There were three knocks at my door. The sun was seeping in beneath my curtains as I opened my eyes. Figaro chirped from where his cage hung in the corner, greeting either the morning or the person awakening us.
"Christine?" Erik called. "You need to wake up, my dear. We need to be at the church in two hours."
I buried myself in my bedsheets and moaned.
"I made you a bath," he offered. "Come down before it gets cold."
I managed to slide out of bed, dragging my feet all the while. I went and opened the door. He was wearing his mask again, but the one that blended in with his skin. His malformed lips turned up on one side upon seeing me.
"Good morning," I told him, not even attempting to feign joy as I rubbed sleep from my eyes.
"Yes, good morning," he replied, almost trembling with excitement. "Truly it is... I have your bath made in the drawing room, and your wedding dress is set out in there as well."
I nodded, following him downstairs into the drawing room. The fireplace was lit and the air in the room was humid from heating water.
"Make sure it's not too hot," he told me as he gestured to the bathtub.
I didn't make my indignation known at this childish advisement. I found myself too weak with dread.
"I'll go close the doors," he told me.
He shut them behind himself as he left. I decided to face away from them while I bathed so that if he decided to peek in, he wouldn't see any more than my back. Then I realized it would be better the other way, as then I could see the door opening. But I decided upon the former; I would rather not know and give him no chance to see me.
I sank into the water. The warmth soothed my trembling, and I exhaled.
Everything wouldn't be so terrible. I had already spent three months with Erik, and I knew that he did love me. At least there was that. He had never harmed me before, either, not even when I had removed his mask for the first time. He had only cried out like one possessed until I feared he might do all matter of terrible things to me, but never even raised a hand against me. Even so, there was no doubt that he was capable of violence. He knew little else. He had told me as much, that all his life he had fought against the world. Could he simply relax into domestic life and detach himself from his violent past? I doubted that was possible.
The warmth in the water began to fade. I scrubbed myself with bar of soap he had left for me. It covered me in the scent of flowers and honey.
I fancied I heard a creak, and spun my head around to see if he had opened the door. To my relief, there was no one.
He had never been untoward to me beneath the opera house. My fears mostly stemmed from when I had been entranced, as I knew he had touched or admired me then in ways he should have not. What would he do when I was his wife, though? I found no solace in his promise that I could choose my wedding night. He could easily coerce me whenever he wanted. I knew he would never force me, but that gave me little comfort. He had no qualms about manipulating me into whatever he wanted.
I was helpless. The realization crashed over me. I would be even more helpless in two hours. The truth of the matter was that the moment we were married, I wouldn't be his captive anymore. I would be his wife under the law, and he could interpret that in a thousand different ways.
I stepped out of the bath and dried myself off. My mind had worn out of frightening thoughts, and now it was blessedly blank.
Upon slipping into the dress, I realized immediately that I would need assistance. The back laced up. My eyes were already stinging with tears.
"Erik?" I called.
"What is it?" he replied from just outside the door.
"I... I-I need help with the dress."
There was a moment of silence before he pushed the doors open. I had my back turned to him.
"I-it needs to be laced," I said.
"I see," he replied, his voice oddly quiet. "Hold up your hair for me."
I did so, and I felt him tugging at the laces. I kept quiet and still, hoping he didn't see the tears running down my cheeks. Him helping me dress was too much for me to bear. It didn't matter that he hardly saw anything, there was something intimate about helping someone dress. It was something a husband would do for his wife...
"Is that too tight?" he asked.
I shook my head, casting a few tears to the floor. He spun me around to face him and I gasped from his sudden it was. I found his eyes soft with concern, though, not red with anger. He brushed away the rest of my tears.
"Why must you cry today?" he asked miserably. "Of all the days?"
"I'm so afraid," I replied.
"But why? I've already told you how wonderful everything is going to be-"
"For you, Erik," I insisted tearfully, my voice weak, "everything is going to be wonderful for you. You'll have everything you ever w-wanted. Everything I ever wanted will be gone."
"You only ever wanted music."
"Music isn't enough, though. If it was, you wouldn't have wanted me."
"Of course music isn't enough," he agreed, his voice still soft. "You have my love. I would give all the music in the world to have someone love me as I love you. I would give the rest of my face for it, even."
There was no retort for me to offer, as he was right. He would throw away everything for the obsessive love he felt for me to be directed at him.
He brought a veil over to me and began to set it on my head. I pulled away, realizing my hair was a mess, but he grabbed my arm to keep me where I was.
"My hair!" I told him, starting to cry again. "I-I need to put it up f-first."
He released my arm, and I rubbed where it now ached. He glanced down at his hand, unused to gentleness, then at my eyes, before refusing my gaze.
"I suppose you should brush through it," he said in a monotone, "but leave it down like you always do."
I hurried upstairs, crying quietly to myself. He hadn't meant to hurt me, hadn't known my intentions, but even so, his strength had frightened me. My arm still throbbed dully from his grip.
I exhaled as I shut the door to my bedroom behind me. Then I sobbed for a while, not caring if I made us late because I couldn't restrain myself. I couldn't stop the tears from pouring out of me, for whenever they stalled, I thought of a new pain. My mind turned to my foolishness with believing in an Angel of Music, then my foolishness with Raoul. When those tears ran dry, I considered the life I had been taken from, and my eyes welled anew. Even when this was finished, I remembered my father. I could never cry enough for him being gone.
Erik knocked on my door. I had lost track of time, but I had wanted to.
"Christine?" he called gently. "You need to calm yourself so we can leave."
"I'm sorry," I replied, "b-but I can't. I can't stop c-crying..."
He pushed open the door and came over to where I sat on the bed, my face soaked with tears. He handed me a handkerchief.
"Don't think about anything," he told me. "Anything that upsets you, just push it away, then you needn't cry. Everything will turn out wonderfully. You'll see... It hurts me to see you cry, though, even if you won't later."
I was too weak to do much more than nod at that point. He helped me over to the table with perfumes, pins, and brushes on it, and a rather large oval mirror. I looked into my red and puffy eyes as Erik tried to tame my hair to its usual state. I winced as he accidentally tugged on a curl.
"Gently," I whispered.
"Forgive me," he replied, and I felt his hand run through my hair before the brushing resumed. Then he ceased. "Is that to your satisfaction? You'll be concealed under the veil, of course, so it doesn't matter too much."
I stared at my reflection. My vision fogged so that I saw nothing.
"It's fine," I told him.
"You're so beautiful," he said. "I've never seen anyone or anything that surpasses you."
I only saw my irritated eyes in the mirror, wide with fear.
He was silent for a moment, as if overwhelmed. Then he said, "For the wedding, your name is Ophélie DuPont."
"Ophélie?" I said weakly. "Are you Hamlet, then?"
He chuckled, "Of course not, my dear. I'm Éric Rocher."
"That's not your real name, though, is it?"
"No... and in private, we can have any last name you fancy."
"I quite like mine..." I whispered. "I don't want to give it up."
"But a husband doesn't take his wife's last name. It's unheard of." I looked up at him with my sad eyes, and he changed his mind. "I... suppose I have no issue with being Erik Daaé, though. Better to have a real name than a false one... You must sign the document as Ophélie Rocher, of course, but in private, your name won't change. You must have an alias in public, though."
I hadn't expected him to agree so readily. Perhaps he simply wanted a real name, and he had already seemed to care little for typical social behaviors.
"Come downstairs," he said. "We need to leave shortly."
What passed next can only be described like a dream, but not a good one, or a nightmare, somewhere in between. Crying had worn me down until I was hardly aware of myself.
It took me a moment to realize we were in a brougham, I was in such a daze. I looked out the window to find a small town with buildings of cream-colored bricks. Spring had barely dissolved the winter here; only a few buds dared peek up out of the earth, and the trees only boasted specks of green. I assumed the town might be lovely in the summer, though. Everything was lovely in the summer.
We stopped in front of a little white church with a sharp steeple. My heart plummeted.
Erik said something to me as he extended his hand. I heard not a word, but reached to accept it before he saw how much I was trembling.
Upon entering the church, we found there were only three people inside. One was on the edge of the pews, his head balding and bowed, hands clasped in prayer. There was a woman in black near the front, clasping a bright-beaded rosary. The last was the bishop, in the center. He had a bright, clean-shaven face and white hair, like Père Noël without a beard. He brightened as he saw us.
He greeted us, then turned to retrieve a book. He had us stand across from each other as he spoke words I did not hear. I repeated the words without thinking. I saw Erik's lips moving, but no sound issued. I couldn't move; I couldn't breathe.
Erik reached for my hand to slide a ring onto it, a plain gold band. Then I was handed one, and I did the same, not meeting his gaze. The brief ceremony finished with the removal of my veil, likely to reveal my eyes fighting against tears. Erik bent down and kissed my forehead. He only waited a moment before we were out the door and back into the brougham.
I took a deep breath, my lower lip trembling as I leaned back on the seat.
"You're my wife," Erik whispered, his eyes wide and his mouth barely moving.
"I am," I replied, tilting up my chin so I would keep my tears in my eyes. "I'm yours now, j-just like you wanted."
He buried his face in his hands and bent his head down over his knees. It took me a moment to realize he was crying. I stared at him, the man who had done so much to me, now weeping with happiness, and found my own heart being wrung dry by him. I couldn't help it.
"Sapphires," I whispered.
He took a moment to collect himself, poorly, before replying, "W-what?"
"I-I've always liked them best, if you wanted to get me a gift."
"A necklace?" he asked. His eyes were as irritated as mine had been earlier.
I reached out to brush my hand against his back. "Yes, that would be lovely... Y-you can cry into my dress, if you want. I'm certainly not going to wear it again."
He buried his face in my skirts, and I watched him do so for a little while before thinking I ought to comfort him in his happiness. I placed my hand on his shoulder, and he visibly shuddered at the contact.
When he had cried himself out, he fell silent. Neither of us spoke the rest of the way home. He was either overwhelmed or content, and I had no words for what I was feeling.
I had hoped he might let me be alone at home for a while, but the moment we arrived I realized I was sorely mistaken. He wanted to spend every moment with me.
He gave me champagne in the middle of the day, and I was so miserable that I helped myself to too much. It brightened my mood considerably. I had never liked being a bit intoxicated before. It helped me forget what had just occurred and what might happen next.
In some odd fashion, we ended up on the sofa together. The light bliss of the champagne was passing away, and I found myself quite tired, so I simply rested my head on Erik's knee. He had worn out his words, so he was wonderfully silent as he stroked my hair. I hardly minded.
"Are you asleep?" Erik asked me, gently enough not to wake me if I was.
"Nearly," I replied.
"Do you want to take a nap? I can go buy your necklace while you sleep."
"Oh, yes, please," I told him with all the excitement I could muster up. It was a convincing amount, as I wanted to have a while to reflect without interruption.
"Then I'll leave now, my dear."
I sat up. He rose awkwardly, as if he had forgotten how to.
He was at the door when I called, "Goodbye, dear."
He hesitated, bewildered that I would call him such a thing. He opened the door and left without a word, likely stunned. I heard a click.
I went upstairs to change into one of the dresses Erik had bought for me- a blue one with white embroidery on the edges- then I wandered the house for a time, taking it all in. I truly wasn't that tired.
I found the living room far too large for what we required. The walls were covered in jade green wallpaper, the furniture a rosy red. There was a game of chess set out and a piece of art on the wall. It was of a bowl of fruit, with pears, grapes, and an apple. All glowed against a dark background.
I went into the study next. It was barren, with only a desk and chair in the middle. The curtains on the window in the back were an evergreen shade, and so were the walls. Nothing about it interested me, though, so I shut the door and continued upstairs.
Erik had never shown me his bedroom. I wouldn't have gone into it with him there, but now that he was gone, I released my curiosity.
I expected to find a mess upon opening the door. Erik was prone to bouts of inspiration that could bury his desk in ink and crumpled paper, which often fell to the floor as well. To my surprise, though, I found the place spotless. The bed was made, the floor and carpets clean. But then, we had only been here for a day.
His room was crimson. The wallpaper was that hue, with a gold pattern like chain-link. He had quilted bedsheets like mine, but the same color as his walls. His curtains were green and red, and he had one large window that looked directly into the forest. His furnishings were the same dark wood as I had with the same glossy finish.
There was one slightly less tidy place, though; his desk. There lay three sheets of paper stacked haphazardly, a pile of crumpled drafts, and his pen was lying out in the center. There was a pencil nearby as well.
I indulged my curiosity and picked up the papers. Two were compositions that seemed to be the same piece. It was titled with my name. I found the paper beneath these to be a sketch of me in my wedding dress. Only, it wasn't me at all. In it, I was smiling. I had round, full lips, and they were wide to reveal parchment-white teeth. There was almost a shyness to my eyes as well, the timidity of a bride-to-be. There was no fear, no regret, nothing but delight, as he felt. He wanted me to be as happy as he was. He wanted what he could never have.
It broke something inside me to see that picture. I put the papers back the way they had been, then I went into my own room. Figaro chirped in greeting, and I told him I needed to cry first before I could feed him. Once I had said that, however, I couldn't cry. My eyes were still dried up from earlier.
I went to shut my door, then I opened his cage so he could fly out. He did so eagerly, but glided down due to clipped wings. I scooped him up from the floor and placed him on my shoulder. He chirped twice. I hoped that meant he liked it there.
He walked around to the back of my neck, and I giggled as he clambered up to the top of my head.
"Do you feel tall?" I asked. "You should try sitting on Erik's head. You might get vertigo up there."
He chirped again. I adored him for a while until I heard the door open downstairs. I placed him back in his cage and brushed out my skirts.
"Christine," Erik called.
I headed downstairs to him. "I'm coming."
He had a white box in his hands, and his face gleamed with delight. I found myself unable to smile, but I made an attempt. He extended the box to me, silent and anxious.
I opened it to find a silver necklace with a large sapphire dangling from the center, and smaller ones on either side, like drops of rain. They sparkled far too brilliantly. I had only ever seen such fine jewelry on the wives of opera-goers.
"I..." I whispered. "They're lovely. Like stars."
"Then you like it?" he asked hopefully.
"Yes, but..."
His face fell. "But what?"
"When will I ever wear them?"
"Whenever you want, my dear. Here, let me put it on you."
He didn't wait for me to reject this idea, so I stood still for him as he clasped it around my neck. He stood back from me to admire the effect.
"It suits you well," he told me. "Exceptionally well."
"Thank you," I replied, "but I think I want to take it off for now. This dress is too plain for it."
"Yes, it is far too plain for you, my dear," he agreed, though he had not heard me exactly. "I'll take you to be fitted for new ones tomorrow, if you want."
"If I feel well enough, I suppose."
"Are you falling ill?" he asked, suddenly concerned. "I can make you something to help-"
"No, no, nothing like that... I might be a bit melancholy is all."
"Then by all means, we must go shopping tomorrow to keep your spirits high."
"Shopping won't help."
"Music, then."
"Perhaps music..."
I placed the necklace back into the box.
"I'm going to take this upstairs," I told him.
"I'll come with you."
I nodded passively, beginning to drag myself up to my room. My eyes kept welling up and draining, threatening to overflow, but I kept them from doing so. I couldn't cry in front of Erik anymore on my wedding day.
"We need to have lunch," he told me as I set the necklace down on my dresser. I stared at it in admiration.
"I'm not hungry," I replied. "But I'll make you something if you want."
He waved away my words. "I'll take you somewhere to eat, my dear. A bride doesn't cook meals on her wedding day."
"But where will we go?"
"Just a café," he said happily. "I've never eaten at a café before."
"You haven't?"
"Cafés are for meeting with friends or loved ones. I have neither."
"Had," I whispered.
"Had," he agreed, his voice choked with emotion. "And now I have you..."
"We can do lots of things together," I told him. "We can have a little routine at home, little activities..."
"We'll never have to be alone again."
"No... we will not."
He extended his hands to cup my face, his fingertips brushing against my jaw.
"You don't have to worry as much with me as your husband," he said. "Not about children or chores, or even if I'll fall out of love with you. Nothing to worry about at all."
I didn't tell him what I had to worry about. I simply nodded. He pressed his lips to my forehead.
"Please ask next time," I told him.
"You would say 'no,'" he replied. "I can kiss my wife, can't I?"
"I won't say 'no...' I just want to say 'yes.'"
"Would you kiss me back, then?" he asked with bitterness in his voice, as if he expected me to decline.
I held his face in my hands to pull him down into my reach, and I kissed his unmasked cheek. His eyes were wide with surprise.
I wrapped my arms about his middle at this, beginning to cry. He stiffened.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"You didn't think... I-I would, you... thought I would l-lie to be cruel."
He patted my head. "Do you cry out of pity, then?"
"Maybe..."
"Then perhaps pity is not so terrible," he replied, placing an unsteady arm about me. "You don't need to cry, though. Don't cry."
"I can't..."
"You cry too much. It's not good for you."
"It is good... It makes me feel better w-when I'm done."
He felt where my lips had been. "I hope so..." Then he glanced at the clock. "We should leave."
"I'll put up my hair, then-"
"I don't want your hair up."
"But Erik-"
"You look so beautiful with it like this, my love," he told me. "After all, no one paints a goddess with her hair pinned up."
"I'm not a goddess."
"I don't want to argue with you on trivial things," he said, becoming mildly irritated. He extended his hand to me. "Come with your lovely hair as it is."
I gave up for that day. He was too exuberant for me to fear him.