*drumroll* Here we are, the Erikness is about to begin. I apologize for any possible obsessiveness, it's all Licia's fault because she encouraged me to write this :lalala:

The story is based on both Susan Kay's book (Erik's early youth and travelling years) and Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical (the in-between and the rest). I'm saying based because I changed the dates (most importantly, the Erik/Christine drama takes place in 1896, when the chandelier in the Parisian opera did indeed fall) and left out some of Susan Kay's ideas, or used them in a different way. Those who have read the book might realize this, the others can just go with the flow, heh. There's also a little Leroux in it (literally, haha).

Now, enough bla bla. Abandon thought and let the dream descend!


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Title: Requiem for a lonely heart

Written by: Jennifer, aka Miss Cicero

Rated: PG-13, although a few chapters may be rated higher. I'll put a warning if that's the case.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately I don't own Erik. Gaston Leroux "invented" him and Susan Kay explored him, and I'm just picking up where Andrew Lloyd Webber left off. All original characters, however, belong to me.

Summary: Every endless night is followed by a dawning day...
Prague, 1900. Four years after Christine broke his heart, Erik is struggling on alone. When he saves a mysterious young woman from being violated, the course of his life changes dramatically. Unable to stay but unwilling to go, Erik finds himself in the middle of an emotional adventure that may lead to happiness after all...

This story is dedicated to my fellow Erik lovers, Licia and Pat :love:



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Prologue - Erik’s review




What am I to do with all this silence?
Shy away, shy away, phantom
Run away, terrified child



I once promised myself never to look back, because I believed that what is done is done. I was of the opinion that the present, this brief, precious moment in-between the unchangeable and the unknown, would suffer if one kept glancing backwards as though it would bring a change. I was convinced that contemplating every thought that ever crossed your mind, every word your lips ever spoke, and every action ever taken by you was bound to eventually leave you trapped in the slippery net of regret. And regret has never worked in any other way but bring a man to his knees.

Four years had passed since I’d left Paris, and yet it often felt a lot longer than that. Time weighs heavily on your heart when you’ve got too much of it, and sometimes the seconds would pass so slowly that they seemed to become tangible. I almost fell for the illusion that if I reached out for those tiny fractions of eternity, they would take form against my gloved palm and eternally remind me that they were unstoppable, that they would keep coming to tease, tempt and torment me as I sat in the dark, silently begging them to move faster. I could see their endlessness when I closed my eyes, and I felt helpless either way. I suppose that this is the reason I reluctantly chose to be passive and patient instead of attempting to take a hold of them. Time can stand still or it can pass you by within a moment, but it does this solely as it wishes. Sometimes the more you want something, the less likely it is that you will get it. You cannot influence the ways of the world, although there used to be a time when I was foolish enough to believe I could alter and manipulate everything to my liking if only I was persistent enough.

Paris, however, had taught me a painful lesson, and when my wounds finally started to heal, I did all I could to prevent a setback of my reconvalescence. But no-one had prepared me for the kind of wounds that aren’t of the flesh but of the soul. You might find that strange because hatred, discrimination and persecution have always been part of my life. The difference to a heartache, however, is that I had learned to cope with the former. It is easy to hate those who are hostile towards you, to match their cruelty and ignorance. But a heartache... the bittersweetness of it tears you apart. Like a crippled man who wants to run, I wanted to hate, but couldn’t. I was dying to cry tears that just wouldn’t come, feeling agonisingly energetic and numb at the very same time. For months, I struggled like a madman, then I realised that pain was a sign that I was still alive – something I hadn’t thought possible – and gave up fighting it. Choosing pain over apathy was the safest thing for me to do. I dreaded drifting back into this state between worlds, where nothing has form, and yet the terror of burning in hell for what I’ve done is as real as it could have been. There never existed a God in the world I lived in, at least not for me. But there certainly was a hell, and even though I was very aware that I had done too many wrongs to count, I did not feel like I belonged there. The world and its cruelties had made me who I’d become, and I was not going to take the blame for that.

The reason I could not hate Christine was that deep down I understood. I didn’t want to, it was something my heart had done without consulting me first. The moment she kissed me was the moment I realised that there is a difference between envy and jealousy. Jealousy is the terrible fear of losing someone you truly and deeply care for. It is a negative form of compassion, and therefore it’s natural and just. But an envious person is merely obsessed with gaining possession and control of someone who never belonged to him in the first place. Envy is degrading and selfish. Once upon a time I was jealous of Raoul because the beautiful young woman I had discovered, transformed and cared for decided to share her affection with someone other than me. I began to envy him when it became clear that she would give her heart only to him, that the compassion and pity she felt for her disfigured Angel of Music could not compete with her desire for true love. I envied Raoul because he didn’t refuse the gift of her heart, as I’d secretly hoped he would.

When Christine kissed me, I had to make a choice. I could either make two young lovers’ lives a living nightmare by tearing apart two hearts that fate had tied together long before I attempted to separate them. Or I could set them free and be miserable myself. The spiteful part of me wanted to make them suffer, to make them feel what it was like to be tormented by a thirst that cannot be quenched. And yet I found myself unable to deny them what I longed for so desperately. I hated to admit it, but always taking an eye for an eye would only make the world end up blind. I do not wish the agony of a broken heart upon anyone, not even my worst enemy. Well, with possibly a few exceptions. But love is a bird that needs to fly, or she will not survive. I could not bear the thought of losing Christine, but forcing her to be unhappy would have been even worse. And so I let them go.

Christine broke my heart and thereby proved that I had one, whether I wanted to acknowledge that or not. By choosing Raoul, she ripped it right out of my chest, leaving it up to me to either mend it or find a way to live without it.

Here comes the moment when I have to change my opinion about the past. Only those who know about their mistakes and the reasons for making them can be certain to never repeat them in the future.

I moved on and learned to be lonely. With time, bitterness and indifference helped me to get by. Darkness once more became my trustworthy companion, and I was sure I would never feel anything again, ever.

Sed errare hominum est.


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song credit: A Stranger, by A Perfect Circle

Sed errare hominum est. (Latin) – It is, however, human to be mistaken.

*evil laughter* Yep, thank me for egging her on to write this mastery of our beloved Phantom. :devil:

Can I tell you how beautiful this is? I can't think of a more articulate and perfectly written Erik than the one you portray here, my friend. This is gorgeous. I love the song at the beginning, it fits really well.

Whoa, I really liked your whole description of time here. It really shows us what it was like for Erik when he was alone. And for that last sentence, love it. I'm glad he finally realizes that life isn't a game that he can cheat at to win. Alas, poor Erik the ex-puppeteer of his opera house, he now realizes that even the best laid plans of mice and Phantoms oft go awry. :lol:

Oh, and the description of heartache, gosh, you just feel all sorts of sympathy for the guy...but we mustn't forget that he can turn back to his darkness at any time.

Oooh, this is really awesome, I hadn't really looked at either emotion in those types of definitions, and you know what, it's true! I love what you did with this, he's realized (hmm, lots of epiphanies here) where he went wrong and now (hopefully) can correct his mistakes. Erik admit that he's selfish? Gasp, haha. Nice comparison between him and Raoul though, that Raoul has just jealousy and he had unjust envy. The AP English part of me grinned with glee.

Fantastic line there about the eye for an eye, it's so true! Erik is finally putting his brain to some good use, lol. His humanity really shines through in this, the way he knows a broken heart and feels enough empathy through that not to want to wish it on anybody. But then you sneak in that "with a few exceptions" and we say "ah, there's the old Erik again, tsk tsk". ^_^ I love the guy though, he's too devious for his own good.

You get a million awesome points for tying in the song! *applauds you* But oh noes, he's turning to the badness to get through it all...then again, if he had reformed and turned good. where would the fun be in that? :tsk: I love the way you have him talk, such melody and poetry in his words *le sigh*. Hehe, and those last words just ASK to be proven wrong. :shine:

I love your story *huggles it, then you* I can't wait to see what happens with him, your writing is sublime m'dear, I'm 100% behind you in this. :yay:

Heh, my muse was good today, so here we go. Just two little things before we start:

About Prague: In the 19th/ early 20th century, Prague was THE metropolitan city of the Austrian-Hungarian empire, with a German-speaking majority of the population until the 1860s. It was THE place to go for both fun and business, something like a big Moulin Rouge, a paradise for intellectuals and artists alike. It was blossoming and blooming from the amplitude of arts. Sounds like the perfect city for Erik, doesn't it?

About languages: Because of the large number of German-speaking residents, the dialogue between Erik and Illina and Nadir and Olga would be in German, respectively (since I don't speak Czech, lol). But since posting translations after every sentence would be annoying, I'll post it in English, and you can use your imagination, heh. Nadir and Erik, however, would talk to one another in Erik's native French, but same goes for French as for German.






Chapter One - A chance encounter




I know not how she found me
For in darkness I was walking
And destruction lay around me
From a fight I could not win



It all began on a chilly, moonless night at the beginning of March. Prague was enveloped in thick, tenebrous shadows that hasted around the ancient city like a pride of black panthers on the hunt, hushing every sound that could possibly break the eerie silence. The Vltava river, a filigrane silver line that gently sloped through the vast valley in-between the nine surrounding hills, lay still beneath the cloudy sky, mirroring the smother that seemed to be dangling just above my head. Something was about to happen, this much was sure.

I had been out and about in the city as usual, frequenting a few places I had grown quite fond of during the last four years. Every now and then I was rather amazed at how much of a people person I had become compared to how I used to live my life in Paris. It was risky business that I was doing, I knew that, but there was something about Prague that was alluring, a kind of atmosphere that just wouldn’t allow me to spend all my days and nights alone inside my home. Even though the city had been founded nearly nine hundred years later than the French capital, it possessed an ancient flair, and its daytime radiance and liveliness turned into a consuming dark glamour as soon as the night fell. The many illuminated bridges across the Vltava river, the bizarrely beautiful silhouettes of buildings from half a dozen different epochs that reached for the sky, the peaceful clash of many different nationalities – Czechs, Germans, Hungarians, Slovaks - it was fascinating, to say the least.

The sheer abundance of the arts really drew me in like a moth to the flame. Prague was like a hothouse for virtuosity of all kinds. Three poetry circles were avidly competing with one another frequently, producing brilliant works each and every week. Poetry is the right words in the perfect order, and not seldomly I had to acknowledge that I couldn’t have done it better. Everyone else was equally stunned, so not a soul would pay attention to a man dressed all in black, sitting quietly in the shadows of the back row. And even if a head did turn every now and then, my sight was dealt with with a vague nod in my direction, then a careless shrug. This vivacious city had seen more peculiar creatures than a man wearing a mask. I could easily pass as an eccentric artist or aristocrat here.

Also, the philharmonic was a pleasure to listen to, especially when they played a piece I had secretly slipped into the director’s office after completion. The first time I did that, I expected an utter disappointment. After all, the dillettante orchestra of the Parisian opera had failed miserably at performing my opera, Don Juan Triumphant. But I was in for a pleasant surprise, and so I paid a visit everytime the announcements in the papers listed a work by the “mysterious Erik Le Mônfaté”. Nadir had come up with this anagram of “le fantôme” when I sold my house. Originally, I had built it as my new home, but by the time it was finished it bored me so much that I just couldn’t stand it anymore, and therefore decided to get rid of it. My dear friend served as a trustworthy messenger between potential customers and me, and the building eventually went to a distant cousin of the Austrian emperor, who used it as a summer resicence. Needless to say he was willing to pay a great amount of money for the masterpiece I had created. It was perfect timing indeed, because the riches I had brought with me from France had been about to run dry due to my dissolute lifestyle.

My skills made quite an impression, because Nadir was soon contacted by various other noblemen who were interested in having a residence built by the same architect of the “Royal Austrian Villa”, as it was then called. At first I was very reluctant to do custom work for snobbish aristocrats whose only reason for taking an interest in architecture was to show off their wealth. But once again Nadir changed my mind. I will never forget the look on his face when he found out I had been haunting the Opera Populaire for many years since my return from Persia. It was an indescribable mixture of disbelief, shock and utter disappointment.

“So this is what I’ve spent five years in prison for?” he’d asked bitterly. “Five years of my life so you become some kind of a ridiculous ghost that scares hysteric ballet corps girls?”

It only occurred to me then that he’d set me free so I could continue with what I’d been doing in Tehran, namely constructing buildings that would still be there after hundreds of years, buildings that would leave people in awe. The Shah had wanted to kill me because he was afraid I would create equally impressive masterpieces for anyone else than him, and by retreating to my lair for most of the time I had unintentionally given in to his will. Suddenly I felt very ashamed for my pitiful existence, and so I tried to look at the requests in a different way. Instead of working for ignorant fools, I told myself I would unleash my creativity and turn each and every villa into a momument of my proficiency. I’d only let them choose as much as the style and colours, then demand absolute freedom to do as I wished. And of course I would never meet them. Nadir made all the necessary arrangements. I didn’t expect it to work, but it did, and within just about three years, I had become a minor phenomenon. Erik Le Mônfaté, the unseen genius. I almost found it funny.

So on this one night, I was once more very pleased with the philharmonic, whose nearly perfect rendition of my latest work had entertained me greatly. I was still humming the tune to myself as I made my way home, when suddenly a cool breeze carried a muffled yelp past my ears. I stopped immediately, listening, trying to figure out where it had come from. Not that I usually cared about other people’s business, but I could tell that someone was in danger. A woman, to be more specific. Several moments of silence passed, then I heard another cry, followed by a man’s voice uttering a threat. Spinning around, I rushed off into the direction where it had come from, not making a sound as I blended in with the shadows.

I could hear their contemptuous, evil laughter before I actually saw the three youths. Then the sound of cloth being ripped reached my ears. They had cornered a young woman in a dark alley, and I instantly knew what they were up to. The girl was struggling, trying to get away, but it was all in vain. I held my breath as I watched a fist collide with her face, then another as she attempted to call for help again. Within a moment, I felt the anger flare inside me. Preying on the weak, especially when the victim was outnumbered, was cruel, even in my eyes. There is nothing glorious about a victory over someone who’s beneath you. It’s solely about power, and whereas power itself was something I thrived on, I had always chosen someone of my size. I despised those who picked the ones who were helpless.

The Punjab lasso strangled the first of the three before he even knew what was happening to him. A wave of satisfaction washed over me as I watched his eyes widen, then he gasped for air. I gave the rope a downward yank, and the boy fell to the ground as the colour of his face changed from white to purple. He tried to scream, but another hard pull cut his air supply off nearly completely.

“Look who’s the victim now,” I said quietly, letting the wind carry my words over to his two friends as a ghostlike whisper. They had taken several steps away from the girl, standing back to back as they looked around fearfully, trying to detect the location of their attacker.

“If you want him to live... ” I tightened the rope around the youth’s neck. He whimpered, silently begging his comrades to help him. “... run. Now.”

They looked at one another, still somewhat hesitant about taking any action at all, be it running away or striking back. I sighed inwardly. I wasn’t in the mood to kill tonight, but if I needed to go this far, so be it.

“As you wish.”

One last pull, and the boy stopped moving. His now dead eyes stared up at the other two, who finally realised this wasn’t a joke. They spun around and sped away into the night, not looking back once.

Stepping over the body, I emerged from the shadows, untying my lasso and putting it back into my pocket. Then I took a look at the girl. She was pressed up against the wall, hiding her face behind her hands, sobbing quietly. Her dress was torn, revealing a small, firm breast, and although I had no intention to do so, I stopped and stared. There had been plenty of statues of naked women in the Opera Populaire, but I had never seen one in flesh and blood. How could I? The very same caprice of fate which had condemned me to hide my face and wallow in blood had also denied me the joys of the flesh. Except for Christine’s heroic sacrifice, no woman had ever dared, or wanted, to look at me. My desires were no different from any other man, and being unable to fulfill them was torment. Not even once had I approached a prostitute, because the mere thought of being refused by a woman who spreads her legs for money was too humiliating to bear. So now that it was all in front of me, I was mesmerized.

I took a few steps towards the girl, letting my eyes wander over her. She was unusually tall for a woman, being almost of the same height as I was. Her body was fragile and bony, there really was no excess fat, and she was dirty. Her skin was nearly as dark as her black hair, which was a wild, untamed chaos. She was still hiding her face, and in an impulsive moment of curiosity, I grabbed her wrists and forced her hands down.

I wasn’t surprised that she avoided looking at me. Letting out a quiet whimper, she closed her eyes and lowered her head. For a second I felt the anger come back, but then I noticed she was shaking, and suddenly it dawned on me how frightened she probably was. I immediately let go of her, taking a step back and clearing my throat.

“Are you alright?” I asked, trying to sound polite. The moment the words slipped past my lips, I realized how stupid the question was. She had several deep scratches on her face, neck and shoulders, her lip was bleeding and her skin had cracked just above her left eyebrow from the punch she had taken. A thin trail of blood ran down her neck, trickling off her collarbone. This time the anger did come back indeed, and I felt a sudden urge to find those two other youths. How could they do this to to her?

“You’re hurt,” I now stated matter-of-factly, taking off my cape in the process. She winced when I put it around her, but she didn’t object.

“Come,” I commanded, taking her hand and pulling her after me as I started walking. She needed to be taken care of, but I couldn’t do that. Not only couldn’t I guarantee my primal instincts wouldn’t take over. I also didn’t happen to have any bandages or alcohol with me, and so we needed to go somewhere else. I began to feel a little unnerved when she stumbled after me hesitantly, her hands trailing along the walls of the houses framing the alley. What was she thinking I was going to do? If I wanted to hurt her, I would have done that by now.

I moved swiftly, heading for the quarter where Nadir lived. Looking back from time to time, I realized she still wasn’t comfortable following me. She blindly reached out for walls, balustrades and other things around her as though she was.... I wasn’t sure what she was doing, but it looked as though she was trying to steady herself. She kept her eyes on the ground at all times, biting her lip nervously. Again, I felt a little irritated. I was just trying to help. Why did she have to make it so annoyingly difficult?

When we finally reached Nadir’s house, I raised my hand and knocked on the door. A few moments passed, then I heard the soft sound of a metal bar being pushed aside before finding myself face to face with two very familiar dark eyes that were looking at me through the spy-hole.

“Erik? What are you doing here at this late hour?” Nadir asked tiredly.

“I need your help,” I replied simply, gesturing for him to open the door.

He frowned, but then nodded. I heard him fiddling with the lock for a bit, then the door swung open. He was already dressed for bed, and he gingerly rubbed his eyes with one hand, holding a petroleum lamp in the other.

“What’s –“

Then he saw the girl behind me, and his confusion increased visibly.

“She was attacked,” I explained briefly before he got a chance to ask another question. “Someone needs to take care of her wounds.”

“Come in.”

He stepped aside and beckoned us to follow him. I looked over my shoulder, making sure the girl was still there, then stepped inside with her. I don’t know why I somehow expected her to trip over the threshold, but she did. Clumsy people irritate me to no end. Makes me wonder how they manage to travel from cradle to crave without breaking their neck halfway along the way.

“Let me wake Olga,” said Nadir as we stepped into the living-room. “Your friend looks like she could use a bath, too.”

I nodded my head as I watched him go back upstairs, then pulled out a chair from the dining table.
“Sit down,” I told her before I crossed the room and entered the kitchen to get myself a drink.

“What is your name?” I asked as I scanned the bottles of wine on the shelves, contemplating which one it would be. Over the years, Nadir had developed a passion for good wine, and I found myself browsing his selection with pleasure.

She didn’t answer right away, and so I turned around, looking over at her. I felt a tiny surge of pity for the shivering bundle of nerves on that chair, but it only lasted for a little while. Annoyance quickly took over, and I snorted, folding my arms.

“I asked for your name,” I repeated sharply. “Don’t you think it would only be polite to answer me that question since I just saved you from being violated by three mindless youths?”

“Illina,” she replied quietly after a pause. “It’s Illina.”

“Illina,” I mumbled to myself as I turned back around. Illina. There was something about the sound of it that appealed to me right away. It was melodic, and it had a light, vivacious sound to it, like a droplet of cool water falling on the tip of your tongue in a hot summer. The combination of those six letters was absolutely perfect, a miniature masterpiece. You can tell a lot about someone just by their name. This name was beautiful and obviously rare, because I had never heard it before. I was intrigued.

I expected her to ask where we were, what was going to happen to her, but she stayed silent. Once I had chosen a bottle of wine – a rich, red Burgundy – I returned to the living-room. Nadir and Olga came down at the very same moment, taking another curious look at their guest.

“Oh, you poor thing! What happened to you?” Olga covered her mouth with her hands as she rushed over.

She was a short, slightly stout woman in her late thirties, with sandy blonde hair and grey eyes. A multitude of tiny freckles surrounded her button nose. Judged by society’s standards, she wouldn’t count as beautiful, but she was a friendly, gentle woman who possessed a rare, genuine warmth. Even I felt somewhat drawn to her simple, down-to-earth nature, and I understood why Nadir had married her. I knew he once promised himself never to wed again. Not after a terrible disease killed both his beloved wife Rookheeya and his son Reza. He’d hardly spoken of it in my presence, but I knew that their loss had left a painful hole in his soul that would stay there forever... unless someone found a way to fix it. I was very sure Olga was the only someone who could actually do that. She used to sell fruit on the market, that’s how she met Nadir. Their friendship had developed slowly, but he eventually found himself unable to resist her kindness. Olga, too, had suffered the loss of her partner, and when they decided to share the pain, I knew they were going to take good care of one another. Her bump had grown considerably since the last time I saw her. I knew Nadir was proud.

“Come, let me tend to your wounds,” Olga said softly, putting an arm around Illina’s shoulders and leading her to the adjacent room. She closed the door behind her, leaving Nadir and me alone in the living-room.

“Who is she?” he asked once they had gone, keeping his voice down.

I shrugged vaguely, taking a sip of my drink. “I told you, she was attacked. I happened to be around, and when I saw she was hurt, I brought her here so Olga would take care of her.”

Nadir nodded slowly as he sat down opposite me, thinking for a moment or two. Then he looked at me, and I frowned.

“What?”

“I’m just thinking that this is rather unlike you,” he answered with a soft chuckle.

I snorted softly, shrugging once more. He was right, and yet he wasn’t. Compassion was something rather alien for me, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t heard of it at one point. Somewhere deep inside I couldn’t stand the thought of looking away when someone was in need. Maybe it was because once upon a time Madame Giry had saved me from the gypsies. I hated to admit it, but chances were I would still be trapped in this cage, in this living nightmare of a freak show at my expense, if she hadn’t helped me to escape. She hid me, gave me food and clothes and simply took care of a frightened little boy she had paid to see. I never understood why the hideousness of my face had not mattered to her, but maybe this was why it was such a miracle. Perhaps this was why I felt something stir inside me at the sight of humans abusing those inferior to them. It was indeed possible that this soft spot for the innocent was the greatest gift I’ve ever received.

“How far along is Olga now?” I asked when the moment of contemplation had passed.

“Just over five months,” Nadir replied. A smile overtook his features, and his eyes suddenly seemed very alive. “I never thought this would be possible... but I’m happy. Very, very happy. I think Rookheeya and Reza would have wanted this.”

I nodded thoughtfully. The memory of Reza made me feel uneasy, and I tried to ignore the guilt that was pressing at the back of my thoughts. No matter how many times I tried to tell myself that I had done the right thing, that I had only eased his suffering, there was this quiet voice inside that wouldn’t stop accusing me of having poisoned a five-year-old. He would have died, there was no doubt about that. And it had also been clear that his death would be painful. And yet, sometimes I wondered if I hadn’t crossed a line I shouldn’t have overstepped. Reza had adored me so much that Nadir had been afraid I was taking over his role as a father. Shortly before he died, Reza had almost been blind and unable to walk. And yet, whenever I entered the room, excitement and happiness would radiate from him, and he’d struggle to walk over and embrace me. I had held his lifeless body for what seemed like forever, hoping to a nonexistent God that Nadir would understand.

I don’t know how much time had passed, but at one point the door opened, and Olga emerged from the other room, heading upstairs.

“That girl needs a new dress,” she explained as Nadir gave her a questioning look. “Hers is torn apart. Can’t let her wear those rags. I shall see if I have one that fits her.”

And off she went. She returned a little while later, carrying a simple linen dress. It wasn’t pretty, but it would do. I turned back to Nadir, about to ask him something, when suddenly Olga let out a surprised yelp.

“What is it?” Nadir rose, giving her a worried look.

“She’s gone,” Olga said, utterly surprised.

“She what?” I, too, got up. Crossing the room, I was with her in a second, pushing the door open further.

Indeed, the room was empty. There was a window opposite the door, and it was open. It wasn’t hard to figure out that this was where she went. We looked at one another, unsure what to say or do. It took me a moment to gather my thoughts. Then I realised she had taken my cape with her... and, as I noticed when I absent-mindedly checked my breast pocket, my purse, too. For a moment or two, surprise, fascination and anger fought a fierce battle inside my brain. Nobody had ever stolen anything from me, not even any of the gypsy boys. And most certainly not without me noticing.

“Damn you,” I muttered, grinding my teeth as I turned away. This certainly hadn’t gone as planned.

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song credit: Lady In Black, by Uriah Heep

I loved the first chapter and loved this one too. Give us more!

:heartbeat: Pat

This is an amazing paragraph...very poetic and exactly the way I think Erik would describe a night. It paints an awesome picture for the readers so we can figure just what it was like to see Prague from his eyes.

Nice intro with the song too! You're oh so talented as an Erik song finder, hehe.

Great line there...basically saying that there were people more scary than Erik, haha. Eccentric artist could be pulled off rather well, I think. He is very eccentric, though it's with his buildings. ^_^

:tehee: I loved the part about Erik slipping in music to be played, he's so sneaky. I have no idea how he expected them to do Don Juan though, it sounds so scary. I also really like how he's got the anagrammed name, kind of gives him that Count of Monte Cristo aspect, this unknown rich aristocrat (well, he's rich once he gets paid, haha). Nadir's such a good friend to be doing all this for him, being the go-between and all.

:lmao: And you know how much I was amused by the visual of Erik walking down the street and humming to himself, hehe. But man, that was an excellent scene of the rescue and it showed that Erik really is human after all.

Who knew Erik was so wise? But we both know he got this sense of "right and wrong" from his past. ;-) It's funny, I just realized that Erik is a sort of Robin Hood for the weak and abused...he plays pranks on aristocrats and serves what he thinks is justice to them. Embarrass the rich and empower the poor, hehe.

*imagines this in a movie* Yep, could definitely happen. He seems like such a superhero in this part, it's awesome. A bit V for Vendetta, only in V for Vendetta, more people died and V confused the heck out of Evey, haha. Grrrr, those boys are such jerks! They got what they deserved. And heh, the "as you wish" line made me think of Princess Bride. *hugs Westley*

Poor Illina, she's lucky to have Erik around. You did a good job showing Erik's humanity though, when you had him gawking over her, I mean, she's a (*gasp*) woman, and he's probably pretty innocent as those things go. That happens when you live underground for some odd years, haha.

I also loved how you covered the fact that her unsteadyness in moving around bugged Erik, and her tripping over the threshold. For being persecuted himself and voicing his distaste for intolerance, he's pretty snobbish towards her. Sort of a "I may be deformed, but at least I can walk." Or maybe he's trying to find something to pick at since he doesn't usually give charity. Hehe, I love this guy.

To not be such a quote whore, I shall simply comment on the way Erik took to her name. Methinks she's starting to grow on him, hehe. Really beautiful way to describe the name, it made me think better of it after reading that. I like Illina now. *grins*

I love Nadir. :hug: Classic friend seeking help from other friend at unholy time of night move, it's great. But he doesn't hesitate to help out, because he's that good of a friend. :shine: ANd it's so cute that he has a wife and kid on the way (especially since he lost the same before...that's so sad, even more so that Erik had to kill Reza so he wouldn't have to suffer the way Nadir's first wife did). And nice job giving us some insight into Erik and Nadir's past, it helps us see why Nadir is so unblinkingly loyal to our dear Phantom.

Insight time! Haha, Nadir was great in having a "who are you and what have you done with Erik" moment. This was written very well, it shows how much of an impact that Madame Giry had on him.

:lmao: Hehehe...oh snap, she outsmarted the Phantom of the Opera. I like her. I think this may be the first time Erik has been duped...and by a girl! Oh dear, his fragile male ego has been bruised most heinously. Methinks the wrath shall be unleashed in some form.

Oh how I love this, keep it up, you have a brilliant story going, my friend! :hug:

whee, thanks *huggles* and I'm working on it, heh. I should have the second one finished by the end of the week. :love:

*giggles insanely* hon, I just LOVE your replies *dies laughing* I shall try my very best to keep you entertained, hehe. :love:

Hey! I just wanted to pop in and say that I have read the prologue and I love it! It's so beautifully written and the emotions of Erik are so heartfelt and deep. It is just how I would imagine he would have felt after the whole Christine incident.

I shall read chapter one tomorrow!

Ohh, cool twist! I liked seeing Erik show compassion but I liked it even more that the girl disappeared with his infamous cape and money. :yes: I am wondering why she walked so strange, though...kept holding onto walls. Hmmmm. I have a theory.

I really liked this line:

It's funny how he considers it a heroic sacrifice. I always took Christine's actions as being rather torn, in the beginning at least...I think there was a time when she wanted him.

*sigh* I always wanted her to pick Erik, at least. ^_^

heh, do you now? :tsk: wait and see, lol.

*chuckles* sarcasm is my best friend, and Erik'sa too, that is all I'm saying ^_^

hahaha, who didn't?

*has read it, as she promised* Tis very good hun. Lovely writing style, and interesting events so far. It's nice to come across a story that lacks a shallow plotline, haha...

I apologize for my short comment- it's rather late and I'm rather tired. I will be back though, most definitely :)

Ttfn.

lol, glad you like it! :hug: I'm trying my best with a decent plot, can't mustn't just write Erik smut, haha.

dun dun dun... you may thank the weather God for sending rainclouds to Germany nonstop. Means I have to stay inside and write, lol.

Minor warning for this chapter. Some sexual innuendo, but nothing explicit. Still PG-13. Enjoy!




Chapter Two - ...and so we meet again




Be careful with my heart, you could break it
Don’t take my love for granted, things could change
Sometimes I go insane
I’ll play the fool and you’ll agree
I’ll never be the same without you here with me



The fact that I had been robbed bothered me greatly. Not only had this never happened before. Out of all the pickpockets on the streets, it had to be a woman who did it. I found the entire incident so extremely outrageous that I was almost amused by it, and vice versa. Fascination as to how she managed to do that was followed by annoyance that I hadn’t even noticed it, then disbelief, just before I’d become downright angry. This filthy little brat had betrayed me. I had saved her dignity, quite possibly even her life, and this was how she’d decided to repay me? I would not let her get away with that. She had something that was mine, and I wanted it back.

Unfortunately, tracking Illina down proved more difficult than I’d expected. I knew Prague like the breast pocket of my jacket, but the problem was, so did she. I searched the streets for six nights in a row, but she was nowhere to be seen. Again, I was irritated and transfixed at the very same time. I knew it was irrational to think so, but I began to wonder if she could sense me from afar and hide right under my nose. When I finally found her, I was almost relieved. This unlooked-for cat-and-mouse game had taken up way too much of my precious time.

The night I finally caught her, she was doing business in a run-down part of the historic city centre, leaning against a wall in such a lascivious manner as she waited for a potential customer that for a moment I completely forgot what I’d come here for. For some odd reason it hadn’t occurred to me until that very moment that she was a prostitute. To me, she’d simply been a damsel in distress, so I was a little shocked at first. I suppose my mind just doesn’t work that way. But it only lasted for a brief moment, then I shrugged it off. What did it matter anyway? I was mesmerized by her subtle eroticism, the way a single tendril cascaded down her bare shoulders, leading my gaze to her collarbone and further down, to a hint of cleavage.

Hiding in the shadows, I watched her for a while. The nightsky was cloudless, with a bright full moon that cast its pale light upon the city, allowing me to see her face properly for the first time. Forcing myself to tear my eyes away from where they shouldn’t be, I studied her, intrigued by the fact that she looked very young and mature at the same time. Her features were regular and feminine, although not overly delicate. She had a heart-shaped face and nicely shaped lips that were neither extremely thin nor extravagantly full. Certainly, she did not possess the same angelic beauty as Christine, but there was something about her that appealed to me. I thought about it for a moment, concluding that she reminded me of one of those wild horses I’d once seen in southern France... skinny, somewhat blemished and dirty, but from the way she still stood there with a stubborn boldness I could tell she possessed a rare kind of inner strength and determination. Besides, exceptionally beautiful women cause wars of which I had already lost one. Needless to say I wasn’t so keen to add another defeat to my list anytime soon.

Finally, my mind returned from its temporary absence, and I remembered why I was there. I hadn’t come all this way to indulge in voyeuristic pleasures. There was something that needed to be taken care of, and so I waited for the perfect moment to strike. Judging by the look on her face, Illina’s thoughts were miles away at this moment, so when she turned her back on me as she walked around in a small circle, I leaped forward without making a sound.

“And so we meet again,” I whispered darkly in her ear, quickly taking a hold of both her wrists and forcing her hands behind her back as I pulled her to me, her back against my chest. My eyes narrowed slightly at the feel of her body against mine, primal instincts stirring inside me. I held her hands in a firm grip, my free hand snaking around her neck, tilting her head back far enough so she had to hold still if she wanted to breathe. She gasped, then froze, and I smiled to myself when I felt her pulse quicken slightly against my palm.

“Erik?” she asked hoarsely after a few moments of silence. Surprisingly enough, there was less fear in her voice than I’d expected. It seemed as though she had somehow known I’d come for her eventually.

“Good evening, Illina.” I tightened my grip, making sure she understood that this was a threat, not a friendly hello. “I believe you have a few things that belong to me.”

“I...” she opened her mouth to speak, but I cut her off before she could go on.

“I want them back. The cape and the purse. Where are my things?”

This time it didn’t take her as long to answer my question as it had taken her at Nadir’s house. I smirked when I realised she was trying not to struggle against me, yet searching for a way to speak without sounding scared. She failed, of course. I had taken care of that by cornering her exactly like this.

“They’re at my place,” she replied, panting slightly.

“And is everything still as it was last week? Did you damage the cape? I hope not, it was an expensively tailored piece of clothing, my dear. And I assume you did not spend the money that wasn’t yours, now did you?” Again, I increased the pressure on her wrists and neck, smiling grimly when I heard her gasp.

“The cape is fine,” she gulped, and after a moment or two I decided to relent for now. I didn’t mean to hurt her, she just needed to learn a lesson. So I loosened the grip slightly.

“But,” she added hesitantly, “I... I did spend some of the money. Not much, I only bought some food. Please...”

Now she sounded very scared indeed, and I breathed against her neck coldly to make sure it stayed that way, at least for now.

“Please don’t hurt me,” she pleaded. “I’m sorry about what I did. I thought you were going to take me to the police. Besides, a girl’s got to eat. Erik, please, I beg you...”

She shuddered softly in my grip as I bent down, tracing the curve of her neck with my gloved fingers. I felt my heartbeat quicken as I did so, desire boiling along my veins. The adrenaline of having someone at my mercy combined with the fact that this someone was quite an attractive young woman was impossible to ignore. Despite the rather cool night, she felt warm against me, and even though she was skinny her body was soft compared to mine.

“You owe me something, Illina,” I growled. “And since I can’t retrieve the money you spent, I’m going to take it back from you.”

She held her breath for a moment, then nodded slowly. “As you wish.”

I frowned softly when she agreed without further ado, somewhat sceptical that she was trying to fool me again. All those years of rejection weren’t something I would easily forget.

“No tricks this time,” I said sharply before I released her. She let out a sigh of relief, rubbing her wrists gingerly before turning halfway in my direction, reaching out and taking my hand in hers.

“Come with me.”

Off we went, making our way through a labyrinth of narrow, dark alleys to wherever she lived. I was surprised to see that she moved swiftly and effortlessly this time, not stumbling once. Like the last time, her free hand trailed along the walls of surrounding buildings, but I didn’t exactly care about it. It was probably just a habit. I followed her, taking mental notes about where we were going because I hadn’t been to this part of the city very often. We passed one shabby house after the other, and every now and then I couldn’t help but wonder how those buildings were still standing.

After a good fifteen minutes of walking during neither of us spoke a word, we reached an old back building near the city walls. Pieces of dirty laundry were hanging from thin ropes in the backyard, swaying with a cool breeze like the remnants of ghosts from a distant past. Crossing the yard, Illina opened a door and led me up a staircase that was littered with garbage, drunken men and more hussies, to a door on the second floor. I entered the small flat quickly, eager to get away from the disgusting things outside.

There were two rooms, one that looked like a kitchenette from what I could see from outside the half-closed door. The other one was her bedroom, an equally small chamber. Contrary to what the building had looked like from the outside, Illina’s place was as tidy as it could be. It was still shabby, but it was decently clean.

“Come,” she said softly, tugging at my sleeve as she made her way to the bedroom.

I followed her, although my steps had slowed down a little. My mind was working overtime, wondering if this was really happening. It had gone almost too smoothly, and when I realised she still hadn’t really looked at me, I was suddenly afraid that she’d change her mind once she saw my face. Looking over my shoulder, I turned the key in the lock, then put it in my pocket. I was going to get what I deserved.

A candle on the small bedside table filled the room with a dim, orange light. A light that softened everything, enveloping us both, as well as the surroundings, like a protective cloak. It felt somewhat surreal, but maybe that was exactly how it was supposed to be. I hated the fact that my heart rate increased with each passing second. I had imagined a situation like this so many times, had played it out in my mind over and over again, but never expecting it to become a reality one day. The desire I had fought and kept hidden inside for so long was finally going to be unleashed, and somehow I dreaded it as much as I was looking forward to it.

Then the realisation of my innocence hit me. I had travelled the world, I had done great things of both a good and a bad nature, but this was an entirely new realm to me. I had no idea what to do.

“Wait,” I told Illina as she was about to get undressed.

“What is it?” She glanced over her shoulder, stopping in her movements.

I sighed inwardly, feeling terribly embarrassed. But what use was there to pretend? I closed the distance between us, wrapping my arms around her from behind and pulling her to me again. Gently this time, savouring the sensation of our closeness.

“There’s something I have to tell you,” I said as I wound a black curl around my index finger. Pausing for a moment, I took the time to let my lips descend upon her neck, tasting her skin.

“You’ve never been with a woman before, have you?” she asked quietly, and I felt how my heart skipped a beat.

“How do you know?” I questioned.

“What else would you want to tell me?” she chuckled softly, almost inaudibly. I realized she had a point. There only was one reason for hesitating, and she’d guessed absolutely right.

Covering my hands with her own, she took off my gloves and let them drop wherever they may, then raised them from her hips, bringing them upwards. My eyes widened when I realised where this was going, and I felt my body tense up against my will.

“Relax, Erik,” she murmured quietly, her thumbs making small circles on the back of my hands. “I will show you. You don’t have to be afraid.”

My eyes fluttered shut as I buried my face in her hair, feeling my heart beat so fast and violently as though it wanted to break my chest. So close to all I desired... I couldn’t help but shake. Illina waited for me patiently, and after a while I grew bolder. My fingers were still quivering as I undid the laces of her dress, but it got better with each second that passed. I stopped for a moment when they were all undone, bracing myself. Then I gave the dress a downward yank.

____________________

song credit: Be Careful (Cuidado con mi corazon), by Ricky Martin and Madonna.

Oh, cooommmee ooonnnnn... You did not just leave it there. <_< Evil.

I guess I'll get over it. Anyway, I am here, and so happy to be! Sorry it took me so long to get here :doh: (stupid SATs...). I love your eloquency, and how incredibly real you make it!

Oh, Erik. :yum: How we love thee.

Just one thing:

Mwahaha!!! :laugh:

Post more deliciousness soon! :tsk:

:heartbeat:
Samma

lol yap. we can't have smut in the second chapter, now can we? :lalala:

glad you're enjoying this! :hug:

Are you kidding? This is Erik. Of course we can have smut in the second chapter! :yum: It would be delicious and awesome and ... mmm.

*huffs* He's probably going to back out, isn't he. <_< Dumb morals. jk

More soon!!! I'll be good, I promise! :noangel:

:heartbeat:
Samma

*cries* You stopped there!?! :cry: Well, that is just unfair. ;-)

I really loved this chapter though and I still have my theories about this girl. :yes: It's sorta sad about her having to be a prostitue, though. I think this description struck me the most...

I really enjoyed that...it was definitely spot on for her.

Now, I am afraid I need more...must see what happens between them!

don't tempt me! I know, I know... :tsk:

*stomps foot stubbornly* I'm trying to write a meaningful story here, and all YOU think of is sex! :doh: well, who doesn't? Must be... the mask? My mind doesn't work this way, you know :noangel:


hehehe.... but I'm in a generous mood today, so here's the next chappie. Mild warning for violence, but again, nothing extremely graphic or brutal.




Chapter Three - The harsh light of day




Well, it's a lonely road that you have chosen
Morning comes and you don't want to know me anymore
And it's a long time since your heart was frozen



Subconsciously, I knew the night was already over before I even opened my eyes. I was still wandering about in the wondrous borderland between dream and reality, enveloped in a peaceful and serene warmth that seemed to be all around me. Nothing is tangible or visible there, but everything is very simple. The darkness is not black, and the light is not a blazing white. Both of them belong to the same gentle nothingness that carries and guards you, shielding you from the atrocities of the world beyond closed eyes. I hadn’t slept this well for what seemed like forever, and naturally I was reluctant to give up this state I was in, even though I knew I would have to eventually. But not now. Not yet. I rolled over, burying my face in the pillows.

Something stirred somewhere near me, and a few moments later I felt soft, silky skin brushing against my own, warm breath against my throat. I instinctively moved closer, driven by a pure insticts from deep inside. In the very back of my mind, my semi-conscious rational self wondered where it all came from and where I was, but I wasn’t yet awake enough to care. It felt good, and therefore it just had to be right the way it was.

After a while, the faint chattering of birds outside reached my ears. I couldn’t tell if it had been hours or just a few seconds since I first scratched at the surface of palpability, but I knew it had been a long time since I last heard it. Possibly a decade or two. And slowly but surely, a different kind of warmth made its presence known, tickling, teasing and eventually arousing my senses bit by bit. It was diffuse, it was bright and harsh, it was...

Sunlight.

My eyelids fluttered open as I panicked and sat up, too shocked to think clearly for a second or two. I hate the sun and her garish incandescence. It nabs and exposes me, it locks me in a cage where there’s no escape from the scorning looks of mankind. I preferred the almost nonexistent light of the moon or the stars at night, if any light at all. I had explored and mastered at anything that could mask and hide the terrible truth of my visage, but I still dreaded the break of dawn.

But the sunlight wasn’t even the worst part yet. I let out a roar when I brought my quivering hands up, absent-mindedly running them through my hair...

My mask was gone.

I jumped to my feet, screaming in sheer wrath and despair, hiding my face behind my hands. My mask. Where was my mask? I peeked out between my fingers, scanning the room, but I could not find it. Where was it? Where was my mask? My pulse exploded, and the room began to spin as terror washed over me, making me dizzy.

“Erik? What – “

I blindly lashed out when I felt a hand upon my shoulder, infuriated and terrified. There was a thud, someone groaned, and then I heard the sound of broken glass. Spinning around, my senses cleared up enough to realise there was a woman lying on the floor about six feet away from me. It took me another moment to recognise her. Then the anger boiled up inside me again.

“You!” I yelled, quickly closing the distance and pulling her back on her feet. “You little prying Pandora! You little demon! Is this what you wanted to see?”

I grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her violently. I couldn’t help it, I was so conviced that she had done this on purpose, that she had done this to harm me. But she just whimpered, and I got sick of it, so I carelessly pushed her back onto the bed. Turning the entire room upside down, I eventually found the mask on the floor, hidden beneath my shirt. I let out an almost inaudible sigh of relief, putting it back on.

“Erik...”

I stopped when I heard Illina’s voice from behind me, grinding my teeth to suppress my fury this time. As much as I wanted to at this moment, I couldn’t unleash the monster inside. Not here. There were too many people around who would hear, and quite possibly even see, something.

“Erik, what is wrong with you?” she asked, her voice quiet and fearful.

I let out a bitter laugh, glaring at her. “What is wrong? You took off the mask, you little viper! How could you? How dare you?”

“I’m sorry.” She swallowed hard, her arms wrapping around her knees as she rocked back and forth. “I didn’t mean to... I won’t tell anyone. Your identity is safe with me. I promise.”

I was about to shout at her again when suddenly I stopped. What did she say? My identity was safe with her? What was that supposed to mean? What did it matter who I was, least of all to her? She didn’t know anything about me except my name.

“Please tell me, what did I do wrong?” she questioned desperately. “I thought that once we were alone, the disguise wouldn’t be of any importance anymore.”

Disguise? What was she talking about? I was incredibly confused, shaking my head. “What – “

She looked up at me with her grey-blue eyes, and when the sudden realisation struck me with brute force, I stumbled backwards, my own eyes widening in disbelief. She was looking at me, but she didn’t see me. There was a vast emptiness behind those two pools of blue, everything and nothing at the same time. They gave her face this dreamy look of not quite being where she was, and I failed to believe I hadn’t seen it.

Illina was blind.

Silence spread, and I couldn’t help staring at her. Within a moment, it all made sense. The stumbling. The touching walls as she walked. Her hesitation to look at me. It was all so clear, so obvious now that I couldn’t help thinking I should have known. But then, how could I? The night had hidden her face most of the time. When she stumbled, I assumed it was because I was walking too fast. Maybe trailing her hands along the surfaces of what-have-you was just one of those strange habits that people have. And last night, she moved about so swiftly, I wouldn’t believe it all if I hadn’t been here at this very moment.

Illina was blind.

Within just a split second, I realised why she hadn’t refused me. My horrendous face was invisible to her. It wasn’t of any importance at all. I tried to calm my breathing down as this one thought kept spinning around in my head, pestering me over and over again. Would she have slept with me if she’d known what I looked like? Or would she have turned away? Had she only given herself to me because she was oblivious to the disgrace? Or was she so desperate that she didn’t care? Questions with no answers attacked me out of nowhere, and I just couldn’t decide if this entire event was a blessing or a curse. After thirty-seven years, I had finally gotten what I wanted, but suddenly I somehow almost wished I hadn’t. I was angry. I was confused. I felt like she had toyed with my emotions, felt as though she had fooled me.

“Where is my cape?” I hissed as I reached for my clothes and got dressed. I couldn’t stand being here any longer. This place, her presence, it was driving me insane. I needed to get away.

“Over there, in the chest,” she replied tonelessly.

I turned around and opened the old, wooden chest at the other end of the room. And indeed there it was, as well as my purse. I took them both, wrapping the cape around my shoulders as I fled from the room. The rotten door simply gave way when I forcefully pulled at the knob, forgetting about the key I had at this moment, and I didn’t bother to shut it behind me. I just ran without looking back, battling the tears of anger and frustration that tried to escape my eyes.

This wasn’t what I wanted.


____________________

song credit: Your Eyes Open, by Keane

Well, now. Would you look at that? How interesting.

It almost seems like she'd be perfect for him... but I must admit I didn't see the signs either. -_- He is such an angry person, isn't he? Its kind of annoying... but I suppose with the life that he's led, its well backed.

I cannot imagine... thinking that maybe someone would really accept you, but then realizing they never knew. And never would know. I wonder if he'll decide it was a mistake...

:heartbeat:
Samma

*looks at it* yes, indeed ^_^

hehe, I have a feeling Ambrosia did pick them up. but I admit they were subtle. but they had to be, or he would have realized sooner. and well, if you get into his twisted logic, I guess I'd be angry, too. like, "she only slept with me because she didn't know what she was doing. great." *Erik wipes up the dripping sarcasm from the floor* heh, poor Erik *huggles him*

that what exactly was a mistake? storming off?

Hehe. I love his sarcasm! Seriously... no sarcasm there, man.

And, knowing Erik, he'll never regret anger. Its all he's known. In fact, he's rarely known regret, so I was thinking the sex may be considered a mistake to him: putting himself out there unknowingly...

I knew it! weeeeeee! It explains a lot. :yes:

Ah, Erik's anger...I feel so bad about it. I wish he could be happy. *lip wobble* I can't wait to see what you have in store for these characters.

I know, I know, I've been a bad reader for missing this. *smacks the back of her hand* And you deserve like two pages worth of detailed feedback, but unfortunately my brain is tired and I'm sorry if this is a crap reply, but I want you to have something, lol.

The second chapter was gorgeous, as I told you, I loved how you had cheeky Erik out for payback on the fact that a woman robbed him (excuse the expression) blind. If only he could understand that she's only trying to survive, but then again, he IS Erik, and if I were him and my cloak of twirling sexiness was stolen, I'd be pretty cheesed off too. The gentleness between Illina and Erik is really sweet, I loved how you portrayed that.

And the last chapter, hehe, best style ever to have "Sunlight" and then talk about its 'horrors' (gosh, you'd think Erik was a vampire or something *coughGerryDrac2000cough* :noangel:) and then have "my mask was gone" and then go into it, and then "Illina was blind." So much power in those isolated sentences, fantastic job with that. ^_^ You could literally feel Erik's panic in the words too...and I can't tell you enough how beautiful the description and vocabulary is in each of these awesome chapters. Your writing rocks my socks off, Speedy! Oh, and the last line, guh! Erik needs to get over himself, I mean, he just slept with the woman and now he's like "oops, that was a mistake", that's a great pepper upper for Illina's self esteem, don't you think? And I agree with the wild horse description, great imagery there. *smacks Erik* Now treat the woman like a woman, not an object, you nerfherder. lol

I loooove how you made her blind, I mean, he'll see it as a plus/blow to his ego/whatever, but maybe he'll learn that it's not about what you look like. Oooh, theme sensing here? Eh? :shine:

This story is fantabulous, keep it up or Erik shall be quite put out, lol. *sends you music of the niiiiiight vibes for inspiration* :hug:

Ah... ah-ha *nods* I thought as much (though, I must admit that I might not had, had I not caught that someone else was having suspicions of some sort. And then: *click*)

Interesting... So she's a prostitute. Well, that's tragic, but understandible I suppose, given her situations so far (being pushed around by those men, roaming around the streets, etc). Not quite sure what to think of it though; adds quite the element to her character because otherwise... she seems rather fragile.

Not that most people aren't, just that you'd think having to sell her body for food would gain her a thicker skin. Then again, what do I know? *shrug*

Argh, Erik frustrates me, but not in a particularly surprising way, given his character. He too seems oddly vulnerable, which makes them an interesting pair. Can't really imagine how this all will work out, which makes me glad you're writing this and not me, haha!

Beautifully written hun :) I'm sorry I didn't respond sooner, I'm sure you know how it is (ah, silly RL *shakes head at it* haha...) Ttfn!

hehe, glad you caght this. I was afraid it might be too subtle, and then everyone would be like, WTF? lol

GUH, so much for hitting the wrong button, lol. that was meant to be one reply! lol

*dies laughing* yeah, we have to protect the cloak twirling sexiness *snickers*

haha, that's actually what I thought when I wrote it. :lol:

well, I think it does and it doesn't at the very same time. All "tough chicks" have some issues deep down. What it certainly does to her is teaching her not to show too much compassion, not to get emotionally involved with people, and a kind of indifference. Not a word has been said that her psyche isn't suffering, but then, we're not too far into the story yet ;)

I've always thought of him as vulnerable, to be honest. Someone once said to be that anger is the most visible sign of vulnerability, because if something doesn't bother you, you wouldn't care about it at all. And let's face it, as much power as he has, he can't get past the fact that people are rejecting him, and since he's not a stone yet, I guess that would hurt him, even if he never admits it. He also has a soft spot for the innocent (children, those he considers "good people"), and I think he sees himself as an innocent, too, because all he did wrong was being born with the wrong face. The scene in his lair towards the end of the movie was a great example for that, I think.

*sigh* wow this is so fantastic!
I have to admit I have neither read the book, you mentioned or seen the musical - I have the movie though, so I thought I should give this a try. And wow am I happy I did!
God I have this thing about deeply troubked and difficult men - I guess women do to some extend, but is is so exquisite.
Illinas blindness sure was one hell of a twist, I like it though. Must really suck to be a blind prostitute... sounds very unsafe to me, but there you go.
And Erik's first time, how about that, I have a feeling he won't be that angry with her forever... and he does still have they key. So Freud says, people forget things because they secretly was to come back (Bullshit if you ask me, I keep forgetting my umbrella in the tube...) but anyway - I think Eric accidentally stole the key because he wants to return it - hm or use it? *grins*

Ok I'm done, I'm loving it and you definitely got yourself a fan.

love,
Laila

awww thank you so much, Laila! I'm thrilled you enjoy this. Working on the next chappie as we speak :)

Good point, on both accounts.

(Another tap on my glass box to tell me that I need to be more thoughtful about my comments; I should have realized that already *shakes head* haha...)

Can't wait for more, hun :)

Woman, this is sexy and rich and vivid. marry me, have my babies, right now. I shall do a detailed analysis presently.

*dies laughing* aye *drags Han off to church* looking forward to the analysis, hehe.

and sorry to everyone who's waiting for a new chapter. Orals are coming up next week, and when I'm not reading books, my brain's kinda swamped with the sermon on the mount, so unless you want me to turn Erik into some kind of pop music messiah, it'll have to wait till exams are over on the 21st.

:unsure: Well, when you put it that way... *bites lip*

*pats your back* Take you time, bella! :)

Just don't ever say something like that again...

I know, I know... if Andrew Lloyd Webber were dead, he'd rise from his grave :lol:

He may have just climbed in to rise back out... -_-

:lmao: Oh my gosh...you just put the most amusing images into my brain. Something along the lines of the audience at the opera house going "Heysannah, hosannah, sannah, sannah, heysannah hosannah...hey Erik, Erik, won't you sing for me, singing, sannah sannah hey Superstar" :lol:

*ambles off singing "Phantom of...the Opera...are you really who they say you are?" hehe*

I know I said no new chapter till Wednesday, but here's the thing: When I've done a lot of work, I need to do smething "meaningful" (=write), hehe. so here we go!

This chapter is rated R for sexual innuendo, just to be safe.




Chapter Four - Repercussions




Too late to hide and too tired to care
You know where I've been
I've been down this road before
All that I've found points right back to you



I absent-mindedly watched my hand take on a life of its own as it guided the pencil it was holding across the paper on the table in front of me, drawing a thin black line right through the middle of the virginal white of the sheet. I was trying to work, trying to sketch plans for a new house that I was supposed to construct and build, but my mind had been working on a different level for the past few days. Another week had passed since I last saw Illina, and I had thought that by now I would be over it, that by now those memory flashbacks would have subsided.

Skin against skin, warm and soft. Shaky breaths like gentle whispers in the ethereal vacuum of glowing serenity. Raven black hair falling into my face. Hands roaming over bodies, caressing and exploring. Fingers entwining. Lips descending upon skin. Nails clawing my back. The feel of her warmth around me.

I put the pencil down with a sigh, taking a seat and resting my face in my hands as I shook my head. Part of me wished those ghosts would stop haunting my mind, tormenting and tempting me with their presence. And yet I felt an unfamiliar little pain in my chest when I thought of it, and I closed my eyes for a moment, watching that night in a surreal slow motion before my inner eye, over and over again. There was no sound now, no ragged breathing, no groaning. Just the images, undisturbed and softened by the orange light that had filled the room. It felt like a dream, and I constantly had to remind myself that it was real.

Then the doubts and the resentments suddenly appeared out of nowhere, cornering me as they had done a thousand times before. I couldn’t help thinking it all wouldn’t have happened if Illina had known what she was getting herself into. I was certain that she would have rejected me if she could see my face, so was it really as special as I’d thought at first? Furthermore, wasn’t she a prostitute and therefore did not care who she slept with as long as she got paid? Would it all have happened even if I hadn’t caught her and more or less forced her to repay what she had taken from me?

I felt like such a fool, it’s hard to describe. A fool of pride who did not want to admit how hurt I felt inside, but also a fool of my very own imagination. Secretly, I had always harboured the image of a true love based on genuine feelings, in spite of knowing that it was out of my reach. I do not know why love and physical passion had been so closely linked in my mind, but now I knew they weren’t necessarily the same. It confused and angered me, especially because I wasn’t sure how to deal with it all. I could feel my blood burn with desire everytime I remembered those moments of complete oblivion, aching for more. But the recently awoken lust for flesh that I felt could not cloud the emptiness that had taken a hold of me afterwards. This wasn’t love. Something was missing. It was an emotional trap posing as love, leaving you chained and hurting once it was over.

Getting up, I crossed the room and sat down by the window, looking out as the sun was about to set. I watched the sky slowly change its colour from light blue to purple, then orange and yellow, and finally to a blackish blue when the sun had descended for good. My gaze lingered upon the illuminated castle for a while, and its reflection in the broad river that lay beneath, still like a black mirror. It was indeed a beautiful view that I had from my window, so enchanting that I forgot how long I actually sat there that evening. It must have been quite a while, because when I woke from my reverie, it was nearly completely dark. My mind was a no man’s land right at this moment. So many thoughts were spinning around in my head that they all dissolved into a bothersome nothingness. They were like the wind. I knew they were there, I could feel them, but they were impossible to grasp. Shrugging it off, or at least attempting to do so, I got back up and headed to the kitchen, pouring myself a glass of wine.

I sat back down at my desk and looked at the sketches I had made. They were bad, and I was both annoyed and shocked about that. Nothing I’d done since my learning years with dear Giovanni in Italy had ever been anything but excellent, and naturally I wasn’t very delighted to see my latest work turning into a disaster. But the inspiration just wouldn’t come, and if I did have an idea it didn’t work out the way I’d planned. I had a vague feeling that it had something to do with the uneasiness inside that I was battling, that I wouldn’t be able to go back to my usual brilliance before this matter would be dealt with properly.

As the night grew older, the contents of the bottle slowly diminished, and my mind somehow freed itself from the corset I forced it to wear most of the time. I wasn’t drunk, mind you. It takes more than just a bottle of wine to suspend my senses. But I relaxed a little, partly because I was tired, but also because darkness makes the heart grow bolder. I did not wish to listen to it during the day because I knew how troublesome that would be. In fact, I preferred not listening to my heart at all, since it had always left me doubtful and vulnerable. When I had listened every now and then, there had always been questions, but never even a single answer. For instance, who needs a heart when a heart can be broken? And how can a heart break once more when it was never whole in the first place? I didn’t understand it. I must have been very young when it was shattered for the first time, because I don’t remember the actual event. But the fear and loathing my mother had shown me all my life until the day I ran away certainly hadn’t come out of nowhere. I think I was born with the awareness that I wasn’t allowed to touch her. I had never asked her for anything, except on my fifth birthday. Not that she would have celebrated it if her old friend Marie, a plain and down-to-earth woman, hadn’t pressured her into it. Retrospectively, I sometimes found myself wishing Marie’s visits had been more frequent, because she had been the only one who could reach the spoiled and childish woman that my mother really was. Who knows, maybe things would have been different. As I said, she was the reason my mother ever celebrated one of my birthdays at all. But then, I wish I could just erase that day from my memory. It had been the day when all my secret hopes that maybe somewhere deep inside my mother did loved me had died. When she questioned me what I wanted for a birthday present, I told her I wanted a kiss from her. One right at that moment, and another one to save for a sadder day. And what did she do? She burst into tears and yelled at me, asking me why I tried to make her kiss me. How dare you ask me for this? was what she said. Indeed, how dare a child ask his mother for a kiss.

Then there had been Christine, about whom I did not want to think any longer. Sometimes I briefly wondered how she was doing, if she was well and if the Vicomte was treating her right. But fortunately my mind always stopped those thoughts before they became hurtful. It was pointless, and I knew it. Alea iacta est, I had struggled and I had suffered, and eventually I had moved on.

So when that traitor beneath my chest spoke to me again this night, hesitantly and quietly, I growled inwardly. Leave me alone, I yelled silently. But an aching heart is even worse, is even more persistent than a guilty conscience.

“Touch me, Erik. Feel me. Explore me.”

I swallowed lightly as my hands travelled down Illina’s spine, coming to rest on her hips for a moment before I obeyed her, moving back up her sides. Her skin was like satin against bare flesh, and I leaned in as I cupped her bosom, kissing my way down the curve of her neck.

I still remembered every curve, every soft edge of her body. How fragile she’d felt when I’d pulled her to me. The daring boldness of her caresses. The sound of her shallow gasps and low whimpers when I found a soft spot. Suddenly a thought crossed my mind. What if this hadn’t just been my first time? What if this night had been special for her as well? I had never taken up a prostitute’s services before, but I had heard that the more time you spend there, the more you want her to do, the more expensive it is. That is the very simple rule. And since men are greedy, I doubted any of her customers had taken the time to treat her right. They must have been eager to get their satisfaction quickly, to get over and done with it swiftly, not caring if she felt pain or disgust. I, on the other hand, I had needed her to show me. And she did. She’d been my mistress until the break of dawn. But once I had found out how to touch her, when I realised there were certain things I could do to make her shiver and cry out with pleasure, the tables had secretly been turned. Maybe I had been the one to show her something different. To show her that she had sold her soul for nothing all these years. To show her that physical passion was supposed to bring two people together.

But she’s a prostitute, the spiteful part of me sneered.

So what? the heart answered calmly. Does that mean she’s not human?

What if she only gave herself to you because she cannot see your horrendous face? my mind wondered.

Does it matter? replied the heart. What ifs are useless.

When the internal battle became too much to bear, I got up again, pacing the room nervously.

What if it was meant to be exactly like this? I asked myself. Isn’t it true that it is only with the heart that one can see rightly, and that what is essential is invisible to the eye? What if the nature of perfection as we know it is an illusion?

I shook my head vehemently, failing and refusing to believe the other side of the coin that had just begun to reveal itself to me. Then I remembered that Nadir once gave me a book titled the Symposion by the famous Greek philosopher Platon. It is said there that once upon a time, man and woman were one. Then they angered the Gods, and subsequently they were split in two as a punishment. Condemned to be alone even though they couldn’t survive without the other, they have been looking for their missing halves ever since, and this is how love was created. This book had made me believe that somewhere in the world, there had to be one person you were made for. All those years, I used to think that I was excluded because of nature’s cruelty. But now I began to wonder if maybe I had found my missing half after all this time. I hadn’t wanted to be born with a face like that, while Illina certainly hadn’t begged for her blindness. And yet there we were, both of us blemished and imperfect in the eyes of the world. But weren’t we in fact perfect for one another?

I panted, placing both hands on the wall to steady myself. The realisation was a shock for me. It was so simple, so promising that I instantly felt as though it couldn’t be that easy. There had to be a catch. Why would life suddenly treat me kindly? What reason was there for the heavens to send me a companion to end my loneliness? But the longer I thought about it, the clearer it became to me that this was my chance. All I ever wanted was right there. I just needed to reach out and take it.

Fifteen minutes later, I was decent, hurrying down the darkened street towards the quarter where Illina lived. I still remembered the route we took last time, and eventually found her house without much difficulty. As I approached the building, I suddenly realised that she might not be home. What if she was out on the streets again, looking for someone to use and abuse her so she could pay for her next meal? I felt a terrible jealousy boil along my veins, clenching my fists to keep calm. She had to be home. She just had to be. I didn’t know what I was going to do if she wasn’t there. I ran up the stairs to her flat, surprised to find the door both unlocked and ajar. Then I remembered breaking it when I left, and I sighed inwardly. In a place like this, a door that cannot be locked is a great danger. That had not been my intention.

I hard the sound of a crying baby before I even saw it. Knocking softly before I stepped inside, I looked around. Nothing had changed, but there was a smell in the air that alarmed me for some reason. I strode towards the living-room, where I found Illina. She spun around when she heard the approaching steps, her expression quickly changing from concerned to frightened.

“Who’s there?” she asked fearfully, her empty eyes scanning the room.

But I didn’t answer. I was mesmerised by the tiny bundle in her arms. The baby couldn’t possibly be older than a few months. Judging by the oh-so-slight sturdiness of the features (compared only to a baby girl, of course), it had to be a little boy. His little arms and legs were limp, and he was crying without having the energy or strength for it. Illina was rocking him softly, trying to calm him down, but it wasn’t working.

“Who’s there?” she asked again, her voice quivering.

“It’s me,” I said quietly as I looked up slowly, meeting her blank gaze.

“Erik?” She frowned, obviously confused. “What are you doing here?”

For some reason, this was a question I hadn’t been prepared to answer. I had come here without making up my mind, without really knowing what I wanted. Tell her that we were meant to be? I couldn’t help but laugh inwardly at the thought. It wasn’t that simple. I didn’t even know if she cared about me at all. Chances were she didn’t. What had I come here for? To reassure myself? To relive our night of passion? Suddenly I didn’t know.

Then I remembered the key. I reached into my pocket and pulled it out, looking at it. I had almost forgotten about it, but I was relieved to have found it now. It gave me an alibi.

“I still have your key,” I said, producing a soft sound by putting it on the table, so that she could hear it. “I’ve come to return it.”

“Oh, please.” Illina snorted, shaking her head as she began to walk about in the small room again, trying to soothe the baby to sleep. “I don’t need the key. The lock is broken, remember?”

“I know.”

I took a step towards her, wanting to have a closer look at the little one. Children are the only true soft spot that I have. Only they are entirely innocent until their parents ruin them, and nobody but them knows how to judge a person according to the character, not the exterior. They always speak the truth, they ask the questions everyone else is afraid to ask, and once you have earned their trust, their confidence and affection will be with you always. A child is pure and true and eternally looks up to you with sheer amazement and devotion if you treat it right. You can do great things with the tabula rasa of a young child. Great things... and terrible things that can never be undone. Children hunger for their parents’ love, and if they’re denied this very essence of happiness, something inside them will die. And the worst part of it all is that they will think it’s their fault. They will think that they deserved being treated like this for some reason. Maybe because they cried too much when they were little. Or because they broke their mother’s favourite vase. Or because they were born with the wrong face. Children will always be the very first innocent victims of someone else’s crime.

“Is he yours?” I asked, stopping when I realised that with every step I took, Illina was taking one step back.

She ignored the question. “Erik... what do you want?”

“Is he alright?” Somehow my instincts told me that the sickly smell was because of the boy. Or maybe it was them both.

“What do you want?” Illina was yelling now, moving away from me as far as possible. She covered the baby with a blanket, holding him as though she was trying to shield him from me.

Grinding my teeth, I forced back the anger I felt because of her stupidity. Surely, our parting hadn’t been very amicable, but I really found she was overreacting. I wasn’t going to hurt her, why couldn’t she see that? The only reason I’d hit her the last time was because I was terrified.

“I came here to see you,” I answered. “Please... I do not mean to harm you.”

“Do you not?” she laughed sadly. “What about last week, Erik? I can’t see the bruises you gave me, but I feel them.” Brushing her hair aside, she revealed a terrible black-and-blue mark around her temple. “I’m a little prying Pandora, am I not? That is what you called me before you stormed off, didn’t you? A demon. I don’t know what I have done, but you did this to me. So what did you come here for?”

I had turned away halfway through her little speech, pressing my hands to my ears. I didn’t want to listen. But I couldn’t shut the words out. They still came through to me, echoing in my head. Every single letter was a hard, low blow, and I felt indescribably guilty. She was right. She was absolutely right, and I had no idea what to do about it. I couldn’t say those three words that would make it a little better. Apologising just isn’t my strong point.

“It was an accident,” I muttered through clenched teeth.

“An accident.” The dry sarcasm in her voice was almost painful.

“Yes, an accident!” Without really wanting to, I raised my voice. “You don’t understand.”

“Oh, I do, Erik. I’m damn sure I do!” Her words now carried an angry undertone, and I felt a little alarmed. “I know men like you, Erik. I don’t know why, but you can’t live with yourself and all you do is feel sorry for your terrible fate, thus you take it out on others. I’ve learned to take the beating, but I’m not letting you get away with telling me it was an accident. If you can’t take the responsibility, then don’t. But if you don’t, then clear out of my sight!”

She meant it, and I knew it. An eerie silence manifested itself between us, making the seconds pass agonisingly slowly. The baby was still crying, I knew that, but I didn’t hear it at that very moment. I had to make a choice. If I backed out now, I knew I would never see her again. That much was sure. But why it bothered me so much, I was afraid to admit it. Never before had anyone rendered me useless within just a few moments, and I almost hated her for it. She didn’t know me. There was no way she could. So how come she was always right with everything she said?

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” The words had slipped past my lips before I even fully realised it. But when I did, I bit my lip, holding my breath. It was half of an apology, and it caught me off guard, but it was too late now. Swallowing, I forced myself to continue. “I panicked, Illina. I lost myself for a moment. I didn’t want it to happen.”

I’m sorry.

Silence.

“I accept your apology,” she finally said.

I closed my eyes for a second, taking in a deep breath, releasing it slowly through my nose. It was done. Hopfully things would turn out for the better now.

“What is wrong with your son? He is your son, is he not?” I questioned.

“Yes, he is. He’s sick. He’s had a fever for the last two days.”

“Then why don’t you go and see a doctor?”

“Do I look like I can afford a doctor, Erik? Besides, no doctor would treat him.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m a harlot, and he’s a bastard. That’s why.”

Hating the fact that her words were true, I took a few steps towards her again. “Let me treat him. I can help.”

“How? Are you a doctor, Erik?”

“I lived with gypsies for many years. One of them was a witch. She taught me how to make potions. There was an epidemic once, and everyone except the two of us died because I saved us. I can cure him, Illina.”

She didn’t believe a word I said, I could tell from the look on her face. But this time it was up to her to take the offer, or to decline it. I’m not foolish enough to believe she accepted because she trusted me. It was her motherly instinct that knew her child was going to die unless she got help, and since I was the only help she could get, she had to take the chance. After all, she had nothing left to lose.

According to the symptoms she decribed to me, I came to the conclusion that the illness was scarlet fever. Knowing it was highly contagious, I made enough medicine for the three of us, making sure Illina and I wouldn’t get sick ourselves. In her case, it was already too late. Two days after my return, Illina’s temperature was high enough to heat the room, and the same red rash that had overtaken the baby’s features had now gotten to her. Other women and their children in the house had gotten sick, too. It was an epidemic on the hunt for victims, and even though I felt somewhat sorry for them all, my priorities were clear. Nobody can save the world, but I did what was within my power to cure Illina and her son. I soon got to the point where everything seemed pointless. The fever got worse and worse as the days passed, and I began to fear I would lose them both. But they were strong, both of them. They were helpless, they were miserable, they whimpered and cried in their sleep, they groaned as they coughed and vomited, but they didn’t give up. I stuck around and did what I could, giving them the potions to drink and trying to lower the fever. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into a month, and when Illina and the baby finally recovered, it was already late April.

The situation was strange, to say the least. Illina avoided talking to me unless she had to, and ignored me whenever I tried to start a conversation of some sort. At first I thought it was because she was trying to gather all her strength for recovery, but even when she was finally strong enough to leave the bed, she acted as though I wasn’t there. I didn’t understand it. I failed to believe she didn’t appreciate what I had done. There was no doubt that she would have died without me, so why was she acting so cold?

One night, as I sat at the table, watching her as she breastfed the baby, I realised I didn’t even know the little one’s name. I’d been here for six weeks now, and yet she hadn’t bothered to tell me what he was called. In fact, I didn’t know anything, and it bothered me because he would have faced the same fate as his mother if I hadn’t been there. Somehow I felt responsible for him now.

“Your son,” I said as I leaned back and folded my arms, “what’s his name?”

“Why do you want to know that?”

“I saved his life, Illina. Whether you like it or not, we’re connected now. Don’t you think I deserve to know what he’s called?”

She sighed, shaking her head slowly. It was obvious that she wasn’t very fond of the idea of granting me any access to the child, something I can’t really blame her for. But I stubbornly refused to take no for an answer.

“He’s Lazaro,” she answered after a little while.

“Lazaro...” I mumbled to myself, wondering where I had heard that name before. I have always been of the opinion that names are very important. They keep track of who you are, and they are going to be with you even when no-one else is. A sturdy name will help you withstand a lot of bad times and hurt. Lazaro... it sounded familiar. And then, after a few moments of contemplation, I remembered. My mother had made me read the Bible when I was young, hoping I would become a good Catholic. The self-proclaimed Holy Book soon bored me, but I hadn’t forgotten the story of a man named Lazarus. He was the patron of the poor and those excluded from society. He became sick and died, but Jesus raised him from the dead. I didn’t believe in this story, of course... but the striking similarity to what had happened rose my fascination as well as suspicion. I tried to convince myself that it was just a coincidence. The baby hadn’t died, and even though I do admit I am not like any other, I’m not enough of a lunatic to call myself some kind of messiah.

“Who is his father?” I asked curiously.

Illina shrugged. “I don’t know. I try not to do business during certain days of the month. Seems like I wasn’t careful enough.”

I nodded slowly, not really knowing what to say. Another one of my picture perfect images had just been shattered, namely the one that a child was the result of the love between a man and a woman, born into this world. Regardless of my mother’s hostility towards me, I knew she had loved my father. Maybe that was why she had despised me so much. It must have seemed like a punishment to her to give birth to a baby like me. Nothing had prepared her for me.

“Where was Lazaro when we...?”

“We take turns, Erik. Each of us girls watches the babies for a day so the others aren’t hindered doing what they have to do.”

I sat up straight again when I perceived the irritated undertone in her voice. Time was running out for me, I knew it before she said it.

“Stop asking me questions, Erik. Stay out of my life, do you hear me?”

“Oh, so now you don’t want me here any longer?” I snorted bitterly. “Now that you’re well again, I’m no longer welcome?”

“You can come back anytime you want, Erik,” she answered indifferently. “But if you do come here, I’m not going to treat you any different from everyone else who comes to me. I appreciate what you have done for me and Lazaro, but I won’t get emotionally involved with anyone.”

I won’t attempt to put the pain I felt into words, because it would be a spectacular failure. Another rejection. That’s what it was, and it hurt. It physically hurt. I tried to breathe, but it seemed impossible. And as I sat there, lost for anything to say, I simply did what I always do when nothing seems to work anymore.

I left, walking away without looking back.



_________________

Alea iacta est. (Latin) – The die is cast

song credit: Empty Space, by Lifehouse

First: :getdown: Lifehouse is amazing! :heartbeat:

I loved this chapter. There was so much wisdom in it.

Ngahhhh. I love it. I know I've said that before, but... :wub: mucho! I think the best part was definitely after he FINALLY succumbs to the idea that they're meant together (aww, is Erik becoming a romantic? lol) and then after he totally saves their asses from the dread scarlet fever (ahh! *scared*) she kicks him out, tells him her services are open and basically "Get out of my life!!". Mwahaha. :tehee: I love her. She so... hard, shelled. My hero! :bloom: No, kidding.

Nice update. It did show how fast something spreads in a place like that. Its like one... two... three... wooh! SCARLET FEVER EVERYONE!!! Yeah... not so peachy now are ya?

Anywhoo... post more soon, dahling!

:heartbeat:
Samma

Aw, poor Eric.
But I admit he is very very self-centered. The thing is how could he not be with his history? But she doesn't know and probably doesn't care at this point. And why would she - but he doesn't realize that it his even harder for her to conceive a better life with love in it then for him.
That was a beautiful chapter, and I di feel for Eric *lol* something tells me though it won't be the last time they meet.
I really want them to be happy but they both take things personally and have these huge walls errected around them... gah, so sad.

I want them fluffy and happy! *lol*

Loved that quote, it's so damn true!

oh well we'll see what happens, for you - you rock, Eric for saving her life - you suck however for rubbing her face in, no true knight in shining armour does that that. But then I don't think you are a knight... -_-

Great installment,

love,
Laila

Wow, that was a lot to take in at once *ponders*... Not that that's a bad thing ^_^

Love Lifehouse by the way :D

Quite the chapter hun, so full of tragedy and descriptions. Lovely, and a bit daring. Well done