Unmasked Read Online Free PDF

me. As he stood there, absorbed in the task of sharpening a
feather quill with a large dagger, I felt the wall around my heart
– the one I had spent a lifetime building – crack. Those tender
feelings, the ones I never voiced, bubbled up inside me.
    But just as I opened my mouth, I saw her .
    Tacked to the wall behind him was a dusty
poster of the opera he had written, and on it was depicted the
image of its star, his beloved Christine. She was even more
beautiful than I had imagined her, her face illuminated by an
angelic beauty. Her eyes were unapproachably lovely, like a doe’s
eyes, soft and full of passionate mystery. Her mouth was sensual
and full, begging to be kissed. Her hair fell down her back in
sensual curls. And her figure…
    My feelings of delight turned cold, dampened
by the thought of him laughing to himself at how easily he tricked
me. I cursed myself for a fool at my romantic sentiments, and
bricked up the hole on my heart. “Are you in the habit of writing
songs for all the ladies who come here?”
    His blade stilled. The mask turned to me.
“What do you mean?”
    I swallowed hard. “That song. Does it by
chance go by any other name? I mean, is it your custom to trap
women in this place and play some hackneyed tune so they will want
to stay with you?”
    He stood up and advanced toward me, knife in
hand. “Are you implying that my creation is some sort of sordid
lure to enthrall women? Is that what you think?”
    I had to know. “Is it?”
    “Only two women have ever been down to these
depths and lived. You very nearly weren’t one of them. As for my
music, I wouldn’t denigrate my talents for such an ignoble aim. The
sacrifices I have made for my music are beyond your comprehension.
It is above any price, any pleasure, any thing. It sickens me that
you thought less of it.”
    There was no time to scream. He raised the
knife in his fist and drove it down. I closed my eyes, and my heart
stopped. I felt the blade whisk by my head, and embed itself on the
table beside me. My eyes flew open. He had severed the quill in
twain.
    He snatched the sheets from my slick hands,
and stormed off. The parchment crumpled in his angry fists,
crushing the ethereal notes of “Paulette’s Song,” and with an angry
grunt, he flung them into the fire.
    I reacted on pure instinct. I threw myself on
the hearth and gingerly plucked the pages from the fire. The flames
devoured the paper at an alarming rate, and I tried to stamp them
out against the fabric at my bosom. My hands screamed from the
heat, but I had to rescue the exquisite, precious notes that were
created for me.
    Only me.
    I felt him lifting me in his arms as I
strained to pull one last sheet from the fire.
    “Oh, Erik, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I
said. I loved that piece, really I did. I just couldn’t believe you
were offering such a beautiful thing to me. I was afraid you were
deceiving me. All I could think of was your lady friend. Please
forgive me.”
    I thought he would be angry with me, but he
simply smiled. His face changed when he did so – even the hard
lines of his mask seemed to soften. “Oh, chérie. Do you mean to
tell me that you were jealous over me?”
    I blinked away my tears. Jealousy and
insecurity were my lifelong torturers, though I tried never to give
them voice. Again, that painful feeling of vulnerability gripped
me, and I felt naked in his arms.
    He plucked the charred bits of paper from my
hands and let them flutter to the floor. His warm, strong hands
pried open mine, still red and stinging from where the fire seared
them, and placed long, gentle kisses on my fingertips.
    I dare not speak the womanly sensations his
tender ministrations stirred in me. Though his lips felt cool on
the burning flesh of my hands, they kindled a fire somewhere else
on my body. I closed my eyes, hoping he could not read the turn my
mind had taken.
    “You have conferred upon me a great honor,
one I shall always remember. That you would