The Queen of the Night

She had locked the door again. He knocked on it softly, uncertainly.

What had he done this time?

For an unbearable moment, only silence emanated from the closed room. A thousand panicked thoughts ran through his head. Had he finally done it?

Had he finally killed her?

Or had he done worse- defaced his idol, marred his virgin goddess?

Unthinkable. It was not very often that one had their own goddess.

The bolt slid back, the soft clink echoing like a gunshot in his tortured ears. The door swung open, inviting in a way she never was. The face that tilted tiredly up towards him was *beautiful* deathly pale. The eyes that regarded him fearfully were bright with luster borrowed from a sea of tears.

He hated it when she cried.

She stood on tip-toe to press a modest kiss to his cheek. The affection was a dreadful facsimile of wifely love and devotion.  

Devotion- yes, she was devoted to him. And he was devoted to her.

They never spoke of love.

"Christine, you must love me!"

"How can you talk like that? When I sing only for you!!"

She had swept away from him, haughty and safe in her furs.

But that was in the past. Now he cupped her delicate face in his equally delicate hand as he admired her.

His wife. His Goddess. His.

His virgin wife, his virgin Mary. But her name wasn't Mary. Christine…Christ. Close enough.

He studied her face more closely, and was surprised at her sharp jaw and chin, the dark bags under her red eyes. The hollowness of her cheeks and her skeletal cheekbones.

He absently wondered who had crucified her.

Me. He flinched away from the answer.

She was suffering for him, wasn't she?

Wasn't she?

Either way, she belonged to him, and him alone. She lived with him by her  own choice, in his tomb. She was his queen. She was the Queen of the Night.

The Queen of the Night had always been her best rôle, he thought. He still kept her starry diadem locked away, ready for the day when she would once again ascend the stage and sing for the angels.

He was optimistic.

She was looking at him questioningly now. What do you want?

"Some music, my dear?"

She smiled, and followed him out into the music room. He let her stand silently as he played, knowing she would sing when she was ready.

When she sang, she would sing for him.

And him alone.