I expected writer's block to come, and it did. But I hope I can update Captive in a Sanctuary by the end of the week, if not sooner. I'm feeling much better now after what happened, too, thank you for your support in the reviews.

I don't know if I'm completely satisfied with this chapter, but maybe that's because it's rather uneventful.

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Flowers. There were flowers all around me when I woke. They were on the end tables and coffee table, in vases and baskets, some even tied with bows. There were countless varieties. The effect of the perfume and the warmth radiating from the fireplace made me remain there for some time, savoring the peace and quiet.

At least he still loved me. I was quite safe with him due to that, and now I understood exactly how much. He wouldn't hurt me. He couldn't even bear the thought of doing so by accident. My only fear now was that, if I continued to carry Raoul's child, his love for me might dim. Even that, however, I had begun to doubt. Nothing had hurt his love of me so far.

I found my hands clasping over my stomach. It was a strange feeling that something might be there. Then I found myself sickened with the thought that that something had died within me and might now be withering away. Erik might know about the development of babies, as he knew so much, but I doubted his cold logic would ease my pain.

I pushed off the blankets and went over to the windows. It seemed he had pulled open the curtains earlier to let in the light. It was nice to look down out of them and find more buds, more green, all surrounding the house. It gave me hope. There was quite a bit of hope, after all. I wasn't locked up, wasn't being treated like a doll. He wanted a wife. Couldn't I give him that? I only needed to not fight him so much, at least on matters of less importance, and perhaps we both would be happy. It was such a simple solution, but why could I not abide by it? Why was it so difficult for me to be passive?

I unlatched the windowpanes so I could open them. The air swept in- cool, spring air. For a moment, as I shut my eyes, everything was right with the world. There was no worrying about the future, and no awful memories of the past. The world was utterly beautiful.

For a time, I stood there, gazing out onto the quiet street beyond. I suddenly wondered if Erik would let me have any friends, or if he wanted me all to himself. It was likely the latter, but there was no harm in asking... Gently, that is. I always needed to be gentle with him when I could. He was so accustomed to people being violent and cruel that he still expected the same of me, even after three months.

I turned back to the flowers with determination. If I was going to be a wife, then I ought to do what Erik would have fantasized. He had this actually rather nice idea of what home should be like, and I was certain I could give him exactly what he wanted, so long as my will remained intact.

I began spreading the flowers about the house, brightening up each room. I rearranged a few things as well, made little touches that Erik would notice. It was all designed for his eye. I chose colors to match a room's wallpaper, then made sure the vases and baskets were scattered about rather than all clumped together.

As I adjusted a vase of hydrangeas in the drawing room, from outside came the rolling of wheels over cobblestone. I went to the window to find a brougham stopped outside the house, with Erik's silhouette in the window. He stepped out, wearing his skin-like mask. His arms were full of flat white boxes, his face melancholy. He pushed open the fence and started down the stepping stones to the door, which he had difficulty opening, what with all the boxes.

"Good morning," I told him as he entered.

He looked me up and down. "Far better than yesterday's."

He had such a curious way of answering to simple greetings, as if they were to be interpreted directly.

"What are those?" I asked.

He looked down at the boxes, as if he had forgotten. "Your dresses. Is three enough or should I order another?"

"Whatever would make you happy, but three is enough for me."

"They're quite lovely," he offered. "But I assume they'll be much lovelier on you than in boxes. And you can wear your brooch with them, though perhaps it might look a bit odd with one of them. Dragonflies and birds don't mix well... Do you want me to close the doors so you can put one on?"

"Not now, but thank you... If you could put them up in my room, that would be nice.

"Certainly."

He glanced over towards the drawing room. His face fell.

"What happened to the flowers?" he asked.

"I-I thought the place could use some light," I answered hurriedly, suddenly unsure of myself. "They were so beautiful that it seemed such a shame to have them all together. I put one in each room- the important ones, that is."

He brightened considerably at this. "You like them, then?"

"Very much. I left my favorite in here."

He glanced over at it. "Yes, I quite like hydrangeas, too... I'm glad you've started taking pride in the house. I was worried you might still be stubborn about that."

"I'm not exactly a woman who likes keeping a house, but there is something in it that's... soothing, I suppose."

He smiled faintly. "That's good... I'll take these upstairs."

I drifted about the room, waiting for him to return and, surprisingly, wanting him to. I couldn't deny that I was desperately lonely. How strange that I had been with only him for months now, yet I still hadn't grown accustomed to it.

Though it seems impossible, I almost forgot that he knew me the way a man knows a woman. The mere thought of that night turned my skin to ice. He had been so inexperienced, so innocent. It had astonished me. I realized why he had wanted me so badly, though, and it actually had little to do with lust. He simply wanted love. After a lifetime of having nothing, why should he not take the most that he could, and hope it would fill the void within him? Of course, I knew it had not done so. If anything, it had only further hollowed out his soul. He knew it had hurt me deeply by it. I knew he must, even if he tried his best to ignore it.

He returned and asked if I wanted breakfast. I told him I would get an apple is all. I went over to the kitchen, then glanced back at him when I knew he couldn't see me. He had gone over to the vase of particularly magnificent pink, white, and blue hydrangeas. He plucked a single four-point petal and examined it for a moment before squeezing it between two fingers and discarding it upon the carpet.

I grabbed a red apple and returned to the living room. He looked at me with his head tilted in curiosity.

"I thought you preferred them cut up," he observed.

"Only because you prepared them for me beneath the opera house like that."

"You never complained."

"There was no reason to," I replied, taking a bite out of it.

"I wasn't aware that ladies eat apples whole."

"Well, I'm not a lady... Does it bother you?"

He shook his head. "I see no issue with how you eat an apple... Why don't I show you some magic tricks now? To make you laugh?"

"I would quite like to laugh..." I told him sadly, taking another bite of my apple. "But actually, do you know any jokes?"

He faltered. "Jokes?"

"Yes. Do you know any?"

"None that would be..." he searched for the word, "appropriate in your company."

"I just want to laugh is all."

"Well, my humor is not the same as yours, so I doubt I could manage to entertain you with jokes..." His eyes lit. "But magic tricks, those make you laugh more than anything else."

"They do..."

He tilted up my chin with his hand. "But you need to at least try to be happy. I can't help you if you won't let me."

"I am letting you."

He trailed his fingertips along my jaw, but removed his hand hastily. "You are..."

I set the apple aside and held my hands out. "Will you show me a trick now?"

"Certainly," he replied, his eyes clearing.

He took my hands and brushed his over them, but I couldn't tell whether this was simply for his benefit or to aid in the magic.

"Are you reading my palms?" I asked.

He laughed, "No. I don't believe in fortune-telling, or astrology. I was born under a symbol of good fortune, to my mother's dismay..."

"So, what are you doing?"

"Distracting you," he replied, keeping his eyes down. "That's most of what magic is, distraction. You should try harder to see through it."

"I do try... You move so fast is all."

"Like this?"

He brought forth my engagement ring in the palm of his hand. I glanced down at my hand and found I hadn't noticed it missing.

"How did you do that?" I asked. "Why don't I feel it, like with the marble?"

He placed the ring back on my finger lovingly. "Distraction, and practice... But you didn't laugh, let me try some card tricks."

"Erik," I said, placing my hand on his, "before that, I need to ask you a question."

"What sort of question?"

I swallowed. "It's been weighing heavily on my mind."

He nodded for me to continue, attentive but wary.

"W-what happens when a woman..." I faltered out of trepidation, "miscarries?"

His lips tightened, and his hand slammed into the end table. He breathed heavily for a moment. My pulse quickened.

"This is just out of curiosity?" he asked. "Not because you experienced such a thing, as I told you to forget?"

I nodded hastily, "Curiosity, yes."

"Curiosity," he sighed bitterly, placing his hand back in his lap. "I know more about anatomy than the development of babies, but... to put it simply, in an early miscarriage, it really wasn't a child yet. It was merely forming, mostly with the body making preparations, though."

"So nothing... dies?"

"Not in the first few weeks. It wouldn't have a heart yet, or a brain, so it couldn't possibly die. It's like what happens to you every month, when your womb prepares, and then has to start over."

I nodded.

"But it's actually not your womb at that point," he added, "it's called-"

"Erik," I said hastily, my face flushing. "I-I don't really want to know."

"Aren't you curious?"

"Not in the slightest about this."

He smirked. "All right, then..."

We were silent for a moment. He picked a speck of dust from his pants, and I watched him. Without warning, leaned my head on his shoulder. His hands floated up from his sides in surprise, and he exhaled shakily.

"Could we have a quiet day?" I asked.

"What do you mean?" he replied.

"Everything has been so miserable recently. I can't bear us raising our voices today. I just want peace and quiet."

"Do you want to go outside, perhaps?" he offered.

"It looks like rain," I replied, glancing through the window at the gray clouds.

"We'll come back inside, then, if it does. But you haven't walked through the garden yet, not as I want you to do. It might relax you."

"It might... Let me get dressed first."

"Wear the green one," he offered.

"Do you like that one the best, then?"

"Yes, it's rather whimsical."

"I'll wear it," I told him, heading up to my room.

I found the boxes had been placed on my vanity table. The one containing the green dress had already been opened, and atop it was a pale hat with white flowers on a green sash.

"He does know that I have to put my hair up to wear a hat, doesn't he?" I whispered aloud to myself. "Nor do I have the energy for such a thing..."

I ignored it and instead put on the dress. It was indeed whimsical, but that was a preferred fashion now. There were dragonflies embroidered about it, on the hem and the sleeves. I actually liked it quite a lot, far more than I expected of something he had picked out for me. The color was lovely, too, a nice jade. The fabric, as always, was soft and finely-woven.

I went downstairs to Erik. He was picking over the bookshelf full of music scores and placed one back as he saw me descending. His lips parted at the sight of me. With Raoul, I had blushed and beamed at such a thing, but with Erik, it made me sad.

"You do look lovely in that," he told me. "But did you see the hat I bought to wear with it?"

"Yes, and it's lovely," I replied. "But I don't really want to spend half an hour putting up my hair in ringlets in order to make it look nice. When we go into town, though, certainly."

"Why can't you wear it with your hair like it is?"

"It would look rather... strange. Ridiculous, even. They're meant to sit on top of a pile of pinned-up hair, not wild curls."

"If that's the fashion," he almost grumbled. "But come, let's go out to the garden before it rains."

He took my dark blue cloak and clasped it about my neck. Then he reached for my hand, and I permitted it. We strolled out onto the grass patched up with white and red clover. There was a birdbath filled with cloudy water near the house, and a marble bench beside it, the base of which was shrouded in creepers. He gestured for me to sit.

"I've always wanted a garden," I told him, gazing about it.

"And now you have one," he said happily.

"Yes, I do..."

"And you can fill it with whatever you want," he added. "I'll have someone come in a month or so to pick all the weeds-"

"I like the weeds."

"Then I won't do that," he said, smiling in amusement at me.

"Could we plant some honeysuckle, though?"

"Of course. What type, so I can go buy it and have it planted?"

"I... I don't know the exact name. The white ones."

He nodded in understanding. "I'm certain that's enough information... I assume this is sentimental?"

"It is..." I folded my hands in my lap. "I-I used to suck the nectar as a girl. They grew everywhere in the summer, but then, that was the only time flowers really grew."

We were silent for a moment. He folded his hands in his lap, mimicking me, and kept glancing at me with his desperate eyes. I kept my gaze upon the garden, then I looked out onto the street. There were children playing- boys, by the sound of it. They seemed to have wooden swords and were pretending to fight. The echo of it reverberated through the neighborhood.

"Did you ever get to play, as a child?" I asked Erik.

He stiffened. "It doesn't matter."

"Do you want to?"

"Do I want to?" he repeated, evidently confused by the question.

"I'll teach you a game to play. I'm offering to."

"I'm not a child."

"People in love play lots of childish games," I explained. "It's not so uncommon... Here, give me your hands."

He remained where he was. "You're making fun of me."

"I would never do that to you," I insisted to him. "Never... I want to have some fun is all, and I want you to, too. I've had too little fun of late."

"Fine," he sighed, making sure I knew of his nonchalance. "For your sake."

He turned towards me.

"Mostly girls play this game," I admitted to him, "but I played it with a boy once, in Sweden... You start with a pat," I patted my lap, "and then you clap, clap with your partner's hand, clap with the other hand, clap twice, then start over. There's a song to go with it, but it's in Swedish, so I'll just sing along with it."

"Then I will gladly make a fool of myself."

"No one is watching but me. You can't make a fool of yourself... Besides, what do you care what people think?"

"I don't. I care what you think, and what people think of you."

I reached out for his hands. "Then are the beautiful dresses and trinkets for their eyes, or mine?"

"They are for your delight, and their envy."

"Don't think about them," I insisted to him, rubbing my thumb in circles over the back of his hand. "I can't bear being envied. I would rather be invisible."

"It's impossible not to envy you, even if you were dressed in rags."

"You think so highly of me..." My mind drifted, and I remembered. "Oh, I've gotten us distracted now. Let's play."

We engaged in this for a time, and I daresay Erik enjoyed himself immensely. I was smiling and singing, so of course he was delighted. It was rather silly, though, I had to admit.

After this had lost its luster, I walked around the garden with him, arm in arm. He was telling me about how inspiring nature is for music, about some piece called the Hebrides, which was about a group of islands. It was composed by a young prodigy like himself.

"It will always anger me that your pieces go unknown," I told him.

"You know them," he replied quietly, "and that is more than enough for me..."

A drop of rain fell onto my cheek, and I stared straight up at the sky, towards the dense clouds.

"We should go inside, my dear," he told me, glancing up and putting out his hand. "It looks like the rain is starting."

"I love rain," I replied. "Let's stay until it pours, then we can go inside."

"I don't want you catching cold, my dear... Come watch it through the window, where it's warm."

"Maybe you're right... Let me feel one more droplet, though."

...

Erik was conflicted. I could see it building behind his eyes. He didn't know whether to regret what he had done to me. It had been his right, after all, and I had given it of my own will, but he knew it had fractured our friendship, what strange friendship we had.

He wanted me to love him. Though he insisted that he only wanted my kindness and companionship, it was evident that he still hoped I might, one day, love him. I wondered now if I could. Perhaps in time, if he remained as kind as he had been that day and the prior. He did love me, more than an obsession now, more than desire. He was distressed by my melancholy state, my glassy eyes and quiet voice. Where was the fire inside me? Why did I not argue with him? Why was I exactly what he had wanted, yet not at all?

I could see all of this in his eyes, but he could put none into words. So I forgave him, in my heart. I forgave him for taking advantage of my fear in order to consummate the marriage. He had been to desperate to refuse, too desperate to think. I also forgave him for the bruises on my neck, though those were an accident. It rested well with me to forgive him, far better than letting the wounds fester. He hadn't meant to wound me. He never did.

The next morning, I put on the same dress as the prior day. I took my time arranging my hair to fit properly beneath the hat. Then, once my reflection satisfied me, and I had fed Figaro, I went downstairs in search of Erik. He was at the piano, as always.

"Erik?" I called, clasping my hands in my lap.

"A moment, a moment," he replied, quite involved in his composing. "Listen to this, my little Christine."

He played a short melody, and that was all. I found it intriguing, but without any foundation, it was difficult to decipher.

"I think it will do well for your piece," he told me, turning around slowly but keeping his eyes in his work. "The one I'm writing for you, that is. It has that feeling to it that I-"

His eyes widened as they came to rest upon mine. His lips parted.

"The hat... does look nice," he informed me, running a hand down his waistcoat.

"I didn't know when we were planning to leave," I said.

He blinked in confusion. "Leave?"

"The beach," I replied, my heart sinking. "You said we would go today if I was ready."

"Oh... Oh, of course, yes, it slipped my mind, What with inspiration and... well, I doubted you would be ready by now."

"I feel quite well."

"That's good to hear, my darling."

He went to retrieve his jacket. I cleared my throat.

"C-could I eat breakfast, though?" I asked.

"Breakfast?" he whispered. "Yes... Yes, you can, go do so."

I turned toward the kitchen, then back to him.

"Are you feeling well?" I asked. "You're forgetting a lot."

"I'm perfectly well. Composing simply takes me away from the world."

"Yes, I forget. That's why you like it so much."

He nodded. "It's like a drug. I even forget myself sometimes... Now go eat breakfast. I'm going to work some more."

His passion for music was a sight to behold. He could spend days in front of an empty paper to fill a single line. His devotion, his genius, it was awe-inspiring, almost magical. What he could pull out of an instrument was breath-taking.

I made myself some baguette with jam- lingonberry jam, no less. He wanted to take such good care of me, but I doubted he would ever understand how a person properly cares for another. His past life had ruined that for him.

I came back into the drawing room when I was finished. He turned back to me, and his face fell.

"You need to cover your neck somehow," he told me.

"With what?"

"A ribbon, perhaps?"

"That might look silly."

"I would rather it look silly than..." His voice caught.

"I know... I know, let me see what I can do."

I started upstairs, then he called, "Perhaps a bit of powder?"

"I don't have powder," I replied, turning to lean over the railing. "Ladies don't wear powder."

"Christine, there must be something," he pleaded.

I went back down the stairs towards him.

"Erik," I said softly, "I don't think anything can cover it up. They're more brown than purple now, at least. No one will be watching us. No one will care."

"I care."

I removed my hat and took off the sash, then tied that about my neck.

"How is that?" I asked. "My hat still has flowers on it, at least.

"Yes..." he said, exhaling with relief. "Yes, that's perfect. It looks fine

I reached out for his arm. "Can we leave now?"

"Put on your cloak first. The sea air might be cool."

I went to retrieve it, then we promptly left.