The Art of Manipulation || Phantom of the Opera & Loki the God of Mischief ||

-It Takes Ugliness To Know Beauty-

"This one is fine." His voice came right beside me now, making me jump once more. There was a hint of a smirk on his face as he leaned past me to retrieve one of his shirts, the towel discarded on the bed, leaving his bare skin only inches from touching my bare arm. My eyes strayed to his flesh, only now noticing the many scars that marked him like a cutting board. Some were big, made only by heavy blows; some were a mere lighter shade in his olive skin tone, possibly made by wandering through the woods and snagging himself on branches and bushes. He turned to me after getting his shirt, smiling slightly, "Thank you." He didn't notice my staring.

I averted my gaze, distracting myself by closing the open drawer, "Y-You're welcome." It was later that I realized I had done nothing to earn a "thank you".

As Erik walked away he shrugged his shirt on, his long skeletal fingers doing the buttons with a graceful ease. I watched his movements from the corner of my eye, too shy and afraid he could see the blush that remained on my cheeks.

When he picked up the towel he had dropped onto the bed he stilled, his head tilting to the side and his one exposed eyebrow furrowing, "You made the bed."

I was so jittery I glanced at the bed, forgetting that it was indeed me who fixed the sheets, "Y-Yes I did."

His green eyes shifted over to his nightstand, and then to the papers that were still in my hands, "You were cleaning?"

Again I gave him a blank look, my mind still imagining his naked upper body instead of picturing it clothed like it is now. His eyes slid down to my hands and then back up to mine. I followed where they looked, starting when I saw the papers I forgot I was holding, "Oh! Yes!" I shook my head and nervously tucked my hair behind my ear, "I came in and you know," I let out a laugh similar to the burst of a machine gun, "being a woman I couldn't help myself." I shrugged helplessly and avoided his gaze, placing the papers on the mantle piece I had subconsciously moved to. Feeling awkward and at a loss, I began arranging the pieces on the fireplace as well, moving the trinkets a hair to one side or the other to keep myself busy. As I did this I began talking, another thing I do when I'm anxious, "Have you no one, Erik? No wife to help you keep your home tidy?" I moved to a different part of the room, keeping my head down as I passed him so our eyes couldn't meet. Surprisingly, he didn't stop me from my cleaning.

"No." His answer came out clipped and tense like his body.

Glancing over my shoulder I saw he had lowered his head, his fingers playing with the edges of the folded towel he held. Re-fluffing the pillows I asked, "Did you have a wife then? Is that who the woman in the picture is?"

I ventured to look at him this time, wanting to see his reaction. Without looking at the picture I referred to, he smirked down at his hands and replied, "No."

"Then who is it? Your lover? Is she overseas somewhere? America perhaps?" I couldn't help the questions that kept falling out of my mouth like hungry drool. I needed to know. I needed to know who that woman is. I needed to know if he was married, or taken by another woman.

My anxious cleaning halted when I saw the unmasked part of his face fall, the expression becoming cold and indifferent like the expression of the porcelain mask. His voice matched that emotion but was somehow colder than what his eyes radiated, "The woman in the picture is my mother." His icy eyes raised and met mine, the tone of his voice becoming bitter, "I have no lover, Alouette." There was a glimmer of sadness within his eyes. Loneliness stared out of his pupils like a forgotten man standing in the middle of a black desolated street, left to wander around on his own, doing what he can to survive. It was like looking at Erik's soul, the broken man of Loneliness the image of his past and how he looked on the inside; weary and alone, wanting to break free from the invisible cage he was trapped in.