Raoul sat staring out the window of his room as the first hints of sunrise were appearing on the horizon. Strewn about him on the floor were the many letters that he and Christine had exchanged during their brief engagement. Several older ones he had on his lap. They were among his prized possessions, from when they were children, and had first realized they had a childish attraction to one another. The words were simple and sweet, Christine being so young had only been writing for several years, and her vocabulary was limited to single syllables. Those were the letters he cherished most. He'd saved them in an old wooden trunk, reading them occasionally when he was feeling blue.
He'd loved her for so many years, part consciously, part less so. He had small envelopes of pressed flowers, now mostly fragments. She had loved to pick wild flowers for him, and they'd spent hours looking in books trying to discover the genes. A few seashells were in the box, some new, mingling with those from days long past.
The box brought him an odd comfort; it was all he had left of her now. He vacillated between smiles and tears of sorrow so quickly that it scared him. He felt angry, abandoned, lonely. It was hard to describe the ebb and flow of his emotions, it reminded him slightly of when his mother died, but this was far more raw now.
A knock at the door startled him back to reality, "enter" he called out. His father walked into the room. "Good, you are awake, although I dare say not ready for the day." Raoul had not even tried to hide the letters, it mattered little to him what his father thought of them.
"Here, this might help a bit," his father handed him a dark cup of coffee so strong that Raoul could almost taste it before it touched his lips. It was much to his annoyance that his father liked thick coffee and was an earlier riser than anyone else he'd ever known. He'd often chided his father when he was still at home that "the bats should be in bed before the early bird rises." In his youth his father had laughed at that comment, he doubted that it would elicit the same response from him now.
The elder De Chagny glanced down at the parchments scattered about and decided to act as though he'd not noticed them. "Son, we've a meeting at the Opera House after breakfast. Some of the principals shall be there, we need to be in good form to greet them." He patted his son firmly on the shoulder and left the room. Raoul was used to this formal treatment from his father, and as time passed it would no doubt become more callous, the pity for his son's grieving would only last so long.
Raoul gathered all the letters, re-bundling them with the twine and putting them back in his trunk. He had no doubt he'd visit them again and again until the pain of his loss subsided.
He mechanically put on his clothing, finishing with a brown topcoat. He looked himself over in the mirror. A gentleman indeed, a hollow dead look in his eyes. Yes, he felt like the walking dead….how many times he'd seen that in the eyes of others who'd lost their loved ones…now he understood.
He walked out of his room and down the stairs to the dining room as the first rays of morning light began to spill into the eastern half of the house. His father had already begun breakfast but stood briefly acknowledging his joining. "It will be a good day…yes…I can feel it will." His father said smiling at Raoul, sipping from his dark cup.
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Madame Giry was awake now, stretching she stared up at the lace canopy that covered the bed. It reminded her of her room when she was but a little girl. Her family had been of modest means, but her mother had insisted that every little girl must feel like a princess. She had painted the ceiling above her bed with cherubs and doves, a silk canopy had covered her bed, thin enough to see the figures on the ceiling. Madame Giry smiled.
Meg was still sound asleep in the next bed. The sun was barely peeking into the window of the bedroom, time to rise. "Meg, my dear, it is time to wake," Madame Giry said. A garbled hmmmp could be heard coming from Meg's face which was buried into her pillow. She was comfortable, and had no intentions of moving any sooner than absolutely necessary.
Madame Giry sat up stretching her arms high above her, rising from the bed she walked to the window seat and perched. She would take in the treat of the rising sun, a luxury she seldom had time for. There was a knock at the door. She rose, opening it found a tiny pot of coffee and a fresh scone with clotted cream. She looked down the hall but the maid had already gone. Such a treat indeed. She brought it into the room, resting the platter on the table. She took the cup, saucer, and scone in hand, returning to the window to enjoy the sunrise.
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Christine was still sleeping when Erik snuck back into the room. He'd taken off his coat and deposited it on the back of the chair. It took minutes only to be back in his robe, nestling ever so gently at Christine's side. He lifted her arm, draping it across his chest. Christine inhaled deeply, snuggling in, she put her head on his chest, kissing it tenderly before resting her cheek. "It is so nice of you to join me…" her voice faded into a tired sigh.
Erik winced, knowing he could not pretend that he had been there all night as he had hoped. He rolled over onto his side, putting Christine's head on his arm, he came to rest, one arm under her, the other caressing her neck, pulling the dark tendrils away from her face, placing them behind her, exposing the tender flesh of her neck. She smiled, opening her eyes sleepily, batting them wistfully at Erik as she did. The room was barely lit now, the candles having gone out, and only slivers of light crossed over into the room through the high stained glass window above the bed, giving it a kaleidoscopic glow.
Christine was a happy tired. Erik lay staring at her for a few minutes before reaching out to place a light kiss on her neck. Christine shuddered, the touch of his lips sent a tickle down to her core. Erik laughed a little, nestling his face in her neck, pulling her close to him. She wiggled until every inch of her skin touched some part of him. He was much taller than she, her extended toes barely touching his ankles. She could never feel close enough too him, wishing she could somehow climb inside his very being, taking shelter there in the warmth of his heart.
Her arms were wrapped tightly around his chest, as she squeezed him with all her might. He let out another little laugh, her attempts to tease him were undoubtedly meager at best. He pushed her to her back, holding her down with his hands he began to kiss her forehead, then each temple, each cheek, both sides of her neck, her collarbone, each shoulder. His face coming to rest under her chin, he laid down as she pulled her arms behind his shoulders, gracefully running her hands over his back. They both sighed in unison, a comfortable, relaxed sigh. There was such a contentment in the air, it was almost palpable.
Erik closed his eyes as Christine's hand wandered up to his head, her fingers running aimlessly through his hair. She was a siren, his siren, and he'd love her forever. He drifted off into a blissful sleep. Christine smiled as she felt Erik's exhaling and inhaling falling into a rhythmic pattern aligned with her own. The sensation of his warm breath on her chest was enflaming, but he needed rest. She knew the only way he would have been away from her last night is if he'd been up keeping watch, over what she knew not. Breakfast could wait, his rest was more important, and she needed to be there holding him through it.
Author's Notes:
Captain Oblivious: Yes, Tennyson is one of my favorites. I'd love to read Kay's book as well, but it is so difficult to find. I've but fragments of the story really, mostly as retold by others. The stranger in the woods….perhaps he serves a purpose…perhaps not…he may be an anomaly, or he may hold the key to a future event…hmmmmm. I have one clue for you…..REVENGE! I think you might be on to something. So, have you decided to be a gardener for Erik? Or is the grass not still growing where you are? Hope you enjoy the next chapters!
Waytoointoerik: Pounding hearts are my passion…for without them what do we have? We all LIVE for those few brief moments in our life that make our hearts pound! If your friends think you mad, just remind them that some of the most brilliant minds in history were thought to be mad…Einstein…Emerson….Walden….Tennyson….Tolstoy, the list is endless. If you are crazy…you are in seriously great company! Speaking of reading too much, did you ever get the POTO Companion? If not, it is a great book, one that you can get on It is what limped me through until the movie came out on DVD. It has the entire history of the story as it traveled from page, to stage, to film. Just a suggestion if you don't already have it. My copy sits on my night table along with several other favorites. Hope you enjoy the next chapters….more heart pounding I fear….is on the way!
Pertie: Welcome to the family! Yes, I have spent many, many, hours writing the story, but alas it is a labor of love. The characters feel like family to me now! I am a hopeless romantic, and this is such a gothic romance that it calls to me, nay, commands me to serve it! I hope you enjoy the next chapters!