Dreaming of Beauty - Private OnexOne

[Without Knowledge]

☾۰ Marguerite
Look there she goes, that girl is so peculiar
I wonder if she's feeling well
With a dreamy, far-off look
And her nose stuck in a book
What a puzzle to the rest of us, that belle
--------- --------- -------- -------- ------- ------- ------ ------ ----- ----- ---- ---- --- --- -- -- -

Marguerite would have been quite content to meet Erik's stare for the rest of time, if his biting mock of a statement broke the silence. Immediately her lips parted to respond in some manner, and a soft intake of air was even audible before she froze again, indecision flashing in her eyes before her mouth slowly shut. Her head tilted slightly in consideration as she continued to meet that unyielding gaze, not answering him. While generally she wouldn't have been so unresponsive, the confusion she still harbored left her feeling unsure of what to expect.. Not to mention, the look he was setting on her was quickly proving uncomfortable for her. It wasn't that he seemed angry - if anything, that might have been better. That she could have at least understood, given what she pulled earlier that night... or 'last night', as the case may be. No, the gaze he had set on her was quiet, and searching, as though he were looking for the answer to some puzzle he couldn't quite figure out. And meeting that stare was disconcerting.

Meg pushed her body up further so she could fully sit up, the burning pressure in her side rising with the movement and making her quickly lean back against her headboard to help soften the pain. But the discomfort did help remind her of the unexamined wound - at least by her - and she surrendered their little staring contest to glance down at it. All she could see was a slight bulkiness at her abdomen under another simple white nightdress, buttoned up the front. But she still raised one hand to delicately lay over her side at the spot, feeling the outline of unseen bandages through the fabric, the discovery only adding more questions to the quietly rattled woman's list. How badly had she been hurt? Who had bound her side when she was unconcsious? ...and what had that person seen that they shouldn't have while they dealt with the wounds? That last question brought Marguerite's attention back to Erik, her eyes turning up to search his face and mirror his own, scrutinizing look.

“You say that like there was some question on the matter.” While she made the belated reply sound as light as possible, there was an obvious undercurrent of real question in it, her face echoing it as she quieted again. She wrung her hands in the sheets before burying them under the fabric for protection from the cold that seeped into the space, trying to better make out his own expression from beneath the shadows that fell over him in the darkened room. Finally, the discomfort she was slowly gaining from his and her own overall silence pushed her to 'get to the point' so to speak, honest curiosity falling over her as she spoke again. “I... if you are here, I assume you wanted to say something?”

- -- -- --- --- ---- ---- ----- ----- ------ ------ ------- ------- -------- -------- --------- ---------
Day one, day one, start over again
Step one, step one,
I'm barely making sense
For now I'm faking it
Until I'm pseudo making it
From scratch begin again
Giry ۰☽

[Arsenic-x-Sleep]

• ♭ • E r i k .
And in my twisted face
There's not the slightest trace
Of anything that even hints of kindness
And from my tortured shape
No comfort , no escape
I see... But deep within is utter blindness
_________________________________________________________________________________

At first glance, Erik wasn't entirely sure what to make of the emotions that seemed to cross Marguerite's features as she came to realize his presence in the room. Of course a good deal of it was made up of the dull confusion one experiences after so abruptly emerging from a deep sleep. While part of him may have expected fear, even anger, to dominate her upon fully coming from her unconsciousness - another portion of him was not expecting much more than the calm consideration that eventually fell over her face. If nothing else, it seemed, at least he was beginning to grow more accustomed to her strange behavior.

When she had attempted to sit up, he only expected her to suddenly grow aware of the injuries she had culminated upon the fall. Though he made no immediate attempt to prevent her from moving, he seemed assured that she would learn that lesson of her own accord soon enough, and only regarded her with vague amusement when the revelation seemed to hit her - Sending her to lean back against the headboard of her bed. As she attempted to smooth out her nerves while inspecting the source of her newly found pain, he simply watched with, bearing a quirky sort of smirk on his face as he eyed her speculatively. Moving to brush a few strands of unwieldy hair from his face, he remained silent to pay heed to her own mutterings.

After brushing aside her prior statement, something to do with how there may have been question to her eventual return to sentience, Erik turned his focus to her latest inquiry. The smirk gradually faded from his features, his pale face and mask flickering in the light of a dimly lit, oil lamp that sat securely on the small nightstand near her bed. Sitting just outside of the lamp's dome of line, he was like a creature hovering on the boundary of day. After regarding her for a short moment, he leaned back in his seat, placing his hand atop the rest of the chair to carefully strum his fingers along its battered edge. Finally, he simply shrugged to her, eyeing her questionably. "I wanted to be sure you woke up..." Erik muttered absentmindedly, whether or not it was truly the answer. Gradually, his eyes trailed along her form, only to come to rest upon her side. "... You shouldn't move too much.. While your head injury is evidently uncomplicated you also got yourself a few rather badly bruised ribs..."

_________________________________________________________________________________
Such mortal feelings
Are never forsaken
And once again, those passions will awaken
My evil has its beauty , when it suits me to possess
The hearts of those my vengeance will embrace,
within my world ...
• ♦ •

[Without Knowledge]

☾۰ Marguerite
Look there she goes, that girl is so peculiar
I wonder if she's feeling well
With a dreamy, far-off look
And her nose stuck in a book
What a puzzle to the rest of us, that belle
--------- --------- -------- -------- ------- ------- ------ ------ ----- ----- ---- ---- --- --- -- -- -

Erik's flippant response drew Marguerite's curiosity, her set composure cracking under the influence of a mild, even pleasant surprise at his excusing words, though the expression was tinged with doubt. His laid back manner did not hint much concern, particularly paired with the fury he had shown towards her earlier that day... or yesterday, though the cover over the one window close to her kept her from making too specific a guess on the time, Erik's comment being her only clue.

But as her eyes slowly adjusted to staring into the shadows made by the sole flickering light in the room, she began to notice things she had missed until now. For one, she saw that his light-speckled hair was as unkempt and windswept as it had been at the station platform, as though he had rolled right out of bed and had not touched it since. The sight drew a slight quirk of her own brow before she glanced down to take in his attire as well. She couldn't make out many details his loose white shirt practically gleamed in the lamplight as strongly as his mask, letting her know he had not changed his clothing either. It left her wondering, just how long had he been here with her?

Aside from the man himself, Meg started noticing details of the piece of furniture he lounged in. The torn fabric of the arms under his own and one slightly bent leg silhouetted against the wall made it more than clear which chair he was sitting in, and the reappearance of her earlier 'weapon' was like a bucket of ice water in the face. She fell into a distracted silence for a few moments, not actually paying the chair's occupant any mind until his striking voice spoke up again, demanding her attention in the same, absent tone.

But Erik's words of warning over disturbing her wounds only served to further remind her how she acquired the injury, the regard to her health creating the heavy feeling in her stomach that had nothing to do with her abused ribs. Distracted by the unpleasant remorse, she quietly dwelled on his words and her own thoughts with a speculative, downcast gaze, staring at the intricate coverlet over her lap with a vague expression.

Finally Marguerite reacted again, though it looked as though she was going directly against his advice, pushing aside the blankets and scooting to the side, surely disturbing her bound bones in the process. But she made little move from there, never foolishly attempting to rise and walk. She only hovered at the edge of the bed, her legs dangling with small, pale feet barely poking out from under her nightgown hem. She was posed ready to stand, but she didn't try to, staying in that position with her hands clasping the mattress at her side in a manner reminiscent of the stance she'd had when Erik had left her alone hours ago, though the silent intensity of then was nowhere to be found.

Instead she seemed almost brooding, the only glimpses of her face under her loose hair coming from a particularly strong gust came through the board's cracks and pushed back the strands. But it was mercifully not long before she spoke again. “Yes... I apologize; I seem to have broken more than a few things last night.” The weary calm in her voice failed to mask the shame slipping through, and while her turned stare indicated it was the window she spoke of, she was admitting guilt to more than that.

- -- -- --- --- ---- ---- ----- ----- ------ ------ ------- ------- -------- -------- --------- ---------
Day one, day one, start over again
Step one, step one,
I'm barely making sense
For now I'm faking it
Until I'm pseudo making it
From scratch begin again
Giry ۰☽

[Arsenic-x-Sleep]

• ♭ • E r i k .
And in my twisted face
There's not the slightest trace
Of anything that even hints of kindness
And from my tortured shape
No comfort , no escape
I see... But deep within is utter blindness
_________________________________________________________________________________

Erik felt his gaze darken as he watched her silently disregard his warning so that she could sit straight - Swinging her petite legs around the edge of the bed as if she might stand at any moment. Though he said nothing at first, he tilted his head to the side a bit, regarding her in a peculiar way as he considered stopping her from moving any further. Brushing the urge aside, however, he assumed that she would learn the hard way if she persisted on pushing herself through the pain. Nonetheless, his candle-light eyes remained steady on her in a firm gaze, partially squinted in a contemplative manner as he glanced slowly and searchingly over her back and shoulders that had, more or less, been turned to him.

The gentle, repetitive thumps of his fingers absentmindedly drumming one, two times, over the arm of the chair seemed to signify a sort of thoughtful impatience... Perhaps even boredom. The notion scrolled itself clearly across his face for a moment in the form of a disgruntled frown and an uncomfortable shift in his seat. Soon enough, he suddenly found that he could no longer remained seated, the yearning to move finally overtaking him as he hoisted himself from the chair practically knocking it back to the floor as he did so. It was a harsh sound - the legs shifting over the wooden floor with an aching groan as it released his weight. It wasn't necessarily a gesture made out of anger, or even frustration, just an urgent need to move elsewhere from where he was.

While Erik's boots met with the red wood of the floor, the planks creaked only so quietly beneath his light step, eventually growing dull and silent as he soon enough crossed over to the warm mahogany carpet that covered a good portion of the room. With a sluggish weight in his step he seemed to be in no real hurry as he contemplated to himself and traced his way through the room to eventually come to the edge of her bed - Standing just in front of the blocked window... Almost as if he could see outside through the thick plank of wood. He had heard her speak... Her words almost confessing to a hidden guilt that he wasn't quite expecting.

Since earlier that evening he had considerably calmed his anger... His furies dissipating under the wave of fatigue that was always inevitable after such an outburst of relentless emotion. While he couldn't bring himself to fully acknowledge the words that came from Marguerite's lips then - He had been sporting a sort of heaviness on his shoulders that was almost reminiscent of hurt pride and vague sorrow. Erik was perfectly aware that there must have been more to her agenda... But he could not seem to shake this lingering question in his mind as to why such a respectable young woman would go so far as breaking their agreement...

... Even he caught the cruel irony in that thought.

"... It's fine." He finally muttered, his eyes remaining set as stone on the broken window. He had spotted a remaining shard of glass poking out from the edge of the casement and seemed to be as transfixed by it as one might be by the Taj Mahal. He hardly seemed bothered by the peculiar statement that slipped from his lips. He didn't feel like talking about the events of that day at the moment. There would be a time and a place for that - But not then. No, he had something entirely different on his mind... Something that shocked and intrigued him. Something entirely unexpected that had struck close to home and would not be shaken until he had his opportunity to investigate.

"Marguerite..." Erik's voice grew silky, airy, beautiful as it truly was when there was no anger or vehemence that tainted its edges. The fact that he chose to use her first name rather than her last was a fleeting notion, one that he did not recognize nor wished to acknowledge as an innocent, almost melancholy yet boyish, curiosity overtook his features. His brows furrowed, the yellow of his gaze flickering in the lamp light as it etched patterns into the wood he stared at. Finally, he seemed to realize the answer to his inquiry would not be hidden in the patterns of the wood, and his gaze turned abruptly to stare at the woman's profile. "... Why do you have scars?"

_________________________________________________________________________________
Such mortal feelings
Are never forsaken
And once again, those passions will awaken
My evil has its beauty , when it suits me to possess
The hearts of those my vengeance will embrace,
within my world ...
• ♦ •

[Without Knowledge]

☾۰ Marguerite
Look there she goes, that girl is so peculiar
I wonder if she's feeling well
With a dreamy, far-off look
And her nose stuck in a book
What a puzzle to the rest of us, that belle
--------- --------- -------- -------- ------- ------- ------ ------ ----- ----- ---- ---- --- --- -- -- -

Tapping fingers, wooden legs screeching, and slow footsteps tempted Meg to look up. But before she could consider or ignore the urge Erik moved, blocking her view of the covered window. It tore her out of her trance of silent self-criticism, visually tracing the line of the man's back as piqued interest overturned the weariness set in her eyes. Marguerite waited in silence for a response, but all she received was a curt mutter dismissing her apology, leaving her baffled by his sudden switch in acceptance of her defiance. She couldn't quite fathom this man's unpredictability, witnessing overblown anger and complete apathy all in the same day. Once again she was left feeling awkward and unsure of what to do, struggling for an appropriate reaction to his dismissal to the subject. She frowned at him in a confounded manner, searching the wrinkled creases of his shirt as if she might find some answer there, as she didn't have his face available to scrutinize.

When he called her by name, her first name, that voice dropped over her in an wave. It pushed every thought and discomfort she felt aside, leaving her to marvel at how the word falling from his lips sounded so... It wasn't that she had never noticed before just how that voice could truly be. But it had been a long time since she'd heard him speak quite like that, and it had never been to her. Granted, it wasn't a glazed, unseeing stare that fixed on him in response to the murmur, but a silent reverence, not unlike the kind she harbored the few times she had heard him play, astounded by the beauty of the compositions and the sheer skill in the hands that performed them. And then he turned and finished his question.

For perhaps all of three seconds Marguerite stared at him before she actually comprehended what he asked. Her head snapped up in a flash, her awed expression morphing into guarded shock. Her right hand shot up across her body, freezing just short of grabbing her right shoulder before mechanically dropping back into her lap. At any other time and with anyone else, the reaction would have likely seemed odd. But if he knew about the marks on her back and had seen them himself, she assumed he knew.

Given the placement of her scars she had never had a direct look at them, save for the ones that dotted the back of her forearms and legs. But as a girl, just as the marks healed enough to remove the bandages, she convinced a maid to align a pair of mirrors so she could see the full damage. So she knew what Erik had seen... a cascade of white lines, streaming from her neck all the way down to her ankles, of all shapes and sizes, randomly strewn across her body. Many of them were small, just the reach and berth of her finger, barely deep enough to permanently mark her. But others... She could still remember staring at the reflection of the few dozen or so that truly marred. Those spanned from a few inches to a thick one, cutting from her right shoulder down to the tip of her spine, a mess of flayed, uneven skin. The myriad of lines created a pattern of mangled scars. A spider's web enveloping her back.

Marguerite had impulsively reached to touch the tip of the worst of them, as it was the only one she could easily feel, and thus 'see' without much effort. Not that she often tried. She didn't like to think about her scars, much less talk of them. She had gone out of her way for years to avoid discovery or questioning of them. Years ago she never changed with the other members of the corp, and here she did her best to change without Isabella there, or at least never turned her back to her.

She met Erik's gaze mutely before finally turning her head away to fix her eyes on the wall behind him, avoiding the scrutinizing golden stare he fixed on her. Mentally clawing for anything she could say to get out of explaining this, she eventually spoke up in the most casual tone she could, unable to keep from looking back as she replied with an inquiry of her own.

“Why does that matter?”

- -- -- --- --- ---- ---- ----- ----- ------ ------ ------- ------- -------- -------- --------- ---------
Day one, day one, start over again
Step one, step one,
I'm barely making sense
For now I'm faking it
Until I'm pseudo making it
From scratch begin again
Giry ۰☽

[Arsenic-x-Sleep]

• ♭ • E r i k .
And in my twisted face
There's not the slightest trace
Of anything that even hints of kindness
And from my tortured shape
No comfort , no escape
I see... But deep within is utter blindness
_________________________________________________________________________________

Evidently, Erik's inquiry had left Marguerite rather perturbed and uncomfortable. While it didn't surprise him much to see such shocked reluctance cross her features, it did little more than spur his curiosity even further on in an attempt to understand why she bore the peculiar imperfections. As he peered silently toward her - Watching the guarded shock cross her gaze, a hand shooting up in a futile attempt to shield her secrets, only to see her hesitantly look away, nervously glancing to and from his stance - His interest was only more piqued.

It was blatant knowledge. If you had skin - if blood ran through your veins and pain coursed through your body if you were cut - then you could come to bare scars. It wasn't an entirely uncommon thing... He had seen it all before; A little cut here, a scrape there, the occasional burn... Remedial accidents happened in remedial lives, it was simply a fact of life. But while he had went to tend to Marguerite's wounds, carefully wrapping her chest so as to protect her bruised, potentially fractured, ribs from unnecessary movement - He had also stumbled upon the strange webbing of white scar-tissue that all but enveloped her back and reached across her legs and arms as well. Erik hadn't seen scarring like it since... Well... Himself.

For a long moment of silence, Erik regarded Marguerite with quiet consideration. In a way that much mirrored her own silence before his initial question, he remained thoughtful for a long time contemplating her question. It was a rather personal question in most senses... Though it wasn't as if he had much of an understanding of such premises. After being posed the same question many times before about his own... 'Markings', he deemed it a fairly normal thing to ask. But upon further thought, he came to understand the insinuation more clearly. He didn't particularly enjoy explaining his own scars... So why should she be any more accepting of it?

The thought sent a glance across his face that was almost reminiscent of regret for having asked, but it quickly vanished when he reached the sudden resolution to finish what he had began. His curiosity would not be satiated 'til he had something of an answer... So long as it was even just a fraction enlightening.

Keeping his gaze locked on her, Erik's eyes were a bit less intense than usual, though there was a certain sharpness to them that he could probably never consciously lose. While unsure whether her inquiry was a rhetorical method with which she was attempting to say "It's none of your business", he pressed on. "Well...." He began speculatively, finally allowing his eyes to divert to the side in a thoughtful way as he concocted his reply, "... I suppose it doesn't 'matter', per say... Though by the way you're behaving, I would say it matters quite a lot to you."

Erik's brows rose somewhat in realization, glancing back to her with vaguely guarded interest. "But... Every scar has a story. I, more than anyone, know that."

Absentmindedly, the skeleton of a man turned on his heel to meander away from the window, yet again being pulled by the strange sensation to move.

"And.." He began to muse again as he walked, only coming to a stop at the foot of her bed so he could gaze more closely toward her face, waiting for something of a response. "... I was told, at one time... I'm not sure of its merit, but... That a scar will never begin to heal until its story has been told."

_________________________________________________________________________________
Such mortal feelings
Are never forsaken
And once again, those passions will awaken
My evil has its beauty , when it suits me to possess
The hearts of those my vengeance will embrace,
within my world ...
• ♦ •

[Without Knowledge]

☾۰ Marguerite
Look there she goes, that girl is so peculiar
I wonder if she's feeling well
With a dreamy, far-off look
And her nose stuck in a book
What a puzzle to the rest of us, that belle
--------- --------- -------- -------- ------- ------- ------ ------ ----- ----- ---- ---- --- --- -- -- -

As Marguerite was watching Erik she was fortunate enough to witness the man's expression waver, reconsideration hovering for the space of a moment before disappearing with the return of determination for an answer. Brief though it was, the consideration was enough to sweep away some of her anxiety. She was oddly bemused by the pure interest he harbored, hinted at in glances he threw as he weaved a smooth response to her guarded question. She found herself unable to hold his inquiry against him when she more than understood the impulse to pry to quell curiosity.

Unfortunately, her consideration for it was of little use beyond calming her annoyance at the intrusive question. After all, for her it had never been not trusting the inquirer that stilled her tongue and made her hide the marks. It had never been an issue of talking about them; the problem was to do so she would have to think about them, and any details she imparted made her mentally relive the experience herself. It just never seemed worth talking about when it involved reopening old wounds.

Thus as Erik trekked the distance from the window to her bed, his comment about confiding the details could be healing wasn't met with the most accepting of responses. Marguerite didn't outright scoff at him or mutter a protest to the idea, but her furrowed brow and side glance practically screamed disbelief as she considered it, her expression comparable to someone trying a bite of food only to discover it's unpleasant taste.

But, Meg didn't wave the comment away. In fact, her own curiosity was suddenly piqued by his wording, pushing her attention away from her own markings for the time being. 'I, more than anyone, know that'? Yes, she could easily assume from the multiple scars obvious on his body, even when most of it was covered and the light behind her made only some details of his form obvious in the dark room, that Erik had more than his share of stories to share. And as she reconsidered his words, her earlier problem of meeting the man's gaze seemed to completely disappear.

“Have you ever found that to be true?” She stared right back at him with consideration lighting her silver eyes, her head tilting a touch as she turned his point back around on him, the thoughtful curiosity in her voice underscored by a vague, knowing emotion. “Has talking about an injury to someone ever helped you deal with it in some manner?”

- -- -- --- --- ---- ---- ----- ----- ------ ------ ------- ------- -------- -------- --------- ---------
Day one, day one, start over again
Step one, step one,
I'm barely making sense
For now I'm faking it
Until I'm pseudo making it
From scratch begin again
Giry ۰☽

[Arsenic-x-Sleep]

• ♭ • E r i k .
And in my twisted face
There's not the slightest trace
Of anything that even hints of kindness
And from my tortured shape
No comfort , no escape
I see... But deep within is utter blindness
_________________________________________________________________________________

"Have you ever found that to be true?"

In an instant, Erik's rationalizing was turned around on him in the form of a simple question. While part of him had been anticipating her reaction, he couldn't help but be caught somewhat off guard by her growing curiosity. For a moment, he simply studied her features, allowing no sign of his uncertainty to show through on the stone-like facade that was his unexposed face. It was at times like these he regretted ever changing to the peculiar style of mask he wore these days... At times, he rather missed the protection that his old full-black onyx mask had bore for him - All but completely shielding his expressions, his guarded emotions, from the world around him with little to no effort. While his eyes were always exposed - There was no controlling the whirling of emotion that flurried through them at nearly all times... But much to his fortune, they changed so quickly and so frequently that no one would be fully capable of translating them into word or meaning before it was gone in a fleeting moment.

"Well..." Erik began to consider aloud, his eyes remaining still and motionless on her pale form as he slowly pieced together a sort of response. "... I suppose I've never tried."

Thin lips grimaced toward their corners, his yellow eyes darting away from her to gaze momentarily toward the oil lamp that spilled its light over the comforter of her bed and the surface of the floor. Thought overtook his features - And though it was impossible to tell exactly what he was considering in his strange, warped mind, it was evident that whatever it was took quite a bit of determination to finally come to a final conclusion. As decision crossed his gaze, Erik turned his partially withdrawn attention to Marguerite once more, hesitation in his movements as a hand moved to tentatively grip at the hem of his shirt's collar - Exposing an angry white scar that tore across the right side of his chest in a short, jagged mark. Its surface was paler, redder, then the rest of his body, and somehow seemed more prominent, probably much deeper, than the number of other markings that riddled his chest in numerous places.

"... You're not blind, Miss Giry... That much I know..." He suddenly began, allowing his firefly eyes to wander aware from Marguerite to gaze, half-lidded and only partially aware, at the wall nearest him. "... As you can tell, I have many of said 'stories' to tell... Just as many, if not more, than you evidently do." He paused, as if he may stop right where he was and simply walk away from this strange situation without a second's thought. But something drove him on... Something in him wanted to believe that, perhaps, the ridiculous notion that telling a story could do something as miraculous as healing the many wounds that he carried not only on his body but on his soul. His curiosity, his want for this truth, pushed him on."... But... While many I seem to have completely forgotten, there are some that will always remain more prominent in my mind than others."

A sigh - Erik took in his breath with a gradual attempt to shake his reluctance as something took over him. He had never felt so inclined to share such a story more than he did at that very moment to the peculiar Mademoiselle Giry. While the urge baffled him - leaving him confused and suspicious - He simply could not, would not, let the moment go and miss his 'chance' to parry the guard of his usual shielded self. Finally, his eyes returned to her, a dark resignation shadowing his features as he prepared himself to relive the horrors of that night and face the reaction that would certainly come... The most disconcerting part of it being that he did not know what it would be. If he was to learn her secrets, however... It would be an eye for an eye. "As a young boy, I was never permitted by my mother to leave our home. My only friend was an old canine we called Sasha who would never think much of my... 'Uniqueness.' I cared for her very much as a child..." He grumbled his words, his sentiment rumbling off into silence as he came to a pause, shifting on his feet in discomfort, but otherwise remaining still and as rigid as a piece of rock. "... While my mother told me to never leave the house... I did so, without her knowledge. At night I would sneak to the old church to simply look.. Or play its organ. Though I always tried to be quiet, it was a hard thing to accomplish with its impressive piping system. So the rumors started... As did the sightings. It wasn't long until the town knew of the "monster" that lived in our home. We nearly always had people outside our gate, trying to lure me out... But they never succeeded. Until one night when Sasha was bothering me as I drew..."

Erik's eyes closed then. He could practically smell the moist, humid air of a summer night in Rouen. "My mother put her outside in the yard to avoid her causing me to become angry... And some passing men took notice of her. While we heard her crying, I couldn't get to her on time. They had knives and sticks, and I'm afraid a group of fully grown men weren't a match for a boy and his Cocker Spaniel." He almost laughed. "... I wasn't even entirely sure when it had happened... As everything went very quickly. All I know is, eventually, I was able to drive them away - But only after they had killed Sasha and I was left to carry her inside..." His voice trailed off, almost dreamily as he allowed his eyes to slowly open and regard her with a cold demeanor, before finishing. "... I didn't know I had been stabbed until my mother saw me..." In a moment, Erik's hand slowly fell to his side once again, allowing the marking to be covered, and with it his memory.

Silently, he marveled at his own recollection. His memory was normally so fickle... But he could still recall that night with such vivid detail. It seemed there would be no escaping certain things, no matter how much you ran. And among them would be the night he came to truly hate the world he had been so unfavorably brought into.

_________________________________________________________________________________
Such mortal feelings
Are never forsaken
And once again, those passions will awaken
My evil has its beauty , when it suits me to possess
The hearts of those my vengeance will embrace,
within my world ...
• ♦ •

[Without Knowledge]

☾۰ Marguerite
Look there she goes, that girl is so peculiar
I wonder if she's feeling well
With a dreamy, far-off look
And her nose stuck in a book
What a puzzle to the rest of us, that belle
--------- --------- -------- -------- ------- ------- ------ ------ ----- ----- ---- ---- --- --- -- -- -

After Marguerite's rebuttal she was left to study Erik's face in quiet scrutiny, though there was little to be made from his hard expression. Really, the only clue she had that her question had been heard was that silence, and the still way he remained looming at her side. And she was content to wait it out. That, in and of itself, was astounding. He was trying to get her to share details of herself she had never spoken of - that her own mother never knew about - yet she wanted to hear whatever he might have to say. When he spoke again, the discomfort in his eyes and the way he pointed out the marks on his chest drew only uncertainty at where he was going with this. Her eyes dropped to skim along the marred skin revealed before jumping back up to his face again, her confusion not hidden by a mask and stony expression, but by how the only light source in the room was behind her, shadowing her visage from his view.

It was only when he dove into an unexpected confession that Meg understood the trade he was trying to make. But any shock or discomfort she might have was gone before she could register it, swept away as her focus turned solely on Erik and his unfolding tale. By the time the words 'never permitted' fell from his lips any thought of suspicious was cleared away. The slim details of sneaking out, Sasha, the church's organ, the constant threat of attack, they washed through her. Her attentive mind painted a picture of his words, to see what he told her as well as hear it. But her mind came to a blank pause as Erik himself trailed off, a frown wrinkling Marguerite's brow as she witnessed the dark turn the tale took. The cruel fate of his friend and his own injury made her mind reel. Her mind tried to deny the reality he conjured, then settled as she accepted it, realized he had told it, had lived it.

For a long, heavy moment no response came, leaving Erik to his own recollection while Marguerite stared down at her own feet and tried to digest it all, and react in some manner. It wasn't that she had no natural reaction to give. Rage at the nameless men in his story, curiosity about the boy he had been and the woman that raised him, hesitation over what he now expected her to say, a gut wrenching twist between sympathy and grief for the loss he endured... They all warred for attention, and it left her struggling for any one feeling to express.

Finally she raised her head and caught sight of him again. Cool facade or no, one particular urge came to the forefront. Some form of comfort had to be expressed, or she wouldn't be able to move on. The idea of offering an embrace of all things was quickly discarded, as it would probably not be appreciated. But, turning away that thought left her at a loss. She was just not used to comforting others, and it was rarely needed. Really, the only other means she knew was the one that had been used on her, years ago...

She quickly, harshly pushed any recollections back, the only tangible signs of what was happening in her head the tensing of her posture before she leaned forward, the unexpected self-reminder making her forget to question if this was a proper move to make. She rose halfway off the bed and paused just before truly standing and chancing harm to her ribs. She hesitated only the briefest of moments before reaching to catch Erik's hand - the one that had pulled back his shirt - in her own grip.

Once Meg caught it, she settled back into her seat, gently tugging the cold hand a bit closer so she could hold it in front of her, her other, freed hand coming up to clasp it on the other side. Granted, the move was probably an odd one, not to mention suspicious. But if anything Marguerite had put herself at a disadvantage. She had all her fingers curled under his own long, thin digits, where he could easily grip them in a fist, her thumbs the only ones free, folded on the back of his hand. She leisurely rubbed the tips of her thumbs over bony knuckles as she clasped his palm, all of it a small gesture to say what she couldn't in words. And if it received nothing more than suspicion and a rebuff, at least it helped her gather the courage to try and repay his openness.

“This... was not the first time I have fallen from a window.” Her words came quiet and rushed, all the signs of a confession as she swallowed back some hesitancy and work out what to say. “...about, ten years ago now. The household was still set in mourning for my grandfather-” The movement of her thumbs stilled as she fell silent, biting the inside of her lower lip as she reconsidered the direction her words, realizing that this wasn't necessary to explain her scars. So, starting again, she managed to pull her voice out of the previous somber tone. “My family's home has a very large library on the second floor I used to sneak into in when I wanted to be left alone. It had more than enough in it to keep me happy when I was hiding away.” An unseen twitch of the lips gave the smile her tone hinted at before her mood plunged, hesitation rearing its head again full force. “It also had a large window. It covered a good portion of the south wall, very high... When I fell through it, it shattered apart into so many pieces, that only a few tiny sections managed to stay attached...”

The movement of her fingers stopped completely as she trailed off again. Even the grip she had on him slackened, so that his hand could slip free any moment even without his effort. But eventually she tilted her head up, glancing at Erik's face without lifting her head, a flash of an odd weariness clear, with no actual fear or sadness. She mumbled in almost an afterthought as she renewed her grip and focus back on his hand, as if she'd lost interest in the topic. “I suppose I probably could have gotten by with fewer cuts, but I managed to keep a brief grip on the edge of the sill before falling... and since the glass had already broken, I landed on top of it.”

- -- -- --- --- ---- ---- ----- ----- ------ ------ ------- ------- -------- -------- --------- ---------
Day one, day one, start over again
Step one, step one,
I'm barely making sense
For now I'm faking it
Until I'm pseudo making it
From scratch begin again
Giry ۰☽

[Arsenic-x-Sleep]

• ♭ • E r i k .
And in my twisted face
There's not the slightest trace
Of anything that even hints of kindness
And from my tortured shape
No comfort , no escape
I see... But deep within is utter blindness
_________________________________________________________________________________

It was only after he had finished speaking that Erik really noticed that, in fact, he couldn't actually see much of her face. The lamp that was behind him did, indeed, reach its light toward her in an effort to illuminate her pale face - But simply could not penetrate through his lithe form. He took note of the perfect lighting that fell on her shoulders and arms, disappearing into blackness as it reached her hands that had been, at first, in her lap. A bar of darkness reached down her entire middle - Starting at her face, and following all the way down to her lap - A darkness that, ironically enough, he cast on her with his shadow. A portion of him was grateful that it was so. With that obscurity to her features - He would be entirely guarded from the inevitable reaction that would dawn on her features when his story was told... But another part, the rest of him, desperately wanted to know what she felt.

For something of a fleeting moment, that desperation broke through the shield of his defenses, in the form of fervent, worrisome eyes that searched avidly across her darkened features for some sign as to what she would think of him after hearing his tale. Would she disbelieve him? He certainly wished it wasn't true. Would she pity him? Respect him? Laugh at him? Become angry? As his musings grew more and more far-fetched and exaggerated, the expression on his face became something akin to frustration. He became increasingly disconcerted with every passing second; The urge to move, to leave, to essentially flee began to rise in him once again... But before he could do so - She began to move.

When she rose to her feet, Erik's lips parted as if to protest to her movement. She was still injured and certainly shouldn't be moving this early on. When she initially took his hand, his yellow eyes grew wide and shocked. His mind froze, and for the first time in what felt like centuries - He experienced complete and utter silence within himself. And when she eventually returned to her seat, weaving his hand into her own, warm grasp in a gentle display of not sympathy or pity... But compassion. He was left speechless. Numb. It was almost as if his body had all but shut down on itself in some perturbed sort of mechanism in which it attempted to cope with what was exactly happening.

For a long time, Erik could do nothing but stare at her foreshadowed form with bewilderment... But the first thought that came to his mind was not that she was touching him. It was not that she had violated his space, or any of his rules. It was not that she should be punished, or even intervened with. It was short, simple and clean... Her touch was remarkably warm. Suddenly; he found himself marveling at it the comforting ardor that radiated from her skin as it pressed softly into his own, perpetually ice-cold flesh. Only to quickly move to wondering at the tiny proportion of her hands in comparison to his own... It was within those fleeting moments that he realized how long it had been since he had been touched in such a way. He had hated it, contact with others, and had avoided it like the plague for years..

Only her voice pulled him from his silent amazement, and as she spoke, he seemed to be simply paralyzed by her touch. Normally he would have been furious.. He would have lashed out upon her and made her regret ever considering such an outrageous gesture... But at that very moment, he was utterly destroyed by her and left at the young woman's mercy in a way he had not felt since the Garnier... Since Christine. The sensation, along with her voice, shattered his awe and left him grasping for control again as he listened to her own tale. The fact that he had succeeded in his attempts to lure her out into the open, to obtain the secrets behind her scars that he had sought only moments before, fell on a deft, careless mind. But nonetheless.. He listened. Close and carefully, he attended to her own story with gradually returning interest as he gathered his composure once again.

In a way similar to Marguerite's own method - Erik proceeded to distract himself fully with her story. He came to see the home she spoke of... Inventing details for himself to fill in the many gaps that she left in her descriptions so that he could accurately come to see what it was that she saw in her mind's eyes. He pictured the grand library in a way very similar to the one in his own home... And the large, ornate window she spoke of. But as she continued, he found himself staring into the gaping maw of a crumbling black hole that was the missing portion of her story. So the scars were caused by falling through the window and its glass - That was certainly believable enough, given the random, cobweb patterns of her wounds.... But why had it happened at all? This newly discovered mystery proved to be enough for the man - As he was adequately distracted by it enough to the point that he hardly even realized that his hand remained within her grasp, even when it had loosened to a point where it was apparent she was willing to let go at any time.

Gradually, Erik shifted on his feet in such a way so that he could more clearly see her expression. It seemed numb and unfeeling... Was this her method of shielding herself from pain rearing its head once again? The yellow eyes that peered speculatively at her searched her every feature in an attempt to fill in the gaps that he was left to ponder on his own. Realization hit him - If it had been an accident, she would have said so. So the only possibility he could truly consider... "... You were pushed?"

_________________________________________________________________________________
Such mortal feelings
Are never forsaken
And once again, those passions will awaken
My evil has its beauty , when it suits me to possess
The hearts of those my vengeance will embrace,
within my world ...
• ♦ •

[Without Knowledge]

☾۰ Marguerite
Look there she goes, that girl is so peculiar
I wonder if she's feeling well
With a dreamy, far-off look
And her nose stuck in a book
What a puzzle to the rest of us, that belle
--------- --------- -------- -------- ------- ------- ------ ------ ----- ----- ---- ---- --- --- -- -- -

“You were pushed?”

The short question shattered Marguerite's calm, shock splashing over her face as she met Erik's searching gold stare with bewilderment. Not over the surprising assumption he made, skipping passed questioning her over the obvious void in her story to making a guess at the reason for it... It left her at a disadvantage, as no matter what she said, she knew her reaction would be telling enough to show the truth.

But, she was still left with a choice to make. Did she deny his claim and refuse to speak of it any further, or did she answer him truthfully? The movements of her hands around his started back up, but the glazed look set in her eyes and the slow manner in which her thumbs gently pressed and rubbed over the back of his near-white hand hinted she wasn't aware of her actions. No, her focus was entirely inward as she weighed the risk of spilling the truth against the honest urge to confirm his suspicion and divulge how that accident came to pass. The problem was even if she gave the full details of that night it would only lead to another question, and another. That incident was the end of a much longer story. If she were patient enough, brave enough to face the trial of telling all, she would end up narrating her entire life to him. And the unceasing interest she saw in his face hinted that he would voluntarily sit through it, if it would quell whatever it was that made him so curious.

Unfortunately, she was not up to such a task. In all honesty, her closest brush with death had always been the easiest part of her past to face. Going backwards from that point, though... But, she owed him some manner of reply, and that small part of her that wanted to believe confiding this would offer comfort urged her to. Her reason and experience warned her to keep her mouth shut, but her growing trust made her want to believe him. If it still weighed on her this heavily, after so long, shouldn't she try?

Finally, she raised her head up enough to meet his stare again. Her mouth moved slightly open before pausing, uncertainty hitting her hard. But she pushed passed it, and spoke with a quiet sigh of admittance. “Yes, I was pushed...” Her voice dropped off, a sad sort of bitterness tainting the numb expression she had maintained throughout her story as she struggled to explain. “But, who did it and why, that is... The only thing that truly matters is I accused the one that did it when I shouldn't have. Something that I should have known better than to bring up at all.”

Marguerite paused, and for a moment the same dead expression she'd had in the face of Erik's earlier anger slipped through. Unaware of her own reaction, she continued on. “But, I can't really regret that... Even if he tried to silence me for knowing what I do, and what I did, that-” She cut herself off, frowning thoughtfully as she tried to decide how far she wanted to go with this. Finally, she spoke again, but the finality in her tone and the way her eyes turned to stare at the flickering lamp instead of him clearly showed a block was being put up on the subject. Yet, in contradiction, her small, ever-moving hands stilled and gently squeezed the captive one in their grip, as if silently asking not to pull away, even as her voice hardened. “I know I am being vague, but what I actually saw has very little to do with my scars. It is the fact that I confessed to seeing it that was the problem, along with other things...”

- -- -- --- --- ---- ---- ----- ----- ------ ------ ------- ------- -------- -------- --------- ---------
Day one, day one, start over again
Step one, step one,
I'm barely making sense
For now I'm faking it
Until I'm pseudo making it
From scratch begin again
Giry ۰☽

[Arsenic-x-Sleep]

• ♭ • E r i k .
And in my twisted face
There's not the slightest trace
Of anything that even hints of kindness
And from my tortured shape
No comfort , no escape
I see... But deep within is utter blindness
_________________________________________________________________________________

So it was true.

Though hardly surprised that his assumption had been correct, Erik was still taken somewhat aback. Not necessarily by the notion itself, as he (of all people) clearly understood what kind of malignant cruelty much of humanity carried in its veins - But more so by Marguerite's reaction to the harsh truth. In retrospect, he was suddenly very aware of the fact that she had purposely allowed that portion of the story to slip by unmentioned - In hopes that he would not think to ask about it and simply assume it had been an accident. Unfortunately, there was no leaving major details unnoticed by the Count... And surely she couldn't be too surprised of that fact after having spent so much time in his presence.

But the way she went rigid... Became so nervous and seemed to be unable to decide as to whether she wanted to answer or not, only to do so with reluctance heavy in her eyes... It was alarmingly peculiar.. Giving him further reason to consider there was some sort of underlying secret there that he was still being left in the dark of. Though she answered him, Marguerite continued to attempt to skirt around the issue... Even going so far as not mentioning who had pushed her or truly why. Instead, she perpetuated the mystery, thus his curiosity, by cryptically speaking of something that she had seen yet was not supposed to... As if her near-death experience with the window had been some sort of justified punishment for sneaking around her own home.

At first, Erik wanted to pull away from her grasp - But when her hands tightened carefully around his, as if to suggest she didn't want him to leave despite the distaste in her tone, he was unable to resist the sensation as it pulled his focus sharply onto her features once again. It was evident she didn't want to talk any further about the subject... Evident enough that he wasn't so dumb as to think he could actually pry any further and actually get anywhere. Erik was sure that if he continued to push her, it would only result in failure. Whether that failure would be characterized by an outburst of anger on her part, or perhaps even a break down, he was unsure of... But either way; Any efforts would be completely unproductive.

Instead of doing the predictable; Erik seemed to resign into himself then, mostly abandoning the curiosity that had previously adorned his features. Regarding Marguerite with consideration, it was clear in his gaze that he wasn't going to ask anything more... And was more or less satisfied with her answer, if only for the time being. Of course he didn't plan on completely leaving the issue be - Quite on the contrary - But it was quite apparent to him that, from that point on, he would have to be much more tentative about his approach to the subject. Nonetheless, the disappointment was evident in his gaze as he looked down on her, accompanied by a vague sense of detest. After all; He had chosen to share his tale with her - A tale no one but perhaps Marie would know of - And yet she continued to skirt around her own story as if it could be any worse.

Silence fell then. A heavy silence that weighed down on their shoulders like heavy bricks. For a long moment, Erik remained where he was - Only allowing his eyes to budge as they slowly lowered from her face to her hands, where he would once again take in the peculiar proportions and soft skin that was stretched across them. Though he seemed to oblige her silent request to stay for a moment - It wasn't long until he broke their connection as that familiar discomfort welled up in him. Thankfully, it wasn't a violent or angry gesture - As he simply allowed his hand to slip wistfully from the capture of her own. With one more glance of acceptance, he only briefly considered asking about her secret again before swiftly brushing it aside and moving to turn away. "... You should get some rest.."

_________________________________________________________________________________
Such mortal feelings
Are never forsaken
And once again, those passions will awaken
My evil has its beauty , when it suits me to possess
The hearts of those my vengeance will embrace,
within my world ...
• ♦ •

[Without Knowledge]

☾۰ Marguerite
Look there she goes, that girl is so peculiar
I wonder if she's feeling well
With a dreamy, far-off look
And her nose stuck in a book
What a puzzle to the rest of us, that belle
--------- --------- -------- -------- ------- ------- ------ ------ ----- ----- ---- ---- --- --- -- -- -

Although her words had held a stern finality, meant for Erik and herself, Marguerite's mind was always traitorous when it came to stilling a line of thought – especially recollections she usually avoided. A swimmer wading too far off shore gets caught in the tide and has to struggle against the waves to make it back again. And right now was no different for her. She was trapped, staring into the lamp as if it truly mesmerized her, the softly flaring light playing across the edge of Erik's face and giving it a warmer hue than it naturally had.

But Erik managed to pull her back to the present by doing what that she silently asked him not to do. Feeling the chilly, if slightly warmed hand escape the grip of her own instantly tugged the woman back to the present. Momentary confusion and loss flashed across her face before she quickly looked down at her now empty hands, flexing them awkwardly before clasping them together on her lap. When she looked up, she was met with a compliance that had Meg mentally reeling to remember what she had done to encouraged it. He was letting the issue go, despite her stubborn vagueness. While she'd hoped for such acceptance, actually receiving it was startling. It left her staring astonished, even as he quietly suggested she sleep. Thinking back, she realized he had done a number of things tonight she wouldn't have expected. It left her at a loss, unsure what to make of Erik's unexpected patience, and as he turned from her, uncertainty and some softer, vaguer feeling took hold of her visage.

“Erik.” Turning her head to follow him, Marguerite fell silent after quietly saying his name. Not because she was having second thoughts, but she hadn't considered what to say before calling out to him, leaving her staring at him, consideration flowing over her face. She wanted to show she appreciated what he had done, but just saying a short 'thank you'... It felt inadequate. Also, even though she had wanted to stop focusing on her scars, she didn't want him to leave when she didn't know when or if he would come back, and she had no means of following as long as she was bound to this bed.

Granted, that did give her inspiration on what to say, but the question that ran through her head made Marguerite hesitate, leaving her staring at Erik with the struggle clear on her face. But quickly she pushed passed the uncertainty of being rebuffed and ignored the growing question of why she was asking to voice her request with curious, silver eyes set on him. “Could you return later?” Turning her body more properly onto the bed, she managed a sincere, if small smile as she pointed out the obvious, the question still hanging in her tone. “I would just come upstairs myself, but seeing as you said I should not be moving too much...”

- -- -- --- --- ---- ---- ----- ----- ------ ------ ------- ------- -------- -------- --------- ---------
Day one, day one, start over again
Step one, step one,
I'm barely making sense
For now I'm faking it
Until I'm pseudo making it
From scratch begin again
Giry ۰☽

[Arsenic-x-Sleep]

• ♭ • E r i k .
And in my twisted face
There's not the slightest trace
Of anything that even hints of kindness
And from my tortured shape
No comfort , no escape
I see... But deep within is utter blindness
_________________________________________________________________________________

The air was notably colder than the gentle encasement of Marguerite's hands, and for a moment a part of Erik regretted in pulling away from her grasp as chills ran up through his fingers and toward the base of his arm. But the walls were already flaring back up into full gear - and even as only fleeting seconds had passed since their connection had been broke, he felt as though he were already miles away from her. His gaze grew deft and unseeing, his yellow eyes staring toward the door, only vaguely recognizing it as his destination whilst he made to perform his swift exit. He felt he couldn't stay within the room any longer, or else the air might suffocate him. While many of the things he had seen, and most of all felt, in the short time he had been within Marguerite's presence would have been particularly uneventful to most people - The unfamiliar sensations were overwhelming him with every given moment.

His palm still tingled from the memory of hers wrapped tenderly around it. Like a phantom limb, it continued to feel as though she held on, and though he attempted for the door, it was as if she continued to hold him there despite the fact they had broken contact some time before. Her voice beckoning his name tore through the silence that had fallen over his ears, leaving his head and face numb, and was like a vice pulling him back to her even though he wanted nothing more than to leave and put an end to this strange phenomenon that was unraveling before him. But try as he might, Erik couldn't become angry. He couldn't set the heat to boil his nearly ever-present rage in order to lash out at her for stopping him. He couldn't glare - Only turn slowly to gaze at her with void, yellow eyes, and part his lips as he anticipated her to explain her reasoning for interrupting his leave. Waiting. Looking for a reason. Wanting her to speak, hoping for a reason to stay..!

The realization shook him to the core. It was only then that he became capable of bubbling over with indignation. But it wasn't directed at Marguerite... It couldn't be focused on her. Instead, it was on him and his various weaknesses, and the way he feared, or rather he knew, that he was at risk for falling into a similar variation of life's traps that was fueled by the worlds twisted sense of sick humor.

But when she finally began to speak again, actually asking him to return to her room later that evening - In much a manner she came to his office in the dark of night - He found himself sucked under the torrent of numb awe and was suddenly bewildered by her small, but sincere and welcoming smile. Could this possibly be the same woman who had tried, only hours earlier, to escape from his 'watch'? Or the same one that had decided, so foolishly, to practically throw herself from the second floor window? Frankly... He didn't have the answer to that question. But... Part of him didn't care.

For a long moment - Erik couldn't find the words, nor his voice. He could do little more than stare at her, as though he had never seen her before in his life and was actually wondering what this strange woman was doing in his house. But, in fact, he was truly confused... But only by the way she remained so piqued by their interactions, and unphased despite all that had transpired between them. In a way, he began to feel as though it was, perhaps, a challenge. That, if she could be so fickle as to disregard any ill feelings... He should be able to do it just as well, if not better. Nonetheless, his mind was already miles ahead of him - As already the indignation of earlier melted away under the warmth of her smile, and he found himself vaguely nodding - Before he had even fully processed the request that she had made.

"...Very well." Erik commented with a darkening tone, visibly struggling to gain control of himself once again in much a way that was reminiscent of Marguerite's own inner turmoils. He didn't want her to see his fight with himself, but try as he might to cover it up - There was little he could do to shield the conflict that reflected clearly in the yellow candle light of his eyes. A glance of puzzlement flashed across his features, however, and his lost-features were reduced to that of a contemplative young man as he went on to add - Glancing at her with consideration, "... If that is what you really desire."

_________________________________________________________________________________
Such mortal feelings
Are never forsaken
And once again, those passions will awaken
My evil has its beauty , when it suits me to possess
The hearts of those my vengeance will embrace,
within my world ...
• ♦ •

[Without Knowledge]

☾۰ Marguerite
Look there she goes, that girl is so peculiar
I wonder if she's feeling well
With a dreamy, far-off look
And her nose stuck in a book
What a puzzle to the rest of us, that belle
--------- --------- -------- -------- ------- ------- ------ ------ ----- ----- ---- ---- --- --- -- -- -

Again, Marguerite looked at Erik in the expectation of a reply, not knowing what to make of the man. Not the heavy silence that met her request, nor the lost, bewildered stare he set on her. Even the brief glances of feeling that flashed over his partly covered face were of little help, as they passed before her eyes faster than she could comprehend. Unable to even guess what he was thinking, as she felt more and more like she was grasping for something that was simply out of her reach. Still the feeling did little to deter her, instead fixing her to stubbornly try harder to reach out and touch it.

But determination can only go so far. Perhaps he wasn't comfortable visiting her outside the sanctuary of his office? Or, maybe it was just unappealing to him altogether? But then he'd just decline her favor without the apparent turmoil he was in. Or, perhaps she was reading his expression wrong in the first place, and-

Mentally halting herself, Meg stilled the anxious thoughts as unnecessary, particularly since the count was responding. But the reply she finally received left her nearly as baffled as the silence had. While he did agree to return to her later, the hesitance in his voice and the conflict so clear in his tense face and bright eyes left her uncertain again. Was it truly that tumultuous a favor to ask? And did his indecision represent a lack of willingness... Or that he just didn't know what to make of her asking in the first place?

For a couple seconds Marguerite weighed the possibilities to herself, not noticing her own hands gathering and wringing the abused coverlet on her lap. But shortly she came to a simple, should have-been obvious revelation. They were both practically tiptoeing around the other, trying to unravel each other's thoughts. And while she knew little of what Erik was thinking, she had probably spent more time caught up in her own thoughts than making them clear to him.

Taking a quick breath to gather herself and smooth out her expression, Marguerite willed herself to meet that uncertain, puzzled look he was shooting her with another soft smile, pushing herself to reply not with comfortable ambiguous comments or rationalizations, but a direct answer that, even if she didn't understand the reasoning behind herself, she knew to be true. “It is, yes. I would like it if you came back. If it isn't a bother... I do not know how long I will be in here, but I would miss this before long.”

She quickly shut her mouth against the ramble threatening to slip out. She babbled off the answer without much hesitance, save at the mention that if it weren't any trouble, when a bit of uncertainty bubbled over. But now she was left waiting again for a reply, wondering if she'd managed to clear things up for him or just make it worse. It was hard to guess when she didn't know what exactly irked him.

- -- -- --- --- ---- ---- ----- ----- ------ ------ ------- ------- -------- -------- --------- ---------
Day one, day one, start over again
Step one, step one,
I'm barely making sense
For now I'm faking it
Until I'm pseudo making it
From scratch begin again
Giry ۰☽