{A rather dark piece – Erik is pleading once more with Christine to love him. This time, she doesn't receive the "pick me he goes free, pick him he dies" choice. Erik either has her alive by her choice – or dead by his.} :}
The fear reflecting in your eyes is lovely. I cannot help but be drawn closer to you. But, alas, you shudder away every time. It does not have to be this way. You could simply learn to love me. With no one else to talk to, no other semi-human contact, you would soon have no other choice but to interact with me. I would never force you, of course.
But the clock is ticking, my dear.
Either choose me, live in my hell and love the poor dog who wants nothing more than for you to acknowledge him, or choose the young man and be eternally condemned.
You choose me? That is not the correct answer, my songbird. You must really mean that you choose me. You cannot just be choosing me to save the sorry carcass of your lover over in the corner.
Even with no nose, I can smell a lie from several yards away. I can tell you are lying. I will give you one last chance. Him or me. Death or life. The sun or the eclipse that overshadows him.
Why do you insist on lying? I have never lied to you…what's that? Oh, my songbird, I am not a liar. I have only lied when it was necessary. You never would have trusted me if I would not have lied.
But do not turn this around. This is about you, and your choice.
Ah, I see. You have made your choice.
Him.
Very well. A slight pull on the rope here…oh, what a delicious sound it is of a snapping neck! Do you not agree?
Oh, my angel, now we are alone at last. You will never again see the world above. But that is alright. I can show you the world without ever leaving home. Home. Our home. It has a pretty ring to it, does it not?
Now, I want you to go put on the dress I made for you. I know it will fit perfectly. Such dainty little footfalls my beloved has! Almost like a metronome…step, step, step, step… Oh, I have been awaiting this day for my whole life. At last I will be normal. I will have a wife that loves me for me, and she will be my queen. Whatever her command is, I will obey, as all husbands must. Even if she doesn't love me at the moment – because I could see the tears sparkling in her cornflower orbs at the loss of her lover – she will learn to. I will be all she has in the world. Now, what is taking her so long? I must go see…
Oh, Heaven Above! My angel…she is…dead…and I have caused the death of perfection! I will hang myself for this. But not yet.
I kneel beside you in the dress that you put on before you slit your throat. Such a good, beautiful, obedient girl. I take your still-warm hands in mine. You still have blood all over your beautiful neck. Were that I the blood upon your porcelain skin…
No matter. Death will not separate us, my songbird. Not yet.
I lift you ever so gently in my arms, because you are a fragile creature, and carry you into the wash room. I tenderly begin to clean the blood off your dress and off your magnificent body. Tears soon mix with the soapy water, and I cannot help crying. Did you really find me so repulsive; find the thought of spending eternity with a monster that horrifying that you wanted no part of it? It is somewhat understandable, my songbird, but still, I do not want to comprehend your motivations.
The tears struggling to slither from beneath my mask are bothering my twisted flesh. I will remove my mask in order to let them fall freely. It does not matter. You can no longer view my ruined face, can no longer shriek in disgust. Oh well. Come, I must finish making you perfect once more. We shall put a mask of perfection over your mutilated body and commence with the wedding. Nothing shall ruin our day!
There. Now you are spotless once more. Ah, you naughty child! You forgot to put your veil in your pretty hair. Allow me.
Now you look every inch a happy bride. Allow me to carry you to the ceremony. You are so light it is as though I am carrying nothing. And yet, I am tingling with exuberance over having you safe in my arms. No one can touch you now. You belong to me, now and forever.
In this instant, we will become husband and wife. You have made me the happiest man on earth that there ever has been, my songbird.
The ceremony was brief, but now we are united as one. My fingers are trembling as I pull your veil back and kiss your cold lips gently. Oh, sheer heaven! Oh! Oh! Oh! Now I can die a happy man, because I have kissed my love and she did not die! Wonderful!
My songbird, realize that I am an old man, an ancient decrepit artifact, and I cannot give you the proper wedding night you deserve. If I were more youthful, the wedding night and its joys would be yours instantly. Alas, any sort of excitement in that category would most likely kill me. I would not kill myself before you. You would be lonely without my warm, gentle love. However, I invite you to come into my bed tonight, dear wife. Ah, wife. I will never tire of hearing that word issue forth from my destroyed lips.
See how nice it is, here in my coffin? We both fit nicely. I must step out for a moment and take a final look at you, in your entire stunning earth splendor.
You appear ethereal, darling wife. Death becomes you and you are even more beautiful than before. You seem absolutely perfect. I close your eyes, so you are sleeping, and I step back into the coffin, careful not to jostle your dress. I take both of your pale hands in one of mine and I wrap my open arm around you, drawing you closer to me. Now, I will sleep with you so that we may be together forever.