A Heart that waits, A heart that bleeds

by EverspringNative

From Erik's POV. For a year, Erik has been planning for Christine's return during the 1889 World Fair. His plans and his soul slowly unravel as he learns his obsession is not what he first thought. NOT an EC Shipper. Please R&R EOC completed

1. Prologue The Waiting Mind, Injured Man

31 March 1889

PARIS WORLD FAIR

They come to see her. Thousands of people on opening day for this cursed World Fair. All of these people intruding on Paris, crowding these streets. My streets.

I despise all of them.

But she came back as well. She is a deity standing before the great red sentinel Gustave Eiffel built. It is a garish display, one the artist community loathes. Nothing more than a phallic symbol with a flag perched on it. A tribute to France or an insult, I wonder? Perhaps in a hundred years the damned thing will fall. It doesn't matter. No one will be alive to see it. Let the artist community balk as much as they desire.

I care nothing for the artistic community.

The cannon salute still rings in my ears. Damn them and their tributes to something that cannot feel, cannot hear, cannot appreciate. Men marvel at such pathetic feats as steel and stone.

I care nothing for men.

From a distance I watched her take the small platform to the flutter of the delighted crowd that had gathered to see her after her absence from the Parisian stage. For so many years—nine to be exact—she wandered far from Paris. Far from France, in fact.

But not far from me.

I watched her smile beam, her coffee brown eyes twinkling in the midday sun. She blew a kiss to the adoring crowd and waited for the maestro to begin.

I heard her voice again after all these years. I heard her sing; pure as an angel, so beautiful it brought a tear to my eye. Long have been the years since I have stood so near.

She did it for me. She sang for me, for her teacher, for the one who loves her without end. She sang for me.

And I wept in gratitude.

Nine years ago I gave her the freedom she desired in exchange for one moment, one single heartbeat of happiness. I have kept it with me, this little memory. I have nurtured this warmth within my soul, this fire of passion that strangles everything I do, everything I see. At night, I dream of her. The days—the long and dreary days I spend in the darkness of my home—I do nothing but think of her and bleed my heart out wishing she was here with me where she belongs and not with that boy.

There is another boy here who wishes to see her.

I'm afraid I can no longer tolerate being only in the distance. Christine, you had your freedom. You had your time with your precious little boyfriend but now, now it is my time.

Welcome back to Paris, my love.