Perhaps against my better judgment, I am attempting fictober this year. Each piece will be based on a daily prompt of the fictober list from Tumblr. Maybe this is actually phictober...

#1 "Can You Feel This?"

"Christine!"

With a weighted sigh, Christine shut the door behind her as she stepped into the foyer of the house on the lake. Her name was a roar across the surprisingly considerable space and, only seeking to delay the inevitable, she slid the kid gloves from her long fingers with care and shrugged out of her winter coat. Humming a jaunty tune, she turned to hang the coat on its hook as the sounds of heavy footsteps drew near.

With an exhale and a final tug on the coat for bravado, Christine pasted a tight smile upon her lips and spun lightly as her husband entered the room. "Hello, darling. How was your morning?"

Erik studied her in silence for a moment, his sharp eyes running from the top of her chocolate curls to the tip of her pointed shoes. Every nerve in her body stood on alert as his perusal, pricking with a guilt that should not be. Finally, he spoke, his words deceptively calm. "Uneventful, if I am to be completely honest, which of course," Golden eyes bore into hers as they narrowed. "I always am."

A hearty chuff drew the sharp gaze away momentarily as Erik speared his guest with a glare. "I would beg you to mind your own matters, Daroga," Erik growled at the kitchen doors.

With a scoff, Christine moved forward with a "That's nice, dear," and a peck to his unmasked cheek before stepping about him to greet the third member of the trio. "Hello, Nadir," Beaming up at him, she placed another kiss to his weathered cheek. "How kind of you to come by for breakfast with Erik while I was at service."

"Ah, yes." Erik stalked to her side before the Persian could manage a reply. "Such a saintly wife, I have, wouldn't you agree, Daroga? Bound in matrimony to a monster such as myself and never fails to atone for such sins every Sunday. Tell me, Christine, was the Saint-Chapelle as...crowded as it is every holy day? "

She paused a moment before answering, meeting Nadir's eyes which were lit with equal parts amusement and pity. He grinned at the nearly imperceptible shake of her head before her attention was turned back to the expectant gaze of the masked man before her. "While I'm sure it was, I did not attend Saint-Chapelle today, Erik." Tossing a glance back at their guest, she tilted her head in challenge. "But I gathered you knew that considering Nadir was here."

"Quite right," he returned, stepping past her and blocking her path to the Persian. " In fact, interestingly enough, the Daroga did advise me that he crossed your path this very morning. Right outside of Notre-Dame de Paris." His eyes flashed dangerously. "Where the entire DeChagny family also happens to be in attendance today."

Christine shifted from one foot to the other. "Yes, that is true. In fact, all of Paris knew they would be there today. What of it?"

"What of it?" Erik very nearly sputtered, fingers curling into a fist. "What of it, indeed? Tell me, Christine; after all of these years, has this life, this face become too much for you? Hmm?" When she did not answer, the other hand flew to the mask, ripping it off in one smooth motion. "Would you rather not spend your golden years staring into a face as beautiful as your own rather than this corpse that grows more hideous with every passing year?"

With a snarl, he spun on his heel, elegantly storming out of the room leaving the two remaining occupants in stunned silence. The slam of the bedroom door broke the spell and Christine turned her eyes back to the Persian. "How long has he been like this?"

"Oh, the better part of an hour," Nadir replied, moving to the decanter and pouring himself a considerable glass of brandy. "I certainly did not mean to bring any trouble to your household."

She shook her head in response. "None of this is brought by your hand," she acknowledged, accepting the small glass of the amber liquid he offered her. "I should have told him the truth."

"You did nothing wrong, my dear." Nadir sipped thoughtfully for a moment before offering. "Erik has never been a rational man," Meeting her gaze, he chuckled slightly. "Especially when it comes to you."

"Point is taken, Monsieur," she returned with a slight smile. "Still, this madness must cease. We cannot live the rest of our lives under this shadow of distrust." Placing the glass aside, she strode forward and picked up the mask that lay discarded in the hall. "Give me five minutes."

The Persian quirked a brow as she strode resolutely toward the bedroom, but said nothing as he followed her soft footsteps.

"Erik?" Christine knocked once, heaving a sigh when she found the door to be locked. "Erik, really. Open the door this instant."

"I much prefer to be left alone, if you don't mind," came the muffled reply.

"Oh, of all the mule-headed, childish...Nadir!" The man appeared, the glass of brandy still in hand. Gesturing to the door, she smiled brightly. "If you would be so kind..."

Catching her meaning, a devilish smile appeared on his lips. "I must admit that it has been some time, but perhaps with some assistance..." With that, he downed the remnant of the glass, passed it off to Christine's hand and, with a few well-placed kicks, smashed through the old wood with much more ease than Christine would have believed possible.

At the sound of the crash, Erik had leapt off the bed and now stood on the opposite side of the room, positively seething. "Daroga! Are you mad?"

Nadir simply lifted hands in surrender as Christine marched past him. Handing him back the glass, she again pressed a kiss to his weathered cheek with a brilliant smile. "My thanks, Nadir." That smile instantly darkened when her gaze fell upon him. "Sit down, husband," she commanded. "If you are quite finished with your theatrics, it seems a discussion is clearly in order."

Erik blinked in surprise but speared the Daroga with another glare before accepting the mask from his wife's hand and dropping into the nearby armchair. Turning his glower onto Christine, he asked, bitterly. "Have you come to bid your poor, decrepit husband goodbye at last? I would not be surprised if even now, that boy has ordered his fine horses to be at your wait."

"That boy," she bit out, tone even as she took a seat across from him on the bed, "was my childhood friend and I will not have you speak of him in such a fashion. Certainly not today."

"When I am in my home, I shall refer to anyone however I please," he sneered.

"Not when your wife has just returned from their funeral mass," she whispered, meeting his glare with equal potency. "Not when you should be comforting your wife who has just lost her oldest friend and returns home to find an angry and jealous husband." Despite her best efforts, a few tears began to escape and run paths down her cheeks. Across from her, Erik stiffened in his chair but offered nothing further. "I am very well aware of your hatred for him and I am not asking you to change your opinion, but please...just for today...is it too much to ask you to put it aside and think of your wife who is hurting?"

Erik swallowed hard. "Christine...dearest, I.."

"Don't. speak." she demanded, eyes flinty despite the free-flowing tears. "Give me your hand." When he did not move, she commanded again. "Damn it, Erik, give me your hand!"

This time he did as she asked, scooting to the edge of the chair so that their knees were nearly touching. Despite her anger, Christine drew him forward, closing her eyes and held his hand against her cheek for a moment, taking a strange comfort in the thin, bony fingers that seemed to never end. Opening her eyes, she took a few deep breathes to calm herself and held Erik's stare as she placed his hand over her breast. "Tell me, Erik," she questioned, voice even once more. "Do you feel that?"

He blinked, seemingly uncertain of her meaning. "Your heartbeat?" At her nod, his brow rose and he asked, flippantly. "What of it?"

"What of it indeed!" she replied, mocking his earlier inflection. When his gaze darkened in warning, she pressed on. "That is the very 'it', Erik. Don't you see? My heart beats only for you, you foolish man. It has these last five years and it will continue to do so until I take my last breath."

Pressing his hand harder against her chest, she leaned forward to press a lingering kiss to his lips, pondering aloud. "How long will it take for you to realize that?"

He released a shuddering breath. "Forgive me, Christine."

With a sigh, she lent into him, relief flooding her soul when his free arm came to encircle her waist. "Always, my love."

"Personally, I think the woman is beginning to rival Christ himself with regard to forgiveness," Nadir quipped from the doorway, nursing a fresh glass of brandy in his hand. "Perhaps I should recommend her canonized at the next opportunity."

Rising her head from Erik's chest, Christine chuckled even as she felt her husband growl "Shouldn't you be on your way, Daroga? It does seem you have overstayed your welcome, per usual."

"Nonsense." Christine countered, rising from the bed, pulling Erik to his feet as she stood. "Nadir, I insist you stay for dinner. Please?"

With a cheeky grin to the Opera Ghost, the Persian assented. "It would be my pleasure, Madame."

"Excellent!" Still holding her husband's hand, she led both men into the sitting room. "Why don't the two of you begin another game of chess while I prepare supper, hmm? If I recall, you have yet to beat Erik this year."

"While I'm sure that fruitless challenge would excite the Daroga, I am afraid I have other matters that must be addressed before the night is out." Pressing a kiss to Christine's curls and another whispered plea for penitence, the Opera Ghost strode to the front door, fetching his wide-brimmed hat and cloak from their pegs. "Moreover, Daroga, did you so quickly forget?" With a hand on the doorknob and a malevolent smile, he added, "You have a door to repair."