Disclaimer: I own nothing related to "Corpse Bride" or its characters.
Victoria had always believed in true love. She had always had a dream, however misguided, of being married to someone that she was really in love with. Quite unrealistic of her, considering her family's social position--but still, she'd hoped. Something had told Victoria that when she found the right man, she'd know. Not in any way that could be told in words, but in some abstract way that came from deep, deep down. One of those rather trite romance-novel kind of feelings, in other words. Nevertheless, Victoria remained convinced that she would just feel it when her true love arrived.
And had she ever. The very second that her eyes had met Victor's for the first time, she'd known. Victor Van Dort was made for Victoria Everglot. It made her blush, and feel rather silly, but she felt it was true. Even after four years of marriage and two children, Victoria still got those clichéd butterflies in her stomach whenever she looked at her husband. Even better, that same instinct told her that Victor felt the same way about her.
It was all in the little things. Looks, accidental-on-purpose touches, a certain word said in a certain tone of voice...it was love. Although Victoria had to admit that married love was a bit different than those early romanticized flushes. Once the rosy haze burned off (Victoria had pinpointed that moment as the day Victor had absentmindedly started sketching landscapes all over one of her household ledgers), things were a bit different. More comfortable, maybe. Settled. Victoria had realized what the new feeling was, after she thought about it. It was friendship. Not only was Victor her husband and her lover, he was also her best friend, just as Victoria was his. Not a lot of married couples they knew could say that about their own marriages. Both Victor and Victoria had been rather deprived of friends when they were younger, so it was nice to finally have a real friendship with someone. Usually friendship came first, Victoria realized, but running it backwards didn't work out so badly, either.
And they knew each other so much better now. Luckily, they both liked what they'd found. Except...Well, Victor could be rather absent-minded. Like Victoria, he enjoyed spending some time alone whenever he could. Unlike Victoria, he managed to choose the most impractical moments for that personal time. And once he got himself immersed in something--especially playing the piano--it was impossible to break through his little bubble. Usually, that bubble formed at times when Victoria could really use some help, such as the time the water fixtures had gone berserk and flooded one of the upstairs bathrooms. Of course, Victor didn't do it on purpose, and his pottering about was actually very charming when it wasn't irritating.
Victoria had also had to get used to the fact that she was the tough one in their relationship; Victor was so shy and uncertain, even now. Victoria had figured out early on that Victor was much more sensitive than she was, and often much more retiring. "Leader" was a role that her own rather quiet nature and ultra-repressed upbringing hadn't quite prepared her for. Yet Victoria rather liked taking care of Victor, being his crutch, in a sense. And it was rather fun to make him blush on occasion. He was so sweet. Didn't always think before he spoke, and had a tendency toward being overly sensitive and obtuse at times, but he was caring and empathetic nonetheless. Victoria had learned quite a bit from him. Her home life growing up hadn't exactly been a warm, artistic environment--now she had Victor to provide that for her. It was something entirely new.
Victoria found quiet afternoons in the parlor to be the perfect time for reflections such as these. They had so little quiet time together now, what with two little girls running around the house. It seemed as though they were both constantly busy with something or other. Fortunately, Victor's being the son of the town's leading entrepreneur meant that Victor himself didn't actually have to go to work all that often. He'd told her that he much preferred being at home with her and the children, anyway. So he was home almost all the time, and Victoria enjoyed it. Especially on afternoons like these, when the children were napping up in the nursery and the parlor was cozy. Just the two of them. Most of the time they would read aloud together (it had become a bit of a habit with them, after their honeymoon), or just sit and talk happily for an hour or two. Victoria had been afraid that they'd run out of topics for conversation after the first month or so of marriage. She'd also had the idea, in the early days, that getting Victor to talk at length about anything would be like trying to engage a particularly reserved piece of furniture in conversation. But Victor had turned out to be an excellent and interested listener. Which was fortunate, because Victoria had found (much to her own surprise), that she rather liked to talk. And when the conversation turned toward something Victor loved, especially music, he could be--dare she say it--outgoing. There was always something to talk about, Victoria had found. As long as she was willing to initiate it, Victor was a very satisfactory conversation partner.
Today, though, was one of the days when they were both just enjoying the quiet of the afternoon. Victoria was sitting on the sofa near the fireplace, trying to finish the quilt she'd been working on for months. She enjoyed sewing. Not only was she rather good at it, it was soothing as well. Victoria had turned out some very nice work over the years, embroidery being her specialty. Victor wasn't the only one with some creative talent, after all. Victoria even supposed that for her, sewing was almost equivalent to Victor's piano playing or drawing. At least, that's what Victor had said once.
At the moment, Victor was at the little desk that sat near the window, his sketchbook open in front of him. Victor always used quill pens for his drawing. He used a fountain pen for everything else, but for drawing, it had to be a quill. Victoria found it oddly endearing. Flowers were his most recent interest for his drawings, and he often spent entire afternoons producing intricate and detailed sketches, complete with annotations. For all of his artistic leanings, Victoria had found that Victor had something of the naturalist about him as well.
Since it was October, the room was already beginning to fill with the gold-pink light of the sunset, even this early in the afternoon. It was pretty, but it was right in Victoria's eyes, and she couldn't see her line of stitches. She looked up, and was about to ask Victor if he could pull the drapes shut just a little, but she paused when her eyes came to rest on him.
Victoria tilted her head to one side and regarded her husband. He wasn't sketching, even though he was still holding his quill. He seemed to be deep in thought, his eyes on his left hand. I do wonder what he's thinking about, Victoria thought. She wished she had a photographer or portrait painter handy. Victor looked so quiet and composed, as he pondered whatever he was pondering. The gold light spilling through the window behind him, glinting on his hair, added to the whole effect. Only the slight furrow in his brow and a few tiny movements of his fingers gave away that he wasn't a statue propped up in a chair. He looked...well, lovely, if that word could accurately be used to describe a man. If Victoria were the type to swoon, she'd probably be on the floor already.
Again, Victoria wondered just what it was that he was thinking about. Victor had a certain fondness for philosophy, a fondness that Victoria shared. Perhaps he was thinking about something profound, lost in his own little world of ideas. Maybe he was composing a new piece of music in his head, and was considering whether he should put the notes to paper or not. Or maybe, just maybe, he was thinking about her. The idea made Victoria smile to herself. Oh, did she love him. She knew he wouldn't mind if she asked what was engrossing him so, but Victoria didn't want to break the spell. She simply stared, filled with affectionate warmth.
Finally Victor happened to look over at her, making Victoria start a little. He looked rather serious. Whatever is he looking at me like that for? She wondered, still not quite able to speak. Victor turned in his chair so that he was facing her and said,
"Victoria, I..." he paused, and looked down at his hand again. Why did he stop? Victoria had the feeling that he was about to share whatever it was that he had been thinking about so intently, and was trying to choose his words.
"Yes?" Victoria answered, prompting him. Curiosity was getting the better of her. She was quite interested as to what thought or idea had put him in such a state as he'd been in a moment ago. She didn't have long to wait, because after a moment Victor said,
"Victoria, I've just accidentally stabbed myself in the palm with my pen, and I was wondering if this ink we bought is toxic."