A/N: Thank you so much for the response to the previous chapter! I'm glad that you all enjoyed it, and I'm going to try to start replying to reviews personally now so that I can thank you all individually. I'm terrible at replying, but I'm hoping to keep up to date this time.

A subtle aroma teased her curious nose as it pulled her from her dreams the next morning. A frown displaced her otherwise peaceful features as she quietly rose and slipped her dressing gown on. Wrapping it closely to her laggard body, she padded across the floor with a surprising amount of elegance for one who had just woken up, and curled her fingers around the door latch.

A bountiful display of sweet fragrances and colour met her at the door, and Christine smiled at the sight she beheld. Roses, fennel, lilies, irises—flowers by the dozen and more were carefully arranged and placed in grand vases all about the room. With merriment in her heart, Christine practically floated through the bouquets, trailing her hands over the smooth petals and bending down briefly to inhale more of those sweet smelling buds before she came to a stop in front of the pianoforte. On the top lay a folded note with her name sprawled across it in a familiarly spindly fashion, and written within was a single sentence: For you.

Putting the note back down on the lid, Christine seized a flower from the closest vase and began to idly twist the stem between her hands, bringing the petals up to her face to brush them against her lips. But her fingertips soon replaced their velvety touch as her mind turned to the night before.

After the tears had been shed and their knees could not withstand the weight of their bodies anymore, they had collapsed to the floor, exchanging whispers and glances, demure touches and smiles. The declaration of her love had never left the air and as they breathed together, their foreheads touching, in a state of peace. They spoke to each other through the night until Christine's eyes could not keep from closing.

It was strange, she thought, as she stared at the bud in her hand, to have finally confessed that which she did not know herself. After many months of confusion and deterrence, she had finally been able to give in to the implausible truth that she had fallen in love with the one person with whom she shouldn't have.

It was... a daring love, but a simple one and, for the life of her, she could not explain why she loved him. She only knew that she did.

A sudden, light pressure and a rush of warm air at her ear alerted her to his presence before he spoke.

"It is all for you," he whispered, echoing his written words as he laid his hand on her shoulder.

"Thank you," she said, bringing one of her hands up to cover his, marvelling in the way he now eased into her touch.

Had Erik been an unabashed man, he would have turned his little love around and held her with all that was within him. He would have kissed her hands a thousand times and exclaimed that he should be the one thanking her. His darling girl had given him the greatest gift he could have asked for: her heart, willing and steadfast. It was the most precious thing he had ever received and he vowed, with all his being, that he would keep it safe, that he would guard her love.

And had Erik been born a normal man, he would not have hesitated to slip his hand out from underneath hers and to let it guide her head towards him for a chaste kiss. Knowing, however, that she had allowed him the pleasure of touching her shoulder was more than enough for him. As her fingers gently stroked his, he wondered if she would ever know just how much she meant to him.

With her voice and with her lips, he had been saved; and through their tears, he had been reborn. Though she would later rebuke this claim, brushing it off as sacrilege, Erik knew it to be the absolute truth. Christine had saved him. She was his saviour, and he would worship her until the day he died.

o0o

As time came to pass, her affections did not.

Their days together were filled with song and they were content in each other's company. They seldom argued and it was truly as if Christine was living in a dream; she had never seen Erik so happy before! Her hours were consumed by him and he would never pass up an opportunity to teach her new things, to fill her mind with bold facts and theories, to entertain her with endless compositions and tricks. Oh, his tricks! He was quite positively the most intriguing magician she had ever seen and he dared to remain modest after he had astounded her on numerous occasions!

"It is merely an illusion, my love," he would tell her, though she would always shake her head and insist that it was sorcery. Her eagerness and sheer willingness to believe never ceased to amuse and trouble him.

And when he called to her, she never failed to answer. It was what scared her the most and she wondered if she would ever be able to refuse his beckoning.

Whatever she may have been doing was dropped the instant her ears were enlightened by a doleful stringed melody. With his rich music drowning her senses like a powerful sedative, she would rise, as if in a trance, and float towards him like a moth to a flame.

This particular evening was no exception.

The long trail of her gown almost hovered celestially above the ground as she glided through the shadows, following the sound of his violin.

"Christine..."

"Yes?" she asked, holding her arms out in front of her in the hopes that she would find him there.

"Come to me..."

As her dry lips parted to speak into the empty air once more, another line of musical phrases was played. Christine did not remember her route, nor did she remember actually moving, but soon enough she found herself in his presence.

And there they stood, two mortals in the midst of heavenly music.

Delighting in the fact that such purity was being created at the union, Christine watched the bow intently as it caressed the strings. A joyous warmth washed over her as she finally looked in awe up at the man who held the lock and key to her soul.

"Closer," the voice whispered, his mellifluous tones lined with an allure that she could not resist.

How odd, she thought; Erik's mouth had not moved when he had spoken just now. But she chose not to linger on such details. In fact, she did not wish to think at all. All she craved that evening was to listen to him.

Walking forward with weak legs, she began to circle him slowly, her trembling hands reaching out to the instrument and to his nimble fingers—oh, to touch them as they worked!

"Your music is beautiful," Christine mumbled after the final notes had been played and he had set the instrument and bow down to one side. Drawing closer to his side, she allowed her hand to brush against his for a moment before she turned her attention towards the violin.

With a smile on his face—how good it was to smile!—he very gently placed his fingers against her jawline to raise her head. "When one has a muse like you, there is no limit as to what can be created."

Slightly disheartened when he pulled his hands away so quickly, she managed to capture them and pull them towards her before he could even speak one word of protest. Peering down, she noticed many ink stains on his palms and she slowly traced the dry textures of his skin, a slight frown on her brow. "You have been composing?" He nodded. "Do you not sleep at night?"

Erik pulled his hands away, folding them carefully behind his back. "I seldom sleep, but there is no need of it! Who could sleep when there are such salient melodies waiting to be written?"

Christine sighed. "You must try to look after yourself more."

"Are you implying that I am careless?" he teased.

"I am simply saying that while you deem sleep unimportant, it isn't healthy to go without it."

He smiled softly at her. "Always the voice of reason," he said affectionately. She searched his eyes and, knowing that he would not listen to her, began to turn away when his hand suddenly reached out and caught hers. "Will you not stay?" he murmured.

Squeezing his hand, she nodded and tilted her head towards the piano. "Won't you play something?"

At her request, he retracted his feathery touch and moved away to slide onto the piano bench. His hands made light work of trivial tunes as he stretched his back and threw a glance in Christine's direction. "What shall it be? Mozart?"

A small smile trembled at the side of her mouth as she followed him to the bench and sat down beside him. "You always play Mozart."

"Yes, but Mozart can be enjoyed by those with a keen ear, not just by the masses. You enjoy his work, do you not?"

"Hmm, but it is not something I wish to hear tonight."

"Ah, I see that I cannot persuade you. Something else, then?" She nodded. "What will satisfy my little love, hmm? Handel? Schubert?"

As her mind scrambled for an answer, Christine closed her eyes and leaned gently into his side, savouring the hypnotic roll of his shoulders as he moved as one with the music. Looking up at him, she smiled shyly, her eyelids heavy, and asked, "Could you perhaps play me one of your own compositions?"

Erik's breath caught as he unfortunately glanced down and saw this woman, this demure, yet beautiful woman looking back at him. For a split second, he wished for her to be able to see the world, to see herself, through his eyes. Perhaps then she would realise just how tightly his chest would constrict when she smiled and a small crease would appear at the corner of her mouth—how he adored it!—or when she would move her eyebrows into the most bizarre shapes when she was confused, or when she would sing and a sparkle would appear in her lovely eyes, or—

"Erik?"

"Hmm? Oh... Yes," he said, thankful that he was able to fumble out a semblance of a reply. "I shall play one of my pieces if that is what you wish."

As Christine straightened, her hands coming to entwine together in her lap, Erik paused with his own hands just above the keys. How could he explain to her how she made him feel? He knew there were not enough words in the world to—words... Perhaps he did not need words at all. After all, when had their music ever failed them? Yes, she would be able to understand now, he thought, let music be her guide.

Evocative and rich, the keys cried out under his light touch, drawing Christine ever nearer to them and their tale. And as the piece's movements changed dynamically, allegro fading to andante passages, the phrases he spilled out were deeper in tone, more fierce, and all the more consuming. One of Christine's hands slipped down to clutch onto the edge of the bench as he continued to play, undaunted.

Yes, words would have been too much for her. They would have crushed her, but music, music would not. No, music would only caress—and her breath, coming in short tantalising pants, was the perfect harmony to his phrasing, adding a delicious texture that he found all too tempting.

He fought then against the urge to turn to her, struggling to keep from reaching for her, and instead clenched the muscles in his arms, forcing his fingers to stay on the keys, letting them flirt and tease and coax until the piece had ended.

As he began to shakily lower his hands, they were suddenly encased by something much warmer than the air around them. He watched in frightened awe as Christine daringly brought his hands to her mouth, her tremulous lips hovering over his skin as she stared at him.

"Were you listening? he choked, almost afraid of her answer. "Did you hear it?"

His questions, though simple, seemed to deter her boldness for she pulled back and gazed at him with large, shining eyes. "I did," she whispered, quivering with something bordering to trepidation.

"And you are still here."

"I am."

With a helpless groan, Erik quickly removed his mask and slipped onto his knees in front of her, burying his face into her lap, his now bare skin rubbing against her dress as his hands gripped the edge of the piano bench behind her. Startled by his position, Christine froze and looked at the mask sitting next to her before redirecting her attention to the man at her feet.

"Erik?" she said cautiously. "Are you all right?"

His voice was muffled by her woollen skirts until he lifted his head and cried, "How can you stay after what you just heard?"

Clarity rang in her ears. "You think you frightened me."

"I know I did," he insisted.

Her lip curled as her hands moved around his neck to cradle the back of his head. "I do not frighten so easily anymore. I deserve more credit than you give me."

"But you know now, you know," he said, alluding to the ardour he had woven into his composition.

"I am not so naïve," she whispered, gently pulling him forward until his body was pressed against hers, his head resting against her stomach. Did he think her ignorant as to not already know of his desires? And was he so ignorant of... her own hidden desires?

His long arms tensed against the bench at her sudden warmth, torn between driving himself closer and pulling away completely. As her fingers came to thread themselves through his thin hair, however, Erik knew that her touch was not meant to be feared, but enjoyed, and he would cherish every little moment that she gave to him. With a sigh, he held her waist, leaning into her embrace, not caring that his legs were starting to ache from kneeling.

When he lifted his head again, he was greeted by the wondrous feeling of her lips pressing a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth, causing him to convulse with another heavy sigh and reach upwards to feel where her mouth had just touched him.

Staring at her in adoration, a sense of courage washed over him and he said, "I wish to give you something, Christine. May I give you something?"

"What is it?" she asked, frowning.

Reaching up to her face, he stroked away the crease on her forehead before curving his finger around the roundness of her cheek. "You must close your eyes first and not open them until I say otherwise," he commanded gently, guiding her hands to her lap where he positioned them with her palms facing upwards. "Close your eyes."

With nothing to settle her curious mind, Christine had no choice but to obey and wait patiently to receive whatever it was Erik spoke of. Seconds later, a light, cool object was placed into her eager palms and though desperate to look down, she sufficed with running her thumbs over it.

The object in question was as small as a thimble. Why, it almost felt like a—

"You may open your eyes now."

Christine merely stared at him, not looking down at all. She knew all too well what it was. With a wave of his hand, Erik picked up the little object and held it between his fore finger and thumb, turning it slowly to make it shine in the candlelight. It was garish, coruscating, and when she did finally look at it, she forgot how to breathe.

The tiny diamonds and sapphires encrusted into the ring of smooth silver captured her unwilling attention before she dragged her gaze up to look at Erik.

"I... I do not know what to say," she told him.

Though she had once promised him her hand, he had released her from the forthcoming marriage. Ever since the night he had told her he would not force her, she had slowly forgotten about her vow. And now? A strange sense of domesticity had already befallen them, but the very idea of having a ring grace her finger once more was unpleasant. There were too many memories attached to the band of silver.

"Beautiful, is it not?" Erik asked.

"Yes, very." She breathed out each word with a shaky smile, not knowing completely whether it was reassuring Erik or herself more. Inhaling deeply, she allowed the stifling air to fill her lungs before replying, "Thank you, Erik. It really is beautiful, but—"

"Oh, no!" he suddenly exclaimed, lunging forward to grab her hand. "No, Christine. I... this... you see..." She frowned and tilted her head to the side. It was not often that she saw Erik making himself redundant in the search for words. "Do not misinterpret my actions, I beg of you. Hear me, please."

She nodded carefully. "I am listening."

He directed both his luring eyes to the ring but kept an icy hand over hers. "I know of your preferred ideas on marriage, particularly a marriage to me, but you also know mine. I once told you that I would have you as my own, even if that meant waiting a lifetime, and I still mean it. I will wait for you to make a decision of your own accord. The very... thought of you rejecting me in the pursuit of marriage at this time would be too much for me to bear and so I simply ask you to wear this ring, not out of obligation, not out of old promises, but out of the fact that you have accepted my love." He was not asking for her hand—Christine did not whether to laugh or cry! "Will you? Will you wear it?"

Slowly, she nodded and allowed him to slip the cool band onto her finger. It was much lighter than she had anticipated and, to her surprise, it did not feel as burdened as she thought it would. Perhaps she was over-dramatising his giving of the ring, but, to her, it still held a tremendous amount of significance. She would not wear it out of obligation or old promises, as he had said, but nor would she wear it as a physical form of acceptance. No, she would wear it out of love. No matter what her mind tried to tell her, she would only wear it out of love.

Dipping his head, Erik kissed her finger, where the flesh met the band. "Oh, Christine," he sighed into her skin. "Thank you. Thank you."

Emboldened, he then pressed his hands onto the bench and pushed himself further up onto his knees to capture her mouth with such enthusiasm that it took Christine by surprise. He had never taken such liberties before, and it shocked her as much as it pleased her.

Had it not been for her hands on his cheeks then, pulling him closer, and her soft lips kissing him back with just as much vigour, Erik would have torn himself away from her. But how could he now? Her touch was so gentle, so heavenly, so addictive.

He dragged his trembling hands across her waist and up her back, clinging to her fiercely, unsure of what to do and afraid of overstepping a boundary. But she did not recoil, nor did she protest, she merely smiled against his mouth and shuffled towards him, slipping her shaky hands down to his neck and—shaky? Could she have been as uncertain as he? Yes, yes, there it was: in the quivering of her lower lip and in the pull of her eyebrows—his little love was just as uncertain! Pulling back, he searched her flushed face, drawn to her lips once more as they curled upwards into a small smile.

"You are a wonder," he murmured, a sudden brightness filling his eyes as he kissed her again. "What would you say to an evening stroll, Christine? Would you enjoy that? Would you walk proudly next to your Erik?"

"Do you mean it?" she asked cheerily, her excitement brewing as he nodded in reply. "But at this hour?"

He chuckled wryly as she gazed at him with eyes that shone. "A stroll around the streets of Paris is quite refreshing at the best of times, my love."

In one swift movement he rose to his feet and extended one hand towards her, his fingers unfurling in a tempting gesture. "Shall we?"

Christine could not resist his impulsive behaviour; it was so unlike him. She placed her hand in his as she also stood to her feet, a playful grin running across the length of her face. "We shall."