This is for all those who have never before had to wear a corset in the style that we see Christine wear time and again in the film. Being a costumer, I've done period pieces requiring proper corsetry, and for the Civil War era costumes that my best friend and I made, we researched what would be the most accurate and inexpensive to tide us over till we could get proper re-enactor kit. Our solution- Frederick's of Hollywood. This is a happy-ever after fic, and it revolves around wrestling with that Victorian monstrosity- the corset.
Enjoy,
K.S.
It was their wedding night. Christine felt the heady combination of anticipation, dread, and overwhelming curiosity as she readied herself. One hundred stokes of the brush through glossy chesnut curls, a satin ribbon of dazzling white to hold them back. Knowing her husband- husband!- what a strange and wonderful thought- the ribbon would be abandoned soon. He was fascinated by her hair. But then, he was fascinated by her, period. Oh the mysteries of women!
She pinched her cheeks, to bring a little color to them- she had always been too pale, she thought. She left on the fine white batiste of her chemise and the white jaquard corset that whittled her waist down to nothing. He'd been able to span her waist with his two hands, and that was with that confection of lace, silk and organdy that had been her wedding dress. Now she wrapped a thin silk robe about her and smiled at her reflection in her dressing table mirror- waiting. Her eyes shone, and that rare blush came and stained her cheeks with rose.
Their bedroom was only one door away. He had gone in there while she had changed, into a nightgown, or so he thought. She decided that she would surprise him. He had always seemed terribly intrigued by the corset. And she felt as if it were armor. When she wore it, she was invincible. So she might be, too. The strips of whalebone and iron in some corsets were so wide, they would likely deflect bullets. One heard of stranger things, you know.
She was laughing over the thought of iron underwear when her husband of only a few hours entered the room. He smiled that half-smile of his, so sweet! at the sight of her laughing. She stopped when she saw him, her eyes still bright, but her breath caught in her throat. He's so tall, she thought to herself.
"Your chamber awaits, milady." The voice was smooth, though his eyes were nearly as bright as hers were, though perhaps with tears. He had passed through fire and death to win her- He had slayed the dragon of the Phantom of the Opera to rescue his fair maiden, and to rescue himself.
She giggled, then laughed outright when he scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the waiting bedroom, candles lit everywhere, like stars in the sky outside. The moon was bright that night, and she thought that it was a wonder to be able to see it with him, after so long in the dark.
"I read something the other day, dear, that made me think of you."
"Oh?" He had handed her a glass of champagne and she sipped it, though she allowed him to help her out of the robe. Then he had stood at her back, hands on her shoulders for a moment, looking out at the starry sky as she did.
"It was a poem by some American woman. But it was the last two lines that made me think of you and me together." She paused, then recited the lines, "Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise to perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night."
He smiled and looked down at her, "I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night... I shall have to remember that, cherie. You are the star of my night, my dearest, my darling. And that was a quote from an Irish poet. Mavourneen means "my darling" in their language, so I gather."
"So many ways to say "my darling." What on earth are you doing?" She had become aware of the fact that his fingers had become entangled in her corset strings at her back.
"I'm trying to get this infernal thing off of you. How in the world you manage to tie the damned thing up every day is beyond me!" His irritation, far from frightening, made her laugh and turn to him.
"Because, you sweet idiot, I don't. There are hooks up the front."
"Really?" His tone was almost comically unbelieving.
"Yes. Here, let me show you." She began to unhook the corset from the front and his mouth opened in amazement."Erik, how could you have lived in the Opera for so long and not realize that modern corsets open in the front... Dearest, shut your mouth, you look like a codfish with your mouth agape."
"Codfish is it?" He growled and there was a short chase around the bed, ending with the former Opera Ghost and his beloved, kissing in the starlight of their new home...
A/N
Hahahahahaha. Thought you had me there for a moment, hmm? I needed to give my poor unhappy Erik a happy ending, but had to poke just a little bit of fun at silly fellows who only see the romance, and never the little tricks a woman has to keep up the illusion of being romantic.Now, All Through the Night is not finished, nor am I finished with it. But I needed to do something light and fun and... well, I needed a happy ending. I'm so wrapped up with getting ready to go abroad, still trying to find a summer job, and working on some original stories that I needed to take a break. I've just read so many fanfictions that don't seem to get that most corsets tie up the front that I thought... hmmm, maybe I should enlighten people. The poetry quotes were from two of my favorites, "The Old Astronomer to His Pupil" by Sarah Williams, and "Kathleen Mavourneen" by Louisa Macartney Crawford. The phrase "star of my night" is a character defining one for me- I prefer the stars of the deep night to those of the between times of morning and evening. Three o'clock in the morning is the wisest and most enchanted hour of darkness- Indeed, I too love the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.
Warmest thanks to all,
K.S.