Standard disclaimers apply.
Before either of them really realize what's happening her lips are on his. And he permits it. Even if he wanted to stop her, he's not sure he could. He knows that whatever happens, he wants this to continue on and on.
It's not that he's forgotten what she's done, or that he's forgiven her. He certainly hasn't forgiven himself. But somehow, even with this unforeseen complication, things have never been so simple. There is no vicomte. There is no Angel of Music, or Opera Ghost. There is only Erik and Christine, together and free at last.
For if either of them belong to anything, it's Death. And surely Death won't mind sharing, after all they have done for him.
She wrinkles her delicate nose against the porcelain of his mask and raises her fingers tentatively to his face. He doesn't stop her, and though she hesitates, she doesn't stop herself either. He understands her reluctance of course — in addition to the gruesome disfiguration he hides, his temper has also been set off on numerous occasions when she's attempted to bare his face. But selfishly, he recalls how it feels to have her fingers exploring the skin no one else would dare, and prays feverishly that she'll continue.
Yet all the prayers in the world don't mask the little shudder she can't completely suppress at the sight of him.
"You don't have to look at it," he says immediately, forcing his voice to remain flat. Last time she didn't mind it so, but it was much darker then, he reminds himself. "The mask can remain on."
"I deserve it," she whispers, and he's horrified at the tears that spring to her eyes at the idea. "It's a fitting punishment."
He never wanted to be her punishment; he wanted to be her salvation. Certainly not her damnation, as has evidently become the case. But perhaps this is meant to be a punishment for both of them: her faced with an outward manifestation of the distortion of both his soul and hers, and him forced to bare his one weakness in this moment of vulnerability.
Yet as she lays her soft cheek against his and warmth swells within his chest, he wonders if either of them are truly atoning for their sins. In this moment, or ever.
Afterwards, she's pale and shaking and he cradles her gently with her head tucked neatly beneath his chin.
"You should eat," he says. He has not seen her consume food in at least a day, and what few meals she's choked down before that consisted only of bread and water. He's not sure if it's lingering sorrow at the loss of her friend that hinders her appetite or some sort of penance to atone for her guilt, but he wonders how much longer it can go on.
"I'm not hungry," she says, and in that moment her voice is serene and lovely once more. "I just want you to hold me."
How can he refuse?
Reviews are confidence boosters!
Much love,
KnightNight
