Based off of a tumblr prompt I found. Also, I know that for the time period women's hair was definitely not supposed to be short, but I like to think of Christine as letting her true rebellious, feminist (for the time) self show through when she marries the rebellious angst that is Erik. Hope you like this fluff!
He was probably just as in love with her hair as he was with her. Well, that was an exaggeration. But whenever he was not working, composing, or doing some other activity that involved both of his hands, he always found her hair absolutely fascinating.
Never before had he seen a woman with hair like hers. It was truly wondrous to entangle his long fingers within her soft curls, to hear her sigh with pleasure because he knew just how much she enjoyed it, how comforting it was for her.
It smelled of roses and of the orange soap he had surprised her with one day, especially fragrant when she had just gotten out of the bath. He thought they looked equally as pleasant when they hung in wet tendrils down her back, shades darker from the weight of the water that made them even longer. And he was there to watch them curl back to their original position, shining and framing the face gloriously of the only one he had ever loved.
He couldn't help but marvel at the sight of them trailing down her bare back and fanning around her face as they made love, a delightful contrast to her porcelain skin.
On occasion or a victim of her frustration it was thrown up off her neck, a few select curls always managing to escape their hold. They had brushed against her bare shoulders delightfully during the last masquerade ball they had went to, the sleeves of her deep burgundy gown sweeping graciously underneath her shoulders. He had always found her long curls miraculous.
Which was why, when Christine returned from an outing to the Girys and drew off the hood of her cloak, flecked with snowflakes, Erik swore that he had died right then and there. Because instead of a mahogany brown cascade around her shoulders and to her waist, said mahogany brown cascade stopped short of her shoulders.
"What do you think?" she smiled, removing her cloak entirely and running a hand through her short locks.
Despite having composed an entire opera with lyrics and in the midst of his second work, Erik was at a loss for words. Of course his love looked beautiful as always, more so with her cheeks reddened from the cold outside and her blue eyes shining from her adventurous endeavor. But her hair…
"I… Why?" His words came out in a manner quite unlike him, which resulted in her glorious laugh filling the air. She came to sit next to him, entwining her hand with his.
"It was getting quite annoying, and Meg is actually very gifted with scissors. Besides, it will grow back; unfortunately quickly at that". She kissed him before leaning down to unlace her boots.
Erik timidly reached out to touch her hair. Dear Lord, it was as if they hadn't been married for three years. Christine giggled at his careful touch, turning to face him. "Erik. It was just my hair. It's still me. Your Christine," she said, taking both his hands in hers before kissing him again. A few short and bouncy curls fell against his marred cheek, brushing against it in a most pleasant way and sending shivers down his spine.
He would get used to it.