Chapter 7
Disclaimer: 4 copies of the soundtrack, 1 copy of the movie, countless downloads from the net, one book, but no ideas (apart from Louise).
Erik walked to the kitchen on his own when he woke the next morning, and paused in the doorway when he heard a smooth alto voice singing a lilting folk-song. He peered inside to find Louise washing dishes and she watched the sun rise outside.
"Slowly, slowly walk the path,
And you might never stumble or fall,
Slowly, slowly walk the path,
And you might never fall in love at all."
(Too late) Erik thought ruefully as he leaned against the doorframe. Louise continued to sing.
"Lonely, lonely is the heart
That ne'er another can calm the soul
Lonely, lonely, plays the part,
That has to live all alone"
"Well done," Erik said softly, leaning against the doorframe, Louise spun,
"Erik!" she gasped, hands dripping water and suds onto the floor, "What are you doing up?"
"I was drawn by the sound of a heavenly voice, singing of love," he mocked, smiling. Louise went to put her hands on her hips, then realised she was dripping dishwater everywhere and reached for a tea towel instead.
"You are in no condition to be walking without your crutch," she admonished, drying her hands, "But since your up…"
She pulled a chair out for him at the table and ladled a spoonful of porridge into a bowl.
"Please try not to break the spoon this time?" she asked, getting her own breakfast of bacon and eggs to seat herself across from him. Erik stared at her sumptuous meal, then down at his own suddenly depressingly plain bowl of gruel. He heard Louise laugh,
"Like I said," she told him, "Your stomach is not yet used to heavy food," Erik gave her a hurt look, which she ignored, "And until I deem you ready, you will be getting exactly what your given."
"You could at least eat this stuff with me, so I don't feel so bad," Erik pointed out, acidly. Louise shook her head,
"Don't be a fool, I hate porridge," she replied tartly, Erik found this to be extremely unfair,
"If I promise to use my crutch can I have some?" he pleaded, Louise's braid slid across her shoulders,
"Perhaps, if your good, monsieur,"