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Portrait of the Soul	By : sirenofsaturn Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 2723 -:- 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
- 13
- 14
- 15
Yea! We got so many reviews from that last chapter. Sorry that took so long, but from what most of you were saying…you didn’t think the wait affected the story. So without further delay, I give you another chapter.
Erik: Chapter Fourteen?
Yes, I think we might even try to post another one tonight as well.
Erik: This is how you spend you Saturday nights?
…Look who’s talking, you’re right here with me.
Erik: But not of my own free will…She owns nothing on with the story
Yea!
Today would have been a good day to stay in bed. After a long day of work Mia slowly entered her room. She had been up late choosing the perfect colors for the sets, only to have the biggest clash with the head seamstress.
“Are you mad?” Mia had lost her temper. “A night scene, with the moon and stars, and our Prima Donna is wearing orange!” After a few mumbled words in Russian, Mia had decided to let the seamstress do her job. If the cast clashed with the sets it wasn’t her head on the chopping block. Though the guilt of poor perfection was enough to make her sick.
Sighing Mia reached for the ribbon to un-due her braid. The dark chestnut locks cascading down her back. Leaving the pins in her hair, the flowing locks were still pulled up leaving the soft tresses to flow wildly around her shoulders and back. Pouring some cold water from the pitcher into the washbowl Mia gently began to wash her face.
Feeling the cool liquid on her face made her feel she was in heaven. Her mind was almost elsewhere when three familiar knocks interrupted her cleansing. Without even a second thought Mia repeated the pattern with her foot against the floor. It was not common for Erik to visit this early in the evening; he usually never came to see her until dark.
Hearing the almost silent trap door open, Mia felt her heart skip a beat. She had not seen Erik sense last night when he had kissed her, and now he was waiting for her. “I’ll be right there in a minute, Erik.” Mia said, trying to sound as though she wasn’t anxious. Feeling herself blush Mia splashed her face once more. Groping for a towel the artist dried off and went to greet the masked man.
“Sorry about that, I was washing my face-“ Mia walked past the changing screen only to find Erik standing in the middle of her room, holding out her shawl.
“Perfectly fine my dear. Shall we?” Erik assured, putting the shawl around her shoulders.
“Where are we going?” Mia asked noticing that Erik had left the trap door open.
“I figured that would be obvious my dear. I have plans for us back at my home. Come along.” Erik answered holding out his hand for hers.
“Just a minute! Let me get ready!” Mia demanded, hands going to re-braid her hair. Her fingers stopped as she felt Erik’s hand on her wrist.
“Leave your hair down. You should were it that way more often. It compliments you well. Now let us be off, Mia.” Feeling very much like wet clay in his hands, Mia did not hesitate to let Erik mold her. Allowing herself to be led down the trap door, Mia was thankful it was dark down there. Even though Erik had complimented her on her work and intelligence, this was the first time he had said anything about her physical appearance.
Although Mia was a very attractive woman, she failed to realize this. Being a Jewish woman from Russia did mean certain traits. She was definitely darker than the blonde woman of France. Also her curves tended to be more voluptuous than other woman. These had always reminded her that Jewish woman did have a tendency to have childbearing hips. Shaking her head she continued to walk with Erik, conversing a long the way about how the newest production was coming along.
“Orange!” Erik cursed, once he and Mia were in his home. “In the second act? The Midnight garden scene?”
“That was my reaction.” Mia sighed taking a sip of the tea she had been offered.
“I’ll take care of it.” Erik sighed, jotting down something on a pad of parchment on his desk.
“Erik! You don’t have to.”
“You have your obligations to the theater. I have mine, even if it means I have to buy that blind seamstress a pair of spectacles.” Erik couldn’t help but let a small smile find his lips as Mia began to laugh.
“I suppose a woman of her age is long over due for a good pair.”
Erik watched her eyes light up when she smiled. True the seamstress looked like she should have been on her deathbed years ago, but she was still only a few decades older than Erik. Mia appeared to look as though she was in her late twenties, but Erik had the feeling that she was aging gracefully. She appeared to have so much experience and wisdom she had to be at the very least in her thirties. Unfortunately for Erik he knew it was not any man’s place to ask a woman her age. Even with Christine Erik knew she was much younger than him, but had not even bothered to ask.
“Erik?” You always manage to place me deep in thought. “Yes?”
“Does your home have three bedrooms?” Mia asked looking to a closed door she had failed to notice yesterday. There had been…distractions.
“No. Just two. That door goes to a replica of something I built in Persia…It’s called the torture chamber.”
Mia looked at him for a second. Erik had spoken briefly about his time in Persia. All Mia understood was that for a time his word was law. She also knew Erik had been forced to do many things there he was not proud of. Mia knew Erik had killed before, but had brushed the thought aside. The world was not kind to anyone who appeared different. If killing was what Erik had to do to stay alive, Mia would not hold that against him. She knew something had happened in Persia that had hurt him greatly, so she would not pry. When or if Erik was ready, Mia knew he would share with her.
“Would you like to see? It may be a death trap, but it may very well appeal to your artist eyes.” Erik offered.
Mia nodded, following him to the room. Opening the door, Erik allowed her to enter, not turning on the lamps. In the darkness Mia began to examine the hexagonal mirrored room. Hearing the faint ring of a buzzard Erik excused himself. “My dear, I must attend to something, please continue to look around. However, for you own safety please keep this main door open.”
“Of course.” Mia smiled continuing to look at her multiplied reflection.
Making sure the door would stay open; Erik made his way to the front door. Opening the said barrier he was greeted with the sight of Nadir stepping out of the rowboat. “Hello old friend.” The Persian greeted.
“Good evening.” Erik nodded. “I need a favor, keep the morphine with you, do not take it out until I ask you.”
“Why?” Nadir asked, slightly happy that Erik was not demanding it now.
“Because I asked you too.” Erik replied, escorting Nadir into his home. The Persian stopped to take in the familiar surroundings. The samovar was boiling quietly, Ayesha was asleep on Erik’s desk chair, and next to Erik’s cloak was shawl.
“Mademoiselle Sclar is here, isn’t she?” Nadir asked slightly panicked. “Where is she?”
“In the torture chamber.” Erik replied casually, making his way to the said room.
“What?”
“Relax you old Persian dolt. She is merely having a look from her artistic perspective. Mia?” Erik called, “May I steal your attention for a second?”
Coming out of the mirrored trap, the artist paused slightly noticing the new company.
“Mia? This is an old friend of mine, Nadir Khan. Nadir? May I introduce to you properly to Mademoiselle Mia Sclar.”
Giving a bow with his head, the Persian greeted Mia in his best French. “Enchanté(e) de faire votre connaissance, Mademoiselle Sclar.”
Mia who would usually greet back could only manage to stare. “…You’re the yenta.”
LOL. For those of you who are wondering a yenta is an old Yiddish word that means nosey, or busybody. For those of you who have any questions about the Yiddish in my story, please just ask in a review, and I’ll try to answer in my author notes. So did you like, love, hate? Let me know in a review. Now just because I am about to write another chapter ASAP, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t review this one too…I like feed back for each chapter, to see if I’m writing it well. I like knowing which chapter you were referring to if you liked or hated something…but please no flames.
Erik: They will only be used to light the lamps of my torture chamber. /Swings Punjab lasso/ Please review.
- 13
- 14
- 15
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Portrait of the Soul