He lowered his terrible death's head down to her sleeping form. Her body was chilly, so he covered her with yet another blanket. She did not flinch at his deathly cold, clammy touch. He is very pleased with himself and his love at this new development in the one-sided relationship.
He leans down with his gruesome mouth and kisses her on her forehead, cheeks, and finally her lips. He smiles, as she does not turn in disgust from his visage.
If he could not have her, he reasoned, no one else ever can. He had left Raoul to rot away in the Communard's dungeon, figuring he would not be missed. Days after the turning point of his life, in which he was shown love at last, he entered the Louis-Philippe room, only to find his beloved Christine laying on the bed with a peaceful look upon her features. He thought to himself, "She has finally come to terms and realized her deep, abiding love for this corpse, for Erikā¦"
He went and lay down beside her. She was chilly to his touch, but he figured it was because of his house being located so far underground, and from him forgetting to light a fire for her so she would not become cold and ruin her heavenly voice that he molded selfishly.
When he asked her to fulfill her part of being his bride, she did not resist. After having some, actually quite a lot of, difficulties, and almost failing, especially as he was a virgin up to that point, he reached his climax, released himself fully.
She never rejected his advances after that. In fact, it seemed she welcomed them enthusiastically, never complaining. Why? Because the only suitable bride for the living corpse, would be that of a corpse itself.
