"Christine, you mustn't be frightened of singing- it tenses your vocal cords," she began to relax her shoulders, "There. Now, open your mouth just so," he demonstrated, "and focus on the note you would like to sing. I shall play it now..." he played the note, and it resonated in the air for a moment before diminishing, "Now remember that pitch, and sing!"
He sat on the bench in his music room, his lips pulled back into a slight smile as he attempted to assuage her discomfort.
She looked him shakily in the eye as she stood near the side of the instrument, shivering, before sucking in a deep breath and-
"No, Christine!" he roared in indignation before shutting his eyes to calm himself, "Christine," he said after a moment, utilizing his most placating voice, "You are to breathe from here," he indicated with his pointer finger, "not here."
She nodded, still fighting her apprehension, before lowering her shoulders and straightening her back without instruction.
Erik regained his composure, "Ah, your muscles are remembering."
A semblance of a smile fleetingly passed her lips before her forehead creased in concentration. The note rang out once more from the organ. In that moment Christine captured the pitch; the essence of it entwined in her mind and flowed directly from her eardrum, to her soul, and finally through her lips.
Erik's head tilted backwards, his eyes shutting immediately in serenity. A soft sigh emanated from him as he allowed that single note to blind his senses momentarily. Then, gently, and with all the tenderness of a lover's caress, he began the introduction to a Swedish lullaby that Christine had sung before her loss of memory. Christine's heart pounded in recognition of the simple melody.
Shakily, she asked, "How did you know I remembered that?"
"You mentioned that you remembered your father," he said, and to become further lost in the music, "Sing, Christine…"
From that moment on, with few exceptions, her muscles recalled the technical aspects she learned from her musical tutelage and she was able to sing with the bell-like clarity she possessed before her fever.
After several hours of reforming her voice to perfection, Erik was wholly content. His soul was glut with her voice. His conscience continued to dun him, but he sat oblivious in the company of perfection. Her voice was as efficacious as morphine, and yet his fingers still slid mechanically over the ivory keys as he surreptitiously stared at her: some of her pinned curls slipped to frame her face, one hand was held over her heart, and her eyes were closed peacefully.
Only at her stomach's insistence did Erik end the lesson, sliding the keys of the organ underneath their protective wooden cover.
In the silence- the silence that had been filled with heavenly music just moments before- he felt uncharacteristically forward, "Well, my dear, as you are clearly famished," she blushed, "would a picnic be agreeable?"
Still dazed, Christine faintly nodded, holding a hand to her throat as a faint smile appeared on her countenance. That music! I felt as though I soared to Heaven! As if the angels were singing to a chorus of golden instruments!
She looked at him wonderingly, "That music..." she trailed off, unable to communicate her thoughts in words, "Could you play later as well?"
His eyes glowed as he nodded eagerly, "For now, though, we must be going. It is nearly five o'clock, and we should not want to be late for supper!" he glanced at her attire, "But you must change for the cooler weather," she blushed as she realized she still wore her scuffed clothing, "I shall wait for you in le salon."
He watched her uneasily walk to her room, hands folded as if in prayer, before he sauntered into the kitchen to prepare their meal.
Christine smiled, recalling the bliss she felt while the music inundated her soul. Was she not now the singer her father always wished she would be? She glanced upwards, sure that he was watching over her.
After ensuring the door was securely locked, she began to undress, unhooking the garment and casting it aside. And, I shall see the sun, she thought gleefully, But I do need to inquire as to why we live in this dreadful sunless place… suddenly her uneasiness began to overshadow her lingering happiness. She frowned, but her mind quickly trailed to the lavish rose colored dress lazily slopped in the Louis-Phillipe chest of drawers.
She stalked over to the chest and quickly found the scarlet dress in one of the bottom drawers. The detailed lacework on the arm was astounding! How did her husband afford such opulence? Tucking the question away for the evening, she tugged at the arm, willing the dress to come out. Her efforts were in vain, though, as the dress would not budge.
Scrunching her face, she attempted to slide the drawer out, but ended up landing in an ungraceful manner on the floor.
Slightly irritated now, she used her entire body weight to yank the drawer right out of the chest. She landed in an unceremonious heap on the floor, but found she did not care, as the drawer lay on the floor, its bursting contents spilling onto the wooden floorboards.
She scrambled to her knees to pick out the dress, and was prepared to quickly ready herself- had her fingers not grazed a sharp edge.
With a short yelp of pain, she glanced at her wounded finger before curiously looking back into the drawer.
They did not go on their picnic as planned.
A/N: I am so sorry about this cliff hanger! (I feel especially evil for this because I'm going on vacation and there will be few updates). I promise an explanation next time, but for now, au revoir! Thank you to all my faithful reviewers/alerters/favoriters!