Disclaimer: I own everything that is between the names Erik, Christine, the
Persian and Daroga, so if there is an "and" in-between; It's ALL MINE!
~ Chapter two ~
She suddenly felt observed.
She looked up and saw Erik, the man of her thoughts glaring at her from across the room. He looked so powerful, this man, this angel and demon both combined in one. She hadn't heard him come in, and she was silently wondering how many entrances there were to this house that she wasn't aware of. He took a few steps towards her. She felt a fear for his dark side, and he still hadn't said anything, so she didn't know in what mood he was.
"I'm sorry for tying you up like that before, but you can't hurt yourself like that, you know. Why did you scare me like that?"
Christine had almost forgot the naive suicide attempt she had done about an hour ago, and now when Erik brought it up again she blushed of embarrassment.
"I understand, it was for my own good."
He looked at her wrists.
"I didn't realise I tied you that hard?" he said in a worried voice, seeing the blue marks the ropes had left on her body.
"No, I just tried to get loose." her voice died, when Erik walked past her and fetched something from one of the cabinets. He held out a small jar to her.
"Put this on, it smells bad, but it will help take away the bruises."
She looked at him with surprise in her eyes, and then took the jar from his hands.
Their hands met for a split second. Her warm, soft hand met his cold, skeleton-like just for a moment, and then the moment was gone, as Erik quickly pulled away. Christine blinked out of surprise. Strangely his touch hadn't been that repulsive this time, just cold. Was it he who had changed? Or was it she, she mused, as she opened the jar and took some of the smelly content and put it on her wrists. When she was done she put handed out the jar back to Erik, but he shook his head in a "you keep it"-gesture. She then put the little jar in her skirt pocket. Looking up again, she felt uncertain of what would happen next.
"Will you do me the honour of sharing just one last meal with me? Our wedding-meal, perhaps?" his silent voice was uncertain, as if the question had been said after an inner struggle. She nodded her head.
"Yes, of course I will Erik."
He seamed to be smiling towards her, but with the mask on, she wasn't sure. Then he went into the diningroom. She followed him a few steps behind, and as he held out her chair and she sat down, she felt how tired she was. She hadn't slept for days, and now as all the drama and adrenaline seamed to be over, her body finally relaxed a little and the tiredness came rushing over her. Erik light two candles on the table, then disappeared for a while.
When he came back he had two glasses and a bottle of wine in his hands. He put it down on the table, then left again to fetch the food. Christine had to struggle not to fall asleep the few minutes Erik was away, but when he came back the whole room got filled with a lovely scent of food. Her stomach rumbled out of joy! She hadn't eaten properly for a long time. She had had too much on her mind to do so. But now she had convinced herself that Erik had made up his mind, and that he should keep his word, he was too much of a proper gentleman not to do so.
She had seen how he had been really worried over the Persian's life. But how his mixed drafts had done the trick and brought "The Daroga", as Erik liked to call him, back to life. Erik came back and put a plate in front of her. The smell of curry and other spices filled her nostrils, and when Erik had taken his seat on the other side of the table, she said a silent grace for the both of them.
"It smells delicious! I didn't know I was so hungry, until just now. " she said smiling, and put the napkin in her lap. Erik observed her in silence. Coming to the conclusion that she seamed to be sincere. When Christine tasted the food, she realised that the food tasted, if possible, even better than it smelled, and she couldn't help exhale with a grateful sound. Erik smirked.
"Do you like it? It's something I learned to cook while being in India."
"I love it!" she exclaimed.
She really did, she had never tasted anything even remotely like it before. In Sweden they certainly didn't have food or spices like this, nor had she ever had anything even similar in France either. Erik was truly a man of many mysteries. Erik filled up their glasses with the wine and held up his glass.
"To our marriage and happiness, Mademoiselle." Christine tried to look into his eyes, but to no avail. She slowly raised her glass too.
"To our happiness, Erik."
She sipped from the delicious wine and it felt like silk in her mouth. They enjoyed the rest of the meal in peaceful silence, and she had just put down her empty glass when she suddenly heard soft music from afar. First it was soft as a whisper, than the music seamed to come closer and closer. It was playing: Franz Schubert's Serenade, she recognised it. Erik slowly rose and held out his hand towards her.
"May I have this dance?"
He wanted to dance? They had never danced before. They had sung, they had attended the opera, but they had never danced. Was he a good dancer? Her curiosity was too much she had to know.
~ Chapter two ~
She suddenly felt observed.
She looked up and saw Erik, the man of her thoughts glaring at her from across the room. He looked so powerful, this man, this angel and demon both combined in one. She hadn't heard him come in, and she was silently wondering how many entrances there were to this house that she wasn't aware of. He took a few steps towards her. She felt a fear for his dark side, and he still hadn't said anything, so she didn't know in what mood he was.
"I'm sorry for tying you up like that before, but you can't hurt yourself like that, you know. Why did you scare me like that?"
Christine had almost forgot the naive suicide attempt she had done about an hour ago, and now when Erik brought it up again she blushed of embarrassment.
"I understand, it was for my own good."
He looked at her wrists.
"I didn't realise I tied you that hard?" he said in a worried voice, seeing the blue marks the ropes had left on her body.
"No, I just tried to get loose." her voice died, when Erik walked past her and fetched something from one of the cabinets. He held out a small jar to her.
"Put this on, it smells bad, but it will help take away the bruises."
She looked at him with surprise in her eyes, and then took the jar from his hands.
Their hands met for a split second. Her warm, soft hand met his cold, skeleton-like just for a moment, and then the moment was gone, as Erik quickly pulled away. Christine blinked out of surprise. Strangely his touch hadn't been that repulsive this time, just cold. Was it he who had changed? Or was it she, she mused, as she opened the jar and took some of the smelly content and put it on her wrists. When she was done she put handed out the jar back to Erik, but he shook his head in a "you keep it"-gesture. She then put the little jar in her skirt pocket. Looking up again, she felt uncertain of what would happen next.
"Will you do me the honour of sharing just one last meal with me? Our wedding-meal, perhaps?" his silent voice was uncertain, as if the question had been said after an inner struggle. She nodded her head.
"Yes, of course I will Erik."
He seamed to be smiling towards her, but with the mask on, she wasn't sure. Then he went into the diningroom. She followed him a few steps behind, and as he held out her chair and she sat down, she felt how tired she was. She hadn't slept for days, and now as all the drama and adrenaline seamed to be over, her body finally relaxed a little and the tiredness came rushing over her. Erik light two candles on the table, then disappeared for a while.
When he came back he had two glasses and a bottle of wine in his hands. He put it down on the table, then left again to fetch the food. Christine had to struggle not to fall asleep the few minutes Erik was away, but when he came back the whole room got filled with a lovely scent of food. Her stomach rumbled out of joy! She hadn't eaten properly for a long time. She had had too much on her mind to do so. But now she had convinced herself that Erik had made up his mind, and that he should keep his word, he was too much of a proper gentleman not to do so.
She had seen how he had been really worried over the Persian's life. But how his mixed drafts had done the trick and brought "The Daroga", as Erik liked to call him, back to life. Erik came back and put a plate in front of her. The smell of curry and other spices filled her nostrils, and when Erik had taken his seat on the other side of the table, she said a silent grace for the both of them.
"It smells delicious! I didn't know I was so hungry, until just now. " she said smiling, and put the napkin in her lap. Erik observed her in silence. Coming to the conclusion that she seamed to be sincere. When Christine tasted the food, she realised that the food tasted, if possible, even better than it smelled, and she couldn't help exhale with a grateful sound. Erik smirked.
"Do you like it? It's something I learned to cook while being in India."
"I love it!" she exclaimed.
She really did, she had never tasted anything even remotely like it before. In Sweden they certainly didn't have food or spices like this, nor had she ever had anything even similar in France either. Erik was truly a man of many mysteries. Erik filled up their glasses with the wine and held up his glass.
"To our marriage and happiness, Mademoiselle." Christine tried to look into his eyes, but to no avail. She slowly raised her glass too.
"To our happiness, Erik."
She sipped from the delicious wine and it felt like silk in her mouth. They enjoyed the rest of the meal in peaceful silence, and she had just put down her empty glass when she suddenly heard soft music from afar. First it was soft as a whisper, than the music seamed to come closer and closer. It was playing: Franz Schubert's Serenade, she recognised it. Erik slowly rose and held out his hand towards her.
"May I have this dance?"
He wanted to dance? They had never danced before. They had sung, they had attended the opera, but they had never danced. Was he a good dancer? Her curiosity was too much she had to know.
