I did everything I could to please him that morning. I sang, I forced a smile onto my face, and I managed to eat all of my lunch. He told me to put on one of the black dresses, and that we would only spend a little time at the grave, probably because he didn't want me to be too effected by it.

Once in my mourning dress, I decided I ought to ask to bring flowers. I shuffled downstairs, and found him waiting on the sofa wearing his false nose, and in a darker suit than normal, which made me hesitate a moment in confusion. Why would he go to any trouble? He had been jealous of maman before, so why would he have changed into something (barely) nicer?

"You look lovely, my dear," he told me. "May I kiss you before we leave?"

"Yes, but may I ask you something?"

"What, my love?"

"Could I bring some flowers?"

He blinked once, "I suppose people do bring flowers... Forgive Erik, he has never mourned anyone and forgot about bringing flowers. Take some from your bedroom."

"Let me kiss you, Erik," I said, giving a weak smile. "You're being so kind today."

Why was he, though? This was so unusual of him.

He was still as marble as I approached him, and as he was on the sofa I simply bent down a little to plant a small kiss on his forehead. He promptly began to cry, and I sighed, hoping we would not be too delayed.

"Erik is being kind?" He asked tearfully.

"You're letting me visit my mother's grave and bring her flowers. That's kind, for you do not want me to do those things, but let me to make me happy."

"What if you aren't happy? Will you cry at the grave?"

I bit my lip, "Yes... I-I will cry. But you can comfort me."

"How?" He asked, his tears faltering.

"You can put your arms around me when I cry, if you want," I informed him.

"And kiss you?" He inquired.

"Maybe... a little. But, um," I had no desire to have him kiss my face repeatedly, "Did you know? It's common for men to kiss the top of their wives' heads to comfort them. You can do that, if you want... Let me get the flowers."

He nodded, sitting back on the sofa. I supported myself on the railing as I went upstairs, to ease the pain in my feet. It surprised me that he did not leap to my aid, but perhaps I was such a gifted actress that he didn't notice. Or something in his poor, twisted mind told him not to help me or I would hate him.

I took a bouquet of purple and white flowers, feeling something unpleasant rise up in the pit of my stomach. I had felt it before, and I feared what it was and would not address it, for it hurt my heart terribly.

Desperate to rid myself of the thoughts in my head, which were swiftly turning against me, I shuffled downstairs in a brisk fashion, wincing as my feet met the hard wood.

"Are you crying?" Erik demanded, worried.

"I'm fine," I replied.

"We may leave now then, my little Christine."

"Could... Could you support me a bit? Just a bit, I put on thick stockings earlier, but my feet are still a little sore."

"Is that why you looked pained? Then perhaps we should stay-"

"No, no," I protested quickly, "you can just... hold my arm like another husband would do with his wife. Then it won't hurt, and no one will notice."

I offered my arm to him, and he entwined it in his, content again. The journey to maman's gravesite would take three hours, three terrible hours, but Erik was perfectly happy to sit beside me in such close proximity. I, however, was unable to fall into a blank daze as I had before, so I became increasingly bored, as well as upset over maman. The feeling in my stomach also tormented me.

"We've been in here an hour now, at least," I sighed.

"Two more to go, my dear."

I fidgeted a moment, then sighed again, "I'm bored."

He turned to me. The false nose and mustache were almost laughable, but somehow they blended in with his jaundice-afflicted skin tone.

"What would you like to do?" He asked.

"What do you want to do?"

"Just this." He said simply. "It's very nice to sit with you."

I fidgeted again before looking back over at him.

"Do you like my hair, Erik?" I asked.

"Your hair is lovely," he replied. "Like sunshine."

"Have you ever touched my hair?"

"Once. Why?"

"Do you want to touch my hair now?"

"Why are you being so cruel to me?!" He demanded suddenly, causing me to shy away. "You cruel little thing, why do you keep asking only to torment me?!"

"I was going to let you." I retorted, my voice choking up with tears. "Why d-do you yell at me? Why would I h-hurt you?"

"You would let me?" He asked, bewildered. "You were going to let me, even though you're not afraid and sad like last time?"

"Maybe not now," I said childishly, feeling warm tears drip down my face as I crossed my arms around the bouquet.

"Don't cry," he pleaded. "Forgive Erik, he didn't think you would actually let him."

I rested my head on my hands, facing away from him. He attempted to turn my shoulder to him, but I refused to budge, still sobbing.

"He didn't mean to yell," he told me. "Please stop crying, he didn't mean to yell."

"It's not t-that..." I sobbed. "Erik, I... Do you know why I never begged you to take me to see maman's funeral? Or grave before now?"

"No," he replied, still concerned.

"Because I... It's my fault."

"Your fault?"

I sobbed harder, "Had I not been so selfish and run away she would have been fine. It's my fault she had a s-stroke, or whatever she h-had, poor maman! It's all my fault, Erik. It's my fault she's dead, because I was so selfish and stupid!"

The feeling in my stomach settled, having been at last addressed. It was guilt.

"You are not selfish," he told me simply. "You were only afraid."

"But I was cruel to leave you."

"It was not truly cruel of you, for you were frightened. That was all. It's not your fault you ran, for Erik is hideous and terrifying-"

"Oh, Erik, you don't understand! I ran not because I was frightened, but because I did not wish to give up myself to anyone. What a selfish woman I am, to want to be alone and in power of myself... I'm not a woman at all! Why won't you tell me I'm horrible? You told me earlier that I was cruel, why not now?"

He stared at me with infinite pain in his deep-set eyes.

"You are such a child," he told me gently. "You are still such a child, thinking that you are horrible when you sit next to Erik."

"I am a child," I said tearfully. "I am, aren't I?"

"You say it with such distaste. You are not a child as in the whiny things that sniffle and beg for sweets; you are youthful, naive, and you don't understand what it is to be horrible. You don't understand, and it is lovely to see you not understand, for then you are unable to hate Erik as you should. You cannot comprehend what horrors this world contains, save death, but that is a minimal horror compared with all the hell here on earth. Erik has seen hell, and he deserves it... But you shall never know why, because you are heaven... And, to console you, your mother ought to be in heaven now, like your father, because she was kind to you. But she is gone now, and when we leave for home, you can forget her."

Why was he so pensive all of a sudden?

"But..." I asked, "tell me, you must admit that it is my fault that she passed away?"

"She was old. She would have died eventually, everyone dies. Besides, she died with you, so it must have been a very happy death... And you can focus on being a good wife with her gone." Then he turned to me while I pondered what he had said previously. "Will you mourn me when I die? Will you stay by my side?"

I looked over at him, "Yes... Of course I will. You're all I have now. I have no friends, no f-family... If you die, I would be alone."

"But you would be free," he told me sadly. "You would have enough money to do as you pleased, and as a widow, you could do whatever you wanted. It comforts me to know that my death will make you happy."

"I don't want to be happy and alone, for I cannot be both... There is no freedom for me now, for my mother is in heaven, and my father, and anyone else who ever loved me. No one at the opera house save a few little ballet girls had any fondness for me, save in my voice... I have only you."

What a miserable thought...

He put his head on the tips of his folded fingertips for a moment, deep in thought. I wiped away my tears, regaining myself and considering what he had said. For the first time, he had made logical sense. It was true that maman had not been alone upon her passing, which would have occurred had I stayed with Erik. It was true that I had not done whatever horrible things he had. And it was true that I had not been selfish, only frightened. I had been a child, and human, so I had made human errors.

If only he could always be so sane and pensive... This was the best he had been since I had met him, I thought.

"Have you ever wanted to be a mother?" Erik asked suddenly.

I blinked in confusion, and replied tiredly, "What? What does that have to do with anything?"

"You wouldn't be alone when I die if you had a child to care for. And they could love you-"

"We can't have a child."

"Yes, but do you want one?"

"What does it matter?" I sighed. "We can't."

"If I was another man, who was handsome and whom you loved, would you want a child?"

"I... Yes, Erik," I sighed again. "But what does that have to do with anything right now? Can't you see I'm in pain?"

"Nothing," he told me. "I only wished to know. Do your feet trouble you so?"

"It's my heart that troubles me."

"You have such a lovely heart. Why does it trouble you?"

I shut my eyes in irritation, "My mother, Erik."

"She's dead. You don't have to trouble your heart with her."

I turned to him, pained, "Exactly... You know very little of hearts, except for your own."

"Oh, Erik knows nothing of his own heart, either."

"I suppose not..."

"May I touch your hair now?" He asked with childish hesitation.

"Fine... you may."

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

What's up with Erik? And come on, Christine deserves a round of applause for not giving him a much-deserved slap in the face yet. Poor thing. Can you imagine, having all that guilt fester up inside you, with no one to talk to that you can trust? Then having Erik, the poor selfish man, (almost) successfully comfort you?

But will this continue to go mostly well, or will Erik ruin everything again? And how will he react to Christine at Mamma Valerius' grave?