Apologies for the wait, it took a while to come to me. Captive in a Sanctuary should update soon, too.
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I had never truly appreciated what it was to be free. I had always been able to do whatever I wanted. My father had even told me as much as a girl. The world was mine to hold, regardless of my poverty, regardless of my sex. Every ounce of my body, every breath I took, every drop of blood in my veins, all of it had belonged solely to me.
It was near incomprehensible to me now that it wasn't. I wasn't allowed to do anything without asking, and if I did make a request, and Erik didn't want to acquiesce, he would often take my words and mold them into something he liked more. In this way, even the words in my mouth were often not mine.
I continued to sing, however. It was the only part of me unaffected by my clipped wings and captivity, for the simple reason that I wasn't singing for Erik; I sang for myself, and often Raoul. When I sang for Raoul, though, my eyes grew red and watery, and as Erik was both genius and madman, he would swiftly conclude I was pining for 'my old friend' the vicomte, who he said should be setting sail any day now.
My tongue was always too heavy for a sharp reply.
To my surprise, however, on Monday Erik fulfilled his promise to me. He took me to three different houses, and I selected the one he seemed to describe most enthusiastically.
I didn't realize how much worse it would be in that house than it ever was beneath the earth. In that house, Erik's full interpretation of marriage unfolded.
He installed us there after a little over a week, when the colors of spring were just beginning to bleed onto the streets of Paris. The city wore the new season well, becoming swarmed with flowers, bright with a renewed sun, and filled with women in warmly-colored dresses and floral hats.
But the sight came at a cost. The two windows in my bedroom, the weekly walks, the sight of the sun and moon, all bore a price that made my stomach churn: the bedroom wasn't mine. I had been so desperate for these necessities that I had agreed to his terms: one night a week in my company. He assured me he wouldn't demand anything other than my presence, but I couldn't possibly believe him. I had even considered bargaining the last part of me that I possessed simply to see mamma, and if not for that, then only to be sure he didn't take it by force. My mind was marble upon the matter. He wouldn't take it; I would give it on my own terms.
I didn't believe him truly capable of violently harming me in any way, unless his mind fully unraveled, but his conscience was watery. It wouldn't surprise me if I woke up one day with the feeling of him on my skin, having taken one of his remedies for a headache or nightmares the prior night. He might not even see that as wrong. After all, he wouldn't have hurt me, nor taken anything that wasn't his right.
He could take anything he wanted from me. He could make me do anything. Something I wanted desperately could be held over my head by him until I succumbed to his wishes. The helplessness of it all was maddening.
But at least I was in a house now, in a room with pastel blue wallpaper and white furnishings. I had a grand white closet stuffed with ruffles and lace, a silver jewelry box that I had to force shut, and the prettiest little shoes that if I complained of them hurting my feet, they would vanish without my knowledge and be replaced with more comfortable models. All my possessions were silver or gold, of fine mahogany or another expensive wood, or fabrics like silk.
He seemed to think that husbands spoiled their wives and succumbed to all their wishes, should mine be compatible with his own.
I let him play his game of marriage. He brushed my hair in the morning, like I was his gold-haired doll, and he often requested for me to wear certain dresses or jewelry. Due to the thick fog about my senses, his selecting of clothes and brushing of my hair kept me from lying in bed all day and softening the feather pillows with tears.
He wanted all of me for himself at every moment. If I read books, he was beside me. If he composed, he asked me to sit in the armchair beside him. He wouldn't permit me more than an arm's length away, and often I could feel his yellow eyes boring into me. Often his sickly hand upon my head in a form of affection...
And yet, though I did everything he requested and was perfectly submissive, he kept begging for me to be happy. He drowned me in gifts in a pathetic attempt to remedy my melancholy, but the lines only grew more profound upon my face. He took me on walks in the nearby park, and yet I asked him to sit on a bench for most of the time. He didn't mind that, because I let him hold my hand. But this wasn't what he wanted; he wanted Christine, not this glass-eyed doll that resembled her.
He came into the house one afternoon with a moon-white dove in a silver cage for me to amuse myself with. He placed it in the corner of my room. It stared at me with two beads of black glass, and I stared back into the heart of the little creature. The following night, I was so distressed by its captivity that I threw open the window and cast it out into the night air, where it soared like a white star. I smiled faintly at its freedom.
Erik barely noticed its absence. And besides, I was actually happier with it gone, knowing it was free, so he was delighted by the turn of events.
He took me to buy a new dress the next day, as he did every so often, and I requested a black one. He blinked in confusion.
"Black?" He asked, his false nose rising a bit. "What a sad color that is, what about blue?"
"All my dresses are blue."
"Not all... Perhaps a nice gray?"
"Gray is fine..."
"Do you like the style of the dress in the window? It would suit you well."
I nodded blankly. He made an order for it. I wove my arm in his and we went out onto the sidewalk. He bought me a pink rose bouquet laced with baby's breath before catching a brougham.
"The dining room table for these?" He asked, gesturing to the flowers with a relaxed hand.
"I think so..." I replied.
"The maid is coming tomorrow morning. I thought we could take a walk through the Tuileries."
"Could we go to the museum?" I asked, thinking it might distract me.
"The Louvre?... Why not the Musée Grevin? I thought that was your favorite."
"I've never been in the Louvre."
"But you're not one for art."
"I like sculptures." I then used what nearly always changed his mind for matters like this, "Husbands often take their wives to see art."
"Of course, yes... Tomorrow after the Tuileries."
I gave a semblance of a smile, and he was appeased by that for the rest of the day. The night was his, however. Once I had put on my delicate nightgown and slipped under the covers, he came in and joined me. We never touched, though.
I bade him goodnight, and he did likewise. I slid further towards the edge of the bed and shut my eyes against the dark.
Dreams had begun to take root when I felt something curious, like sticky little legs running through my hair. Dazed from sleep, I gave a cry and stumbled out of bed, only to find Erik sitting up, white and petrified. His hand was outstretched.
"You promised," I whined, as it was all I could manage. "You promised!"
"My love, no, no! How could you accuse me of such a thing? There was a spider in your hair, my dear, and I went to get rid of it. Erik keeps his promises to you, you know that."
"A spider?" I whispered, believing the lie rather than acknowledging the likely truth. "A spider... t-thank you..."
He pretended to fling it away, as if it had been caught between his skeletal fingertips. I slid back into bed, my eyelids growing heavy with dew.
He turned on his side. I wept into my pillow softly enough to go unheard, so that all he commented upon was why I was trembling. He placed another blanket over me and was appeased.
It could be worse. I kept telling myself, over and over, in abject desperation, it could be worse, it could be worse... oh, so much worse...
"Christine?" he called a few nights later after a particularly melancholy day. "You've been getting dressed an awfully long time, my dear."
I had my hand pressed to the windowpane as I stared out upon the dimly lit street. Long since I had viewed a young couple pushing a cream-white baby carriage down the damp sidewalk, and been entranced by their happiness, almost as if it were my own. I had been trying to wish myself away, but that was a child's miracle; I was a woman in a broken reality.
Erik came upstairs, his pace brisk. He knocked three times, politely, upon the door.
"Are you all right?" He asked.
I rubbed my leaking eyes, "Y-yes. Fine."
"Won't you come downstairs, then?"
I wanted mamma. I wanted mamma so desperately at that moment the worn clockwork of my mind was beginning to turn its gears towards the unthinkable.
Erik pushed open the door with his rotten fingertips, "I thought we could play music for a while before bed."
My voice creaked as I spoke, "I miss..."
His eyes flickered that I had said something, as I had been a well-behaved doll all day.
"What do you miss?" He inquired, coming over to me. "Surely something I can give you?"
I shut my eyes. He tilted up my chin and I pulled away from him, crossing my arms to shield myself.
"Mamma Valerius," I whispered. "I miss... h-her."
He drummed his fingertips against one another, pensive. A spark of hope rose within me. What was he contemplating?
"You may write to her," he informed me, "every few days."
My mouth fell open at such a promise, but I shut it in realization that there must be something attached to it. He wanted another piece of marriage.
"Thank you, thank you so much," I told him. "Will you read them?"
"I'll glance at them, of course, to be sure you're well, but that is all... This will make you happy?"
"Yes, very happy, thank you, but... w-what must I give you for it?"
"Tonight in your company is all."
"Of course, yes," I exhaled in relief.
Oh, to write to mamma! My mouth seemed to creak from lack of use as I smiled weakly.
"How beautiful you are when you smile," he sighed. "I wonder..."
"Wonder what?"
"Nothing, my darling, nothing to concern you yet."
"Yet?"
"Well, I was considering-" he began to pace. "I am considering- after all, we are married, and you're the most perfect wife, how wonderful you are, but you've barely smiled since the wedding. I adore your smile. Of course, the blame for the lack of it lies with another, but you can learn to be happy, perhaps, and yet perhaps you won't be truly happy unless... Women are rather simple creatures to please, all save you, but you'll learn that you can be quite happy here... It is my regret to admit that... a woman like you should have a baby."
I stammered in horror, "N-no, no, I don't want a baby."
He sighed in irritation, "Not my baby, my silly little Christine, a baby. They're very easy to procure."
"Procure?... You would steal a child?"
"No, no, steal a child from its mother? That's ludicrous. Plenty of children are unwanted, as I was, though I wasn't sent away or abandoned, and I'm sure it would be simple to procure one for you."
"I don't want a baby."
"But you would have wanted one."
My thin glass of sanity shattered, "Because I loved him!"
Erik stood perfectly still, and I melted away in fear of his reaction.
"What is my rule regarding him?" He asked, his voice drained of feeling.
"Not to mention him..." I trembled out, "o-or think of him."
"Did you not just do both?"
"You brought him up-"
"No. I did not mention him... Is it wrong of me to be jealous?"
"No."
"Whose wife are you?"
I lowered my eyes, "Yours."
"Who has given you all the comforts of life and his very heart these past few weeks?"
"You."
"Then why do you betray me with another? I want your thoughts, too..." He exhaled regretfully. "No letters."
"E-Erik, please-"
"Why can you not forget him?!" He snapped, and I backed away from him in fright. "What can he give you that I can't? My heart is yours, Christine, I would carve it out for you! Do you want it bleeding, is that what you desire? For my suffering, like everyone else? Oh, what have I given you to deserve this? I've given you- why, look, look!"
He grabbed my arms and pulled me over to the closet, forcing me to look as he showed me the decadent gowns.
"I've given you all this!" He said, then he dragged me over to the jewelry-box, offering up its glittering contents as I nodded, petrified. "And combs and pins and shoes, things any other woman desires! If only you were shallow and vain like them, but no, no! You're so much more than anyone else could ever dream of being, even now when you torment me. Oh, how I wish I could give you anything material that you wanted, material, but you scorn anything save those of heartfelt meaning! Is my heart not in these? Or do you deem my heart too unfeeling to comprehend love? How I love you! That is all I do, and yet you don't care, you laugh at my attempts, you cry, all because of this!"
He tore off his mask, revealing the whole horror of his gruesome features to me. The black pits, rotting skin, sunken cheeks, and his eyes, his horrible yellow cat-eyes in those black abysses!
By then I was sobbing profusely, enough to blind me. My arms stung from his sharp fingertips. Clarity returned to his fiery eyes, and he released me in horror.
"I didn't mean to make you cry," he pleaded as I curled up on the floor beside the bed. "You're so difficult sometimes, that's all, and perhaps I'm not so patient, why should I be? But I try, yes, you'll see how good marriage is for you, you'll see... you'll see... Here, here, I've replaced my mask! Don't fret, you can look now... Why won't you look? Ah, you're frightened still, poor little Christine... I have quite a temper, I admit, you had better not rile it so often, as it pains me and terrifies you. You should be more careful... But I'll make you something for your nerves, calm yourself down a bit, you're perfectly fine. You know I would never hurt you, never, never... I'll be back in a moment with a remedy for your fright."
He shuffled downstairs. My flustered senses, swarmed with fearful emotion, made me reel at the thought of swallowing one of his remedies. I shuddered.
His footsteps echoed up the stairs. I remained at the base of the bed, trembling with the knowledge that this could be the night. Any one could be the night.
But when he returned, I tipped the cup to my lips in obedience, and fell into a dark, undisturbed slumber.
The next morning I begged Erik to let me write a letter to mamma, offered him kisses and the night in my company, but to my surprise, he refused. Again and again he refused until he snapped at me, "Until you love me you can love no one else!"
I ran up to my room and slammed the door. My eyes filled with tears as I sank to the floor in despair.
I wish I was that dove...
"Christine, my dear?" Erik pleaded from behind the door, his soft voice soaked with tears. "Could you at least pretend to love me? Just pretend like you did before?"
"Let me see mamma," I replied weakly. "Just let me see her, please."
"I cannot."
"Then I cannot even pretend to love you when you deny me the right to see my only family, and she isn't even my family, I have no one!"
"You have your husband. Isn't that enough?"
I went silent, devoid of words. There was no arguing against him.
"If you want more company, you may have a child," he informed me. "We can have our own family, wouldn't that be nice?"
I shook my head.
"Please don't be silent," he begged. "I love your voice the most."
I gave no reply. He exhaled in frustration.
"It's your own fault you can't write letters now," he snapped. "Not mine."
"But you can forgive me."
"You keep thinking of the boy! Isn't that adultery?"
"N-no, thinking isn't, and I don't think at all, I promise! I try to only focus on us, and I succeed. I do!"
"I don't believe you..." he sighed. "You may write one letter every month, no more, and no more outbursts or they will be taken away."
I was too drained to thank him, nor did I realize what miracle would come of these monthly letters.