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Life did go on.

It was hard to believe that everything was over when it had gone by so fast. My sorrow was sometimes unstoppable, but weeks went by and I was able to set back into a normal routine that I hadn't accomplished for six or seven months.

Overall, I began to fiercely depend on Erik more so than ever before. He remained distinctly unruffled throughout the whole affair, and without that, I might have broken down.

We never went to live in the house at the edge of town. That was the house where we were to live with our baby, and our baby wasn't here. I couldn't even go to see it; I was sure that in every room I would see shadows of what was supposed to be.

What was supposed to be…

The midwife said that the baby had died for a reason. What reason? Why was my baby better off dead than with a loving mother who would have cared for him every single moment?

I did not want to cry anymore around Erik, as he is convinced that any tear I shed is a direct response caused by him, so I hid myself away in my bathroom for many afternoons.

Sometimes Erik would find me there, and I would explain through the door that I was just washing, resting, or anything that would distract him long enough so I could gather myself and greet him with a smile.

Poor Erik. Each day, I think about how I am hurting him, and each day I am too selfish to do anything about it.

I try to be gentle. I offer to sing for him, I sit in his lap to kiss him, I clean and cook like a dutiful, little wife. I was determined my desolation would not affect him.

But he affected me.

He would do little things for me, such as leaving me a special treat at dinner, something he knew I enjoyed. He took to playing all my favorite pieces on the piano as I drifted off to sleep. He gave me a rare and wonderful concert on his violin, made me one of the most fascinating art-work I have ever seen, and never put on his mask.

So I was not exactly hesitant about asking him, but I did dwell on it for some time before I decided it was safe to bring up. We had been sitting in the main room quite a lot lately, where I just sat there and occupied myself. My body felt thin and frail to me, and I was not used to it. But again, I could not possibly mention anything like that to Erik.

He is writing in the corner now, glancing up at me every few minutes. I stay on the little couch, rubbing soothing cream on my hands. I can feel his eyes on me, even when I don't look up.

"Erik," I say finally. "I have been thinking."

He is alert in an instant. "Yes, my sweetest?"

"You said that you wouldn't mind us leaving here."

He is quiet, thoughtful. "I did say that. I will hold myself to it."

"I was thinking… of somewhere we could go…"

"Yes, yes? Tell Erik what you're thinking, do not make him wait…"

I laugh, amused by his tone. Laughing feels nice, like a release. "It's not bad. I just don't know if you will be agreeable to it."

"Come, is Erik so un-agreeable?" he asks, raising one eyebrow. I think he is making fun of me, fooling around.

I ponder, and then say, "It's far away."

He sighs. "Whenever you feel like telling me, dear, I will be listening."

"I was thinking we could move to Sweden."

He is intrigued. He puts down his quill and thinks. "Sweden…?" he murmurs. "You would like to go back to Sweden?"

I nod, eager to expand now that I know he has not crushed the idea yet. "I traveled so much there, I know many places, many towns. They are nice and small. They could be very private, Erik, we could get somewhere where no one would bother us."

He looks impressed. "Once again, you have put a handsome amount of thought into this."

I frown at him, and he leans forward, putting his finger together. "I only meant that you seem serious. You would like to live in Sweden? Where you lived as a girl?"

I nod. "Away from here. If you want to stay in France, that is fine as well. I thought you might like… a change. It's far away from whatever has happened here. No one will know who we are."

I am only babbling now, excited that he is listening and determined to sway him in any way I can.

"It would be quite a long way." he says seriously. "Are you up to the journey?"

"I think so."

"Aha!" he says. "You think so? You must be very, very prepared in your decision. Erik does not want to be halfway there when you assail me with pleas to return here."

"Very well." I say. "We shouldn't go."

I go back to work on my hands and enjoy the silence that has come between us. I can hear Erik's confusion, and his attempt to make things right.

"Fine." he suddenly says grudgingly. "We shall go."

I turn to beam at him, but he is already back to his work.

I really have put endless amounts of thought into this. Sweden is a relaxing place with much freedom—we could live all by ourselves out in the country, where no one will bother us. Erik can be comfortable there.

On a different note, it will be a new place. This home holds many memories; I can name all the wonderful things that have occurred here, but I also am forever haunted by our past. Paris, in general, is now a place that I will not mind leaving. I have adapted to Erik's world, not my own. I want to be wherever he is. Together, we can be in a new place with only fond memories, and a new world all to ourselves.

And I have always missed the sea.

We prepare to leave as soon as we are able.

I fretfully complain about arrangements and the way to go, but Erik takes care of it all for me. He even tells me of the boat he has managed to hire. It will take us from Denmark and across the Baltic Sea to put us directly in Sweden.

It will be a very long journey, Erik is right. I am not so concerned about it. If Erik is not worried, I should not be worried.

I bring very few gowns, knowing the weather is different up there and I will be able to get new material. I have very few personal items, but I manage to put them all in a small canvas sack that ties on top.

Erik puts his violin by the door and says he is ready to go.

I stare at him for several seconds. "Your music." I say. "What about all your music?"

He shakes his head, as if the answer is obvious. "You are my music, Christine. I am bringing you."

"But," I say impatiently. "All of your compositions that you've worked so hard on! You must have hundreds of them!"

"They are worth nothing to me."

I put my hands on my hips, and he watches me lazily, amused. "I want you to take them!"

He sighs. "Christine, if I wanted to take them, I would. But they are not important to me. The only thing I ever worked on for myself was Don Juan Triumphant, and you know very well that it is no more."

"What about all the songs you write for me?" I say unhappily. "Are those important to you?"

I live for Erik's music, and I cannot understand why he would leave them here when he has slaved over them for so many hours.

Perhaps he sees something in my eyes, for he comes over and lifts up my chin. "You… want to hear my music?" he murmurs, searching my face. "It matters so to you?"

"You have worked too long for you to simply abandon them all."

He releases me and steps back. "I will take some." he tells me. "I will take a few pieces, if it will make you happy."

My eyes shine. "Oh, it will, I promise!"

I monitor him very carefully as he selects certain pieces and folds them lovingly in his violin case. He looks up at me every few seconds as he does this, looking happy when he sees my smile.

"For Christine." he says softly every once in a while.

The next occurrence that unsettled me was the prospect of taking my wedding dress.

I wasn't sure what to do about it, and I was afraid that if I told Erik I would take it, he would grow angry that I would want such a thing. On the other hand, if I requested that it stay here, he might grow angry that I did not want something of our 'wedding' to keep.

Unfortunately, as I was admiring it and going through a fierce altercation in my head, Erik came to the door and watched me.

I step back immediately and bustle around doing other things, but it is a foolish sidetrack. He tilts his head and fixes me with a reprimanded stare.

I gesture pathetically at it. "Should I take it?"

He crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. "That, my dear, is entirely your decision and should not be influenced by me in any way."

"I want to." I say wistfully. "But do I really need it? It would just sit somewhere. A keepsake."

"Your decision." he repeats.

In the end, I don't take it. Instead, I carefully have Erik cut off a significant piece of fabric out of it so I will have it wherever I go. I also pull off the little bows I adore so much, wondering if I could sew these on to a different dress.

Erik seems pleased with me. He folds it up and puts it in my bag for me, and then insists that I get some rest. "It's been a long few days." he says. "We will be leaving in less than I week. You must be well-rested."

I see no reason to argue with him, but I ask if he will come in. Lately, I have not wanted to be alone.

But I am looking forward to our adventure now. It will be a new start with my husband, and a new place to grow and adapt to.

"When we go to sleep, we close our eyes, Christine." Erik reminds me suddenly, and I realize I have been staring blankly at the wall for several minutes.

"Goodnight, Erik."

"Goodnight, Christine."

I squeeze his hand and fall asleep.

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