A/N: Thanks everyone so much for reviewing! It makes me want to write more . . . hehehe, not that I wouldn't anyway, but reviews certainly help. Also (shameless self promotion), check out my other stories for some more E/C fluffy angst. Hope you like this chapter, it's a little short.
All Apologies: Thanks! I'm updating as fast as I can, keep reading!
satinzevi89: Thanks—here's another chapter for you.
MonAngedeMusique: I love your username, by the way. Thanks for commenting—of course Erik has a sense of humor, he's Erik! He is a wicked little guy, though, isn't he? I write Erik with humor in this story because of the "Notes" sequences in the play and movie—anyone who can write such utterly sarcastic and funny messages has to have a sense of humor.
Poetzproblem: Thanks for the review! I'm not quite sure where this is going, actually—it's just sort of coming into my head as is. Therefore, I will be as surprised as you will be at anything that happens
Erik
He was highly entertaining. My favorite part was when the note burst into flame, destroying his 'evidence'; or perhaps it was as he frantically searched for the switch to release the mirror. Of course I changed it, idiot; how stupid did he think I was?
I left when he started to repeat himself; some of those names were very unflattering.
If Christine cried out for me in her sleep that night, I did not hear it; weariness had come over me and I spent quite a few hours actually asleep. I woke early and, arguing with myself, slipped into Christine's room. Just to check on her, I thought; surely that could do no harm? She was asleep, her cloud of dark hair strewn across the pillow; she looked so beautiful, so delicate . . . just for a few moments, I told myself as I sat in the armchair by her bed. I could watch her sleep forever; a few moments would not hurt her and might help me.
I had been in her room for nearly an hour when she opened her eyes. Christine smiled at me, a little, then a shadow came over her features. She rose and turned her back to me. Uncertain of what was wrong, I asked, "Christine?"
"I had forgotten," she spoke distantly. "I felt last night like something was out of place, missing; I just remembered what it was." I waited. "Every other time you have brought me here, you have made a promise to me, but you did not make it last night."
Anger made me clench my fists. I knew precisely which oath she was talking about, but if she wanted a discussion she was going to have to say it. "And what promise might that have been?"
She still did not look at me. "You always swore," Christine answered quietly, "that you would not touch me against my will."
"Spoken or not, do you honestly believe I would break that promise to you, under any circumstances?" I demanded, standing up.
Christine shivered at the fury in my tone. She was reading far too much into my decision not to remove the thorns from her rose; I had just wanted to scare her a little, warn her that this would not be easy. "Well," she whispered almost inaudibly, "You did kiss me last night."
I let myself chuckle quite cruelly. "Yes, I did, didn't I? And your reluctance was incredibly obvious. Tell me, was your protest against my actions before or after you tried to bring me nearer?" She shuddered but did not answer; I moved close to her. I did not touch her, as per her request, but I let my lips linger near her collarbone, her throat, her mouth, my breath warm against her skin. "I can't hear you," I growled huskily. "Where is your resistance, my dear? You really should fight harder—go any more quietly, and I would be forced to assume that you were willing . . . that you wanted me to kiss you . . . your heart is pounding, isn't it? From fear, I wonder, or from something else?"
"Stop it, Erik," she asked in a shaky voice.
I immediately withdrew; as I left her room, I spoke over my shoulder, "You see, Christine? You only ever need ask."
I closed the door on any reply she might have made.