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I expect him to be cool towards me the next morning, perhaps still angry, perhaps hiding. What I do not expect it for him to greet me with a little red flower and a kiss, and then lead me into the drawing room to sing the whole morning.

But that is what he does.

He speaks quite amiably to me, his movements gentle and his words kind; I study him carefully. By the end of the morning, I have picked up on the fact that although he is being sweet, he has not yet touched me…

I kiss him after lunch and he kisses me back, but it's lacking… something. I am not bold enough to actually ask him about it, but I notice how quickly he pulls away.

Needless to say, by the day's end, it has annoyed me.

I want him to read me a story, but he refuses. I ask him to play a song for me, and he says later. My feelings are hurt. I thought I was the center of his world? Does he have more important things to do than be with me?

I ask him to lay down with me that night. That would be all, I swore to him! I just wanted him there. He declined. The same thing happens the next night.

I feel a little devious. So that is how he is going to play, is it? He rejects me and then tries to make up for it. If I am going to plan my seduction, than I have learned that I should not take him by surprise.

It is terribly humiliating to me! Even though I am a woman, I am very naive. I do not know what I am expecting, and I do not know what I am doing. Will this be something I will regret? I am his wife, and it is unlikely to change. Why postpone the inevitable? I do not dwell upon it, but every now and then, I find myself thinking of it.

So at dinner, I ask, "Why did you pull away?"

I must give him points on the art of self control. He considers the question as if I am asking him how the weather is.

"Because." he answers.

I wait and glare at him. He looks at me innocently. He does not seem mad or perturbed in any way.

"Because?"

"Yes. Because."

I let out a mighty huff. "That is not an answer. I want to know why you pulled away. Am I not your wife?"

Erik looks ruffled. "This is not an appropriate conversation." I have the feeling that he is mocking me.

"We are married."

"Oh, my dear, you are not really trying to talk me into it, are you?"

I pause, wrinkling my nose. "I said… I said someday, didn't I?"

He peers at me. "And I do not believe that day has arrived." He stands up. "Christine, you cannot even begin to understand… you are too young. I did a very great wrong. I forced you to marry me. A wife is all that I ask for. You."

My mouth hangs open. "Erik, you do realize that almost everything that comes out of your mouth is a contradiction to something you have earlier said to me?"

He chuckles. "I suppose sometimes I see my mistakes too late, no?"

And we say no more about it.

But one day passes, and then another. And I realize, with the absence of him holding me, wrapping his arms around me, his cool lips—they are all things that I begin to miss. Erik is my rock, and I need him.

But he, apparently, does not need me.

I love him.

It is a shame I am realizing all these things now. How Erik and I have emotionally grown, how he are barely the two people who held hands in the drawing room and cried on their wedding day.

I am in my bed one night when Erik knocks and enters. "Christine?"

I shift. "I am awake, Erik."

He comes and sits on his chair. "You seemed tired today. Are you well?"

I sit up, surprised. "Yes." I say, thinking aloud. Why had he thought I was tired today? Had I sighed, or perhaps sat down while doing something? Not that I recalled.

"I was just making sure."

I smile warmly at him. "Thank you for your concern, then. But I am really fine."

"Good." he murmurs. His hands have begun to wrap tightly around the armrest. He notices me watching and quickly takes them away.

"Will you come lay down with me tonight?" I ask, but I lack any conviction in my words. I already can tell that his answer will be no.

He is silent. He slowly nods.

I hide my shock, afraid that it might scare him off, and move over slightly, He lies on the very end. I wait for a moment, and then move back to my place and touch his hand.

"Thank you." I say gratefully. He stares at me with soft eyes and touches my hair.

It is a sweet moment.

I should have kept my mouth shut—I always ruin these moments, why can I not learn!—but I say, very quietly, "You pulled away from me."

His eyes are sincere. He believes what he is saying. "You did not know what you were doing."

I pull my lips into a pout, just a little. "Yes, I did."

"Then I must worry about your tastes, my darling."

"You said—"

He puts one finger over my mouth. "I say foolish things in my anger, Christine. I say foolish things when I am around you. I must keep my temper; I must hold my tongue."

I look down at my pillow. "I just wanted to know why."

For the first time, his voice grows a little sharp. "Why? What would you do? Do you have any idea what it's like to be touched by no one your whole life? Even your mother can't bear to touch you—can't bear to look at you!—and I've dealt with it my whole life! You being here, around me, is enough. Your kisses, are enough, too much. How would I handle that." His voice grows soft again and he leans closer to my face. "Can you not understand my fear?"

He leans back and answers his own question. "Of course not! You have no idea. So Erik must protect you! He knows you make poor decisions. He will not let you make a poor decision."

"You scared me." I say.

He looks at me with pity. "Erik hates to frighten his poor Christine."

I kiss him, and I can tell he doesn't like it, and it makes him nervous. I ignore it. This is my decision now, and I, for one, do not contradict myself.

This is my next big decision. Has Erik not realized how well I've mastered the art of making up my mind?

"Look, Christine," he murmurs. He takes his hand and presses it against mine. "I am a monster! I am Death himself! You do not want this!"

I keep kissing him, and then whisper, "Take off your mask."

This is what is happening now. I hear him crying, only for a moment, as we both understand where we are heading. I am afraid, but I am even more afraid to admit it. This is a different world than where everyone else is. Here, in Erik's lair, things are dark and different, and there are no rules. Is this my life? Is this where I was meant to be? Dear Raoul, he is above in the real world, his senses untainted and untouched by this fantasy.

Erik's hands are so cold, and they are everywhere.

I hide my face in his shoulder so he cannot see my terror. It doesn't matter. He knows anyway.

"My Christine," he whispers brokenly. "Stop Erik! Tell him to stop!"

I shake my head, his hands wrapped around my waist, pulling me to him. He is kissing me, and he is unbearably gentle. Every second that goes by takes us farther and farther away from the life we've built down here. Everything was perfect. Why do I understand everything too late?

His fingers pull at the tassels of my dress. I am so frightened, so frightened. We are too close, we have gone too far together, and for the first time, I know there is no angel of music. There is Erik, and there is me. That is all we are right now.

And I have no idea who we will be in the morning.

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