Chapter 11:
The Many Dangers of a Willow Branch
A/N: Evil snickering, Jenny this is for you! This chapter is rated R for later content…I would say that you need to be a consenting adult to read it, but considering it's being written by a 14 year old that would sound a tad goofish. Just use common sense people, if…uh…love offends you, skip that part and be mature, it is less than half as graphic, (and long) as my usual love scenes simply because of the context. If this is all right and ALL of you think so, I may feel free to use this kind of situation, if I get angry reviews there will still be suggestiveness. Hey I'm writing one of the most passionate, turbulent and powerful loves of all time and despite my silliness, I have to respect that.
For future reference: A willow is a symbol of sexual love, resilience, immortality, strength, compassion and grace.
Madame Giry slipped between the heavy curtains of Box five again; the letter she held against her withered breast was not honest to the weight that she carried on her weakening shoulders. It had been a long decision, but she decided she couldn't even tell a ghost what had happened. Suppose he really was a man as the managers said? She couldn't end up in jail with Meg thrown on the street; she wouldn't let that happen.
The nervous box keeper had laid her letter on the rail where she found the Phantom's, but as she turned to leave she saw a rolled piece of paper on the lavishly cushioned chair nearest the marble column. Mme Giry looked at it with dread. She knew all too well that it would take little to sway her precariously wavering choice to lie, she was a woman of honor; lies did not become her.
Picking it up she recognized the same seal and her own name carefully inscribed in a perfectly straight line. She cracked the seal, the small noise of which startled her. I have every right to be here, she told herself, no need to be afraid.
When she unrolled the paper, she saw it was an exquisitely crafted line drawing in black and gold ink. It was the figure of a woman; a strong woman who had a diaphanous robe draped across one shoulder to barely conceal her other wise naked form.
In her right hand, at the end of an extended, powerful looking arm, she held a wreath of laurel. In her left, she held, cradled against her body, a golden disk. Her face was beautiful but hard as though she was a fiercely intelligent warrior, her eyes were closed and she held her head to the side. Flowing over her head and down her back was her long cascading hair, disturbed as though by wind.
And beneath her, in the Phantom's handwriting, were the words:
The Lady Truth.
Mme. Giry gasped at this, certain that he knew she had planned to lie to him. Something that she obviously couldn't do now, this message was clear. The personification of truth was a strong woman because in truth there is great strength. Hang it all! She would tell him, if the truth condemned her; so be it, she would not have committed the crime of falsehood. The hasty decision was mainly due to her own guilty conscience, Erik knew she would need little persuasion.
The noise of her heavy skirts followed her as she rushed off down the corridor. Standing in the column, Erik smiled.
"A good woman." He murmured to himself of the loyal Madame Giry, reading easily into her behavior.
* * *
Christine and Meg flew out of the rehearsal room like schoolchildren off for summer the second they were dismissed. Christine spinning pirouettes and singing to herself as they made their way down the corridor. Suddenly she seemed to have an idea,
"Do you like trees Meg?" she asked playfully without any explanation of the question,
"I, I suppose." Meg stuttered, "Why on earth do you ask?"
"No reason, want to come to the park with me?" much to Meg's surprise they burst out of the outer doors of the opera into the street. Christine had led her there without a word.
It had been raining and was still a little cold out of doors, the air was thick with moisture and smelled metallic along with the odor of filth and wet horses. Still, the sky was blue-gray and only a little overcast and the day was fine for travelling.
"Come on!" Christine hailed a passing cab and pulled Meg into the dim, gloomy interior, "To the Bois de Boulogne!" she shouted merrily to the driver, "And step on it!"
The smell of the park was strong with earth; the freshly fallen rain combining with the mossy bark of trees formed a clean and pleasant odor. The hedges were overshadowed with giant popular tress and oaks; the river was shrouded in the somber branches of a willow. It was the willow Christine seemed to favor, grinning at it as though the tree shared a secret with her. She flopped onto the grassy mound that grew at the base of the tree,
"Christine!" Meg cried, "Your lovely dress!" the singer laughed, her eyes sparkling in mirth,
"I've dresses enough!" she gestured for Meg to join her, and she crouched with reluctance, "Do you know why the willow weeps?" Christine asked in a mischievous tone of voice.
"What?" Meg queried, confused. Obviously being a girl of very little imagination where such things were concerned, not at all like her self of three years before who told the best and most gruesome stories about the infamous Phantom. One might say she was shaken to the point of losing her touch, but I don't believe it for a second.
"It is said that there were willows by the rivers of Babylon where the Hebrews wept in remembrance of Zion and these trees, the weeping willows, have mourned err since." Meg regarded her friend, a curious expression crossing her face, "What?" Christine chided, nudging her,
"You." Meg muttered, "You've grown into so much more then what you were… And I am just the same." Christine extended a hand, palm upwards,
"No one can stay the same forever, we're always learning… always growing. I have just been fortunate enough to bask in the light of history's brightest sun, fueling my expansion so it blossoms as it never would have done." She sighed, inspecting her own palm as it hovered between them, she'd meant it to show Meg they were still the same…only in different ways then before. "In my heart I will always be the same… No matter what happens and how I learn and grow, I will always be Christine and I will always treasure you as my friend and I will always love Erik."
They passed a few moments in silence, listening to the soft song of the wind as it rustled the willow branches, making odd ripples on the surface of the water. Suddenly Christine rose and started gathering willow twigs from where they hung within her reach.
"What are you doing?" Meg asked expectant of some sort of cocky, coy response.
"Picking willow."
"Well I can see that! Why?" the little dancer was half irritated half amused,
"To give to Erik." Christine replied simply as though it were the most natural thing in the world, Meg being the outrageous one for needing to ask,
"Why?" Meg repeated, exasperated.
"As a message." She jumped to catch at a snaky vine just above her hand, "Don't you know what willow means?" she asked sticking her tongue out in concentration as she made another try at the elusive tendril.
"No."
"Oh, that's too bad." Christine continued to leap about as though she belonged in an asylum for the very batty while being as maddeningly coy as possible.
"So…" Meg prompted, "Why are you giving it to Erik?"
"Because he… knows what it means!" Christine announced cheekily with a wink. She pulled a long white ribbon from her hair to fasten the willow into a neat sprig. Her coca curls tumbled over her shoulders and covered the pale skin of her back in its thick blanket.
"You're impossible." Meg huffed, well perhaps not exactly huffed…so much as snorted and tried to keep a straight face,
"You haven't even asked me what it means." Christine countered amiably pointing out the flaw as she set the bundle carefully into her hat beside her on the ground.
"Fine! What does it mean!" she submitted wearily, not very optimistic of an answer,
"Something nice." Meg groaned and threw her hands up in despair: Christine giggled.
This was among her favorite places in the whole world, in a time that seemed so long ago now Erik had brought her here to think; he wanted her to be absolutely certain of her decision to live with him underground. When he had offered to take her to England and begin completely anew, she'd been full of mixed feelings.
As Christine sat beneath the very willow she sat under now with Meg, contemplating that choice she remembered the turning point of her relationship with Erik: The night she returned to him after the disaster of Raoul and the torture chamber.
It was Nadir that greeted her at the door, his face thinning with exhaustion and deathly somber,
"He is dying." The Persian said simply. Christine sucked in a deep breath as though he had just struck her a blow to the stomach, closing her eyes on the pain and pangs of guilt, both of which jabbed at her heart. Finally, she nodded,
"He told me… I… Where is he?" Nadir seemed to measure her with his solemn stony gaze,
"Your chamber Mademoiselle, he allowed me to help him there… Don't make his last moments any more miserable than they obviously already are. He would never forgive me if he knew of what I am saying…I trust you know he loves you a great deal and would go to any lengths for your happiness, but I have no intention of letting you cause any more pain." She didn't bother to rebuke him for thinking she would; she deserved his coldness.
Christine moved through the house to the doorway of her bedroom, she paused at the already slightly open door to steady herself and then pushed it open. Expecting to see Erik on the bed she was surprised to find it empty, the bedclothes stirred by recent occupation. She walked into the room and fingered the sheets absently in her gloved hand, remembering her time here and feeling the warmth that was still in them from the current tenant of the room.
There was a crash of something falling from the vanity behind her; startled, she whiled around to face the opposite wall, leaning against the bed in an almost defensive manner. Erik stood there, breathing heavily and leaning a great deal on the vanity table as though he lacked the strength to stand.
His chest was bare and he seemed to have just donned the mask, extremely hastily with unusually clumsy fingers at that. Christine's eyes widened considerably and her hand flew to her throat, to see him like this was almost too much for her, especially now. It was the mask: that cursed mask that saved her from fainting away; the sight of it made her temper boil but she, recovering, paid no heed to the ugly emotion.
Christine took a cautious step toward him, she could have drowned in his eyes and rather thought she would as they regarded her with an ineffable sorrow and told her he had no more strength; whatever she had come to say, he would accept. Christine, however, did not say anything.
When she stood barely a centimeter away from him her small hand groped uncertainly toward him in the darkness, finally tracing a finger tip from his naval up his chest. He watched this intently, marveling at her light touch, he shivered and returned his gaze to her eyes. The fingertip swooped up to his jaw and ran along the prominent bone, stopping at his chin where it pulled him toward her upturned lips.
Erik pressed his own lips against hers uncertainly; he was trembling. Her arms came around him suddenly and a gentle pressure at his neck deepened the kiss. Finally, nervously, he held Christine with his right arm, his left still supporting his heavy weight lest his body should give way beneath him.
The embrace went on and on, the lovers tasting each other's mouths tentatively, they were both innocents and that made for a deliciously shy gentility which was irreplaceable. The kiss seemed to come to its natural end and Christine smiled tiredly while her fingers fiddled with Erik's hair. He just watched her face, hardly daring to believe she was really there, she caressed his cheek and even through the mask, the action made him shiver again. Thinking it was the cold Christine rubbed his shoulders for warmth briefly, then she stepped back before turning to cross the room and open the door.
A moment later Nadir stood nearly silhouetted in the doorway, Christine retreated to the semi-darkness of the shadows and Erik's side,
"Monsieur, I ask you to be my witness before God, our witness…" she removed the mask easily as Erik was leaning to almost half his great height and handed it to Nadir, though her gaze remained fixed upon Erik, "I love you." She whispered with quiet determination, "And we haven't been two since the first day you spoke to me. I am your wife if you will be my husband." For once in his life, Erik seemed at a complete loss for words.
She didn't give him much chance to fret about it though, kissing him all over his naked face, not caring one wit for that except to be glad. As her lips covered his again he straightened and moved away from the vanity, Christine feared the stability of his own legs and tried to guide him to the bed before he fell. She needn't have worried; he seemed to take strength in her arms and stood to his full height, lifting her off her feet as he did so.
He let her slip back to the ground and one of his hands pulled out the laces that bound the bodice of her dress, she heard the door click completely shut and knew that Nadir, curiosity satisfied, was no longer with them. In doubt of themselves, Erik's hands buried themselves in her hair and forsook the fastenings. She reached up and pulled his hands free again, guiding them down to rest on her full breasts. He stared at her outright, seeking some form of conformation, her breathing came in short rapid rasps and her voice was reluctant to operate,
"Make love to me Erik." She finally whispered, he took a shaky step back from her in utter astonishment,
"You…you want me?" he stuttered, not even caring to know how she had learnt about the art of love since the night she left, she had been ignorant and innocent enough then.
"I didn't know what I was feeling before, my… It was never spoken of, but yes I… This is how I love you, not like a friend or father or even as a guardian angel, I love you as my lover. It's different then…" he nodded as though he understood, then looked anxious,
"For all my knowledge… I am just as innocent as you." Christine actually appeared greatly surprised by this, "I do not even know how I knew I loved you…I only did." His eyes searched hers then rested on the floor. "Even if had ever found someone… How could I take the risk of creating a child in my own image? Deformities are not hereditary…I shouldn't be afraid, it isn't logical."
Christine pulled at her constricting bodice and drew close to him again, letting her hands rove over his bare skin before she pulled his face down to hers again, before their lips met she whispered,
"You don't have to be afraid anymore, no matter what happens in the world I will love you and I can think of no greater honor then to bare your child..." she kissed him once, "Any child of yours will be beautiful."
"You are stronger then me, brave love."
"I am only brave to show you that you're beautiful, and that I will always, unconditionally love you." She kissed him again, "I know it is hard to forget, but you must or you will never be free." He nodded, she said no more and took his lips again. Erik slipped his tongue into her mouth as she had done to him that first time their lips had met. Christine allowed him to take control and experiment with this still new sensation, besides simply liking the movement of their tongues together in the hot and moist den of their joined mouths.
Erik's cool fingertips touched her back as they slipped in and out between the loosened laces of her bodice. She understood why when the garment began to feel slack across her breast and sides, Christine pushed the sleeves of the dress itself off her shoulders and pulled her arms out of them.
They parted for a moment, both breathing heavily; Christine looked up at Erik questioningly, he returned the gaze, his eyes almost curious. His slim, strong and infinitely beautiful hands caressed the smooth skin of her bare shoulders before pushing her dress down and exposing her to his eyes and touch, she pushed the dress down the rest of the way herself. Now clothed in only her petticoats, she kicked the pile of fabric at her feet aside, sliding her hands up Erik's chest as he kissed her neck and shoulder and savoring the feeling of his muscles beneath her palms.
Leaning back to look at her, his own fingertips ran down her collar bone then between her breasts, a light sensual touch that made her shiver. Erik pulled her close again and put his arms around her, Christine thrilling in the amazing sensation of his naked flesh against hers, a thousand tiny electric bolts running familiarly from him to her. She found herself staring up at him, at his beautiful face,
"Kiss me…" She whispered, raising a hand to finger a wisp of his hair that fell in his eyes, "Erik…I only want to love you." For a brief moment his eyes glittered like twin stars in the darkness then she was smothered by kisses and she gasped slightly when she felt his hand cup her breast,
"I never…thought…this day would come… Never even hoped…God I love you…sweet Christine." He managed distractedly between kisses. Christine, again and still fearing his strength would give out tried to lead him to the bed, but he never gave her the chance. Sweeping her into his arms as easily as ever and laying her out on the bed before arranging himself over her, kissing her neck and shoulders then her lips again with more aggressive passion,
"As long as I live…" she began, "I'll remember this night…and love you."
"Christine?" Meg's voice seemed to drift across infinity and her friend's rather pleasant dream within a dream was rudely interrupted.
Continued, just wanted to get something up sooner, more in an hour tops. (Unless it decides not to show up until tomorrow as it sometimes does…)