, easily within arm's reach on the table at which she now sat, easing her aching legs after so much time kneeling at Erik's feet. Despite her promises to herself, and her behaviour so far towards Erik, she was a child yet again; her eyes wide with joy at the sight of such treasures.
Apples which gleamed a bright, deep red with health and beauty; peaches, plump, pink and as big as her two fists put together; grapes like large, swelling ovals of mauve wine, begging to be crushed and burst between the fingers so that their juices might be released – all her favourites! Fruits certainly out of season – but then again, when did season matter here?...
And a pomegranate…the golden brown skin shining in the candle light like the metal itself…her breath caught in excitement as she saw it; she had only tasted its fruit once before, when she had been much, much younger – all the good things seemed to happen when she was younger – and her father had split the skin for her, exposing the ruby red seeds, shining like the jewels they resembled; and tasting like mouthfuls of liquid sunshine.
At once her hand reached out, again like a child, in ecstatic expectation, to grasp the beautiful fruit; to split the skin, to reveal the gloriously red flesh beneath-
And once again, she stopped short of actually touching the flesh.
This is becoming something of a habit.
Erik, on the other side of the table, his arms crossed, was watching her intently; sitting back apparently at his ease, but his golden eyes, the same colour as the skin of the fruit, fixed upon her – and especially somehow seeming to take in both her face and remain fixated on her hand, still reaching out for it.
"Will you not take it? You are hungry, are you not?"
Not as hungry as you might wish.
But she only coughed, then said - quite calmly she thought, considering the situation - "I believe I can think of a story which comes to mind, in such a circumstance."
"You do?" He could not have been more suave, more relaxed; his voice showing no betrayal of the intensity in his eyes.
"The legend of how winter came to the world. How Persephone was stolen by Hades, and how she was tricked into eating the pomegranate, so that she had to remain beneath the earth."
"Oh, that tale. Yes, I know it well enough. I believe I once made a sketch of Persephone's abduction by her dread lord." He paused, as if thinking whatever thoughts went on in that strange head of his. "Not a very good one, mark you; but I was still quite young at the time."
She stared balefully at him, or as balefully as she felt she could manage at the moment. He burst into laughter; his golden eyes closing and turning away from her, so that she could breathe again; leaning back further in his chair; his hair brushing over his white collar before his head straightened again and it flowed back into its former position. "Oh, you are so suspicious, Christine! You're almost like Nadir! You think I offered you this particular fruit simply to ensure that you would be trapped down here?"
"You must admit, the situations are rather similar," she retorted flatly, pulling her hand away from the fruit and back into her lap.
Erik shook his head, a rueful smile curling his lips. "Then you might as well say that I placed the apples before you to tempt you to cause the downfall of mankind and the beginning of all sin; or the grapes to entice you into a wild Bacchian frenzy…or the peaches so that you would gain eternal youth – not that that particular gift is not available, to a degree. And on a different subject, my dear, believe me when I say that I have more effective means of restricting a person than tricking them into eating a pomegranate."
"Oh, I believe you. I really do." Christine looked again at the fruit; but now she had no desire to take up any of it to raise to her lips. Somehow the hunger she had felt, and consequently mentioned to Erik, did not seem so pressing now, in the face of this beauty and health, both natural and unnatural. She did not even have to struggle to remember the loveliness of the roses, even though it seemed so long ago now; and what their beauty hid. "Anyway, how do I know any of this would not turn to ashes and mould in my mouth? From what I have seen, everything in the underworld seems to be made up of illusion. Why should the food be any different?"
He shrugged his shoulders, with his own natural elegance. "I would not know. Whenever I eat it all seems adequate, but everything seems that way after so long a time of enduring it."
She paused. She knew that what would come next would not aid the situation at all. But she just couldn't help it. She had to know…
"Erik, why do you eat? I mean, it is not as if you need to…"
He considered, as if chewing a mouthful himself. "Well, to explain - why do you eat sweets, Christine? It is not as if you need to, after all."
She quailed under his sudden, scrutinizing gaze; ashamed of her own apparent greediness. "I…I suppose, because I like to…"
"To answer your question, then. It is true that I do not need to consume food nor drink. To tell the truth, I was never much inclined to do so in life, either. But now…now I eat when I wish to, because I wish to." He looked back at the fruit. "Such as now. So if you truly do not want that pomegranate, I will happily take it off your hands."
Briskly, he uncrossed his arms, leaned over the table and pulled the plate away from her and towards him; and picking up the said pomegranate began to peel off the skin, without a second glance at her – but with another of his infuriating smirks, as he bent over his task.
She said nothing, simply sitting back and letting his audacity flow over her, however grudgingly. He had a way – so casual, and so subtle! – of making her feel that she was in the wrong, periodically. She suspected that he was secretly laughing at her!
Raoul never did that.
Raoul never did anything like any of the deeds that Erik had performed, so far. And she was profoundly thankful that he never would, either.
Still, she could not take her eyes off Erik's hands, though there was still her old revulsion of seeing the abrupt bones and mouldering material of the sleeves, as he carefully stripped the skin away from the redness of the seeds – as if he were flaying a living creature, to reveal the flesh beneath the outer garments…
"Oh, so you do want it after all?"
"I'm sorry?"
"The way you're staring at me, unpeeling it? Heaven knows you probably have no wish to see my hands in further detail. Well?" He held out a clump of the seeds, invitingly, temptingly.
"Well?" he asked again, gently this time.
The ruby redness of the fruit seemed to call out to her, as it lay nestled between his bony fingers, the juices running between the digits; as if he had ripped the gory heart right out of a honey comb. It fascinated her; drew all her attention, all her senses. In that single moment, that mound of seeds, pulled from the pomegranate, seemed to be everything in her scope of vision.
Slowly, she reached out her hand for it; fingers met and juice trickled down her own fingers as he carefully slipped the seeds into them; and then the boniness was gone – not that she had cared – as she lifted the fruit to her lips, and pressed it into her mouth…
So long…
The very sweetness of it unconsciously brought tears to her eyes, even as she closed them in ecstasy, wallowing in the revelation of the gorgeous taste, that she had gone for so long without. When had she lasted allowed herself to indulge in such a manner? To lift food to her lips, and to eat in such a way; to allow herself to surrender to the pure delight of it?
However long it is, it has been too long, came a fleeting thought, even as she crushed the seeds against the roof of her mouth with her tongue, letting the juices flow over it and through her mouth, savouring what seemed to her pure nectar, pure sunlight, melted and formed into the shape of such wondrous fruit. No; this fruit transcended mortality! Not even the previous, shared with her father, could ever compare to this!
No longer did she hold back from delighting in such a taste, no longer could she refrain from sighing with joy, even with her mouth full with the juice and the fruit. No, it was so much deeper than her mouth; it was inside her very spirit! She was no longer Christine; she was Eve herself, savouring her first taste of the Apple of Knowledge, the knowledge of her own boundaries, which had held her back for too long – and this surely out did any apple!
Yet all too soon the nectar died away, and the sunlight was gone; to be replaced with bitterness as the seeds made their play; and with regret she forced herself to swallow; leaving only the memory of joy and discovery still lingering in her mouth, on her tongue, her lips…
She could only look helplessly at Erik – it was as if her wonderful mouthful had taken away her voice. But he was already holding out another piece of the fruit wordlessly; wordlessly she took it, and wordlessly she ate; and once again she felt the sheer joy and exhilaration run through her at the taste; the sheer wonder. What was this fruit, that it wrought such a change in her; tore down all the inhibitions she had posted within her, to protect her against the world?
But she did not care any longer. Her cares seemed to have melted away, as Erik gave her piece after piece of the fruit. As she sank deeper into the joy and elation which the fruit gave to her, it seemed to her that it provided something more than a taste to savour – something deep within herself – so deep, that she could not even find it, not even recognise it, except on some instinctive, primeval level…
Music.
It was music that Erik spoon-fed her with; music that he invited her to pour into her mouth and into her heart and mind…his music…
Truly, nothing here was as it seemed.
But that did not stop her from continuing to accept the flesh from his fingers; to slide it into her mouth, and allow it to enter her soul.
Now she know why Persephone succumbed; why Eve did not resist temptation; why the Maenads threw off their shackles of restraint and allowed themselves to be taken over by a stronger, fiercer urge and desire; an exhilaration which took away all their womanly weakness, and gave them strength untold in return.
Sisters!
All her senses cried out in ecstasy, as they had when she had heard Erik play – but this was a different kind of music – far deeper even than the previous melody, and far more searing upon her soul.
And Erik met her eyes as he handed her the last few seeds, scraped from the now empty skin; as she sat back sated, like a vampire who had drained its victim to the last drop of blood, sucked from the very marrow of the bones; and in her exhaustion able to see what cause of the gorging feast – and to doubt.
What have I done?
She gazed down at the last few seeds, cupped in her sticky fingers. She felt a sudden grossness, fatness, as if she truly had gorged herself on some lesser being – bloated and full of blood.
Why am I still eating?
As she thought, Erik's hand abruptly rasped across hers, as he took the seeds back from her without a word, and placed them blandly into his own mouth, crushing them with a movement of his jaw.
Only then did he speak.
"I trust it was to your liking?"
"Very," she managed. She felt so full! So filled up, with everything! How could she feel such a way, in such a way? It was impossible and yet…
…and yet…
Erik, smiled; and it was surprising how like to a vampire he looked himself; the red juice of the pomegranate staining his lips, and his alternately withered person so evident – although not as evident as before this.
"Sometimes I lived on music alone, when I lived on Earth," came his voice, even sweeter than that which she had just consumed and delighted in. "Now, I live on music again – in a different way altogether. And so have you."
With some effort, she managed to hold his gaze. "Am I going to regret this?" she asked, slowly and seriously.
His smile subsided, to be replaced with a thoughtful air. "Only if you believe it to be so, Christine. But then again, it might have been worse."
"How worse?" She was confused.
"You might have eaten the apple. Better to be Persephone than to be Eve, wouldn't you say?"
Indeed, she thought, even as she bent her gaze to the fruit bowl and its remaining contents again. Better to be trapped, with a chance of escape, than to have fallen altogether.
But have I already fallen?
And who will catch me?
Not quite sure what this chapter is. It's not quite fluff, because of all the gory, hard core ecstasy and stuff; but it's not quite angst either. I think I shall call it… 'flust'! Catchy, don't you think?
For anyone who isn't sure about the rather strange references to fruit here, let me explain; I'm sure a lot of people will get Persephone and Eve, but the grapes and the peaches might give a slight problem. In China, they believed that the gods, to stop themselves from being generally wrinkly all the time – because being immortal's no fun if you can't be young and strong and beautiful along with it, it takes all the fun out of living forever – ate peaches of youth to keep themselves generally spry for all eternity. So much for that; now for the grapes. Maenads were the female followers of Dionysus, the Greek god of Wine, who was also generally associated with licentious behaviour – which should give you some idea of what the women got up to. Among the more interesting of their day-to-day activities, when accompanying the god – abandoning their husbands and children to go dancing off into the hills, may I add - was to go into fits of frenzy when getting high on wine and go rampaging around the place looking for animals to tear apart, which they inevitably did. And not just animals either. One king who opposed Dionysus – not a smart move – consequently got torn to pieces by a crowd of Maenads, including, rather unfortunately, his own mother, who ripped off his head herself. Nasty.
Read and review for the half-Irish seamstress, please!