literature

Silver -chp 2-

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Literature Text

Silver- a Phantom of the Opera fiction

-Chapter 2-
Why did this body refuse to die?  Why did it insist on clinging to a life completely void of passion and purpose?  There was nothing to urge it on!  No food, no drink, no strength, no love, no hope, and no passion.  Yet it lived.  It lived!
Lying amongst silk pillows, tangled in the various fingers of smoke, lay a tall, lean form, languishing in its own misery.  Breath from the thin lips pulled at the long, slender opium pipe that balanced gracefully on the equally long and slender fingers of a skeletal hand, filling the mouth and lungs with the decadent drug.  Slowly, the lips formed a small 'o' and expelled the smoke, sending the streams and plumes of dancing blue ghosts twirling around the figure's head.  
For years, he had denied himself food, and had had very little to drink.  He had left his home by the lake most infrequently, not even bothering to slide himself into the water when he heard an intruder approaching.  His body felt weak, was weak, but still functioned.  His mind, most surprisingly of all, still functioned.  Damn it all.
The small tokens of his affection for Christine Daae had been sent, as promised, to the Daroga.  The Persian, being a man of his word, had no doubt sent on the items to the intended receiver.  That had been but a few years ago, and neither Erik nor the Persian had since been in contact.  
Erik, who had been a recluse to begin with, had now completely shut himself off from the rest of the world.  Nothing brought him pleasure.  Nothing brought him joy.  Music, which had so often before been his sole release, was now empty, hollow, and pointless.  Erik hated pointless things.  Naturally, he hated himself.  Among other reasons, he had no purpose, and thus was pointless.
Rising from his cushioned, sordid bed, the Opera Ghost stood in the center of the room.  He wore nothing but his black mask, which concealed all but his mouth, and a pair of black trousers.  His torso was completely bare, revealing the yellow skin, the outlines of his skeletal structure, and the rawness of his lean muscle.  His breath dragged again at the pipe, and he tilted his head back as he exhaled.  He watched as the blue smoke glided and skipped, higher and higher, until it seemed to bounce of the ceiling, then fade into oblivion.
"Oh how I envy you, my dears," sighed his voice, his beautiful voice now horse with emotion and lack of use.  "That you so quickly see your death, while I, waiting here for it, beckoning it and bribing it, hear not a word from it.  Mankind says death is cruel, for it steals life away.  I say it is cruel because it ignores those who desire most its eternal embrace."
Head still tilted up as if towards heaven, Erik reached up his hand to rest it on his forehead, then ran his fingers through his jet black hair.  Funny, how out of all of Erik's appearance, his hair was the only thing even remotely attractive.  It had grown considerably since those fatal days with the young soprano.  Oh how he ached for her!  How he longed to hear that voice, to embrace that angel!
At last, Erik collapsed into his pile of Persian pillows.  Leaning forward, with knees propped up, he removed the mask and buried his face in his hands.  A wretched sob tore its way out of the wretched man.
-      
Andrea paced back and forth on the hotel room floor.  He had slept on and off throughout the night, and was now fidgety and anxious.  Repeatedly he returned to the window to peek out at the streets below.  There were a variety of colorful people outside, but none of them were Rosette.  Where was she?  It was an unfamiliar town, she was a young woman alone on the streets, and- he paused, and then sighed.  He did sound like an old man.  He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.  He felt old.
Just then, he heard a key in the door, then the door was thrust open.  A bright eyed, smiling, singing Rosette came skipping in, arms laden with breakfast goodies.  She laid them out on the small table in the room before turning to wrap her arms around her brother's neck and give him an affectionate kiss on the cheek.  
"Bonjour!" she smiled as she twirled away from him.  Examining the spread on the table, she picked up an éclair and nibbled it.  She became aware of her brother's glare.  "Oops!  Pardon!  Take anything.  You should eat up.  We have an hour before we are to leave for Monsieur Cyril's."  Andrea's glower did not let up.  Rosette looked at him, perplexed, then stood up straight.  "What, are you angry with me?  Because I left before you woke up?  I'm sorry, but I thought you might want some breakfast.  Or is that I did not bring any coffee?  Is that why you are angry?"  Her expression and tone were frustrated.  Andrea threw up his arms and sighed.
"I did not know where you were!  You do not know this place, nor the people here!  I was worried!"
Rosette paused, then laughed lightly.  Her expression softened and she touched her brother's cheek lightly.  She shook her head.
"I'm sorry… I did not mean to worry you.  Come now, don't look so sour.  Eat."
Andrea had always been protective, perhaps even possessive at times.  Rosette was the only one he had left.  He would be completely alone in the world were it not for her.  He was loyal, and he was afraid.  
The two passed the hour quickly, eating breakfast and cleaning up.  Rosette packed hers and Andrea's bags while the later pulled out a bundled up handkerchief from his pack.  Unfolding the handkerchief, he withdrew three objects and set them on the bed.  The first was a pendant, oval in shape with a fully bloomed rose in the center and several rose buds surrounding it.  The third object was a cuff bracelet.  Two bands with intricate filigree webbing between the bands.  The final object was a diamond-shaped brooch with a horse's head stamped into it.  Each object was silver, with intricate detail. His long fingers traced the curve of the bracelet before he set it down, sighing.  Rosette glanced at him as she tightened the cinch of her own pack.  Smiling, she walked behind him and put her hands on his shoulder.
"It is all very fine work.  He will be proud to have someone as skilled as you."  She smiled and patted him on the back.  "Come on.  No need to be nervous.  Let's go."
Nodding, Andrea placed the items in the handkerchief, then placed the folded bundle at the top of his pack.  He picked up the mask from the toilet stand and put it on.  Rosette watched his process with sad eyes.  Placing the strap of the bag on his shoulder, he moved towards the door.  He turned to look at his sister.
"Coming?" he asked, a smile in his voice.  Rosette quickly recovered herself, smiled and followed him out.  
The two wound their way through the busy Paris streets.  Coats of rabbit and mink pelts, skirts of magenta and cream silk, and black felt hats with ostentatious plumes bobbed past the two humbly dressed travelers.  Rosette was enthralled with all of the colorful people and vendors, while Andrea was less then ecstatic.  He frequently reached up to pull his hood further down his forehead.  However, due to the hustle and bustle and the brilliantly costumed citizens, his blank white mask was hardly noticeable.  
Finally, an ornate, wrought iron framed sign that read Cyril's that stood in front of a two-story structure, showed the travelers that they need go no further.  Upon entering, a tiny bell attached to the door frame chimed merrily.  Various mannequins were scattered across the room, each decorated with beautiful silver jewelry, while show cases displayed more valuable, delicate work.  The sound of torches and the distant smell of smoke, however, were ever present in the fine room.          
A tall, graying man walked into the room.  He wore a simple, white work shirt, and his navy trousers were pressed.  Several burn scars were present on his hands.  Raising his gray eyes to the two, he stroked his ebony mustached with his large hand and smiled.
"Bonjour.  Mademoiselle Elie, I presume?"  Rosette nodded in response.  Cyril smiled again.  He had a genial face.  "Pardon the lack of formality in my attire.  I am a man of work, and my clerk is out for the morning."  His eyes moved to Andrea, who was admiring one of the necklaces on the velvet chest of a mannequin.  From the angle where he stood, he could only see Adrian's back.  "I finished that piece last week.  Do you like it?"
"It's marvelous…" Andrea breathed.  Cyril laughed.  The sound was almost drowned out as a carriage, filled with laughing nobility, scuttled past the establishment.        
"I am glad you see it as something so fine.  You must be Andrea.  Your sister has told me a great deal about you.  I rarely take on anyone as old as seventeen, but she has told me you have had training, and that you have brought with you some samples of your work.  May I see?"
Hesitating, Andrea turned to face Cyril as he lowered his pack to the ground.  As he bent down to rummage through the back, he did not catch the surprise that raced across Cyril's face.  The older man looked at Rosette.
"I told you he likes to wear masks," Rosette smiled, as if she were speaking of nothing more than some fashion trend.  "He is very theatric.  Under no means are you to remove the mask, monsieur.  That was part of our arrangement."
Cyril, glancing curiously from the young woman to the young man, finally nodded.  He had been in contact with Rosette Elie for the past three months.  She had informed him that her brother possessed both natural talent and some training in silverwork, and was a quick learner and a hard worker.  She also informed him that Andrea was sometimes overly-dramatic, a lover of theater, and never went anywhere without wearing his mask.  It had been arranged that, if Cyril approved of Andrea's workmanship, then the old silversmith would take the boy on, giving him superiority over the two young boys that were already apprenticed under Cyril.  Andrea was to have a room of his own, learn under Cyril, and was to be the greatest, most diligent of students.
"What am I to judge a man for what he finds attractive in fashion?  If he is a hard worker and skilled with the craft, I care not what he wears, and he shall receive no trouble from me or anyone else in my home."  He shrugged his large shoulders.
Removing his attention from Rosette, Cyril looked at the three objects that Andrea set upon the counter before him.  He handled and examined each piece with the utmost of care.  Andrea felt as if a hand were tightening around his throat.  At last, Cyril set down the bracelet, the last item he had chosen to examine, and met Andrea's steady blue gaze.  A nod of approval told the lad he was in the clear.
"You're sister was not exaggerating.  You posses a great deal of talent.  But, you still have much to learn.  Have no fear for that, however.  Come, I shall introduce you to Aubert and Henri.  They are my two apprentices.  The first is twelve, and the later is ten.  Both show promise.  I believe that you too shall be an excellent mentor to them.  Come and meet them.  Then I shall show you to your room, and you and your sister shall have dinner with my wife and I.  I insist."  
As the man clasped a large, hairy arm around the young man's shoulders, Andrea turned to face his sister.  Her face was glowing, tears threatened to spill from her eyes, and her hands were clasped at her throat.  Quickly dabbing away the tears, Rosette followed Andrea and his mentor further into the shop.
Part two! This is very much fun to write. It seems so very easy when you know the story and all that is left to do is transfer it to paper. ^.^
Drum roll please! ERIK'S ENTRANCE!
I hope everyone enjoys!

The Phantom of the Opera (c)- Leroux
Silver (c)- Mine
© 2010 - 2024 Cesteel
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InYuJi's avatar
well you really did play well on Erik's wait for death, which hasn't come. He's really going to damage his voice