September 17th 1892: Erik
Even still half-asleep I noticed something was different from the way it usually was. It was warm and comfortable in the coffin, just like always, but for some reason there was less space. Normally I could turn around without problems, yet today I found myself pressed against the hard wood by… a body. There was someone lying next to me.
Slowly I extended an arm and ran my hand over the person behind me, holding my breath. It couldn't be… It could. My fingers encountered the soft fabric of a sleeve, then the even softer skin of an arms. I brushed over the little hairs tentatively, moving my hand further downwards. After a few moments it met something that was neither clothes nor skin, but metal. It was a ring. I smiled.
Opening my eyes I dared turn around at last, making myself as thin as possible. I wasn't sure whether she was sleeping and didn't want to wake her up by hitting her with some part of my body. Yet it turned out that there was no reason for me to be worried. She was slumbering like an angel, her eyes closed, her lips parted slightly and her hair spread out all over the pillow.
I couldn't have told how long I was lying there, looking at her and being very, very happy. Christine was here with me, in my coffin. I had dreamed of this to happen for a long time, even though reason had told me over and over that it wasn't very likely. Like most people, my beloved had a natural fear of death and everything that had to do with it. I knew how much courage it must have cost her to climb into the coffin, just for my sake.
I was terrified that this moment could end too soon, but I also knew that Christine would wake up before long. She'd remember all the stupid, thoughtless things I had said and grow angry again. She'd storm out of the room, appalled by having slept in the coffin. I could count myself lucky if she wouldn't blame me for it, for one reason or another. One could never know with her.
Yet as my anxiety rose, so did my desire to place at least one little kiss on those rosy lips. If Christine really was still angry at me, she wouldn't kiss me for a long time. So maybe this was a good chance. She'd never know… but of course I wouldn't do anything indecent. Just one kiss, then I'd wake her up, and she'd be able to decide what to do for herself.
I pressed my lips against hers. At frist I was very cautious, but after a moment I just couldn't hold myself back. I ran my tongue over her bottom lip lightly. At once, her eyes flew open, and I braced myself for the worst. Yet she didn't pull back and yell at me. On the contrary: When I instinctively tried to end the kiss, she placed a hand at the back of my head, forcing me to stay where I was.
I was delighted. This was better than I could have imagined. She seemed to enjoy kissing me, even after all that had happened. I wrapped an arm around her waist, and she responded by pushing her tongue into my mouth. My heart was beating wildly, and even though I tried to, I couldn't keep a very obvious physical sign of my excitement from pressing into her lower abdomen.
I knew I should have stopped now, should have pulled back, should have apologised for being this pathetic. Why couldn't I even kiss her without making a fool of myself? Yet there was no time for pondering over that question at the moment, for Christine didn't seem to mind at all. She didn't let go of me, but started unbuttoning my shirt with one hand. Could it be possible that she was just as excited as I was?
Tentatively my hands moved lower. Not for a moment did I stop to reflect on what I was doing. I didn't think at all; I just felt. More and more pieces of clothing were discarded, and then… it happened. It simply happened. Without planning, without thinking, without speaking. And it felt… the human race had yet to invent a word that described the feelings that were throbbing in my veins, pounding in my heart, only to be released in one low moan of her name.
Afterwards we lay next to each other in the coffin. I had pulled the blanket, which had slipped from our bodies, upwards to keep the two of us warm.
"Does this count as our wedding night?" I asked, twirling a strand of her long hair around my finger. "After all, it is dark outside." I gestured at the window with my other hand.
"It's always dark outside in your world," she pointed out. "And I'd say it's only evening. So we can call this our wedding evening, but not our wedding night, I'm afraid. I still want you in my bed tonight."
I smiled.
"There's no place I'd rather be," I told her. "Actually that plan of yours sounds very good. I'm sure that seeing me a couple of times during the night will be enough for any possible attacker."
I was aware that I had never been worried too much about an attack. It had merely been an excuse to avoid Christine's bed. Yet now I didn't know what I had been afraid of. It had been easy, it had been good… or hadn't it?
Suddenly I wasn't feeling that wonderful anymore. It occurred to me that so far I had only thought of myself and how much I had enjoyed it. What if she hadn't? It was hard to tell with a woman. All I could do was ask her.
"Christine…" I started hesitantly. "Did you… well… did you… enjoy what we were doing?"
She looked at me for a long moment. Then she shook her head. My heart missed a few beats. I should have known. If only I hadn't asked her! Now she'd give me a detailed enumeration of what I had done wrong, and I really didn't want to hear it. I had tried my best. Did that count for nothing?
"Erik, Erik," she said, still shaking her head. "How can you ask such a question? Of course I enjoyed it. You were wonderful, Erik. I'll never forget this afternoon."
My smile widened. There was a tiny part of me that wanted to have the direct comparison to the Vicomte. It wanted to be told I had been better than him. Yet I knew better than to tempt fate. I was afraid I wouldn't have liked the answer to such a question.
"I'll never forget it either," I whispered. "It was…" I stopped, realising I still hadn't found the right expression.
"This must be the first time that the Opera Ghost is lost for words," Christine remarked with a slightly teasing undertone in her voice. "I should count myself lucky that I'm present at such an event."
"I'm sure this won't have been the last time you've seen this happen," I muttered into her ear, noticing in delight that the little hairs on her arm were standing up at my words. I let my lips linger at her earlobe for a moment before wandering further to her cheek and finally to her lips. There even was a difference in the way I was kissing her: I was more self-assured than before. I had pleased her while making love to her, so kissing didn't seem to be that difficult either.
"We should look what Philippe is doing," Christine said after a while. "Maybe he has woken up and is frightened because he doesn't know where we are."
I nodded half-heartedly. She was right. We mustn't neglect the boy, just because we had other things to do at the moment. I didn't want to give him the impression that he was superfluous.
I sat up, groaning about the pain that shot through my back. My coffin clearly wasn't made for two people.
"Would you like me to light another candle?" I asked her. I hadn't even noticed the first one going out. But then, I could see rather good in the dark. It was different for Christine, and I was concerned that she'd have difficulties in finding all her clothes.
Yet she shook her head.
"It's fine the way it is," she assured me hastily, and I understood.
"I see," I said slowly. "You don't want to look at me. You're afraid that my body could be as ugly as my face. I'm sorry that I haven't found a mask to cover all of me yet."
"That's not the point," she said softly. "It's not you, but… me. I'm not as young as I used to be, and being with child two times has left its traces on my body…" She gave a little sigh.
"You're the most beautiful woman in the world," I stated simply. "And it'll always stay like that, even if you live to be a hundred years old. It's a pity I won't be around anymore then…"
"You'll always be in here, in my heart," she whispered, pointing at her chest.
I got up quickly, glad about the dark. I wasn't in the mood to explain the tears in my eyes.