Arrangements
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Disclaimer: I own nothing that does not reside in my own imagination . . . Gaston Leroux created the tale of the Phantom Of The Opera. Many writers have taken that tale and given a piece of themselves to it, I merely do the same. Loosely based off of the Susan Kay version.
Premise: Erik and Christine have married. Upon their return to the lair, they come upon a rather unusual question. Where do they sleep? And what about the Coffin?
Timeline: Direct sequel to "Love Comes To Those Who Believe" Short and sweet and very E/C.
Feedback: Of course! Any and all constructive criticism and high praise readily accepted. Flames? I have marshmallows and sticks at the ready; I do so enjoy a good roasting! ;-)
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Hand in hand they returned to the lair for the first time in three weeks. Ayesha had been picked up from Madame Giry's when they'd dropped Meg off, and Erik let her down in the sitting room. Then the couple turned to each other, and without a word, Erik lifted Christine into his arms.
"Welcome home, love," Erik whispered to his wife.
Wife. The word still seemed like magic to him after their marvelous two week honeymoon in the house in Rouen, and their time among friends. The slow smile crept across both their faces, and Erik started to walk towards his chamber, his mind filled with impure thoughts about exactly how to please his wife. That is, until they entered the room and he felt her body tense in his arms.
The confusion alighted his eyes as they scanned her face, trying to make sense of the look of horror upon her countenance. Her gaze turned from him, and he followed it, and suddenly, the same horror filled him as well.
"It looks like a coffin."
The state of his bedchamber had escaped him when they decided to wed. It had been just so for the past six and a half years, with the coffin on the raised dais in the center of the room. Yet somehow, in the weeks they'd spent in Rouen and on the road, his sleeping arrangements seemed to have been forgotten, and he'd automatically carried her to this room.
The damage was already done, and he knew it. He carried her out of the room, and gently sat her on the divan. Then he stalked over to the mantle and leaned against it.
The silence reigned in the house beyond the lake. The happy homecoming was suddenly shattered by one single action. He had lived as a ghost for too long. He didn't want to live like that anymore.
"I'm sorry," Christine whispered. "I didn't think . . . I'd forgotten . . . I . . . Erik, please."
He whirled around to face her, and a look beyond the mask showed eyes bright with the beginning of tears. He looked down, took her tiny hands in his long-fingered ones, "It is I, Christine, who should be begging your forgiveness. I didn't think when I went toward that room. I should have had that taken out of there long ago. In fact, tomorrow, I shall see about doing just that."
"I suppose the question should be where we will sleep."
Erik dared to look in her eyes again, and saw the forgiveness, and the longing building therein. Her mischievous smile and the twinkle in her eyes told of promised pleasures. Erik swallowed hard, and traced a hand in the collar of his immaculate dress shirt.
"I suppose, for tonight at least, in your old room."
"Even though the bed was . . . hers?"
"I think that for one night, I can endeavor to forget. We can look for a new bed tomorrow morning, after all, you are not due to return to the Opera until Monday, and tomorrow is Friday."
"So . . . shall we?"
With matching smiles, they made their way into Christine's former bedchamber, and firmly closed the door on the outside world for a few wonderful hours.
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