Her Phantom

The Night

                                       There was no architecture. No candles. No nighttime. Only his music. His voice rolling off the walls, echoed off the ceiling and flooded her ears, her head, her mind until all was washed away. Gone was the fear she felt. Erased were the memories of prior engagements. Just his voice. A hand caresses her face. The perfectly tuned notes emit from his throat, from his eyes. Those deep, haunting eyes that pierce her soul and sing a song to her all their own. Of pain. Of happiness. Lost in his gaze and his voice, she has relinquished all willpower to him. This man, this... Phantom.                  

                        No. Not Phantom. Teacher. Her Teacher. The Angel of Music who taught her for so long the power of her own voice, raised her from an average talent and molded her into the blossoming diva she was meant to be was here, at last. With her. Or, rather, her with him! And as always her mind focuses only on him, he sings and he is the world as long as she is in his presence. There had always been walls separating them. Their lessons taught and learned through brick and mortar, until now. She called him out. She begged, pleaded, flattered until he revealed himself, taking her through her mirror and into a world never even known to those that lived above it. 

                       And now he is holding her close. Singing, rejoicing in their union. Never having laid eyes on him, she takes him all in. Tall. So tall, like a mountain it seems. Jet-black hair. Green... no, not green, blue eyes. Crystalline blue, boring into her. Strong, straight back. Impeccably dressed. Gloved hands. A curious mask upon one side of his face. She reaches up to touch the uncovered side, he trembles a bit. Curious indeed. Soft, shaven skin. His opus ends. Suddenly the spell is broken. She is able to break her gaze from those ice-blue eyes. The ceiling looks more like a cavern than the opera house interior. She turns, taking in an impossible lake, impossible not because of its size, but location. Under the home she had been staying since she was an orphan, here was a misty lake in a cavern where her wonderful tutor himself seems to be residing! He turns with her, carefully gauging her response to her situation.

                        "How?" She asks, the question encompassing the entirety of the questions in her head. He chuckles gently in his melodious voice. "In time, my dearest. I have waited, watched, planned, plotted, designed for and prepared for this moment. This night. You." He held her close again, noting her heart quickening, hammering in her chest so close against his. He loosened his hold a fraction. Is she afraid of him? Fear is something he knew. He felt it from strangers and family alike for as long as he knew. Born with disfigurement, even his genteel mother couldn't look upon him without some sort of obstruction on his face. But to feel it from her, too much.

 "Fear can turn to love," he whispered into her hair, holding her closely again. "If i show you the man behind this monster before you..." "Monster?" she asked. She reached up to his face again. "Teacher. Dear Tutor. Never monster!" They embrace, though she is still afraid. Not OF him, exactly. But of the intensity with which he holds her, the intensity of her own feelings. 

 "Come. You must be hungry, perhaps tired?" Hospitality covering what seems to be giddiness. She smiles gently, shakes her head negatively. "I'd like a moment to take this in, perhaps you could... show me around?" A slight breeze fluttered through her lace and sheer coverlet, flashing a bit of her garter. She shivers. His breath catches in his throat. He knew she has always held his heart, he knew he had been living his life for this moment. In his mind, she is the epitome of feminism. Her soprano voice clear, precise and pure. Her manner of dress is to date. Her manners all that are expected of her and then some.

 But he hadn't planned on that basest of instincts that would arise in him once he had her in his domain. He hasn't prepared for her to be so... womanly. New, curious feelings begin to simmer below the surface. He always desired her. He wanted her for so long. He needs a companion, someone who will finally LISTEN to him, not run in fear at the mere sight of him. But this desire, this made his own heart race. He wants nothing more than to caress her, take her in his arms and reap the joys of the flesh then and there. Outwardly he is a man of composure. He slides a robe off one of the high-backed chairs carved from the most expensive of wood. Slipping it around her delicate shoulders, he smiles gently at her. Inwardly, he is a torrent of feeling. Fear of rejection is always going to keep him in check, he realizes to himself. The desire to have her, the need to protect her even if that means from himself and the overwhelming joy within him that she is finally, finally here. 

***** PLEASE FORGIVE MY VERY BASE ATTEMPT AT PUBLISHING ON THIS SITE. IT'S MY VERY FIRST TIME DOING THIS AND I HOPE THAT WITH CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISMS AND DIRECTION FROM ALL OF YOU, I MAY LEARN MORE AND MORE EACH TIME. TILL THEN, THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE AND UNDERSTANDING!!!  oh, and one more thing.... VOTE VOTE VOTE!!!! *******