Chapter Eleven
Christine rode nervously down the steep hill, thankful for her horse's sure footing. There had been no sunshine that day and the clouds gloomily hung low. The late afternoon had grown increasingly cold making her long for Erik's warmth. But she was bundled up warmly and decided winter murkiness was appropriate for the melancholy trip.
Unavoidably, her thoughts returned to Erik. After she left here, she'd be able to return to him freely, ready to be his bride. Christine was gratified that she had eluded her attentive servants and secreted away on her own. No one had any right to be there with her. Thoughts of Erik must be put aside. This was not his time.
Steering the horse towards a hitching post, she dismounted and secured him. Christine rested her head against the saddle for a moment gathering her courage. This would not be easy. Purposefully, she squared her shoulders to face her unavoidable duty. She owed this to him at the very least.
Mindful of the icy ground, Christine de Chagny trod across the cemetery. Her destination lay a distance from the wrought iron gate entrance. Deeply lost in memories, she recalled the first time she had met Raoul when they were but children. Her father had been commissioned to play at a soiree held at the de Chagny mansion. Christine had accompanied him with strict instructions to behave as a young lady. She was eight years old and pretty as a picture in her starched, stiff frock. Excited at the idea of being a guest at such a fairy castle, she stood shyly behind the servant's door watching her father play with pride. Daniel M. Daae' had been an accomplished musician with a talent that could have brought him comfortable fame had it not been for his little girl. She was unaware that her father sacrificed many of his own dreams for her welfare. After her mother had died, Daniel swore that Christine would have as normal a life as possible and that did not include traveling the globe as a musician.
Christine remembered when Raoul craftily pulled her ribbon undoing her hair. She'd cried out in surprise and anger, chasing him as he laughingly ran from her wrath. As children, they had been quite ignorant of the social classes. After making Raoul beg her forgiveness, they had become fast friends.
Over the years, they had seen each other on occasion. She affectionately remembered being thirteen at the shore when her bright, red scarf had flown into the ocean and she had wept. Raoul chivalrously braved the cold water to retrieve it for her and returned shivering but offering her the wet scarf. Something different had passed between them at that moment and she recalled feeling incredibly self-conscious for the first time in his presence.
She had not seen Raoul again until the gala night at the Opera - her successful debut on the stage.
Those memories and more drove her resolutely toward the large stone vault that housed Raoul's body. She gazed at his engraved name in grim wonder. Poor Raoul! Cheated out of life at so young an age! He had been a loving husband and granted her every wish, even permitting her to sing for church services, although he had not encouraged it. Other than her singing, there was little that Raoul would not have done for her. She missed him still, but not with the intense loneliness of earlier years.
Looking up guiltily, she spoke into cold air, "I do not suppose you are too happy with me. Oh, Raoul, so much has happened." Pausing, Christine lowered her head and admitted faintly, "I've met Erik again, Raoul. I am sure you could not possibly understand. I was at the market when suddenly he was there and I was so glad to see him again. There was a good deal that was left unfinished between he and I."
"We are going to be wed next week. I know that I could not hope to receive your blessing and I hope you do not feel I've betrayed you. It feels so right.........." she faltered.
Christine was not conscious of the tears that were flowing down her face. Sobbing, she continued, "I will never forget our happy years, Raoul. I did truly love you. You'll always have a place in my heart. Please try to understand that Erik has always had a place there, too."
She allowed herself to cry for many minutes, remembering. Ultimately, it was time to say goodbye. After calming herself, clearing her throat and looking around to be certain she was alone, Christine started to softly sing her goodbye to Raoul. Christine began to sing to him the song she had sung that night they were reunited at the Opera in Paris.
"Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said goodbye." "Remember me, every so often, promise me you'll try."
The lyrics were more heartfelt and meaningful than ever before and it took strict control to continue the Requiem.
"Think of August when the trees were green, don't think about the way things might have been."
Solemnly praying he would understand, she sang in veneration for what they had shared as man and wife. For she had loved Raoul, and moreover, would have continued to love him had death not parted them.
"Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade, they have their seasons, So did we....but please promise me that sometime, You will think of me."
Collapsing in a heap, Christine offered her late husband her farewell. Believing he had heard her, she stood and cried, "Adieu, my dear."
Turning to leave, an abrupt breeze blew her hood back off her head and Christine fancied the wind kissing her airily. Smiling through her tears toward Heaven, she whispered, "Thank you, Raoul."
Evening fell dully. In a furious mood, Erik labored at the plans for the museum in a strained dissatisfaction. Damn it, how could he reconcile these two dramatically different requests? A foyer so ostentatious should not be stuck against that pointless corridor which their client insisted upon to conceitedly display his own artwork. Overly annoyed, he ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. Roughly pushing the drawings off the table onto the floor, he strode to pour himself a drink. Knowing full well the reason for his foul mood, he obstinately downed two glasses of brandy in rapid succession. Erik hated the characteristic dismay ripping his insides to shreds. That ghastly, nagging notion that she would not return lacerated him. If she did not come back, he would hunt her down to kill her, then himself. With a roar of pure rage, Erik threw the decanter at the wall ruining an expensive tapestry. Cursing, he abandoned his tantrum and went to the piano. Playing viciously, Erik continued to entertain his dark conviction that she had again betrayed him. He continued to play until he was exhausted from emotion and brandy. Oblivious, he stripped his clothes from his body as he made his way to bed.
Lying in the spot where Christine normally slept, Erik could still smell her scent on the pillow. He buried his face in it and wept.
The gaslights still shone at the cottage and Christine's heart flew in anticipation. Urging her horse, she went to Erik's small stable quickly settling the horses for the night. Running towards the door, she entered winded. Quickly discerning that Erik was not in the parlor or the music room, a cold worry overtook her. It was much too early for him to be in bed. Stepping softly, Christine took a candle towards the bedroom. She stopped cold at his bedroom door, stunned by the site that greeted her eyes.
Erik lay sleeping in the light of one candle and sprawled careless on the sheets. His scarred cheek was in shadow and rested upon the pillow. All she could see of his face was his unmarred cheek. Enraptured, she watched the flame play upon his handsome features. He slept nude, with the blanket just barely covering him from the waist down, and his one leg out from under the covers. Christine was stupefied as she stared at him. He looked stunning as he lay there in slumber. Taking in his relaxed face, the muscles in his strong arms, his broad chest rising and falling with his steady breaths, his lean length down to his masculine, athletic leg, Christine experienced a lust for him so strong she reeled from it. In this light, Erik looked absolutely perfect - as alluring as a Greek god. She rejoiced in the heady knowledge that he was hers.
Casting off her clothes, Christine kept her eyes on his body. It was exciting to realize he had no idea she scrutinized him so brazenly. Sitting next to him, she caressed his cheek until he stirred. Sleepily, Erik murmured, "Christine......oh, Christine........" Even in repose, Erik clasped her to himself and began to make bold love to her with his tongue.
They kissed as though they had been parted for years instead of a mere day. Holding her fast, Erik was drunk with the realization that she had returned to him. He consumed her mouth hotly, needing her more than ever. Unbeknownst to him, she discreetly stole her hand lower to touch him. His face registered a sizzling craving her caress inspired. Erik's hands went to Christine's face as cherished the taste of her.
Keeping her hand around him, she explored his mouth with her tongue. A very womanly inclination to please him flowed throughout her. Hoping not to startle him, she rolled onto him and sat up. His face showed his rather confused awe, which liquefied into raw ecstasy as she began to move with him inside her. Erik's hands tightened on her hips keeping her pressed against him. Christine laid her hands against his shoulders and her hair brushed erotically against his chest. He completely lost himself in her movements relishing the exhilaration of their union yet again. Looking down at him, she marveled at his expression. His scarred cheek was still against the pillow so only his unmarred profile was visible to her. His countenance radiated urgent desire and the vision intoxicated her. She had never seen him so unguarded; mesmerized by his evident gratification, she determined that he would always remain in such delight. Erik had suffered enough at her hand. She stared fascinated by the sensuous movement of the well-developed muscles in his arms and chest. His breathing came heavier and before the current pulled him under, Erik's eyes opened and he panted, "Christine, I love you." Remembering that he had said those exact words to her when they parted in Paris, she closed her own eyes against a bittersweet ache of love. Aware of his strain, she began to move faster as he clutched her so hard she cried out. She gloried in the strength of his release and his long, sultry moan of satisfaction.
Erik was breathing heavily as she leaned down to kiss him. Both of them were bathed in a light sweat and Christine moved to his side, entirely spent. While he attempted fill his lungs with air, Erik pulled away to stare down at her. "You astound me, Christine. I never imagined such, such....." he shook his head finding words insufficient.
Fixing him with her eyes, she gaily replied, "Why, my fiancé', I do not believe I have ever seen you at a loss for words."
He replied in a low, seductive whisper, "Ah, but I have never been made love to in such a way by you before, my Christine. Words would not do justice to the joy you give me."
Pleased that she had fulfilled him, she rested her head on his chest to listen to his heartbeat.
Christine rode nervously down the steep hill, thankful for her horse's sure footing. There had been no sunshine that day and the clouds gloomily hung low. The late afternoon had grown increasingly cold making her long for Erik's warmth. But she was bundled up warmly and decided winter murkiness was appropriate for the melancholy trip.
Unavoidably, her thoughts returned to Erik. After she left here, she'd be able to return to him freely, ready to be his bride. Christine was gratified that she had eluded her attentive servants and secreted away on her own. No one had any right to be there with her. Thoughts of Erik must be put aside. This was not his time.
Steering the horse towards a hitching post, she dismounted and secured him. Christine rested her head against the saddle for a moment gathering her courage. This would not be easy. Purposefully, she squared her shoulders to face her unavoidable duty. She owed this to him at the very least.
Mindful of the icy ground, Christine de Chagny trod across the cemetery. Her destination lay a distance from the wrought iron gate entrance. Deeply lost in memories, she recalled the first time she had met Raoul when they were but children. Her father had been commissioned to play at a soiree held at the de Chagny mansion. Christine had accompanied him with strict instructions to behave as a young lady. She was eight years old and pretty as a picture in her starched, stiff frock. Excited at the idea of being a guest at such a fairy castle, she stood shyly behind the servant's door watching her father play with pride. Daniel M. Daae' had been an accomplished musician with a talent that could have brought him comfortable fame had it not been for his little girl. She was unaware that her father sacrificed many of his own dreams for her welfare. After her mother had died, Daniel swore that Christine would have as normal a life as possible and that did not include traveling the globe as a musician.
Christine remembered when Raoul craftily pulled her ribbon undoing her hair. She'd cried out in surprise and anger, chasing him as he laughingly ran from her wrath. As children, they had been quite ignorant of the social classes. After making Raoul beg her forgiveness, they had become fast friends.
Over the years, they had seen each other on occasion. She affectionately remembered being thirteen at the shore when her bright, red scarf had flown into the ocean and she had wept. Raoul chivalrously braved the cold water to retrieve it for her and returned shivering but offering her the wet scarf. Something different had passed between them at that moment and she recalled feeling incredibly self-conscious for the first time in his presence.
She had not seen Raoul again until the gala night at the Opera - her successful debut on the stage.
Those memories and more drove her resolutely toward the large stone vault that housed Raoul's body. She gazed at his engraved name in grim wonder. Poor Raoul! Cheated out of life at so young an age! He had been a loving husband and granted her every wish, even permitting her to sing for church services, although he had not encouraged it. Other than her singing, there was little that Raoul would not have done for her. She missed him still, but not with the intense loneliness of earlier years.
Looking up guiltily, she spoke into cold air, "I do not suppose you are too happy with me. Oh, Raoul, so much has happened." Pausing, Christine lowered her head and admitted faintly, "I've met Erik again, Raoul. I am sure you could not possibly understand. I was at the market when suddenly he was there and I was so glad to see him again. There was a good deal that was left unfinished between he and I."
"We are going to be wed next week. I know that I could not hope to receive your blessing and I hope you do not feel I've betrayed you. It feels so right.........." she faltered.
Christine was not conscious of the tears that were flowing down her face. Sobbing, she continued, "I will never forget our happy years, Raoul. I did truly love you. You'll always have a place in my heart. Please try to understand that Erik has always had a place there, too."
She allowed herself to cry for many minutes, remembering. Ultimately, it was time to say goodbye. After calming herself, clearing her throat and looking around to be certain she was alone, Christine started to softly sing her goodbye to Raoul. Christine began to sing to him the song she had sung that night they were reunited at the Opera in Paris.
"Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said goodbye." "Remember me, every so often, promise me you'll try."
The lyrics were more heartfelt and meaningful than ever before and it took strict control to continue the Requiem.
"Think of August when the trees were green, don't think about the way things might have been."
Solemnly praying he would understand, she sang in veneration for what they had shared as man and wife. For she had loved Raoul, and moreover, would have continued to love him had death not parted them.
"Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade, they have their seasons, So did we....but please promise me that sometime, You will think of me."
Collapsing in a heap, Christine offered her late husband her farewell. Believing he had heard her, she stood and cried, "Adieu, my dear."
Turning to leave, an abrupt breeze blew her hood back off her head and Christine fancied the wind kissing her airily. Smiling through her tears toward Heaven, she whispered, "Thank you, Raoul."
Evening fell dully. In a furious mood, Erik labored at the plans for the museum in a strained dissatisfaction. Damn it, how could he reconcile these two dramatically different requests? A foyer so ostentatious should not be stuck against that pointless corridor which their client insisted upon to conceitedly display his own artwork. Overly annoyed, he ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. Roughly pushing the drawings off the table onto the floor, he strode to pour himself a drink. Knowing full well the reason for his foul mood, he obstinately downed two glasses of brandy in rapid succession. Erik hated the characteristic dismay ripping his insides to shreds. That ghastly, nagging notion that she would not return lacerated him. If she did not come back, he would hunt her down to kill her, then himself. With a roar of pure rage, Erik threw the decanter at the wall ruining an expensive tapestry. Cursing, he abandoned his tantrum and went to the piano. Playing viciously, Erik continued to entertain his dark conviction that she had again betrayed him. He continued to play until he was exhausted from emotion and brandy. Oblivious, he stripped his clothes from his body as he made his way to bed.
Lying in the spot where Christine normally slept, Erik could still smell her scent on the pillow. He buried his face in it and wept.
The gaslights still shone at the cottage and Christine's heart flew in anticipation. Urging her horse, she went to Erik's small stable quickly settling the horses for the night. Running towards the door, she entered winded. Quickly discerning that Erik was not in the parlor or the music room, a cold worry overtook her. It was much too early for him to be in bed. Stepping softly, Christine took a candle towards the bedroom. She stopped cold at his bedroom door, stunned by the site that greeted her eyes.
Erik lay sleeping in the light of one candle and sprawled careless on the sheets. His scarred cheek was in shadow and rested upon the pillow. All she could see of his face was his unmarred cheek. Enraptured, she watched the flame play upon his handsome features. He slept nude, with the blanket just barely covering him from the waist down, and his one leg out from under the covers. Christine was stupefied as she stared at him. He looked stunning as he lay there in slumber. Taking in his relaxed face, the muscles in his strong arms, his broad chest rising and falling with his steady breaths, his lean length down to his masculine, athletic leg, Christine experienced a lust for him so strong she reeled from it. In this light, Erik looked absolutely perfect - as alluring as a Greek god. She rejoiced in the heady knowledge that he was hers.
Casting off her clothes, Christine kept her eyes on his body. It was exciting to realize he had no idea she scrutinized him so brazenly. Sitting next to him, she caressed his cheek until he stirred. Sleepily, Erik murmured, "Christine......oh, Christine........" Even in repose, Erik clasped her to himself and began to make bold love to her with his tongue.
They kissed as though they had been parted for years instead of a mere day. Holding her fast, Erik was drunk with the realization that she had returned to him. He consumed her mouth hotly, needing her more than ever. Unbeknownst to him, she discreetly stole her hand lower to touch him. His face registered a sizzling craving her caress inspired. Erik's hands went to Christine's face as cherished the taste of her.
Keeping her hand around him, she explored his mouth with her tongue. A very womanly inclination to please him flowed throughout her. Hoping not to startle him, she rolled onto him and sat up. His face showed his rather confused awe, which liquefied into raw ecstasy as she began to move with him inside her. Erik's hands tightened on her hips keeping her pressed against him. Christine laid her hands against his shoulders and her hair brushed erotically against his chest. He completely lost himself in her movements relishing the exhilaration of their union yet again. Looking down at him, she marveled at his expression. His scarred cheek was still against the pillow so only his unmarred profile was visible to her. His countenance radiated urgent desire and the vision intoxicated her. She had never seen him so unguarded; mesmerized by his evident gratification, she determined that he would always remain in such delight. Erik had suffered enough at her hand. She stared fascinated by the sensuous movement of the well-developed muscles in his arms and chest. His breathing came heavier and before the current pulled him under, Erik's eyes opened and he panted, "Christine, I love you." Remembering that he had said those exact words to her when they parted in Paris, she closed her own eyes against a bittersweet ache of love. Aware of his strain, she began to move faster as he clutched her so hard she cried out. She gloried in the strength of his release and his long, sultry moan of satisfaction.
Erik was breathing heavily as she leaned down to kiss him. Both of them were bathed in a light sweat and Christine moved to his side, entirely spent. While he attempted fill his lungs with air, Erik pulled away to stare down at her. "You astound me, Christine. I never imagined such, such....." he shook his head finding words insufficient.
Fixing him with her eyes, she gaily replied, "Why, my fiancé', I do not believe I have ever seen you at a loss for words."
He replied in a low, seductive whisper, "Ah, but I have never been made love to in such a way by you before, my Christine. Words would not do justice to the joy you give me."
Pleased that she had fulfilled him, she rested her head on his chest to listen to his heartbeat.