Both POVs this chapter! And I'm trying to distance this Christine interpretation from my others. She appears far more childish and sappy, but I think this chapter really explains her and shows that she has a perceptive side to her and, still, a backbone.

Okay, and explanation time. Christine (and Erik, to a lesser extent) are going to bounce back and forth on how they perceive their love, like *gasp* real people! Cue more intense wrestling with emotions next few chapters for our selfless heroine and her strange husband!

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CHRISTINE

"Can you ride a horse well?" I asked as I sat down to continue the growing scarf.

Erik was shuffling music at the piano. We had just finished singing together.

"What do you mean?" He said, his features softening around his mask.

"Well, I... I've always wanted to learn."

He sat down in his armchair, "I don't know much about riding side-saddle."

"Well, I could ride the other way. I don't mind... Do you?"

He stared at me in disbelief, "You would prefer to wear pants rather than simply learn how to ride another way?"

"It's not like I haven't worn pants before, Erik, and in front of a good portion of Paris, no less."

"I prefer not to remember that..."

"I'm sorry-"

He waved away my words, "No, none of that... I'll see what I can procure for you."

I beamed, "Thank you so much... Actually, could we go on a walk? I feel like I've been sitting down all day."

"It's still rather wet outside."

"A little mud won't kill me."

He smirked, "Alright, then, we'll go on a walk before lunch. Don't wear your new boots, though."

"Of course," I replied, setting my knitting into a basket. "I'm not a child, dear, I know not to wear new shoes on a muddy day."

I went upstairs to put on my old boots, the soles of which were worn thin. They had once been black, but they had grayed at the edges, and the laces were a tad frayed. No wonder Erik had bought me new ones...

I had him show me around the exterior of the house. There was a small clearing in the back, with tree stumps around the edge, and this was where the chicken coop resided.

"Are you going to buy a rooster?" I asked. "We could have chicks in the spring."

"I'll buy one then, it'll be easier."

"Have you named them?"

"Named them?" He scoffed good-naturedly. "No."

"Could I?"

He gestured to the coop, "Be my guest."

I gave an involuntary shiver at his words, but proceeded to the hens.

"You know we'll eventually eat them," he told me.

"But I still want to name them. I've always liked naming things. I even named my father's violin as a girl."

"What did you name it?"

I blushed, "Erik, actually, if you believe me."

A flicker of a smile rose on his lips.

"Hmm," I said sweetly, being playful with him again as I had before. "That one ought to be named Speckles... and that one will be Stars."

"How fitting for a speckled chicken and a darker speckled chicken."

"You're making fun of me."

"Of course not-"

"No, no, it's fine, I sound so silly, don't I?" I sighed. "Perhaps I am. People think I'm such a child just because I'm so happy all the time. They think I'm naive and can't think for myself... What do you think of me? Would you be honest?"

"I love you," he replied.

I smiled gently, "And how do you love me?"

"What do you mean?"

"You asked me before, now I want to ask you. How do you love me?"

"How do I love you?" He repeated. "How would you love the only person to ever be kind to you?"

"I didn't mean to upset you," I told him, as he had tensed. "I was just..."

"Curious."

"No- well, yes, I wanted to know... Who do you see me as? Describe me, in your words."

"Kind."

I waited for him to continue, "I-is that all?"

"Is there more?"

"You can describe me in one word?"

"I can describe no one else with it," he retorted. "Are you offended that I didn't go rambling on about how lovely and talented you are? How brave and selfless? Because I don't care so much. I love you because you are kind... Too kind..."

I reached out for his hand, "You're kind, too, Erik. You want to be."

"Then you are naive," he replied, pulling away from me. "You think all people want to be good, don't you? You think they all mean well?"

"Well... Yes, I suppose, in a way, but not always."

"You think I mean well?"

"With me."

"With you..." he repeated, pensive. "Well, I'm glad I've taken you away from the rest of the world. People don't mean well, none of them. Perhaps they do to you, because you are young, kind, beautiful, and contain the voice of an angel. But they are selfish... You may be the only person who truly means to sacrifice herself for the good of a single person, and you have sacrificed yourself."

"You're glad you took me away from the world?" I asked, quivering with emotion. "Perhaps that's why everyone thinks I'm innocent and naive, they all want to hide me away. I wasn't allowed into most of the ballet girls' conversations, you know, I was too pure. They called me pure like it was an insult, something to be ashamed of. Well, I'm not ashamed, but I don't want your shelter. My father showed me Sweden and France but he hid me from anything that wasn't something out of a dream. Then, when I joined the opera house, I didn't have a protector. Madame Giry had a class to teach; she couldn't be concerned with concealing me. But I didn't see cruelty. I saw so much pain. Everyone tries and tries to be kind, because that's the only thing that can make them happy, and yet so many give up because it's easier not to, and I pity them. Anyone who has ever called me 'pure' like it was a sin, who has ever been anything but welcoming and kind, I pity them. And whether you like it or not, Erik, I pity you, because you're just like them. You want to be kind and you simply don't know how. You weren't raised to be kind, and the only way you can be is with me, and even then you know very well it's difficult... I came to let you be kind. That's the best I've explained myself yet, but I feel it's the most honest... I came to let you be kind, because I've loved you ever since you were an angel. And though it may not be the love of a wife to her husband, it most certainly is that of a friend... Is that enough for you?"

"I told you before, it's enough."

I smiled gently.

"You're rather insightful," he told me.

"I only like to think aloud, but thank you."

"I love you."

I smiled again, "I love you, too."

There was a heavy silence.

I pointed to a hen, "And the white one is Snowflake."

He seemed amused, "I suppose naming them after inanimate objects won't make them harder to eat... Where else do you want to walk to?"

"What's down that way? The town?"

"Well, yes, but the road goes into a fork."

"Oh? And which one to take? I must've not noticed before, it was dark... N-not that I-"

"Actually, I'm rather hungry for lunch, why don't we go inside?"

I turned to him, "You still don't trust me, do you?"

His hand twitched, "We've already discussed this."

"But you said you trusted me-"

"You asked a question that was blatantly asking how to get to the town."

"And why can't I know that?"

"Do you need to?"

"Well... no, but-"

"Then we're agreed."

His hand extended to mine, but I pulled mine away to clutch my other, my eyes lowered. I knew holding a grudge was far from what we needed, so after a moment of hesitation, I obliged him my hand.

"I'm going to make soup," I told him firmly as the door shut behind us.

"That's fine... May I?" He asked, gesturing to my cloak.

I nodded. He undid the fastening from in front of me and hung it up.

"Thank you," I told him.

He gave his unsure, barely-there smile again, and I went to make soup. It made me feel more like a wife. I needed to settle into this role, regardless of what Erik said, he ought to be dissatisfied with our strange marriage. By normal standards, it barely was one.

But in this house, away from Paris and all we had known, no one could tell us so. We were quite free, he more than I, but we were free to live in whatever way he pleased. He knew that.

"Erik?" I called, setting two places and ladling soup. "Erik, lunch is ready."

A door opened upstairs, and I remembered I hadn't seen his bedroom. Not that I wanted to, it didn't really matter, but I was insatiably curious.

He came downstairs and made a move to sit.

"Wait, um," I told him, searching for a polite way to explain. "Erik, it's polite to, well, the man should- I'm sorry for not telling you this earlier, it's not your fault- the man should allow his lady to sit first, then be seated himself. And he should pull out her chair. It's just a way to show... respect, I suppose. That you care for me."

He had frozen in place. Had I offended him?

I bit my lip, "I-if you don't want to-"

"No, no, of course," he said softly, coming over and pulling out my chair from the table.

I smiled, sitting down, "Thank you."

He went to the other side and sat as well, asking in his cold manner that could either be humor or cruelty, "Have I offended you in any other ways?"

"You didn't offend me. I only thought you would want to know."

"And I expect I wait for you to pray?"

"I only pray at dinner and at night. We can eat now."

I blew on a spoonful of soup, and he mimicked me. During the journey, he had attempted to hide himself when he ate, if he could, and when this was impossible, he was simply cautious.

"Is it good?" I asked, breaking the silence.

"Very good," he replied.

Silence again.

"Do you miss Paris?" I inquired.

His spoon tumbled from his hand to the floor, and Poco rushed to lick it.

"Damn," Erik muttered, going into the kitchen.

It intrigued me that he had cursed. He hadn't cursed since when I came to promise myself to him. Like everyone else, he wanted to preserve my innocence and shelter me, even if he was a murderer. It was... ironic, almost.

"Yours has to cool first, Poco," I told the little puppy pawing at my skirt. "It's almost ready for you, I think, be patient."

He whined. I expected Erik to return promptly, but as the minutes wore on, I called for him, "Erik?"

No answer.

"Erik?" I called again.

What was he doing? I knew I ought to leave him alone, but I couldn't stand it, so I went into the kitchen. Upon finding it devoid of him, I opened the door to the cellar.

"Erik?" I whispered into the darkness.

He was facing the corner, but he turned to me, "Is there something pressing?"

"Are you alright?"

He inhaled with a sniffle, "When someone hides in a cellar, what do you think they want?"

"To be alone."

"So permit me that."

My chest welled up with hurt, "You don't want to be with me? Just tell me what's wrong, I can help-"

"I want to be alone, child!" He snapped.

I shut the door. As I came into the kitchen I found Poco dangling off the side of my chair in an attempt to get to my soup.

"Come here, Poco," I called weakly, setting down his bowl that had been left to cool.

He came bounding over to me, trembling in rhythm with his golden tail. I patted his head as he buried his nose in the bowl.

After finishing mine, not without a few tears from hurt, I sat down in the living room with my knitting.

'Child...' he had called me 'child,' like an insult... like 'pure' or 'innocent...' like I was stupid... I knew he hadn't meant it, but...

I counted the rows of white, waiting for him. I had never truly liked being alone, though I had been forced to tolerate it. The only time I had ever enjoyed it was because loneliness went hand in hand with liberty. A woman could be free, should she be by herself.

Fifteen rows were complete when the cellar door reopened, and Erik emerged from the kitchen. He had a weary air about him and seemed in no haste to see me.

"Could you sit with me?" I asked gently. "You don't have to talk, but since we're married, we should-"

"I'm going out for a little while," he informed me.

I blinked, "Where to?"

"Nowhere... Alone."

I opened my mouth to protest but was tired of arguing, so instead I said, "When will you come back?"

He paused in buttoning his jacket, then resumed, "An hour or so."

"If you need it," I replied coldly, thinking quickly as he began to open the door. "Could you bring me back a flower, if you can?"

"It's not spring," he replied, shutting the door behind himself as he left.

I heard him saddling the horse. It left at a gentle trot, and I watched it go, flinging mud up from behind.

I pulled Poco up onto my lap, "You're my husband now, apparently."

He wagged his tail, covering my face in kisses.

I giggled, then started to cry and brought him to my chest tight enough to make him yelp, and he plopped down onto the floor. Then I curled up in a ball on the sofa, facing the pink cushions.

What did I feel for Erik?

And why should I feel anything at all?


ERIK

I was suffocating in that house. Christine was so beautiful, so kind, so intoxicating, that I felt utterly helpless with her. It was a feeling I was entirely unused to, and I despised it... but I loved Christine. I loved her more than I ever had before, and each day it seemed I found myself more and more unable to breathe whenever she turned her blue eyes to meet mine, her soft pink lips curling up in a smile.

I needed to escape from her, for an hour, just an hour, to clear my head from its drunken state at the sight and sound of her.

How magnificent she was! Love had perhaps blinded me, but there was no one in this world more beautiful, more kind, more selfless, than she was. And to think she was here with me, married to me, mine...

I needed air.

It was only after I had started to head back home from my ride that I realized she could be crying. To think I hadn't even considered that! How difficult it was to worry about another person. I had only been troubled with myself for all my life, and now I had her.

She was perfectly independent, of course. I only had to concern myself with her emotions, as she could care for her needs herself. But emotions, they were unpredictable. I couldn't even understand my own, how was I supposed to tend to hers? How would I make her happy? I had let her go to accomplish that, and though having her with me was far better, I couldn't fathom attaining her happiness.

I returned home regardless, and found the living room vacant. There was a mass of knitting upon the sofa, accompanied by a sleeping puppy curled in a golden ball.

My breath caught. Had she left? No, no, she couldn't, unless she had been that upset? Had I yelled? I couldn't remember yelling, but had I hurt her?

"Christine?" I called as calmly as I could, rushing upstairs. "Christine?"

Silence. Oh, g-

"I'm in my room," she replied, softer than normal. "You can come in."

I exhaled in relief, entering to find her pinning up her hair in the combs I had bought. Her reflected face in the mirror, however beautiful, was wan.

"Are you better now?" She asked, continuing to stare at her melancholy reflection rather than me.

"I am."

She pushed a pin into her nest of brown curls, "May I have an apology?"

"For what?"

"For shouting at me, calling me 'child,' leaving me alone with barely a word of apology for earlier."

I hesitated, but managed, "I'm sorry."

"Thank you," she said, a small spark coming into her features as she turned to me. "And I shouldn't have been so upset at you leaving, you should have time to be alone..." She glanced at the mirror. "What do you think?"

"You look like a dream."

"But I'm not a dream," she told me, pensive. "I'm quite real..."

"Shall we sing?" I offered.

"I missed you," she whispered.

"I was only gone an hour-"

"Two hours."

"But why did you miss me?"

The idea was laughable. I had thought she might be delighted at my absence.

"You're all I have," she replied.

"You have your dog-"

"My dog?" She asked, her kind eyes soft. "You're my husband."

"Husbands leave their wives at home all the time-"

"But I missed you."

Was she tearing up? What was she trying to say, 'she missed me?' It was like that meant something, something I was meant to understand.

She took a step towards me, and another, and she gradually wrapped her arms about me and pressed her face against my shoulder. My heart reminded itself to beat.

"I know this is difficult for you," she whispered. "You didn't mean what you said, I know you didn't mean a word-"

"Shh," I replied, not exactly trying to be consoling, simply wanting to selfishly savor the warm sensation of her against me.

Then her arms fell from me, and the warmth was gone. I had a sudden desire to kiss her, but I shoved this away rather than ruin another moment. I was ruining everything...

"I'm going to go knit some more," she told me.

I blocked the doorway, and she faltered in confusion.

"You return after ignoring me and now refuse to let me leave?" She said.

"Did you cry?" I asked, my voice wavering far too much for comfort. "While I was gone?"

"I was being stupid-"

"Don't say that!" I snapped, and she stepped backwards, startled. "Why must you berate yourself?"

"I don't know... But I am naive. You can't deny that."

I couldn't.

"I cried," she confessed with a sigh. "You left in such a hurry, without a kind word or goodbye, and I... I don't know, I cried... I know you didn't mean what you said, but your words hurt, you know. And I think I'm a bit more sensitive to your words than to others'."

"I didn't intend to make you cry."

"Of course not. You love me."

She said it with such confidence. She truly believed I would never intentionally hurt her. Was that why she forgave so quickly? She thought people always intended well?

I didn't ever want her to know how wrong she was, but at least she was not wrong about me... I hoped.

She approached me in sudden confusion, her eyes lowering upon my jacket.

"When did that tear?" She asked me, pressing her finger to a frayed part on the edge.

I glanced down, "I must've caught it on a branch and not noticed. Why?"

"Let me mend it."

Did... did she just offer that? Like I would allow her to trouble herself with something of mine that I could care for well enough myself?

"I've mended my clothes all my life," I retorted.

Her face fell, "I'm trying to be a wife to you."

"I don't want you mending clothes and cooking meals-"

"Why not?" She replied, evidently confused. "What do you want, then?"

"I just want... I... I want you here is all. Just be yourself."

"I'm not a doll to be placed inside a house, and I would like to trouble myself with your jacket button. This is me being myself... Please, I've mended my clothes all my life, too."

I found myself removing the jacket with only a moment's hesitation. She beamed in triumph. Had anyone else worn such a sentiment before me, I would have murdered them, but she owned me with her smile.

I found myself, again, loving and despising this growing feeling of breathless helplessness.

"Thank you," she told me, kissing my cheek and placing a hand upon my mask.

I pushed her away, my body responding to the learned fear of her curious hands upon that surface.

I tried to explain, "I didn't-"

"Don't think you'll be wearing that thing much longer," she told me, slipping out the doorway before I could blink.

I felt the place her lips had been. To think that a chaste kiss could be so incredible, warm and soft, filling my cold heart to the brim with light. There was no word, nor combination of words, that could describe the joy produced by a single touch from her.

I found myself blossoming with desire again. It was not as before; it was more profound more... pure. Of course, still had full control over myself, something my nightmares never permitted, but I wanted to be with her. I wanted to kiss her and hold her, but I wanted her to want me to. I wanted her to feel safe with me, to trust me with all of her.

Would she ever? Of course not, it was useless hoping for what would never come to pass, and moreover, still, should never.

And yet I wanted more... I was mortal, after all. Regardless of its truth or lack of, the Bible was accurate in the tale of the Forbidden Fruit.

I wanted what would surely curse me for eternity.

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Three days of being married and you can see Christine's already becoming a little worn down by Erik. She's not as spunky as before, is she? She rather weakly confronts him... or is that her trying to be gentler with him?

Hmmm... ;)