Chapter Three
Oh, Christine.
You confronted me today, if one could refer to our exchange as such. You asked me, so delicately, if you would ever be allowed back to the surface world.
Oh, my dear, the look in your eyes! The look of pure hope, desperation, and veiled sadness, it melted my heart. If only you knew what you did to me.
I replied no, that you would not go anywhere without me, as we are wed now.
You wept, Christine, though you when I asked if you hated me, you assured me that you did not, a dozen times over.
"Then why do you cry," I asked you.
"I am homesick," you replied shortly, your tears suddenly ceasing.
I said nothing for a long while, before replying, "This is your home now," and shutting myself up into my room.
I hear you do the same, as I bring my Don Juan Triumphant to front. This pain you are inflicting upon us both, it is just too much to bear! I need to get away.
I play, and play, and continue to play, still. I play until I can feel tears streaming down my cheeks, beneath my mask. The mask. Both my savior and my bane.
I play until my fingers are raw and sore from the extended contact with the fine ivory of the keys.
Finally I am finished.
My breath is baited, my pulse elevated, my hands shaking slightly as I pull the mask off my face and throw it to the ground.
I hear you moving about in your own bedroom, as I sit completely still at the organ.
What are you doing, I wonder?
I hear you unbolt your door, and draw closer to my room.
Why? Can you not leave me to peace, in this moment of vulnerability?
You enter the room, and collapse to the ground. I do not turn around.
Oh, Christine, my beautiful Christine, why do you cry?