Adult-FanFiction.org : Books

Rossignol	By : Savaial Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 5240 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Rossignol
- 2-Two
- 3-Three
- 4-Ch 4
- 5-Ch 5
- 6-Ch 6
- 7-7
- 8-Ch 8
- 9-Ch 9
- 10-Ch 10
- 11-Ch 11
- 12-Ch 12
- 13-Ch 13
- 14-Ch 14
- 15-Ch 15
- 16-Ch 16
- 17-Ch 17
- 18-Ch 18
- 19-Ch 19
- 20-Ch 20
- 21-Ch 21
- 22-Ch 22
- 23-Ch 23
- 24-Ch 24
- 25-Ch 25
- 26-Ch 26
- 27-Ch 27
- 28-Ch 28
- 29-Ch 29
- 30-30- Epilogue
- 9
- 10
- 11
"I can talk.” I froze solid as the enormity of it all struck me. "You- you made me talk Erik!" I sat up to meet him, throwing my good arm around his slender waist and squeezing hard. "You made me talk,” I repeated, amazed with how it felt to speak. "Thank you, thank you!"

"You're very welcome Celeste, but all I did was let you remember you could." Erik answered, his hands resting on my shoulders lightly. He pushed me from his body gently, but did not let go. "Raoul will be very pleased to hear you speak, won't he?"

I stared up at him, barely able to see his mask through the tears in my eyes. "I suppose, but who c-cares? I can speak!" I hugged him again, feeling his hard body jerk in surprise. I let him go quickly, remembering my manners. "I-I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself," I said, blushing. "It's just that I feel so good and you are the cause of my happiness."

Erik laughed quietly, backing away from me with his hands up in mock fear that I would hug him again. He sat down on my hearth, his leone eyes staring into mine.

**************************************************************************************

Celeste's gratitude warmed my heart, but I feared to let her little body mold to mine again. She was radiant in her joy, compelling and magnetic in her pain; it would not take much for me to allow my libido to focus on her.

I did feel as if I had done something very worthwhile now, for Celeste had many pains and I had helped her start down a road of healing. Mesmerizing her had not been the wisest thing, the procedure carried risks, but it seemed my gamble had paid off. I wondered what the Vicomte would say when he came here and found his sister talking. I had no doubt that he had been ignorant of what his father had done; the boy was nothing if not a paragon of virtue.

So, I had fulfilled my end of our bargain. Soon I would have to begin teaching the boy how to sing like a canary for his adoring wife. Why didn't I just add Celeste into the mix and have an entire family of vocalists under my belt? I chuckled to myself, my eyes still drawn to the lady. She’d gotten out of bed and now wandered the bedroom aimlessly, picking up random small items Christine had left behind.

I left my place at the fire and approached her. She stopped her movements as I drew nearer, but the fire in her eyes did not dampen. "You might hurt your arm with all that enthusiasm," I admonished lightly, "Come over here and sit down a moment; I'd like to talk to you about something."

She acquiesced, sliding herself back onto the bed and folding her hands in her lap like a proper lady. The speediness of her obeisance and her automatic, child-like primness slightly took me aback. I was used to being heeded, but not so enthusiastically.

"Firstly, I want to say you have a lovely voice my dear, if a little rusty," I began, folding my arms behind my back to look down at her like the teacher I was. "But that is not really what I want to talk to you about. You know I am to give you brother voice lessons?"

Celeste looked at me in guarded surprise, her large cobalt eyes going wide. "Raoul c-can't carry a tune in a bucket monsieur," she breathed. "I thought I had heard the two of you talking about it, but I dismissed it." She blinked rapidly several times, assimilating the idea. "But I suppose everyone can be taught something, maybe Raoul just never really t-tried."

I chuckled, thinking of the hateful look on the Vicomte’s face as he realized he would have to become my pupil. Oh, he would try now; I would make sure of that. "Yes, I think that is very much the case with your brother, but I believe I can make a songbird out of a peacock." I paused, watching her face change. She was thinking hard about something.

"If my brother is the peacock, then Christine is the morning bird," she said softly, referring to the cryptic little tale I'd told her once. "You taught her to sing, didn't you?"

I winced inwardly. "Yes, I did. But that is not what we are going to talk about right now. What I want to discuss is your brother’s presence here. I am afraid he will demand to hear you speak if he knows you can. I don’t want him to rush you.”

“Then I won’t tell him I c-can speak. I’ll let him continue to think I’m stupid.” Celeste smiled very slightly as she spoke, her shoulders moving into a casual shrug. “When I feel more like speaking I’ll let him know.”

I looked into her dark eyes and smiled to myself. She had a little bit of the devil in her to keep her brother ignorant. I had hoped she would be amicable to the small deception; she wasn’t ready to jabber on at the level Raoul could. His enthusiasm could overwhelm her. In fact, I worried he might still agitate her just by coming by so often. She had been calm all day, but when Raoul came back she would probably end up crying again.

"I am glad you feel this way,” I answered. “I know your brother would expect too much of you too soon. I'll be busy trying to teach him you know, and if he could turn that into a chance to instruct you, he would. I fear his helpfulness would do you more harm than good."

"Thank you. I couldn’t let him know immediately anyway.” Celeste looked into the fire, her eyes soft and sad. “Raoul thinks I'm stupid you know. He and Philippe both did, actually. People suppose a lot when they find out you can't talk." Her voice was still level and even, but her eyes grew brighter. "The night that I was brought here I came to understand you didn’t make that assumption. I felt very surprised. One would think if an average person with the gift of speech could be so prejudiced, you would be the most bigoted of them all." She was smiling now. "How wonderful that you aren't. You never assumed I was stupid.”

I basked in her praise briefly, allowing myself the small pleasure. If she found my lack of assumption toward her wonderful, I found her own quite liberating. I did dread the day she knew me better, for I would cease to be her guardian angel then. I would become the stuff of nightmares. It had happened before; I had no illusions that it wouldn't happen again. But until that fateful day that Celeste learned of me, of my true nature and what I was capable of, I would enjoy her innocent trust to its maximum.

*************************************************************************************

After another quiet day and night in Erik's home I came to understand a certain rhythm in his habits. He kept the strangest hours, often arising after only a few hours in his bedroom to go and wring music out of a random instrument in his house. The music seemed to well up out of him involuntarily, and he would obey its siren call without protest. I came to understand as well that much of what he composed stayed inside his head. On occasion he would snatch a piece of staff paper and scribble wildly, muttering in his beautiful voice all the while, but mostly he seemed to file his music away in his active brain. Such genius and passion thrilled me to my very core.

Erik's music wasn't the only thing that kept him occupied however. He had an entire room full of wires, machinery and gadgets, test tubes, burners and bells. I wondered what on earth he tinkered with the most, for everything laying around looked like it had to evolve in complex stages. To my untrained eye it looked as if any number of his experiments might come to life at any second. He didn't seem to mind me looking in on him, but in truth he may not have even noticed me peering around the doorway at him periodically. I stayed quiet after all; I hesitated to distract him from such industry.

Another thing I noticed in his amazing repertoire was language. It didn't surprise me that he would be able to speak many tongues, for he was truly gifted with his mouth, but when I realized he was fluent in more than twelve it boggled my mind. His library held books from many lands and cultures, and all of them showed the signs of being well read. Some of the books I thought I could manage because they were written in French or English proved beyond my ken in subject matter. I knew nothing of chemicals or combustion or physics, which figured largely in his collection. Higher math too showed its ugly head, as well as Greek philosophy written in its original form. I ended up satisfying myself with the nesting habits of swans; desperate to find something I could at least begin to understand.

Erik wasn’t pushing me to speak more and I wondered about that. Perhaps he sensed I wasn’t quite comfortable with speaking yet, or perhaps he saw I enjoyed the quiet of his home.

I basked in this gas-lit haven of only the choicest sounds. If blissful silence wasn’t soothing my mind, Erik’s music was. He played the violin like the devil Himself… His talent left me in awe and ashes. One moment I would hear nothing but peace and the next moment I would be riding a whirlwind of euphoria. His long, supple fingers weaved pure magic…

But Erik’s voice stirred me to no lesser heights than his music. When he spoke to me it was as if the majesty of night unfurled in my ears. I followed his pitch and tone with shameless concentration, completely absorbed in even his smallest communications. I would do anything he wanted if only he asked; I could not resist the enchantment, the sheer perfection in his every word.

It made me shiver inside to know he could control me so easily.

I looked at him over my book, noting his position in the room. Erik seemed to like fire; I caught him at the hearth every few hours or so. As I watched him he turned his head and met my eyes. For a moment I was so surprised I simply went stiff. He hadn’t led me to believe he knew I watched him.

“What is your favorite color?” Erik asked softly, further surprising me.

“Dark green,” I answered swiftly.

Erik nodded. His fingers dug into his pocket and came out with a little muslin bag. Without a word he tossed the bag onto the roaring fire and stepped back. The flames rushed upon the fabric and it burst. The fire began to burn dark emerald, the green of an evergreen forest. Amazed and enthralled, I watched it blaze higher and higher. Gradually, the green leaked away into the normal hues of white and orange.

“Two minutes, not bad,” Erik murmured. “Forty-five parts of chlorate of potassium,” he went on, “but thirty-seven and a half parts of anhydrous carbonate of sodium. Twenty-two parts stearine isn’t enough. Maybe twenty-two and a half?”

“D-did you know I was going to answer green?” I asked, my mind reeling from his scientific terminology.

“No.” Erik dropped a few more muslin bags onto the coffee table in front of me. “I was prepared for green or violet, or even blue.” He tilted his head and eyed me curiously. “I could give you the rainbow if you wanted to see it. I realize there isn’t much color down here.”

The realization he was serious gave me pause. But he was wrong! Maybe the colors here weren’t glaring, but they were still vivid. After being cloistered in a freezing room of glass for a decade I was ready for such deep, rich colors as in the Persian tapestries and Chinese black and red lacquer furniture.

“I like it here,” I ventured quietly. “I don’t need you to paint rainbows for my eyes when you already make the equivalent for my ears. I did like the green fire though.” I smiled at him. “And truthfully, I’d like to see the violet fire too.”

Erik nodded solemnly. “I thought you might,” he murmured, tossing another bag on the fire. “The colors are produced by various chemicals in exact proportions. This is as much an experiment in my expertise as it is a lively display for you.” He stopped speaking to observe a burst of ultraviolet consuming the fireplace. The flames licked higher than before as the purple-blue light danced over the blackened wood.

I pulled in an appreciative breath. The odd colored light cast his body in sharp shadows and vivid angles. The cream of his silk shirt faded into transparency, displaying his magnificently sculpted chest. The yellow of his eyes did not fade against the violet, but brightened to blazing twin suns. He was a lean and wiry Hephaestus at his forge…

The light died again and Erik sighed. The ripple of sound held more than just a touch of sadness. “I have music to write,” he said softly. “But tonight it is only in my head. My fingers refuse to write it.”

I put my book down and folded my hands in my lap. “Why?” I asked.

Erik shrugged. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Sometimes I cannot write at all, not even notes. Perhaps it has something to do with old memories.”

I nodded. “And you can’t mesmerize yourself,” I added. “Or can you?”

Erik gave a short laugh, turning his head to face me. “No Celeste, I don’t believe I can. It would be useful though. I have demons to exorcize, and most of them are quite comfortable in my skin.”

I could well imagine he was right. Though Erik was a perfect angel for me, I felt the underlying current of his darkness. But the trick to being human was treading a balance between darkness and light. I had never mastered it; I saw no reason to expect Erik to have done any better.

“What demons can be discussed?” I asked, curious.

Erik looked away. His hands went behind his back and threaded together. “I don’t think I should discuss any of them with you,” he murmured. “You are getting better here with me and I wouldn’t set you back.”

“You are not going to set me back,” I remarked gently. “But I don’t have to know your demon’s names. I just wanted you to know I’d listen to you the same as you’ve listened to me.”

“I appreciate that,” Erik replied in an equally kind tone. “You are a very sweet girl Celeste. I would hate to ruin that about you.”

I thought about that a moment as I watched him stare into the fire. I wasn’t sweet at all. I had been a reckless and tiresome child and I had grown into a troubled woman. Perhaps if I hadn’t been so hard to handle I wouldn’t have been quickly married off and gotten out of the way. I had silenced myself to become invisible, but I had never conquered the loud and vexatious content of my thoughts.

“You can’t ruin me Erik,” I said finally, picking up my book again. “I was ruined long before you ever met me.”
- 9
- 10
- 11
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Rossignol