A pleasant warmth on her body roused Christine from her sleep the next morning and she fluttered her eyelids open to the sight of white linen. She was sprawled out on her front, her arms hidden beneath the sun-kissed pillow. Beneath the sheets, her legs shifted and a numb ache greeted her.

Closing her eyes again, she remembered the night before and all that she and Erik had shared together—flashes of pleasure and intimacy based on a plethora of trust, whispered endearments, the final consummation of their love. She hid her face in her pillow as she thought on this. A blushing bride was she, but a happy one, too, and she did not regret a moment of their union.

Biting her lip, she slid her hand out from underneath its warm covering and reached across the bed towards Erik. When all she felt was a cold sheet, however, she stared at the empty space beside her longingly as his mask on the bedside table stared back at her.

Suddenly, something drew her from her loneliness and confusion, a branding upon her skin like the prickling of ice or the scalding of hot water. Her shoulders tensed before she contorted pleasantly at the feeling of fingertips slowly running down her spine, stopping only when they reached the blanket, which hung loosely around her hips.

Boldly, she turned to lay on her back and stared passively up into the bare face of her husband, who was surrounded by the glow of the morning sun. A shy smile reached her mouth as her eyes roamed his body, from his untucked and crinkled shirt to his startled expression. She could not remember a time when he looked so comfortable in his dishevelment, and she secretly adored it.

Erik's fingers hovered over her stomach, frozen in place as his gaze swept over her uncovered form. The sheets were twisted provocatively over her thighs and her hands were gracefully poised about her bosom like Botticelli's Venus.

He hesitated before again pressing his fingertips to her skin, this time at the hollow of her throat before trailing downwards, in between her breasts, over her stomach and around the curve of her slightly Rubensesque hip. If his wife had existed centuries before now, he had no doubt that she would have been immortalised by the old masters.

His tongue darted out to wet his dry lips as he traced the skin just above the sheet, from one hip to the other, eyes drawn to the way her body arched and stretched like a feline. He never even dared to dream about touching her with such familiarity before—and in broad daylight, too!

Removing his hand, he took a timid step away from her as he watched her smile once more and pat the covers beside her. Confusion swept over his face, his fingers flexing nervously behind his back. Was she inviting him to sit near her?

Having almost read his thoughts, Christine extended one drooping hand towards him before it dropped back onto the mattress in defeat. Her gentle gaze flickered to the empty spot beside her before glancing up at him again, and Erik gave a stiff nod before lowering himself to the bed.

Several moments of uncomfortable silence passed and while Erik thought this was to be expected, Christine had no idea as to why her husband would not speak. Gathering the sheets together, she then brought them up to cover her chest before she sat up, involuntarily bringing them closer together. The slight wince across her mouth as she shifted did not go unnoticed by Erik.

Possessed by a flood of embarrassment, Christine stared at the floor, only to have her cheeks burn even more as she saw her discarded clothing strewn about the room. Turning back to Erik, she attempted to speak, though her words ended up sounding meek and muffled. "Good morning," she whispered.

His gaze snapped to hers in quite a studious manner before flicking away. "H-How are you feeling?"

Her face fell a little at his reserved manner, and she found herself looking down into her lap. "I am well," she told him.

Her answer, however, proved not to be satisfactory for he grimaced and narrowed his eyes, analysing every part of her face as he spoke. "You are lying," he insisted, forcibly yet quietly. "I witnessed your discomfort as you sat up."

The coldness in his tone sent an unpleasant chill down her body as she felt slight embarrassment creep up her neck to stain her cheeks. "I remember the girls at the Opéra talking about this... and they said that sometimes it is to be expected... the… the first time."

Unfortunately, her girlish shyness at that moment was mistaken for a knowing fear of what would happen and Erik was aghast at her explanation. Immediately, he reached towards her, a thousand apologies on the tip of his tongue, but before he could seek her hands out, he froze and withdrew into himself. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten her further with his touch. "Forgive me, Christine. Can you ever forgive your Erik? He was very selfish and he thought... he thought... But you knew! You knew you would get hurt! How could you ever allow me to do such a thing if you knew what was to come of it? Oh, but I would never do something like... that. I would never intentionally violate you! You must believe me, Christine, I am not one of those—"

"I know, I know," she cooed, reaching for him to provide the reassurance he was unable to give her. "I did not say that it was expected of you. I merely said that it was to be... expected. Do you understand?" When he did nothing but shake his head and look down at their hands, she sighed, her heart pounding in her ears as she attempted to broach this sensitive subject. Once again, she felt more like she was speaking to a child who did not know any better rather than a man; a husband. Her husband.

"I do not pretend to know the details of… such things," she began steadily, "but I have heard that it is natural for a woman t-to feel slight discomfort the fi-first time she is… intimate with a man."

To her surprise and horror, she heard him ask, "Why?"

His question had no trace of malice in it, just an unabating sense of curiosity, yet it still managed to paint her body a bright crimson. Fumbling around a reply, she opened and closed her mouth before shaking her head. "I do not know," she admitted in a single exhale, closing her eyes as she wished this moment to be over.

"Oh," he murmured, noting her embarrassment and deciding not to question her further on the subject. Looking down at their loosely entwined hands, he could not help but recall the way their limbs had also fitted together in a similar fashion.

Sighing, he withdrew his hand and cursed himself. His irrational thoughts had yet again ruined what could have been a perfectly peaceful moment.

Words had indeed failed them that morning. There was nothing to be done about it now except for them to try to move on. Shuffling forward, Christine offered her shaken husband a small smile before she rested her head against his shoulder. Her palm encased his upper arm, rubbing it soothingly as he shuddered and leaned his face into her knotted hair. Rough fingers threaded themselves through her curls, petting them fiercely as a child would a pet, and though Christine frowned at his urgency, she allowed him this comfort.

When he pulled back, his eyes were alight with something that made her smile again. "You do not hate your Erik?" he asked hopefully.

"I do not hate my husband," she murmured, bringing his face closer to her so she could press her lips to his forehead. She only drew back when she felt him shake under the strength of his emotions. His eyes glassed over with tears and Christine released a breathy sigh. "Do you not like it when I call you that?" she asked, suddenly worried that she was responsible for inducing such a state, that her innocent endearment had been the cause of his doubts and hesitations.

With a laugh, he shook his head and exclaimed, "It is the most wonderful name I have ever been called!"

"Then I shall be certain to call you it every day," she vowed, to which she received a kiss on each of her hands.

"Oh!" Erik then said with a start, dropping her hands as he spoke. "Breakfast! You have not had anything to eat yet! You stay put, Christine, my wife, and I shall fetch you anything you want."

His sudden giddiness managed to raise her eyebrows, but she welcomed this change in him as whole-heartedly as she welcomed the rise of the morning sun. "That sounds lovely, Erik," she told him. "Whatever you think is best." And with a kiss to his cheek, he journeyed downstairs to the kitchen.

Deciding to lay in bed for a while longer, Christine stretched and rested her head against the cushioning pillow. Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she half smiled at the prospect of waking up each morning to an ecstatic husband. It was most assuredly something she could get used to.

Her eyes opened and closed in a sort of restful tiredness before she sat up and peered around her in the hopes of spying her dressing gown. Her face warmed as she remembered its resting place in the middle of the floor and, with mild discomfort, she rose from the bed and slipped the gown on.

Running her fingers through her hair proved to be an irritating task to complete smoothly so she sat at her vanity and picked up her brush.

Combing her hair brought back the memory of Mme Giry and the soft song that she had hummed as her hands swept through her curls the day before. Christine's own rhythmic brushing slowed to a languid pace as she began to hum the same piece, a light little song they often sang down at the bistros.

As she placed the brush back down, she began to study her reflection, never ceasing her humming. Tilting her head to the side, her eyes trailed the length of her body, appraising the curves that had only recently been brought to her full attention. She was no great beauty—very much plain next to the elegant stature of women, whose breeding spoke volumes in the tighter circles of society. Her true beauty shone in the eyes of the man who loved her and she was just starting to see herself as just that.

And she felt beautiful. She felt alive.

The night before, she had become bewildered by this heightened dizziness, this almost euphoric state. She had never known such intense and unbridled passion. Had she truly, with her novice touch, incited such an intensity in him that exceeded her own? She caught herself blushing once more at this and she raised a limp hand to her cheek, feeling the heavy pulse, the warmth through her skin.

Shamelessly, she allowed those memories to pour into her mind again and again, reawakening her senses. She recalled every touch, the way he looked at her, and she suddenly did not recognise her own reflection. This woman staring back at her was someone else entirely. She was beautiful, every part of her—the full lips that parted as she remembered how another's had caressed her skin; the demure eyes, reserved yet wild; the tremors across her chest. Christine embraced this woman, trailing her hands over her face and through her hair, becoming one with her.

At that moment, Erik began to ascend the stairs, a very full tray in hand and his gaze lowered to his feet. "I know you said that you did not mind what you ate, but I could not decide for you so I brought an array of foods... Oh, Christine." He sighed somewhat dreamily as he entered the room and heard her voice continue its beautiful refrain. Putting the tray down swiftly, he walked towards her. "How delightful it is to hear you," he breathed in wonderment as he fell onto the seat beside her, burrowing his face into her neck so that he might be closer to the source and be able to feel her voice.

"Mmm," she mumbled with a smile to her lips, leaning into him as his hands came to rest gingerly upon her waist. "I have decided something."

"What have you decided?" he whispered against her skin.

"I am going to start singing again, on the stage." It was something she had been thinking about ever since they had argued over it. She did not entertain the hope, however, that any Parisian theatre would welcome her back so soon, but that would not stop her from seeking employment elsewhere. "Once we decide where we will travel to, I want to audition. I do not care if we are on the other side of the world, but I must sing again."

Erik pulled back to look at her, dropping his hands to his knees. "It would seem the stage is still calling you," he mused softly, sweeping some of her hair back over her shoulder, "and you were born to answer that call."

A wide grin spread across her face as she resisted the urge to throw her arms around him—a gesture that would have knocked the two of them to the floor. "You will help me, Erik, won't you? We have both neglected my voice, but with work, I believe we may be able to retrain it."

"There is no question about it, you shall sing as well as you did before, better even!" he exclaimed as his fingertips came to rest very lightly against her throat. Every light stroke he made echoed the flutter of her heart. "Your instrument is pure, Christine, like your soul. It is a beautiful thing. It will serve you well if you but let it."

Her smile fell into one filled with courage as she reached up to hold his hand. Respectfully, she bowed her head and silently scolded herself for feeling overcome. "Thank you," she said with all her being, bending down to kiss his knuckles. "Thank you."

Leaning her temple against their hands, she closed her eyes and sighed. Erik, who had nearly been at a loss for words at her reverence, managed to surge enough life back into his body for him to squeeze her hand. His dear, dear girl. Here she was, fawning over him when it should be he doing just that at her feet.

Like a guiding light, she had paved the path of acceptance for him and he had finally stepped onto it.

"I finally saw myself through your eyes last night," he told her fervently, tilting her head up so that he could hold her face and set his gaze upon her dark eyes, the wrinkle between her furrowed brow, and her lips, so tempting as they formed the words that brought him to his knees.

"I am seeing myself through your eyes now."

o0o

Around midday, a great noise rumbled through the sky and soon the windows were being pelted by fierce drops of rain. To some, it was a nuisance, but to Erik and Christine it was music, sweet and pure. The Earth's music—continuous notes in natural phrases that made sense only to the newly wedded couple and appealed to their ability to see and hear beauty in the most mundane creations. And what beauty it was they shared!

Music—the dripping of water, a happy sigh, a melodious hum—filled the household that day and wrapped the two of them in a cocoon of marital bliss. Bliss... Such a word, Erik mused as he watched his wife from the kitchen table as she prepared something for a simple dinner. She ducked and weaved and moved about the counter like a dancer, making him feel strangely at home in this scene of domesticity.

When he asked her what she was making, her reply caused him to fall silent as he struggled to comprehend the name. "What?" was all he could ask.

"It is a Swedish dish, Erik," she chuckled over her shoulder. "Have you not heard of it before?" He murmured a quiet 'no' and Christine suddenly spun around, the wild look in her eyes making him shift uncomfortably in his seat. "You did not understand what I said, then."

"Yes, yes, I did not understand what you said. I regrettably do not understand your mother tongue and I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience I might have caused." His toned was clipped and one hand had fisted at his trouser leg, twisting the material at the knee, and Christine realised her mistake.

Flying to his side, she gathered his rigid body into her arms, his head laying against her bosom as she soothingly ran her fingers through his hair. "Do not misunderstand me," she told him as she felt him slowly ease into her touch. "I was merely wishing to clarify that you do not know any Swedish."

"Yes, and I don't," came his quick and curt response. "I thought I had already made that perfectly clear."

"Yes," she droned wearily before smiling down at him. "But would you like to?"

His head shifted against her bodice, almost as if he was straining to hear her, before he tilted his chin up to gaze upon her in wonderment and confusion. "You... You would teach me?"

"Only if you want me to," she said in earnest, sighing as his hands came up to rest upon her waist, drawing her close to him. Her arms slid around his shoulders at the same time her lips pressed against his temple. The shudder that ran through his body did not escape her notice.

"I do, my wife, I do," he cried into her, his smile barely contained at the thought of learning her language. It was such an intimate sentiment, to speak to one another in the other's language, and he felt as though he would burst from love.

"Very well," she said, pulling away from him, much to his disappointment. "Your lessons shall start after dinner."

True to her word, after finishing off the meal, Christine cleared the table and sat down to start the lesson, but was unprepared for what she was about to experience.

She had never seen Erik so nervous before, sitting before her as rigidly and politely as a budding young student, so eager to learn and to not displease. His anxious behaviour translated terribly into his pronunciations, which confused Christine to no end as she did not think Swedish to be a particularly difficult language. It was much more rounded than French, and yet Erik continued to fumble his way through the phrases she told him to repeat. It was endearing, in a way, she supposed. Taking on the role of teacher was not as easy as she thought it would be, but she smiled and patiently repeated vowels and accented syllables until he was able to form the words correctly. She thought his progress was quite satisfactory.

Erik, however, had never felt so foolish. His need to be perfect for her caused his blunders to thrive under his distracted mind and it was only when she laid her hand on his and gently suggested that they stop for the evening did he feel a sense of relief flow through him. He had not made so many mistakes in language since his youth.

"I apologise for that monstrosity of a lesson," he told her, leaning against the door frame as he watched her pour tea for them both. A calming change, and he welcomed it readily. "I have failed you as a student."

"You have not failed me, Erik," she laughed, arranging a tray and carrying it through to the parlour. She did not need to look over her shoulder to know he was trailing after her solemnly. "Not everyone can be expected to grasp a language so quickly. These things take time. I did not learn French overnight, after all."

"How gratifying to know. Thank you," he replied, his dry tone earning him a stern look from Christine. It did not nearly have the effect that if should have, however, for he found himself smiling, nearly beside himself with joy over her attempts to continue her teaching demeanour.

Settling himself down on the settee, he continued to smirk at her scowl, even as she handed him his cup with as much mock indignity as she could muster without causing a spillage. Mixing in her sugar, she sat down on the other side of the settee, daintily sipping on the beverage as she stared at the ground. They drank in silence until a strange choking noise drew her attention away from the flooring. Startled, she placed her cup down and turned towards Erik in fear that he may have fallen ill to one of his episodes, but she was simply met with the sight of him barely able to contain his laughter.

Slightly perturbed at her assumption, she huffed, which only stoked the fire of his amusement. "And what," she started, affronted at his uncharacteristic lack of self-control, "precisely is so amusing?"

"You, my love," he managed through a grin, placing his own cup down and gathering his hands to his chest. "You make me laugh!" he exclaimed merrily, shrugging in his blissful state. "Oh, you do not know how happy you make me!"

Despite her attempts at maintaining her stoic manner, she found herself smiling with him. Leaning forward quickly, she captured his mouth, claiming their first true kiss on their first day as a wedded couple. Erik's hand flew out in shock before timidly reaching for her face, cupping her cheeks and pulling her closer.

When they parted, she kissed his cheek and squeezed his hands. "If that is the case, then I can only hope I can continue to do so for the rest of my days."

After her display of loving behaviour, Erik had insisted on playing for her. Racing to his violin case, he took great care in preparing the instrument—just as he had the night before—and Christine was determined this time not to fall asleep.

Through the evening, he serenaded her with melodies old and new, weaving the protective phrases of his love around her until she felt at one with him. Her smile was his muse as his fingers experimentally followed his mind, improvising his vision, professing his affection and his long-forgotten fears in a single piece. And Christine heard him, she heard his call and what he was telling her through music. His heart felt like it would burst when she coyly pulled him to her on the settee, the violin left resting on the floor, forgotten, and their arms came about each other.

They spoke to one another even as darkness fell around them, whispering and smiling and laughing—just as newly-weds should be—until Christine sighed, contently but tiredly.

"I think I will retire now," she told him, draping her arms around his shoulders and kissing the top of his head. He breathed her in and she smiled at how relaxed her touch now made him. "I shall leave you to your thoughts."

A hand quickly shot out to stop her as she began to walk away and she paused in her step, turning back to look at him. Although he remained seated with his gaze directed at the floor, his fingers smoothly wrapped around her wrist, sliding up and down her arm before gently dragging her back towards him. He leaned forward and her heart thudded when her torso pressed against his upper arm and shoulder.

"Don't," he mumbled, and it was that single word wrapped within that intoxicating tone that made her lips part and her stomach clench in anticipation. Tilting his head so that he could see her, his fingers lazily moved about her hand, teasing hers before threading themselves together.

"What is wrong?" she managed to ask, though her pulse had increased to a maddening pace under his simple ministrations.

"Nothing whatsoever," he exclaimed happily, guiding her to stand between his legs, his free hand pressing against the small of her back until there was not a breath of space left between them. "For once, nothing is wrong, my love. Is it not joyous?"

"Yes."

Small, ragged gasps left Christine's mouth as he embraced her tightly and a familiar stirring began within her when his hand began to slide across her waist and hip. Even through layers of thick clothing, the memory of his caresses from the night before burned in her mind, setting her skin on fire with heady desire. At the thought of their union, her legs began to buckle and before her sensibilities could put a stop to it, she had raised one leg so that her knee might rest on the space beside Erik's thigh.

This move, however, proved to be a mistake because it only succeeded in creating a more intimate scene. Trapped in each other's arms, the couple released slow moans as their bodies grew taut, refusing to adjust to their new positioning, but loathe to move away.

The weight of her dress over his leg was suffocating, but he would never dare remove it, not when he found such strange pleasure in the sensation. His fingers crept down her side and, before either of them knew what he was doing, he had pulled her other leg up to rest beside his. Christine gasped and clung to him, even as the hand at her back supported her. Trembling, she looked down at him and tried not to draw attention to her brazen positioning.

She did not have the time to ponder this, however, for Erik's mouth was soon at her neck, his lips exploring the throbbing skin and his voice low in her ear. He began to weave a song in her mind, a rich, deep melody that coursed through her veins and made her heart sing for him. As the wordless notation fell on her throat in hot breaths, she tilted her head back in surrender, mouth falling open and a moan melding with his song.

Closing her eyes, she felt the vibration of the melody through his lips on her skin. Pulling back, much to Erik's dismay and secretly her own, she met his dark eyes and asked breathlessly, "Why are you so eager to learn Swedish?" Her hands unconsciously tightened their grip on his shirt as she waited on his answer. "Tell me," she urged quietly. "Please."

Hands sprung to life and pulled her suddenly against him, his lips once more teasing her neck. "It… It is so I can know the things you whisper to me in our moments of intimacy," he confessed, thankful that his face was hidden in her hair. "Last night... What did you say to me? What… What was it you said? Mi? Min... askling?"

Before she could stop herself, a desperate groan rippled through her at the sound of those words—her own words that she had only murmured in a state of delirious rapture—and she pressed down on his shoulders in torment. His whispered endearment in her native tongue had been the final straw and it had pushed her over the edge. Sliding her hands up to his face, she bent down and kissed him more roughly than she thought herself capable.

"Min älskling," she corrected heatedly between kisses, "It means, 'my darling'."

Sighing, he embraced her and buried his face into her hair again, vowing to commit these endearments to memory so that he might whisper them to her one day.

"Christine... May I ask you something?"

"Mmm," she murmured agreeably, resting her forehead against his. "What is it?"

"How... would one say, 'I love you' in Swedish?"

His question had been cautious, almost as if he had been afraid to ask, and in that moment, she knew his reason for wanting to learn the language was rooted much deeper. Studying his nervous features, she spoke in slow fragmented syllables, making certain that he would be able to listen and repeat. "Jag älskar dig."

"Jag älskar dig, Christine," he replied shakily, winding his arms around her waist. "Until the end of my days."

o0o

Erik truly believed that he was the luckiest man in existence.

Later that night, he held his wife as she slept, savouring the light caress of her breath that teased his neck every few seconds. The curtains were still drawn and not even the moon could intrude on their moment of marital heaven. And it was indeed heaven for Erik. Waking up each morning next to Christine was surely a gift from God, a sign that he was finally on the path to redemption. The day had come and gone when he had claimed a wife, but the day when he would reclaim his soul was still to come. Anxiously, he would await that reunion with every fibre of his body, but in the meantime, he would be content to while away the hours by the side of the woman he loved.

As she nuzzled into his shirt, he held her tighter, loathe to fully awaken from his sleepy reverie. When he felt her shift, however, he looked down and saw that her eyes were already open.

"I think I shall get used to this," she murmured, her voice low and husky from her dreams. He frowned at her statement, but she merely smiled and laid her head more firmly on the pillow. "Waking up to see your face, I mean."

Erik blanched at this and removed his hand from her back so that it could flutter around his head nervously. Despite her words, he almost felt compelled to shield her from his features. "Christine, I do not know whether to laugh at you or kiss you!" he exclaimed as he dropped his hand to the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"I hope it is not the former," she said, propping herself up on her elbow to look down at him, "or I shall be very cross indeed."

Erik turned his head to stare at her in a haze of bemusement. Her hair brushed against his face and neck as she leaned over him and before he could stop himself, he raised his hand so that his fingers might touch those curls. "You are a wonder," he said, sweeping his gaze across her face before landing on the faint bloom on her cheeks, visible even in the darkness.

"You have told me that before," she reminded him, almost shyly.

"And you shall probably hear it a hundred more times before I am through."

Lowering herself onto the pillow again to hide her growing blush, she leaned her cheek into his shoulder and laid an arm across his chest. "What time do you suppose it is?"

"Not yet dawn," he replied, allowing his eyes to drift shut.

"Is it Sunday," she quietly announced.

Beside her, Erik noticeably shifted. "You will no doubt wish to attend mass, then."

While he was overjoyed that Christine had not lost sight in her faith, he was still adamant that she practice her religion alone. He would not condemn nor mock her belief, but neither would he participate in it. Sighing, he laid his hand over her wrist and absent-mindedly began to tap his fingers against the material of her nightgown.

"Yes," he heard her reply at last, "but I also wished to ask a favour of you."

"Anything you ask of me I shall give you," he exclaimed whole-heartedly.

"I am pleased to hear that," she said, smiling sleepily to herself, "for I wanted to ask you if you would like to walk with me after I return from mass. A long stroll sounds lovely, don't you agree?"

But no sooner than she said this had tears sprang to his eyes. The fingers on her wrist quickly stilled and in one rough pull, he enveloped her in a fierce embrace. Christine made a little noise of surprise, but welcomed his arms as she wove her own around his neck, hoping her lips against his temple would help to calm his sobs.

"Oh, Christine," he cried against her. "That is all I have ever wanted. I dreamt of taking my wife out on Sundays, but never did I think it would come true!"

"And now it will, Erik, it will," she soothed in his ear, stroking the back of his head.

"You would not be ashamed of me, walking around in the middle of the day with a corpse on your arm?"

She quickly chastised him for such a remark before shaking her head. "Why ever should I be ashamed? I will not have a corpse by my side, after all. It shall be a man, my husband. Monsieur Daaé."

His cries momentarily ceased as he heard his wedded name spoken aloud. Christine, too, paused in her ministrations to think on how wonderful it sounded to her ears. Tightening his arms around her, he tilted his head so that his lips met hers.

"Thank you," he whispered once they had parted, closing his eyes as she rested her forehead against his.

"For what?" she asked.

"For this, for you, for everything you have done for me," he told her fervently.

She chuckled at this and Erik sighed at the delightful way the sound reverberated through both of their bodies. "I shall take this as your acceptance for our walk then."