To Those Without Pity

"I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way."-Pablo Neruda

It was a deep and moonless night, still as ever. Both Christine and Erik were seated on the hard steps outside of the Boscherville house, enveloped in the bitter and frosty mist. He sat stiffly in his formal attire, holding a cup of bitter tea that had long since gone cold as he stared out onto the drive. She sat adjacent to him, her eyes also trained in the distance as she set her cup down next to her, gripping her coat in hopes of capturing its warmth. Without knowing how or why, these nightly occurrences were becoming more prevalent, despite the ever-present cold as winter approached. They rarely spoke to one another once they were seated, though such a routine was never formally created. It was simply known and unconsciously acknowledged.

Tonight was no exception. The stars were radiant in the sky, shining brighter than they had since she arrived at Boscherville. She couldn't bear to miss the moon, though, as her gaze shifted up into a night sky that seemed to be overflowing with stars. In her wonder-induced daze, she wasn't aware that words were coming out of her mouth until they had already escaped.

"They're like diamonds," she said softly, not turning to look as Erik shifted his gaze upward towards the heavens.

"They're much more vibrant when you're no longer in Paris," he replied matter-of-factly as his eyes swept across the velvety sky. Just as she was about to turn her attention back to the trees and slip back into silence, he lifted his hand and pointed to a spot in the western sky. "Do you see those five bright stars there? Spica, Auva, Zavijava, Vindemiatrix and Porrima."

She hadn't heard the names before, but she searched until her eyes found the bright clump of stars that he was speaking of before nodding faintly. In their arrangement, they looked like a headless body, sprawled out carelessly across the black cloak of night.

"Virgo. Do you know the story?" Erik had always told her stories, but never this one. Without a word, she shook her head as her eyes remained steadily focused on the stars. "The Greeks believed in a number of gods who all had control over various parts of their lives. Demeter, who was one of these gods, gave birth to a girl named Persephone. Persephone was light incarnate, and she grew up to become a delight to those around her. But her kindness was not her only virtue, for she was so unbearably beautiful that even Aphrodite, to goddess of love, began to notice her."

Her focus sharpened as she took in his words. Still, Christine would not look to him, even as she felt his shift drifting back to her. A feeling of dread began to build within her, yet she would not avert her gaze from that brightest star that made up the foot of this constellation body.

"Not to be outdone in beauty and thus overcome with jealousy, she sent Eros to shoot the Prince of the Underworld, Hades, with an arrow of desire. And so, when Hades saw the lovely Persephone picking wildflowers one afternoon, he could not restrain himself. Without a word, he opened up the very earth beneath her feet so that he could steal her away and hold her captive in his underground kingdom."

His voice was unchanged, and if he had apprehensions about recounting this story, he was not showing it. The cold had already brought shivers through her body, yet his words shook her deeper, for it was painfully evident that he had thought of this story before. However, her base intrigues kept her silent and utterly unable to ignore him.

"Her mother was quick to notice her absence, though, and when she searched for her daughter and discovered that Hades had taken her, she beseeched Zeus, the king of the gods, to release her from his hold. Zeus agreed, for he knew of the waking world's love for Demeter's dear Persephone. But, when they reached the Underworld and found her daughter, now Hades' queen, they were troubled, for she could only return to the world above if she hadn't eaten anything from his kingdom." His voice had turned ever so slightly and her eyes shifted back to him as her breath caught in her throat. She could not fully read his tone, though, as it always seemed excruciatingly intricate and filled to the brim with ambiguity.

"She had eaten seven pomegranate seeds, though, and her fate was sealed. She had to remain with her captor. As a compromise, Persephone was permitted to return to her mother, a month for every seed she did not eat. Demeter's joy made her fill these months with warmth and bounty on earth. For the months that her daughter was away, she would throw the earth into a bleak winter." He stopped for a moment, his eyes turning back to the stars in profound contemplation. "We endure winter all for love," he remarked thoughtfully.

"Love that was against her will," Christine replied with more defiance than she had intended. Just as she felt the urge to demand if their stories were truly linked—if she were allowed her time in the world above—he began to speak once again.

"Who is to say that she did not learn to love her place in the Underworld? The Queen of Darkness…" He murmured nearly inaudibly, something eerily akin to a smile playing on his lips as he stared in wonder at the stars.

Hostility engulfed her momentarily as she followed his gaze up to the stars and back down to him. As her eyes fell on him in scrutiny, though, she felt the anger give way to fascination briefly; his masked side was turned away, and as she watched him, she found herself marveling at how very ordinary he looked from where she sat. How very similar to anyone else…

"Will you tell me you love me?" he continued after a pause, and she was pulled out of her reverie. Instinctively, her eyes widened in befitting shock and she felt herself recoil slightly, not remotely prepared for such a question.

The words that came out of her mouth were blunt and hasty. "No. I do not love you." This wasn't completely true, nor was it completely untrue. The love that was within her was reflexive, uncontrolled, and unwarranted in her eyes. But more importantly, it wasn't the love that Erik desired or craved, and she knew that. Despite the vagueness in her heart, though, she knew she could not say those words.

She was unsure of how he would react, yet her reply didn't seem to faze him. He merely turned his gaze back out to the trees with expected detachment. "You would have despised a life with him, you know," he continued, as if the question had never been asked, the story never told. Once again, she found herself taken aback by his rapid shifts, but she tried to control her incredulity.

"You cannot know that," she told him stiffly. She could feel her defenses mounting once again as her fists clenched with boldness. Had he not learned that broaching this subject would bring on emotional turmoil that he wasn't willing to contend with?

"Oh, yes I can," he told her frankly, his expression unchanging. "You would have lived a life unknown to you. You think that love is enough, but you cannot understand what his world is made up of." He looked at her quickly before she could argue, and continued. "I am not calling you childish or naïve, Christine. You simply know nothing of the evils that lurk in that world."

She felt her bitterness lessen and her hands unclench as she studied his eyes. "What do you mean?" she asked slowly, her brow wrinkling in insatiable curiosity.

"His world is full of counterfeits and snakes. You think I am evil, yet their malice goes far beyond mine. I know that seems impossible, but you would have learned." There was poison laced in his words, and she could plainly see the acrimony such people elicited.

She did not argue, but neither did she concede to his idea. She knew that he wanted to plant a seed of doubt in her mind about Raoul's nature, but she would not allow such manipulation. Without a response, she turned to look away from him, hating the pettiness she sensed in her action.

"It would have been a life without music. You would have had no choice. And while you fancy thinking that I do not know you, you must admit that I am aware of your intense attachment to music. It is an attachment that I share, after all," he said reflectively. "But you would have been cut off from that world. You would have remained a trophy for the rest of your life, stuck on a pedestal that you could not escape."

She turned suddenly, antipathy written in her features. "You treat me like a trophy. How can you possibly deny that?" she accused, her fingers curling around the concrete of the step in order to keep herself from physically lashing out at him.

"I don't expect you to understand," he began, but this time she did not let him continue.

"Of course you don't! You never expect me to understand anything, because I am nothing but a doll to you," she spat, heat racing through her veins suddenly. The night was getting to her, and her emotions were running wild as wounds reopened. She did not censor herself, though, and he did not seem to be bothered.

"My love goes beyond pride and arrogance, Christine," he replied, calm as ever. "It is utterly inexplicable, and if I could have the choice, I would choose not to feel it."

Once again, her anger was snuffed and she was left wordless, staring at him in astonishment. His words had struck her, and for a moment she could not respond. "You would choose not to love me if you could?" she asked, surprised at how acutely the words stung her.

"Of course," he said easily, his gaze falling effortlessly upon her. "How could I possibly want to feel vulnerable at every moment, or want to die for another human being? What a dreadful thing to feel. But I do."

His candidness stunned her, and she felt her mouth hang open as she searched for words. Vulnerability…A word she never would have linked with this man before her. Finally and unwillingly, she murmured, "Yes. To love is a dreadful thing."

Erik did not respond, though, and remained seemingly indifferent as they both fell into silence once again. Time slipped by, and just as she felt her fingers beginning to grow numb, she sensed him stand up next to her. Holding out a hand, he helped her up before they moved back into the house, carrying their cups in just as they always did.

"I love you," she tried, though even she could feel the forced tone that gave her falsehood away. Nevertheless, she swallowed hard and looked at him as he turned. There before her, a rare, yet miserable smile appeared on his lips.

"You needn't say that, Christine. Even the sweetest untruths are still merely lies."

There was no resentment in his voice, but rather a measure of contented lucidity that only cold realism can impart—the kind of tragic eloquence that is like to tear apart a soul.

Just Erik and Christine in this chapter, and a little story, as is becoming a tradition in my stories it seems. I hope you all enjoyed it! As always, I would like to extend a humble thank you to all my reviewers and readers. I would love to know what you think, so don't hesitate to review! Thanks so much!

Until Next Time,

Christine