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When March comes, Marianne and I spend most of our time together, outside. In April, we go to a special festival in town and have a wonderful time. We take a weaving class together at the end of the month. In May, I let slip that my birthday is coming up, and she takes me to dinner to celebrate. Even Karl comes, and wishes me a very happy birthday.

Erik doesn't seem to mind that I am mostly with Marianne. I spend my mornings and evenings in his study, talking with him, singing with him… He tells me to spend time with my friend while I can.

"I would never dream of taking your time away from someone who will not be here much longer." he had said, sounding horribly offended, when I ask him if it bothers him that I linger around with Marianne. "Erik is used to being on his own."

"Not anymore." I corrected him, and he looked mollified.

Erik and I never did have our talk on his 'behavior' that one day in front of Marianne. I did not forget it, but I remained too timid to bring it up. He has been in an unusually good mood considering recent events, and I embrace that.

Even the day after, on our anniversary, he was all too eager to acquiesce to my every need. He had been so sweet that day, such a sharp change from the last time I'd seen him. But again, I did not question it. I had simply reminded him that I loved him, and we had loved each other for a whole year.

"Not you." he had said. "Not yet. But you did."

The idea that Erik was thinking those thoughts on the one day when we were supposed to be focusing on our unchanging and ever-present love made my heart wail for him. I tried to make him happy that day as well… I had sang religiously—earning a very pleased smile from Erik—, let him read me almost an entire novel while I sat on his lap, and kissed him quite passionately for several minutes, while reminded him yet again how much I loved him.

We did not get that much sleep that night, either.

I was too coward to spoil his good mood, so I never asked him about it. And Marianne never made any comment about the—incident—for which I was eternally grateful.

When May came, I noticed a definite change in her demeanor. Her smiles came less often, she complained of being tired and nervous, and she seemed to be almost ill. Summer was coming, and we both knew what that meant.

"It will be horrible!" she complains. "I will know nothing! Karl's mother will be cruel, even on her deathbed! I will miss my home!"

I try to soothe her, but I really do not know what to say. Leaving the Opera was strange and new for me, but I was not anguished about leaving it. But I could imagine that if Erik and I were forced to leave our cottage, I would be inconsolable.

"You can come back." I remind her. "When Karl's mother has… passed on."

"Such a hassle." Marianne murmurs, wiping her eyes. "It seems so unfair!"

They held off until the second week in June. But they could delay no longer, and Karl was receiving messages from his mother, asking why he hadn't arrived. I watched them pack, occasionally helping. They put an ad in town for their house—I had been bothered by that. What if they came back?

Marianne must have read my face, for she quietly explained, "We are simply renting it, dear. It was Karl's idea. Until we come home, of course."

I was not prepared to say goodbye. Not at all.

But when their house was empty of all their necessary items, and the stood outside their door with the key in Karl's hand, they were leaving, and I had to accept it. They would be going in town and staying there for a few days, before starting on the journey with a friend of Karl's.

"I shall write to you once a week or more." Marianne promises, kissing my cheek. "Maybe every day, once we get there."

Even Karl shakes my hand and gives me a brief kiss. "Farewell, Christine." he offers. "I hope you remain well."

"Thank you, Karl." I reply politely. Marianne dashes in for one more hug.

She walks backwards down half of the hill, so she can continue waving to me, until Karl turns her around so she will not trip over the path. And then, I watch their shadows in the trees after they have disappeared.

I passed Mari's two little white stones for her two children, something that I knew was hard for her to part with. So many things Marianne would miss... I do hope she'll be alright.

"They're gone, Erik." I say miserably when I walk in.

He is sympathetic. "Sweetest, they will be back."

I go over to him and sit next to him, resting my head on his shoulder. He has his automatic tense for the smallest moment at contact, but then he relaxes with good grace and wraps one arm around me, very soothingly.

"I almost do not think they will be." I reply slowly. "And if they do come back, if will not be for a very long time. Years, even."

He seems to be brooding about that for a moment, and then he inhales and sighs, coming over to put his arm around me. "Do not be sad for too long." he says. "I do not like it when you are sad."

I laugh at him, and then grow very somber when he looks at me sharply, his eyebrows raised. "I do not like it when you are angry."

He grows uncomfortable. "I was not angry." he shoots back.

I laugh again. "Oh, really? What about the part where you yelled at me and locked your—"

"Will you stop chastening me for losing my temper!" he interrupts. "We both know it is well out of my control!"

I fall silent. He squeezes both of his hands together, as if he is really trying to hold onto that self-control with me around. I give him a moment.

"I was right." he finally says.

"I am sure." I say honestly. "But what particular thing this time?"

"It's your fault." he says brusquely, and I open my mouth in question. "You're the one who's made me any different than what I was supposed to be. I've never even… dared approach a human being with the intent of being friendly before. And then you, convincing me to meet them, to be kind and considerate, and they would be, too… I believed you, Christine." His golden eyes are very, very serious. "Never in my life, had I ever believed that. Not even in a dream, or another world. It wasn't possible."

I try to understand for him. I try to feel just a little of his suffering, or his past, but I can't.

I can't, or I won't?

"It was such an odd moment for me." he continues, and he's almost talking more to himself than to me. "Remember, I was thinking about it all day and evening? And you kept asking what was wrong… and I just couldn't think… I couldn't… think…"

He heaves a sigh and turns away from me, setting his head in his hands.

"I never meant—"

"You ought to go to bed now." he says smoothly.

I blink. "Are—are you mad at me?"

He turns and presses both of his hands around my waist and a kiss to my forehead. "No, of course not! How could I be angry with you now? I am not. I can't be. But I think you should go to bed."

I know better than to question him. "I will." I saw, swallowing heavily and kissing him back softly on his cheek. He closes his eyes and turns away again. Before I can go upstairs, I hesitatingly peel off one of his gloves.

He snatches away, shocked. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing." I say guiltily, pulling his glove back up quickly. "Nothing at all."

I feel his eyes on me suspiciously, and I skip off to our room quicker than normal before he can interrogate me.

I was checking for the ring.

I wonder where he put it?

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