This Christine has changed so much from the first chapters. She even tries to get Erik to emphathize with her this chapter, and you can guess how that goes

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

I found my fears dissipating from Erik's reaction to my head on his shoulder. He was who I had known beneath the opera house again, desperate for the slightest bits of affection, but hiding all his sentiments behind his half-mask. His eyes told all, though. Even if he was cold as stone, his eyes would flicker and soften with emotion.

It would be a lie to say I hadn't loved him beneath the opera house. Perhaps it was because he was all I had down there, and I was dependent upon him, but there had been love. No, I did not like being treated like a child, and yes, I argued with him and asserted myself, but when neither of those happened... There was just something to him that was nice, so long as I forgot about his crimes. There was a part of me that delighted in his little smiles at basic kindness, the way he doted on me incessantly. Perhaps it was wrong, but it was there.

I found myself closed to him now, though. My time with Raoul had sealed my heart. I couldn't bear Erik's touches now, even innocent as most of them were. He wanted to be kind and gentle, I knew he must, after what I had seen beneath the opera house. My greatest fear was that I might be wrong about him.

"How long until we arrive?" I asked him, lifting my head from his shoulder.

"An hour or so," he replied.

"Will we go into Bordeaux sometime?"

"If you want to..." he said softly, then added, "You must hold my hand, though, when I take you places."

"I don't mind holding hands," I told him simply, clasping his for emphasis. "You act like I might be upset over that."

He stared down at my hand in surprise. "You were earlier."

"I... was tired and afraid earlier."

"Then your words do not stand?"

"They do- they do. I still want to be asked."

"I've never heard of a man asking his wife to hold her hand."

"Not always with words," I explained. "You can hold out your hand, and I can accept it with mine. The same with kisses and such."

His eyes flickered. "Kisses?"

"Married couples kiss."

His lips began to form a word, but no sound came out. He exhaled, "I'm glad you're not upset as you were earlier, over every little thing."

"I'm not afraid now," I replied, "or tired... What will we do tonight?"

He stared ahead, as if there lay the answer to my question. He said, "There are books. I made sure the bookshelves were stuffed with all manner of novels for you. And my violin is there, and a grand piano in the drawing room, so we could play music... The piano is an exquisite instrument," he told me, shutting his eyes for a moment as if he could hear it. "You have ears that will be able to tell the difference. The sound is magnificent. When I played it, I could feel the music vibrating within me. A true instrument should become part of the musician, after all, and both should feel as one."

"My father told me as much, though not about a piano. I'm excited to hear it."

He smiled faintly. The last of my fear melted away for that moment. I rubbed my thumb against his hand, and he stared down at where we were joined, as if bewildered by it. Then he lifted my hand, and a kiss was planted on it before I could blink. I restrained myself from pulling away. It was just a kiss on my hand, after all...

"Are you cold?" he asked.

"I'm fine-"

He had already removed his jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders. I couldn't deny that the warmth was welcome, though I feared it an act of possession.

"Thank you," I told him. "But what about you?"

"I don't feel the cold," he replied.

We remained sitting like that for quite some time, bringing up little bits of conversation every once in a while. It was pleasant. He was shy with me, even more than beneath the opera house. Perhaps it was my change in attitude that had made him relax.

The brougham slowed as we came upon a cobblestone road rather than dirt. I glanced out the window to find houses all lined up neatly and lit by gas lamps. As we continued, the houses grew further and further apart, until we came upon one with a white fence about it, alone in comparison to the others, the edge of a forest directly behind it. We stopped in front of the gate.

"Here we are," Erik told me.

"Home," I replied frailly.

"Home," he agreed, unable to contain his joy at all of this.

He helped me out of the brougham, and I allowed him my arm as we went to the front step of the house. In the darkness, I couldn't tell the definite shape and color of it. I knew it was larger than we needed, but that was all.

He unlocked the door. I glanced back to see the driver removing our luggage from the brougham, then I followed Erik inside.

He turned on the gaslights, and my eyes widened. It was no de Chagny estate, but Erik was right that I hadn't wanted that. This modest luxury was still expensive for me, but... there is a delight in having a beautiful house to live in. I filled to the brim with this, my fear failing to overwhelm it.

He took my hand and brought me into the dining room, kitchen, living room, drawing room, study, then upstairs to the bedrooms. He was speaking excitedly now, pulling me around too quickly for me to take in the furnishings. I would have to truly see them later.

"Ignore the other two," he told me as he opened the door to a bedroom, his features gleaming around his mask. "They are only for show... This one is yours."

He pushed me inside by the small of my back, and my lips parted at the sight of it.

What person needed all this space to sleep? Why, I had a table and chairs in the corner, for some purpose. Everything was of dark, glossy wood, and the fabrics were floral. The curtains were a muted blue, the bedsheets quilted and the same color. The four-poster bed was not unreasonable, but twice the size of the one in my apartment. There was a great window with an pearl cushion beneath it, and this I wandered to, staring out at the vast gray sky.

"Do you like it?" Erik asked.

"What's not to like?" I replied. "I should be thrilled."

"Are you not?"

"I like it very much," I told him quietly.

"And I'll buy you dresses," he added, "dresses and jewelry, and pretty little shoes. Anything."

"Whatever makes you happy..."

I turned back to the window, sitting down on the cushion beneath it. Erik came over to me, and I patted the spot beside me for him to take.

He sat down silently. I reached out to remove his mask, and he grabbed my wrist.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Taking off your mask, of course," I replied, with a bit of irritation. "What else would I be doing?"

"What else," he repeated softly, releasing my wrist.

I slid my fingertips beneath the hard surface of the mask and lifted it up over his head. We stared at each other. In the dark, I could hardly even see his face. I had long since grown accustomed to the sight of it. No, it was by no means a pleasure to look at, but I didn't mind it so much now. Not so much.

Before either of us could speak a word, a glint of candlelight ran down Erik's cheek, the reflection in a tear.

How strange it was to be afraid of a man who cried from simple kindness.

I reached to comfort him, and he shattered fully, clinging to me as if I might disappear. I wanted to get away from his strong hands, but there was nothing to fear now. My shoulder grew damp from his tears, and I cried as well, out of pity for him and myself.

"You're crying because you're sad," he whispered against me.

"And you are not," I replied.

He pulled away from me, brightening as he cupped my face in his hands.

"You're going to be happy," he told me, almost pleading with me. "I can make you so very happy, if you would let me. What more could you want but all this? We have everything here, everything: music, comfort, love... Is there more to life than that?"

I thought back to Raoul, but his offer of marriage was unappealing to me now. Then I considered being onstage, my heart pouring out of me, and even that had lost its luster. It had never been about the crowds of people before me, but the music. I only loved the music.

Had this life been my choice, and I had no fear of Erik... I might have indeed chosen this. But I had not chosen this.

"I love you," he told me. "There's not much more one needs besides that."

I shook my head in agreement. "No. There is not..."

I glanced towards the door, pensive for a moment.

"Didn't you say the kitchen was stocked?" I asked.

"Yes, I have everything arranged to be brought to our doorstep so we needn't leave the house very often. A-and you won't have to laundry. I have that arranged as well."

"I'm only asking because..." I sighed as I stood up from the window seat. "Well, I should make dinner now, shouldn't I? It's quite late."

He stared at me in stupefaction, then rose. "Do you like making meals?"

"I don't mind making them, it's the cleaning up after that I can't stand."

"Then you cook, and I'll clean up."

I nearly laughed. "I thought you wanted us to be normal. In what world does a husband help with dinner?"

"I don't want us to be normal if it compromises happiness."

"Happiness..." I mouthed.

"And I've cooked and cleaned up meals for quite some time now."

"Well, then by all means, come help me."

...

When dinner was finished, Erik and I sat down in the drawing room, in front of the fire. It and a few candles illuminated the room. We were in separate chairs, both with coral cushions.

"Electric light appears dead," Erik said in the odd way he frequented, sudden and unrelated to anything we were doing at that moment. "Firelight has such life to it... And yet one does not catch things on fire, nor extinguish from a slight gust of wind."

"I want to talk about the marriage," I told him, instead of continuing his curious subject.

"What part of it?" he asked, brightening.

"Well, do you even know what marriage looks like?"

"I have seen it, yes, and I have read books."

"Well, I know quite a lot about it, from my parents."

"Your mother was dead for most of your life, though," he said simply.

It was evident he hadn't considered that I might react unfavorably to this observation. My eyes welled up from the realization that, no, I had no family, nor a mother-figure like Madame Giry anymore, or so much as a friend. I would never have any of those again. I began to cry into my hands, with my head bowed.

Erik was silent for a moment, evidently bewildered.

"Why do you cry for her?" he asked. "You hardly knew her."

"D-don't you cry," I replied through my tears, "that y-you hardly had one, either?"

He sat back in his chair, pensive. Then he replied, "I don't cry for it. I only wish I had gotten to her before the tuberculosis did."

"No, no, I mean... d-don't you wish you had a real mother? My father... h-he tried to make il for it, b-but... he couldn't replace h-her... But don't you wish you had one, too?"

His jaw tightened. "I wish I had a real face."

"I'm just trying to say that we both know the same feeling-"

"We do not!" he snapped, leaping to his feet. "You had a father who loved you! You had beauty to match your voice! I have had nothing until now, nothing! You acted like this beneath the opera house, like we know the same suffering, when you know nothing of mine! Do you think I wanted to be a murderer? I earned a living off blood! It was either that or pretend to be a beast in a cage, and I tried that, even, I tried it! I was tired of watching bodies writhe beneath my hand, tired! I put myself in a cage, Christine, my little angel, have you ever been in a cage? Like an animal at the zoo? Have you ever hoped to have coins thrown at you? I couldn't bear it! I would rather have starved to death than continued that. So I ran to the opera house, thinking it might be a sanctuary. Music was my only refuge, even then. I could forget everything when I sang or played my violin, everything. So made myself a home where no one would see me, just like they wanted, but where I could hear and play music, as I wanted. Ah, but then there was the ghost! The ghost came before me, you know, and if they wanted a monster, then I would give them one. I needed to make a living still, after all. And that was what they had always expected of me, to live in the shadows and make people shudder with fright. I had hoped that by giving them what they wanted, I might receive some peace at last, that I might content them... and then you came." His voice trailed off. "I loved you the moment I heard you sing, even when you first arrived, with your wings clipped, your voice was beautiful then..."

He was leaning over me, his hands gripping the sides of my chair. His chest was heaving from his earlier words, and I had curled myself up beneath his shadow.

"I couldn't be content then," he whispered. "I couldn't imagine a day without you, so I decided I wouldn't... And now you have all of it, all of my miserable life." Then he added bitterly as he stood upright, "I should ask for a kiss now for telling you."

He did not, however. He turned on his heels and left the room.

I couldn't bring myself to follow him. The day had been long and exhausting already. I crept up to my bedroom and shut the door, my heart still pounding in my chest from emotion. But I wouldn't cry. I cried too often.

I opened my dresser to see if he had bought me any nightgowns. There was only one, with fabric soft as down and flowers woven into the sleeves and collar. The buttons were pearly glass.

I usually washed my face before bed, but I didn't want to go down to fill my pitcher. I went to shut my curtains before pulling back my quilted bedsheets. They were soft. Everything, it seemed, was soft.

This room was comprised of nothing but love. The house was not made for him, either. Had it been, there would be antique furnishings, I assumed, not the modern ones I preferred. My room and his would be the same, then. But no, he hadn't done that. He had brought me here because he didn't know how else to have love. He had prepared the house in the way he knew I would like because that seemed to be the only display of love he understood: gifts. I knew he would drown me in pearls and diamonds if I let him. Not because he wanted to see me in them, but because he knew those were supposed to make women happy. He wanted to make me happy, but not to the point of self-sacrifice.

As I turned over in bed, I heard the stairs creaking outside my door. Footsteps echoed down the hallway, barely muffled by the carpet running the length of it. He stopped outside my door for only a moment before continuing to his room, the one diagonal from mine. A door opened and shut.

I stared up at the ceiling for a while, deep in thought about the wedding tomorrow, about how to cope with Erik's joy when I would be full of despair. Then my thoughts turned to Raoul, likely still searching for me, perhaps tossing and turning in bed, unable to sleep due to fear for me.

When I shut my eyes, they sealed with tears.

...

I woke with a start. Rain pattered on the windows like glass beads.

The curtains bled bright light, followed by a crack of thunder that shook the whole house. I wrapped a shawl about my shoulders, knowing I wouldn't be able to sleep with the heavens making such a racket.

I lit a candle and headed downstairs, thinking a bit of tea might be nice. I headed into the kitchen to heat a kettle.

There was a rumble of thunder as I sat down in the drawing room, exhaling through my mouth. It was nice to be alone for a time. I didn't want to think too much, though, so I went to peruse the bookshelf. Then I glanced over at the staircase, thinking I had heard a creak. There was no one, not even a shadow on the steps, so I returned to finding a book.

A flash of white light burst into the room again, followed by a quiet crackle. That was when footsteps rushed down the stairs.

"Erik?" I called.

He stopped at the bottom of the steps, then put his head in his hands.

"Why didn't you stay in your room?" he demanded, coming over to me.

"Why must I?" I replied indignantly. "I can't sleep with this storm."

"I didn't know where you were! Your door was ajar."

"Where am I supposed to go? It's pouring down rain outside, and more than that, I might get struck by lightning."

He nodded, calming himself, "You're right, you're right. You're smarter than that..."

The kettle whistled from the kitchen. I went to remove it for the tea.

"Do you want some?" I asked him.

"I... suppose," he replied. "T-there should be biscuits in the cupboard over there."

I nodded. He left the room as I put in the tea leaves. I heard the scraping of a match, so evidently he was lighting a fire.

I wondered if anyone had ever made him tea before, but I didn't dare ask and upset him in some way.

When the tea was ready, I brought it on a tray I had found, and realized I was the image of a wife at that moment. It was disconcerting.

I set the tray down on the table. Erik was sitting in the chair he had earlier, with his hands folded in his lap, reminding me of a child trying his hardest to be obedient.

"Do you take sugar?" I asked.

"No," he replied.

"Me neither, but you knew that already... Do you want a biscuit?"

"No."

I brought him his tea, then went and sat down with mine. He stared into the fireplace.

"Is something wrong?" I asked him.

"I didn't..." he hesitated, "frighten you earlier, did I?"

"No," I lied. Then I moved the subject along, "I never spoke to you about the wedding."

He set aside his tea, then stood up from his chair.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, sounding weary. "Earlier you were resisting every little thing, and now you... make me tea and want to discuss our wedding."

"What else am I to do?" I replied.

"You want something," he said, pointing at me for emphasis. "That's why you're being agreeable. What do you want, then?"

"Nothing you will give me. But this isn't to get something. I'm just being nice."

"Even you wouldn't do that for nothing."

I set aside my tea with such force that a bit of it ran over the side. Then I stood up, my arms crossed.

"I know you've been wronged," I said. "I know you think everyone is a cruel, horrible person, but I am not. Don't you know me? You think I would lie to you? I didn't even mean to make you tea! It was just for myself, and then you came down, so I offered you some, like any normal person would. And then I only brought up the wedding because I know nothing about what is happening tomorrow! Nothing I did was even that kind!"

He was silent. I emitted something between a cry and a whimper as I turned towards the doorway. He grabbed my wrist.

"Don't go," he pleaded. "Sit back down, have your tea-"

"I want to go back to bed," I replied. "The storm quieted."

"I'll play music for you."

"Erik-"

"What would you prefer? Mozart? Verdi? Perhaps Berlioz-?"

"Sleep," I insisted, but I found his soft eyes and sighed. "Something of yours, I suppose. May I go to sleep after that?"

"Of course you may. I don't want you to waste your tea is all."

"My tea, of course," I said, but he didn't catch my sarcasm.

I suddenly wished I wasn't being so bitter with him. He only wanted to play music for me now, and what music. I could live off it.

The music made me forget everything, too.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

... down in flames.