In case anyone was wondering, "ma petite moineau" means "my little nightingale" in French. I think. ( I honestly am not sure- my translator is not so reliable) so correct me if i'm wrong. Thanks!
Enjoy- reviews are much appreciated!
Oh and I don't own Phantom of the Opera. At all.
As the night progressed, and time became increasingly more inconsquential, his songs grew more and more endearing and soft. And although his eyelids were drooping, he continued on for me, making the most enchanting music I had ever heard. I was intoxicated by the sheer emotion it contained. I was able to sing along with him- our voices, soprano and tenor, blended remarkably well- for many pieces.
"Oh!" I gasped, as yet another song was completed. "Oh, Erik, I am so sorry, you've been playing all night, you must be so tired, after everything you''ve been through..." I was appalled at my selfishness.
"It's alright, I require little sleep, and-"
"Erik, you must think I'm a terrible person, I am so sorry." I hung my head, ashamed.
Carefully, he lifted my chin with a nimble finger to look him in the eye. "Dear Christine, for you I would play for eternity," he said solemnly.
I was taken aback by his sincerity. Boys had said such things to myself and my friends, flirting with us. But it was different with Erik. I never doubted his seriousness, not for a second.
I smiled shyly. "Thank you, Erik. You're sweet."
The visible part of his face was expressionless. We stared into each other's eyes for a long amount of time. Erik was so intelligent, so gifted, so interesting. He was mesmerising, even with his deformity, which held no horror for me at all.
He cleared his throat. "Aren't you tired, mademoiselle?"
"No, not very much. And you are not to call me mademoiselle- it's Christine from now on."
"Alright- Christine," He grinned minutely, then his expression was composed once more.
"Why do you do that?" I whispered, reaching out to brush back a stray lock of dark brown hair from his face.
"Pardon me?"
"Why do you do that? Every time you show some emotion, or reveal something about yourself, you go all rigid, and turn away. You become cold. I feel like I can never comprehend how much pain you've gone through- which is probably true; I'll never understand completely. But-" I halted my flow of worries momentarily. "But I want to help you, Erik, I want to lift your pain somehow..." I furrowed my brow. "I'm just not certain how to do it."
During my little speech Erik had not moved at all. I can sense his cunning mind working very rapidly to come up with an honest and satisfying answer.
"My whole life," he began, gazing at the organ pedals, "I was rejected and unwanted. In order to even survive, I had to shut out what everyone thought of me, and what they said to me. I learned very quickly that the less emotion that I showed, the less taunting and injury I received. My own mother-" He hands shook with rage "- never loved me. she insisted I wear a mask, and when I ran away from home, I doubt she cared! She was probably glad to be rid of me, her monster of a son! So you see, I've never known love or compassion, never known kindness, or even the pleasure of touch. Is it so hard to comprehend, then, why I am so hesitant to allow any true feeling to be shown?" He stood- his towering height overwhelmed me- and stalked away into the shadows, leaving me stunned and filled with pity, behind him.
I waited and waited, but Erik never returned. I was uncertain of what to do- I wasn't quite sure which direction he'd gone- so I quickly found an inkwell, ink, parchment and a quill and penned him a quick note before leaving to find Madame Giry. She would be know where he was eventually, and would solve the probelms that needed to be sorted out.
Poor, unhappy Erik!
Hope you liked it!