Erik spoke then, the first words which had passed between them. "I have brought you here, to the seat of sweet music's throne, where all must pay homage to music."
She did not respond, instead stared back at him from the small boat. He continued, " I have brought you for one purpose; one purpose alone," he took a breath before continuing in a softer tone of voice, "since the moment I first heard you sing, I have needed you with me," realizing he should add something, he did, "to serve me…..to sing, for my music…," he turned away from her, and repeated almost to himself, "my music."
She was still unmoving, her eyes riveted to his form. Slowly he walked towards the boat and extended a hand. She did not hesitate in taking it, gracefully standing and exiting the small vessel. He walked backwards as she followed, heading deeper into his lair; his home. They passed by the diorama he'd made of her in her beautiful white dress, standing in the middle of the opera house stage during her big aria from 'Hannibal'. She looked down in wonderment, smiling at the tiny figure of herself.
Erik motioned for her to come to him with his free hand, and she continued to walk with him until they stopped in front of his organ. After he had stopped walking, she took an additional step, so again there was a short distance between their faces. He drew closer, singing softly into her face, and started walking around her. Her face stayed with his, causing her to turn around as he circled her form. Every time she took a step, turning, there was that awkward moment when she shifted her weight which brought her mouth dangerously close to his.
He watched her eyelids flutter and her mouth open slightly as she followed the circle he was making around her. He stepped away, putting the organ between them. She was watching him with that same dazed look, but the corners of her mouth were turning up at the ends, forming the slightest smile…
She was smiling at him! He quickly walked around the organ until he stood in front of her again. 'Can she belong to me,' he thought. 'Will she consider belonging to me?'
His hands reached out to touch the sides of her face very lightly. She shivered at the moments his black leather gloves came in contact with the microscopic hairs on her face. He leaned in and her heart, which had been beating ever so quickly, stopped. 'He is going to kiss me,' she thought, and then, '..I want him to kiss me.'
Erik did, in fact, come quite close to doing just that. Her brown eyes seemed full and deep. She was transfixed by his gaze, her mind lost in the blue green pools he had for eyes. One of his hands dropped to her waist, and as he moved his head closer, his other hand came to the other side of her waist and gently turned her so her back was against him. The moment their bodies met, she let out a sigh.
Erik guided her right hand up to his unmarred cheek. "Touch me, Christine," he said as he placed her hand against his warm skin. "Trust me…"
Her head rolled back against him, exposing her neck to him again. The sweet scent that wafted through the stale air of his abode came to him again when she did that. Oh, how he could be lost in her forever!
She turned to him and he realized now was the time to show her his true intentions. Still holding her hand which he had pressed to his face moments earlier, he began backing to a separate part of his home. It was a recessed area in the rock that he had hidden from view by a large tapestry cloth. She followed, not questioning, her lids heavy with lust, her mind still a blur.
Gently guiding her in front of him, he pulled back the heavy fabric, bringing the mannequin he'd fashioned to be a replica of her into view. He did not expect her to suddenly slump into his arms the way she did. He thought surely she would be pleased as she saw the beautiful gown he had made, and the mannequin he'd made to look like her. It was an homage, of sorts. Apparently, Christine did not look at it as such.
The weight of her in his arms was so…welcome. She fell back against him, and he caught her, stooping to place an arm beneath her knees. Then, he stood, carrying her to the only place she could comfortably lay. His bed. He took a gulp of air, as he realized that if she had been conscious, this moment would have been the happiest of his life. As it was, he still could think of nothing lovelier. He was holding her gently in his arms, an arm about her shoulders, another arm beneath her legs.
His bed came into view all too soon, and he realized he must part with Christine, it was the only decent thing to do. He placed his right leg on the side of the swan bed for leverage, as he lowered her small body slowly, not wanting to wake her and cause her a start. As her head lolled, finding its place among the pillows, he paused, looking at her sleeping form. He should walk away right now before he did something he would regret. But his eyes would not cooperate. They had a mind of their own as they moved from her feet, over the shapely legs, to the slit of her gown, then to the restrictive corset, the rise and fall of her chest, and finally her face. His eyes had lingered over the legs and corset top the longest; it was hard for him to force his eyes back to her face. As her face came into view, he simply studied her. The poor girl, she had been through so much in one evening. He knew he should turn but he could not resist reaching out to run a gloved hand over the curve of her jaw.
With much restraint, and a gritting of his teeth, he pulled back from her, and stood by the bed. As the curtain around her descended, he realized that he could not be in there with her. Oh, but he dreamt of beauty. But secretly. He would watch her sleep, and admire the beauty that could and might come to be.