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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
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So many reviews! Thank you to all the readers, you have no idea how honored I am that so many of you enjoy reading my story! Just please remember that I own nothing except any original characters and this fiction based plot. Do not steal do not sue!
Erik: The author would also like to thank all of you for wishing her a happy birthday. Congratulations, you are now nineteen years closer to death…
…I’m touched really…
Chapter thirty
The mid-morning sun’s rays peered gently through the glass window causing Erik to stir. Blinking his sunken eyes his arm felt around the bed for the other person Erik was becoming accustomed to waking up with. When his arm met the other side of the cold small mattress Erik remembered were he was. He was not in his home, in the Louise-Phillip room with Mia. He was in Russia, on a small cramped cot, alone.
Grabbing his mask, and getting dressed Erik headed downstairs. He was slightly surprised to see that the crowded dining table from last night was now almost deserted. All that remained at the table were Mia, her mother, her grandmother, and Alexandra. As Erik stepped off the stairs he noticed that Alexandra was cradling her newborn close to her bosom.
Once the woman noticed the Frenchman in the room, they paused in their conversation to greet him.
“Good morning Erik. Did you sleep well?” Mia smiled
“Yes, thank you. May I assume the same for you?”
“…Yes you may.” Mia smiled, turning her attention back to her tea to hide her blushing cheeks.
“You must have slept well. It is almost noon.” Nitsee stared, eyebrows raised at the masked man.
“Mother. Erik has not traveled in a long time. He needed to sleep it off.”
“I use to have that problem when I traveled.” The old Baba smiled. “I was so disheveled, there were no trains back then. I had to walk, or journey by boat.”
“We know Baba.” Alexandra and Mia chorused.
“Of course you do, I just don’t want you to forget.” The old woman huffed, sipping her tea.
“Erik, I assume you would like a little breakfast.” Nitsee stated rising from her seat.
“Just tea would be fine, Madam.” Erik stared.
“No wonder you’re so thin…I should warn you though, we do not serve that English drake in this house.”
“Mother!” Mia snapped. “Erik is French, not English. Just because someone is born outside of Russia does not mean they do not drink Russian tea!”
“It’s alright Mia.” Erik calmed. “Madam, I assure you. I spent a few years in this country and am very much found of its traditional tea with lemon.”
Watching the woman walk into the kitchen, Erik sat in the vacant seat closest to Mia.
“Monsieur Erik?” Alexandra smiled, reaching over to extend one hand, while her free arm held the child. “I would like to apologize for my short introduction. I’m afraid my baby is still getting over a little colic.”
“There is no need for apology Madam. If I may inquire, how is the child coming around?”
“He still cries I’m afraid, more than his sisters did…It tends to get worse in the evening and nights.”
“Alexandra.” Baba interrupted. “I told you child, boil up a little bit of lavender leaves. Keep the baby near the steam. He will calm down and go off to sleep. It’s an old cure…Boil lavender and…what was the other herb…”
“Valerian.” Erik answered, as Mia’s mother brought him his tea of tea. “Thank you, Madam.”
“I beg your pardon Erik?” Mia asked.
“Valerian. My dear. It is an herb that will cause the infant to become drowsy, without the drugging effects of Laundum.” Erik finished sipping the hot liquid with lemon.
“That’s it!” The old Baba smiled. “Valerian…it is an old…gypsy cure.” She smiled, giving a quick glance in the masked man’s direction. Erik paused in mid-sip catching the look. He suddenly had a very nauseating feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“Careful girls our you’ll spill the milk!” A voice called from the door interrupting Erik’s ill feelings.
“We’ll be careful Aunt Nette!” The two younger voices chorused.
Lena and Hali quickly made their way through the dining area towards the kitchen, a tin bucket the only distance between them.
“Good morning Mr. Erik!” The two girls chorused running into the kitchen, the milk in the bucket sloshing slightly over the top.
“Girls!” Alexandra called. “Please be careful not to spill…Mia, would you take him?” Alexandra asked, handing Mia her nephew as she went to check on her daughters.
Mia adjusted the infant in her arms, just as a slightly younger woman appeared in the room.
“Erik, I would like for you to meet my youngest sister; Nette.”
“A pleasure Mademoiselle.” Erik greeted bowing his head.
“…I beg your pardon, Sir, but unlike my siblings I had no desire to learn French.”
“I am terribly sorry, Miss. After meeting your family, I carelessly assumed that all of them were acquainted with my born language. I apologize.”
“Sorry, we are not.”
“Nette.” Mia spoke a tone of anger in her voice. “Even though you never cared to learn French from Baba, I assume that you would have picked up on a tiny word such as a form of addressing a unmarried lady.”
“Well, I did not Mia. In fact neither Peter nor Alexandra are fluent. Just you in Baba.”
“True you are, sister. However, in both French and Russian it is still custom to introduce yourself politely to one another.”
Nette brushed some imaginary dust off her dress before looking at Erik.
“Very nice to meet you Mr. Erik. It is a shame Mia did not tell us of you sooner. I introduced Joshua to mother the day after he invited me to supper.”
“Mother already knew Joshua…She does wear shoes.” Mia glared.
“But she does not wear a mask…so I assume that is the reason why we have not met Mr. Erik before?”
“Mother…” Mia whispered her tone cool. “Would you hold little Isaac? I wish to speak to my sister…” The artist announced, handing the baby to his grandmother.
“…Out of the ear reach of children.” Mia added, grabbing her sibling by the wrist and leading her upstairs.
Silence filled the room, and all Erik could manage to do was stare into his teacup. He was about to read the leaves, when the old woman called his name.
“Erik…the more I look at little Isaac it makes me remember how long it has been since I have seen Valerian. I am not sure I would know how to pick out a good root…There is a wise woman in the village market…Would you mind escorting an old lady to town to pick out a decent herb?”
“I-“ Erik paused. ‘How can I say no to her.’ “It would be my pleasure.” The French man answered surprised that she immediately stood up and made for the door.
“Come along now. The men will be home from the shop before sundown. We should be back in time for dinner.”
Erik nodded following the woman towards the door. “I should inform Mia, that I am departing.”
“Nitsee can do that.” The old woman insisted. Handing the tall man his cloak and hat, she gently ushered him outside into the snow.
Pulling the door shut the old woman turned to Erik. “The lion’s den is dangerous enough to enter, but to enter the lioness cave is suicide young man.”
“I am not an young man, Madam.” Erik smiled.
“To me you will always be…” The woman smirked. “…Always such a young boy…”
“I beg your pardon?” Erik stared.
“…Nothing…we should be off.” She reminded as they began walking.
Erik continued to trench forth the snow and dead grass crunching under his boots.
“Am I to believe Madam, that you once visited France?”
“Yes. I was around Mia’s age. My parents forbid me at first to travel to such a place so far away alone…perhaps that is part of the reason why I went. I learned the language and very much enjoyed Pairs…My daughter does not like to mention it, but that is were I met Mia’s grandfather.”
“I see.” Erik wanted to laugh at the family resemblance. Such traits really did skip a generation. “Madam if I may-“
“Erik, please call me Baba.”
“…Baba.” Erik tried the word feeling strange on his tongue. “If I may inquire, when you read my palm…you mentioned the indentation on my littlest finger could be due to years of playing the violin.”
“Yes.”
“…If I may ask. How did you know I was a violinist?”
The old woman smiled, looking Erik right in the eye. “I shall never forget the day I saw that young boy play the violin. It is not something I would forget Erik. That night at the fair grounds I watched a young boy make flowers sing.”
As my late birthday gift, I get to give you all a cliffhanger!
Erik: A lovely choice of party favors.
Thank you. Yes, this story is Kay based, so the part of the singing flowers is something readers of her book would understand. Good news, her book has been reprinted! If you would like to see what happens next, or call me evil for leaving you a cliffy, (I actually enjoy torturing my readers to some extent, it makes the plot more interesting) you will have to leave a review! Thank you so much for all those who already have, and please keep them coming! Please remember the disclaimer from above. Do not steal, and do not sue!
Erik: Thank you and please review!
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Portrait of the Soul