Christine woke uncomfortably once again. She felt smothered and extremely warm and was forced to take a moment to breathe and fan herself before, once again, analyzing her situation.
The Louis-Philippe room still remained, as immovable and constant as the sun, its bright glare nearly blinding her to tears. She could recall little of the previous night...If it was simply last night. Perhaps she had slept for the two days! Dragging her long and now-creased skirts behind her, she hurried to the door and, thankfully, found it unlocked. Refusing to call out his name, she quietly made her way out into the drawing room, looking for the clock that she knew she would never find. The entire house was very well-known; everything from the silken coffin to the horrible torture chamber had not escaped her eyes, and she lingered quietly in front of the organ, hesitant to touch it and avoiding the sight of the music piled next to it.
"There you are, Christine," the voice called out, making her jump ridiculously and then blush. "I'm sure you're hungry, and I've prepared something for you."
On the contrary, she wasn't famished at all, yet she sat down at the table simply for the sake of doing something. Erik observed her frowningly.
"You don't look well, my dear. Are you sure you're all right? And you are still in that unsightly gown; is nothing to your liking? I can very well obtain the most fashionable dresses for you, if it would please you. But you're not eating! Do you not like anything on your plate? I will very happily make something else for you. Christine, you are dreadfully pale; did you sleep at all? Perhaps you would like to sleep now, or even after you've eaten – whatever you would like best."
He waited for the answers, and yet all she said was, "What time is it?"
A large pause followed, and he refused to look at her as he solemnly dished up more potatoes onto her untouched plate.
"You have one more day. Tomorrow night, Christine."
Minutes passed by silently. The odd couple sat stiffly in their places. Christine stared at her plate quietly, and Erik stole glances at her every now and again. He did not fail to notice a solitary tear sliding down her cheek, yet it was only one that splashed onto her lap. After nearly ten lonely and cold minutes, Christine mumbled softly,
"I think I shall return to my room."
"Of course, dear." He rose to accompany her and began to babble away about endless things that failed to register in her weary mind. "While you sleep, I shall finish composing the mass. It is quite grand, Christine, and I think you will weep very much. But they will not be sorrowful tears – no, they will be tears filled with joy and laughter. It will be a gay occasion. I hope you will enjoy your supper, too. The food will be splendid; I've made sure that all of it is what you enjoy best. Would that please you, Christine? Do you like the sound of that?"
He pestered her all the way to her bedroom door, never ceasing to speak until she wearily replied,
"I must sleep." And, ignoring his further comments, she closed the door, quite unable to accept the situation that had rained down upon her.
To her own surprise, she didn't cry at all during the entire night. She sat stonily on the edge of her bed, staring at a small burn on the nightstand. It had been during her first fortnight in the house; afraid to sleep in the dark, she left the candle burning, and Erik had been quite upset, deeming her the luckiest girl to have ever lived and proclaiming it was a miracle the whole Opera House hadn't been burned to the ground. The burn was the only imperfection she could find in this room, and, in a bizarre way, it comforted her, reminding her that, despite what Erik wanted or thought, their queer little life would never be the picturesque one that he envisioned.
Though no clock was available, it seemed to her that a giant one had been placed right next to her. Christine heard the tick tock and was quite sure it was ticking away at her impending damnation.
Tick. Tock.
What have I done to deserve this?
Tick. Tock.
Surely Erik will come to his senses and release me.
Tick. Tock.
I cannot stay here for the rest of my life.
Tick. Tock.
Shuffled footsteps interrupted her reverie, and Christine held her breath. He stopped outside her door, silent for a minute or so, yet, with a heavy sigh, he left, leaving her to exhale slowly. Surely nothing that Erik planned would be better than her wedding with Raoul. Christine had known of everything that should have taken place, and she couldn't have wished for a better wedding...or marriage. She was worried about Raoul and wondered what he was doing: possibly tucked up in bed, safe and untroubled, or maybe he was in the streets, ragged and exhausted, searching for her and knowing that she would be impossible to find. It nearly caused her to scream with frustration when she realized that she would never find out, yet instead she fell back onto the bed, her skirts becoming upset and settling around her feet once again.
Endless prospects swirled around her tired mind. Although marriage had never fallen from either of their lips (if Erik's may be called so), it was an unspoken understanding, and she didn't seem to have the strength to fight it. What if she flatly refused to wed him? Would he become so terribly angry that he would lock her away? Would he see themselves as married, regardless that "I do" had never been uttered by her pink lips? What if she agreed to marriage? It was doubtless that he would be insatiably happy – perhaps so much that he would eventually release her. Erik might view the marriage as forever binding and become inseparable from her: he would never let her go if he thought as such.
Christine rubbed her eyes tiredly, turning onto her side and trying to decide what would be best for her fate. As a result of her previous...holdings...she knew that, whether she wished it or not, Erik would keep her down here as long as he wanted, and she became aware of the fact that if she wanted to leave, she would have to please him, which would first start by marrying him.
Oh, the horrid sound, even in her own head! Christine shut her eyes fiercely, forcing herself to relax and become calm. No longer was she agreeing to save the life of her beloved, but she was now saving herself. Perhaps, if she was a good little girl, Erik would finally reward her...
--
For the third time, Christine awoke in her crumpled and ruined wedding dress. She didn't remember dozing off, nor did she recall removing her shoes or the pins from her hair, the latter now falling about her neck and shoulders. With a heavy and sleepy sigh, she rose from her bed and remembered her conclusion from the night before. Tiredly, she bathed her face, neck, hands, and wrists in the small water basin and emerged once again, this time to see Erik anxiously waiting for her. She did not fail to notice his eyes narrow once again at the sight of her limp white gown, yet she paid it no heed.
"Good afternoon," he said politely. "Did you sleep well? I heard silence all night."
"Afternoon?" was her swift response. "What is the time?"
"Just after two o' clock; you must have been exhausted, my dear. Would you like dinner?"
With a shake of her head, they were once again cast into awkward silence. Erik fiddled with his hands uncomfortably, staring at her feet, as was Christine.
"What..." Christine swallowed and tried once again. "What time...are you...we...?"
"Six o' clock," he said to her shoes. "I have..." He disappeared without another word and was at her side in a matter of seconds, a bundle of white lace and silks in his arms. As the stillness continued and she made no move to take the dress, he uneasily pushed it into her arms. Without another word, he left, and Christine returned to her room.
Slowly, reluctantly, she removed her beloved wedding gown and lovingly placed it in her wardrobe, where it disappeared a few days later, much to her grief. Her new one was just as fine, she admitted reluctantly, as she spread it out over her bed and examined it with a critical eye and fingered the stitching. Christine openly acknowledged her preference to her late groom, however.
The hours seemed to be gone with a single tick of her invisible clock. She had merely bathed, put on the dress, and started to pin up her hair, yet Erik's persistent knock followed close behind. No tears escaped, nor did they gather in her blue eyes. With elegance and a determined air, she rose and examined herself in the mirror, her blue eyes searching for something she would not be able to find.
"I am to be married soon."
