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Replaying Past	By : RubyNatulieLee Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 7371 -:- 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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[Disclaimer: I do not own or make any sort of money off of this based story. I only own the charaters of Esme Lonsdale, Eddy and his sister Crystal, The wig maker, Nicolas and the three boys from Sandor's gang. Everything else I do not own nor belong to me. ]

“It is okay Esme. Try again. This time, try to ‘match’ the pitch of the tune.”

So many days and weeks, Erik dared not to sit at his piano again. So many memories playing out to him, with every pitch that sang out. He dared not touch its white keys, not wanting to be hunted by the images of his old Singer. Standing beside him, singing out her voice, that made him sigh with pleasure. But after three long, pain sticking months. He sat down at his old piano, placed his trembling fingers upon the keys, and slowly began to play out a single pitch. “Now remember. It’s a High A. So you must breath deeply and try to hit that pitch with out damage. If you can not, do a lower octave.”

Esme trembled a little, her fingers clinging to the music sheet she held so tightly in her grasp. She could not sing. She was terrible at it! The last time she sung, her sisters swore she broke wine bottles cause of her voice. Her dancing was better then her singing. But when Erik looked at her when he asked her that question. There was this longing in his eyes. That made her chest ack and something inside drop.

‘No.’ She replied, placing her wine glass down. ‘But… I’m willing to learn.’

Erik hit another high pitch note. A B sharp. Taking a breath, she let out herself sing out a pitch. That was far to flat. Erik reached over with his free hand and pushed into her stomach speaking out. “Higher. Push your air out from your lungs faster.” His warm hand upon her stomach made her voice rise up a notch. But still not hitting that note. Erik tried another higher note, which she soon regrets. For she let out another sound like scream. Making his fingers yank away from the keys. She was wonderful at singing bass. Yes. But her talent at singing higher…. Well, she sounded more like two cats fighting over something to eat. He couldn’t say that to her… She did her best. But if he was going to teach her, he needed to be truthful and straightforward. “Esme.” He began, placing his knuckles to his lips, as he tried to pick the right words. “Your singing… It’s not…. You’re blessed at the lower bass… But… How should I say this.” His words died in his throat, when she sat herself down beside him. A rush of air passing threw her pouted lips. “I told you I could not sing. I’m simply horrid!” She rose her right hand, touching her throat before slamming her fist into the keys before her, sending out a quick strike of mix notes to play out. “Catss sing better then I do. And they tend to get shoes thrown at them.” Erik let out a little smile, as he watched his gypsy struggle. “Come, come now.” He muttered, placing his close hand upon her shoulders. “You shall get better. Your voice shall be like an angel. Singing from the heaven themselves. When I’m done with you.” She only gave a little shrug, looking back away from him. “ I highly regret to inform you Phantom. But the only sure way I am to sing that high is if someone runs a sword right threw my stomach. That way, I have enough energy and pressure to scream out that loud of a pitch.”

“I have a sword. If you wait here I shall fetch it and see if your words are right.” He was teasing of course, but he could not help the smile that crossed his face when he felt her right hand smack his shoulder. “You wouldn’t dare!” She gasped, before she gave a teasing grin, “Stab me, and how will you find another girl to sing for you?”

Those words stuck him deeply. He didn’t show the hurt on his face, but it reflected in his eyes. Esme could see that and she wish she could take them back. But Erik made light of her reply, but whispering. “I just might have another women sneak into my bed.” He pushed himself from the bench, stepping towards the corner, where pictures of the same women hung so coldly upon the wall. She watched him with a frown, before pushing herself too, to her feet. Following after him. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.” She whispered. He seemed so lost, even by himself. He tried to look as if he needed no one. As if, the whole world could rest on his shoulders and he had the will and strength to bare it. But deep down, she figured he didn’t want to bare it. Not the pain. Leaning lightly upon the stone wall of the steps, where his domain lingered. She watched him take a seat by his burnt little set. She watched, as he reached over and took one of the badly burnt figures, holding it in his palm. She frowned, when his fingers stroked the black hair of it, causing black soot to rub off onto his skin. He was lost and he was thinking to himself.

A little smile curled her lips.

Erik stared at the figure that was once he’s beloved singer. How he wishes, he could turn back time and have her once again. And truly make her his. He didn’t want to accept that she had turned her back to him and ran off with Raoul, because he’s face was perfect and Eriks’…He’s was….

‘Ello there Handsome.’

He’s deep thoughts were shattered. When a very off pitch slurred voice came out. Esme was kneeling behind the burnt tiny stage. Her fingers holding up a figure of Carlotta. Esne was playing with his figures… And making them talk… She gave a smile, making the little figure move close to him. “Now why is a gentleman like yer’self sitting all alone?” She saw his face. It was of bewilderment. But she went on. Her farther did this to her once when she was depressed, asking why her mother was gone and it was him and her left, along with her sisters. Her farther took one of her dolls and did a high pitch voice, trying to clam her tears. It didn’t work at first, but he went on, and soon enough. A smile touched her lips. She thought she could do it to her Phantom. “A mon like yer’self should be surrounded by lasses that would take ye for a ride too. Aye, I bet.” She saw a corner of Erik’s lips twitch, as if he was fighting the urge to smile. Her plan was working. But soon she started to really get into her part. “ Why! Who is that in your hand? Has some other lass taking ye’r eyes? How could ye do this to me? Me mum would cry a hailstorm she would. Ye cheating bum!” Erik finally let out a light chuckle. He never had seen such a grown woman, act so much like a child before! But she wasn’t done. For she had taken a figure, which was made to look like yours truly. Erik, himself. Placing the little figure besides Carlotta, she began to speak. But in a deep voice that made Erik shake his head. No man would have that kind of voice.

‘Pardon me Miss. But what are you doing?’

Esme wiggled the little girl figure, ‘How dare ye ask me such a thing. Can’t ya see I’m trying to get me lad back from that horrid whore he hold’s in he’s outstretched hand?’

This, seem to go on for minutes. In till Erik began to laugh out. Reaching out, he took the figure that was of himself before whispering to Esme, who ducked down a little behind the tiny stage. “Full of surprises you are.” Feeling a tad better, he pushed to his feet. “But you need to work on your Irish accent. You won’t fool any one with that kind of voice.” She pushed herself up to stand, only to pout, “I wasn’t trying to be perfect. I just wanted to take things off your mind.” With a nod, he turned to walk back to the stairs, her voice whispered out a question. That made him stop dead in his tracks.

“What are you hiding behind that mask?”

His hand, that held the little figure of Christine, began to squeeze. Almost threatening to brake the figure in two. What he hid… That lingered behind his mask. Everyone wanted to know… Why couldn’t there be just one person who didn’t care. One person in this world, who would look past he’s face and into his own soul, and see the beauty, which lives there. Esme was just like everyone else. She would be with him, in till she saw he’s face and then she would run away. Find some other man that would fancy her eyes. A man, that held no scars or infection. That held outer beauty, besides inner. This pained him. He didn’t know why.

“ I am hiding the monster.”

She frowned. “ You’re not a monster.” Slowly she pushed from the tiny set and made her way to him. She had stayed with him for a month now. The days seem to go by fast. He learned to lock her door when he left to his room, since she had a habit of wondering off in the middle of the night. She wore an old gown, made for more like after noon teatime. Dark green satin that draped over her slender form. A black corset wrapped around under her swollen breasts, hugging her rib cage, stomach and some of her hips tightly. The hems of her dress dragged along the floor, covering her legs and her feet. Collar low cut, baring her neck and shoulders, since it was a bit to wide. The sleeves bagging over her wrists and fingers a bit, making her look as if she were a child dressing herself up in her mothers clothing. But she was not a child. But a women, a full-grown women. Erik knew, since he stumbled across her bathing herself once and he’s eyes caught the site he dreamed about seeing.

Her heart pained for him. Whenever he looked that way. She wanted to be his friend, and friends tell each other the truth. Or sometimes. And she wanted to know why he hide half he’s face. She walked up to him, her head tilting back slowly. He was so much taller then her. Even standing this close, her head reached the height of his chest. But that made him look so powerful in her eyes. “You’re never a monster.” She whispered. Her right hand stirred and slowly it lifted, reaching up to his face, reaching up towards the face. But she only touched his chin. Feeling the warmth of his skin, the stubble’s of hair that began to grow. He’s eyes misted over before they slowly closed, bowing his head to press into her palm. He couldn't remember the last time he was touched so gently by a woman. A simple gentle touch, even given by one’s mother was denied. He felt so warm and the emptiness inside of him slowly started to fade. But he felt her fingers tuck under the mask’s edge, and slowly started to pull.

He’s hand shot up and grabbed her wrist tightly, stopping her movement. Keeping the mask upon his face.

“Madame Esme… Release my mask at once.” He commanded slowly.

She gave him a little frown but twitched, he’s grip tightening ever so slowly, when she refuse to let go.

“Now.”
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Replaying Past