Whose Birthday Is It, Anyway?


Christine finished getting breakfast ready, her eyes scanning over the dishes, looking for perfection or the closest to it. She silently thanked Papa for having showed her how to cook, and Mama Valerius, now passed on, for having helped her cultivate the skill, even in her old age. Christine had gotten up very early, been careful not to wake Erik, and began to prepare this morning's breakfast. It was, after all an important day. Today, she had resolved to tell him her feelings, her twentieth birthday.

She smiled at the irony, she felt as if it were Erik's birthday, for she had put so much work into this breakfast to make it perfect for him. She shook her head, moving to go change. It had been a whole month since she had decided she loved him enough to tell him, and she had worked hard to restore their nearly shattered relationship. Erik, of course, had made an effort too, and now things were nearly smooth. If they argued, they tried to calmly resolve it. If something went missing they tried not to argue, rather they looked for it in harmony, and Erik now instead of setting a curfew went out with her.

As she finished changing and went out into the hall, she heard him stir and groan, so she quickly ran down the hall to finish her work with the food, hurrying to set it out. She finished, and heard his feet patter the carpeting. She smiled as he entered and his eyes widened. He looked incredulously at her. "Christine?"

She motioned for him to sit and he obeyed, still in shock. She sat across from him, serving the food, silent as a mouse. He removed his mask to make eating easier, and she didn't even notice, humming as she waited patiently for him to burst.

He did so after a short amount of time. "Christine, what is the meaning of all of this?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb, you are treating me overly special, whose birthday is it?"

She watched him for a moment, he saw a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, then she stood, guiding him to the Library Music Room. She sat him at the piano and nodded at the keys. "Play for me."

He smiled and obeyed, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the ivory and ebony keys, a glorious shower of melody flowed from the piano through her veins and retreated from her throat as she sang the words that went with this piece. Soon he finished and instead of bidding him to continue she sat next to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

Though now they often shared physical comfort with each other, this sudden gesture was slightly surprising for him. He slowly slid his arms around her waist as they sat silently and finally she spoke, but words he had never thought he would hear her say.

"I love you, Erik."

His breath caught in his throat and he looked at his wife. Could this be real? Was this really happening? Was he dreaming? He tightened his grip. "I pray god if I am dreaming, may I rest forever in this fantasy."

She laughed softly. "You are not dreaming, my Erik. I am here, I am real." She kissed his unmasked cheek. "I love you."

He whimpered with agonizing love, clutching her more closely and breathing in the scent of her hair. He muttered on her neck, though she couldn't understand it she smiled gratefully, leaning her head back to rest on his chest. He kissed her forehead and watched with a pounding heart as she opened her eyes to gaze at him. "You really mean it, don't you Christine?"

She sighed and smiled with a curt nod. "Of course I mean it, Erik."

Again, he kissed her forehead and drew in a sharp breath as she moved and turned to face him. She studied his expression with childlike curiosity for a moment, then leaned in, kissing him. He savored her kiss, pulling her body to his and sighing loudly as it ended. He smiled at her soft and dazed expression.

"Come Christine. There is something you should see."

Curious she followed him to the foyer. He courteously put on her cloak and hat then his own and led her through the many passages to the roof of the opera. He took her arm in the crook of his elbow, holding her close in fear that she would slip, for it was winter in Paris, and ice lurked beneath the thin layer of snow.

She gasped as she looked out over Paris, the sunlight still slightly dim, as the morn was young. He helped her along just slightly, they did not go to the edge as they would have preferred for safety precautions. They watched the sun filter over the snow capped steeples and roofs until both were tired of the view.

He helped her off the roof and they went home, hanging their damp outside things and going to warm up by the fire that still burnt in the Library Music Room. "Thank you Erik," she said softly, he looked at her. "For my most wonderful birthday yet."


Ahhh but mon amies, the tale does not end with her love! I shall extend the plot slightly! Mwa ha ha ha ha! Read, review and wait!