Really wanted to write Gothic aus for my favorite Poto ships, and I suppose this one is what comes of reading a lot of Gothic novels and watching a lot of Tim Burton movies.

Our father was dead. Our horrible father was dead. And yet, I knew Christine would never recover from the terrible events. Because she never had. You see, we had never left our mansion after that terrible night. Because my Christine had killed her father herself, to save me. She had taken a pistol and shot the monster in the head, and embraced me, holding me to her heart. I hadn't realized at the moment that Christine's mind had snapped, and she had gone as mad as the man she'd killed.

When little Meg, Christine's ladies' maid, had found us, and embraced Christine in relief, she had looked at me, and I'd seen tears in her eyes, as she had realized herself what happened. Christine had refused to leave after that. She'd begged me, she had. Begged to marry me here, asked that we never go outside, and I'd agreed, if it would make her happy. So Meg and her mother Madame Giry had been the only witnesses to the marriage, and I'd asked if they would visit from time to time. Christine smiled, and said, ''What a wonderful idea.''

Then came the wedding night. The night I realized the sweet, gentle girl that I had loved would never come back, that she was gone forever. It started with a kiss, one, then two, then three. It was normal enough. Then, when I pulled away, Christine took a knife and handed it to me, asking me to cut the dress open. For a moment, there was a look in her eyes, one that told me to ruin the dress the monster had made for her to wear, but that look was quickly gone.

So I took the knife, and moving to the back of my beloved, slit the laces and slipped the dress off her shoulders, and Christine quickly turned and kissed me again, throwing her arms about my neck much as she had on the balcony, hard enough to topple me to the floor. Her hands were small and dainty, but they were fast, and soon had my shirt unbuttoned, and I wrapped my arms about her waist. We kissed passionately for a few moments, then I pulled away, gasping.

''Are you alright?''

''I'm fine, Christine. Could you stand up, please? I must get your corset off. If I rip it off, I shall hurt you.'' I told her, and she acquiesced to my request, standing up, I quickly unlaced her tight corset, and she took in a long, deep breath.

''At least he will no longer harm us anymore.'' was all she said, before her hands went to my trousers and began unbuttoning them. But I seem to be getting ahead of myself. Such is the nature of a man on his wedding night with the girl he loves. I will, of course, start from the beginning. For it is at the beginning that the story must be told. We will both tell it, my Christine and I. Ladies first, dear.

My name is Christine. Christine Destler. I was born on October 13, 1854. It is now October 16, 1873, and I have just turned 18. My father, Erik Destler, was a very reclusive man. I suppose you could call him a hermit. My Mama was Theodorine Destler, nee Hemlock. She died when I was merely 5 years old. I barely knew her, of course. One cannot know one's own mother if she dies when you are just five years old. I knew my father very well, of course. Far too well. He was always wandering around my room, why at first I did not know, but later, I did.

I was not more then 10 years old when I was told by my governess, Madame Marceline Giry, who had come from France several years ago that my father was to remarry. I was terribly confused at first. Why should my father, Papa, as I called him at the time, need to marry again? He had me, and I was all that he needed.

Yet, Madame Giry explained to me that I could not be Papa's heir, and Papa would want me to be married off. Papa needed a male heir, which I found incredibly humiliating, as I had been told by my Mama that I would be a heiress, beautiful, elegant, and graceful, with a voice like an angel. Papa had made my voice so. He taught me himself, you see. And so my voice was more beautiful, and rich, and angelic then any other tutor could make it.

I suppose I was selfish when I was younger. I wanted my Papa all to myself. I did not wish to share him with a new mother and new siblings. Still, the marriage was to go ahead. The lady in question was Jaccqueline de Chagny, a wealthy heiress, something like what I should have become. She had one son from her first marriage, a young boy no more then four years older then me, and who I knew I would dislike greatly, no matter how nice or charming he was.

So it was when I actually met my future stepmother and stepbrother that I was quite surprised.

Jaccqueline was indeed elegant, and terribly beautiful. She was slender, like a swan, with a long, elegant neck and gorgeous soft dark hair braided and pinned up neatly. Her eyes were large and the deep ebony of an onyx, and her dress was of a sort of checkered silk, coloured teal with narrow sleeves and a pleated train.

When she was introduced to me, she smiled and kneeled down, and said, ''It's a pleasure to meet you. I hope we can all be a happy family together.'' Her voice was kind, with a gentle French accent, I thought. I have an ear for voices and can often tell what someone is like merely by listening to the voice. Jaccqueline's voice was full of kindness, as I have just mentioned, and I could tell it was not fake.

I replied politely in perfect French, to show her that I was not unintelligent, if she did think I was, ''C'est un plaisir de vous accueillir ici, Madame de Chagny.'' And I dropped a perfect curtsey. Jaccqueline smiled, and standing up, said to my father, ''You did not tell me your daughter was so enchanting!''

Papa patted my brown hair, and thanked her profusely.

Then there was my stepbrother, Raoul. At first I thought he must be a servant boy, for he looked nothing like Jaccqueline herself. He was fair-haired and blue-eyed, much like my ladies' maid Marguerite Giry, or Meg, as we (by which I mean her mother and I) called her. But there was a sort of nobleness and kindness to his features that made me want to like him, even though I had sworn not to. He smiled, and held out his hand. Hesitantly, I took it, and he raised it to his mouth, and kissed it. In many of the stories that my father told me, knights often did that to the princesses they rescued. I suppose it was a polite gesture, but still, I did not want to like him, no matter how likable he was.

Papa greeted the newcomers, and bid them come inside, and I followed.

When it came time for dinner, Jaccqueline came in, dressed charmingly in a gown of a pretty pale green that she said was called a gendarme green, all in silk, and flounces of white silk fluttering down the back, the neck cut round and low on the shoulders. Her hair was half braided up now, and the other half was in curls flowing down her back. She looked like a princess, I thought.

''How lovely you look.'' she said to me, admiring my white flounced dress with belled sleeves and high neck, my hair let loose.

''Thank you.'' I said.

''You spoke French to me earlier; how much of it do you speak?''

''Enough to converse in. Mama was American; my Papa is French. He spoke English around my Mama and I, and hired a governess from France for me.'' I replied to her.

''I will say something in French, to test you, and I want you to tell me the answer '' she told me, and then said, ''On ne peut pas choisir qui ils aiment.''

''One cannot choose who they love.'' I translated, and she clapped her hands.

''Your governess has taught you well. What about this? J'ai parcouru un long chemin et j'espere etre heureux ici.''

''I have come a long way, and I hope to be happy here.'' I said, and remarked, ''I hope you will be happy here,'' for try as I may, it was impossible to dislike her. She was very nice.

At dinner, we were very silent, as was our custom. I wished Meg could be here, but alas, she, being a lady's maid, took her meals with the servants. My new stepbrother ate his food as quietly as I did, and often glanced at his mother, as if he wished to say something.

Finally, he spoke. ''Do you play, Mr Destler? For I noticed an organ in the corner as I came in.''

Papa smiled in delight. Oh, how he loved to play the old thing! ''I do, my boy. Perhaps, if your mother wishes it, I could play after dinner.''

Jaccqueline nodded. ''I should love to hear you play.''

''Then it is settled.'' Papa said, and after dinner, he did play on the instrument. Papa wrote his own compositions, and that night he played one of them, a passionate song called ''Only Us.'' It was one of my favorites, and I could not help humming along. My stepbrother looked at me, but what he thought I did not know, as he was one of those people that were capable of hiding their feelings.

Papa tucked me into bed, as was his custom, and five days later, he and Jaccqueline were married.

Translation.

C'est un plaisir de vous accueillir ici: It's a pleasure to have you here.

Jaccqueline is portrayed by Winona Ryder.