To Those Without Pity

"Not every road to paradise is lined with beauty. But then again, it depends on your definition of "beauty," doesn't it?" -Ella M. Riddle

It was difficult to recall precisely what had happened the night before, but as she awoke, Christine sifted through her thoughts to try to piece it all together. If the lines between dreams and reality had been foggy last night, the combination of the present sunlight and another few hours of sleep made them even hazier. Still, as she sat up in bed, she could feel the ghost of a sensation in her hand—the vague feeling that once, it had been held. The reflection brought an exhilarated chill to her skin, but she forced it aside as she dressed for the day and made her way to the kitchen.

Erik was already sitting at the table in silence, an untouched cup of tea at his right hand. From behind, she watched inquisitively as he let a finger run up and down the handle of the teacup. Just as she was about to marvel at the fact that she had come into the room unnoticed and unheard, he spoke.

"I am aware of your presence." His head moved almost imperceptibly so that he could see her out of the very corner of his peripheries, before he stood up cordially and motioned for her to sit down. A startled expression crossed her face, but she nevertheless drifted towards the table and sunk into a chair, studying him intently as he sat back down.

He didn't look at her for a moment, and she felt her heartbeat quicken instinctively. He seemed astoundingly composed, yet she knew better than to judge his thoughts by his outward behavior. Still waters run deep, and she knew far too well that his mind was reeling; she could only hope that he was not cross at her for something. Yet, as she sat and watched him, she couldn't bring to mind anything that could have sparked his annoyance, unless of course he had decided to change his mind about her dream and reprimand her for thinking of Raoul.

"It's Sunday," he said finally, his eyes trained on the tea before him. Pulled out of her thoughts, she blinked a few times and clasped her hands in her lap civilly.

"Oh?" she asked, unable to find a more suitable response to such a vague statement. What was she to say to this? Was he hinting at something that had happened last night, or was he implicating some event that was to come?

"Sunday, December 25th," he continued, still unwilling to meet her gaze. For a moment, her mind stopped and she hadn't the faintest idea of what she could possibly say. Finally, after several seconds of gaping silently at him, she choked out a few words.

"It's Christmas…" Her mouth was dry as she swallowed, and yet she could not place the emotion that was brewing within her. There was joy, for Christmas had always been an affair when her father was alive. They saved all year to savor the little joys on Christmas, and despite having to celebrate the holiday in a far more lackluster manner over the past few years, it still held poignant memories for her. But there was also some kind of sorrow within her, if only because she hadn't known until this very moment.

"Yes," he said, clearing his throat as he finally looked up at her. She could not read his expression, for she knew he was aiming to keep his face blank. Still, she made no effort to hide her own ambivalent emotions as she placed her elbows on the table in order to lean towards him slightly.

"There is a church nearby," he began, and she felt herself being overtaken with breathlessness. "And if you would like, I will allow you to go to the service this morning." The apprehension in his voice was evident, for each word seemed to be torn unwillingly from his mouth. She couldn't contain herself, though, and she flew up from the chair and rushed towards him in utter elation. Ignoring the startled look on his face, she leaned down and kissed him lightly on his unmarred cheek before standing back.

"Erik, thank you so much," she cried, unrestrained tears welling up at the corners of her eyes as the dream world from the previous evening flew her mind. "When will we go?" she demanded, a bright smile playing on her lips.

She could tell that he was pleased with himself for having made this decision, but just as he was about to let out a smile, he stopped and stared at her severely.

"I will not be accompanying you," he said in a stiff voice, standing up slowly. "I will be dropping you off and waiting for you in the carriage. I am trusting you—…" he began diplomatically, but she interrupted him without a thought.

"You won't come with me?" she asked, her face falling at the thought.

"You can hardly expect me to enter a building like that," he sneered, not bothering to restrain the malice in his voice. His expression only softened slightly when he saw the dejected look on Christine's face as she struggled to respond.

"But you came into the church when we were married," she countered, though she felt the weakness in her own voice and silently berated herself for it.

"That is not even remotely similar. I only did that for you," he reasoned, an exasperated look crossing his face, clearly losing his already thin patience.

"But this is for me too! Christmas means everything to me," she argued, fleeting resentment sparking behind her eyes. When she saw that he wasn't budging, she felt her expression and voice soften imploringly. "Please, you don't need to take communion, and we don't need to sit in the front. We can find a pew in the back, and you won't be seen—…" This time he interrupted her, his wrath turning on like a switch.

"You think I won't go to the church because I'm apprehensive about being seen?" he boomed, approaching her slowly. Intuitively, she felt herself back up as she brought her hands forward defensively. To this, he reached for her wrist and grasped it tightly, not hearing her involuntary gasp.

"N-No…" she stuttered as she fought to pull her wrist away, her eyes widening as she watched the rage radiate throughout his body.

"I do not enter churches because I do not have a god. I will give no institute the pleasure of thinking they have deluded me into some counterfeit faith." He stepped closer to her still, wrist in hand, until she felt her back hit the counter behind her.

"Erik, I didn't mean—…" she stammered, finally getting her wrist free as something other than fear rushed through her veins. Some deep betrayal was forming within her as he derided the single thing she believed in most. More than Raoul, more than love, more than music—God was always there, and yet Erik was maligning Him and discounting Him at this very moment.

"If there is a god, he gave me this face. And if any god could give me such a face, I will never worship or even acknowledge him!" he roared, looming over her threateningly. Her mouth hung slack as she searched for words and grasped the counter behind her, leaning as far away as she could. She saw him take in the terrified look in her eyes, though, and he immediately backed away, running a frantic hand through his hair.

"The carriage is outside," he finally said hurriedly, his back to her as he gathered his composure. Tentatively, she took a step away from the counter and clasped her hands together, unable to stop herself from shaking.

"You'll still allow me to go?" she asked timidly, her eyes remaining wide in fright. Unable to control herself, she jumped slightly when he turned around to look at her, fearing another wrathful assault. The heartrending look lacing his features made it clear to her that he did not miss this, but she did her best to hold her ground.

"Yes, of course," he said weakly, turning to the door and making his way out to the front of the house. With hesitation at first, she followed him as her heart continued to race in her chest.

Her mind reeled with things she wished to say as they entered the carriage and bounded off down the drive. How the way God made his face didn't change the way God made the rest of him. How she resented his innate criticism of her faith, and how she wished more than anything to show him that devotion was not a dirty word. How God had given him music, and how his love of music superseded all other love in his life. Except, perhaps, for his love of her. And God, having divined both of their lives, had given her to him—had gone so far as to kill Raoul in order to give her to him.

She found she could say none of these things, though, for she was unprepared to receive another onslaught of verbal abuse. As she turned towards him, she saw that he was looking out the window, his mind deep in thought. Whether he was more overcome with fury or disappointment or remorse, she wasn't sure, but he certainly didn't have any idle mind.

As they pulled up to the church, he finally turned towards her without a word. But even in his silence, she could read his mind for once—don't betray me, he seemed to say. Christine provided an almost indiscernible nod this as she reached for the carriage door.

"I'll pray for you," she murmured before finally opening it, turning away before she could see any reaction from him.

When the service had ended, Christine made her way back outside before anyone had a chance to speak to her. There was the carriage, stationed just around the corner from the church, and she could discern Erik's shadow sitting in stillness, his golden eyes shining faintly through the windows. She went straight for the carriage, knowing full well that his eyes were trained on her with every step she took.

"Did anyone recognize you?" he demanded as she opened the door to the carriage, though she waited to close the door behind her to begin speaking coolly.

"No. I sat in the back," she told him simply, turning her attention out the window as she watched the church fade out of view. He seemed to relax at this, though she could still feel his eyes on her.

"Did you…Enjoy it?" he asked, and she could tell that he was testing the waters, unsure of what to ask about the quality of a church service. If there even was a quality.

"It was lovely," was all she said, allowing herself to turn and smile briefly to him. This seemed to encourage him for a moment, before inciting something akin to suspicion.

"You're not displeased with me?" he asked slowly, his eyes narrowing in inherent disbelief. Her smile faltered for a moment, and she barely saw the dread in his eyes before she replied.

"They read a line from Corinthians, and…" She wavered for a moment, but took a deep breath to garner a bit of courage before continuing on. "Well, it just reminded me of a few things." She could feel his curiosity, but knew that his pride would hinder him from ever asking what the verse was. And so, with another breath, she recalled it.

"Now if anyone has caused pain, he has caused it not to me, but in some measure—not to put it too severely—to all of you. For such a one, this punishment by the majority is enough, so you should rather turn to forgive and comfort him, or he may be overwhelmed by excessive sorrow…" She stopped, her breath catching in her throat as she stared into his eyes. Looking down at her hands, she finished rapidly. "So I beg you to reaffirm your love for him."

His focus did not shift from her for several seconds, even as she looked back out to the street. Finally, though, he let out a slow sigh and looked ahead with a slight nod. "Well, I thank you for your forgiveness."

Not another word was said as the carriage lurched on, nor did they speak as Erik helped her out of the carriage and back into the house. It wasn't until he headed towards the kitchen, Christine following obligingly behind him, when he spoke.

"I will make you some tea," he said plainly, and she merely nodded as she sat down at the kitchen table. She watched his back carefully as he filled the kettle with water, and yet no matter how closely she studied, she could not decipher his behavior. Whether he was frustrated with her for what she had said earlier, or pleased by her forgiveness, she couldn't begin to tell.

Once he had prepared the cup of tea, he brought it over and placed it in front of her, sitting down beside her carefully. She tried not to notice him watching her as she picked up the cup, taking a timid sip before setting it back down. He always seemed to think she could not see him observing her, and yet she never failed to sense it.

"What would you like for Christmas?" he asked suddenly, and her eyes shot up to meet his in surprise. She struggled for a reply for a few seconds, inwardly cursing herself for her constant loss of words throughout the day, before she mustered a reply

"I thought this was my present," she said, her brow tensing in question. Surely the trip to the church was enough—it had clearly brought him great distress to allow her to go, and she couldn't possibly demand more compensation. After all, what worldly things did she need here?

"No, you will receive a gift," he countered, his face remaining stony as he awaited her response.

"I don't want anything, though. I don't need anything," she insisted as she shook her head voraciously. A moment passed before he leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving her. She took this as a cue to relax, and she picked up the teacup gingerly, taking another sip as she looked down at the tabletop.

"Would you like to go to Perros?" he asked after several seconds, and she felt her eyes widen immediately. Perros… She hadn't seen her father since before Don Juan, and she did long to visit his grave once again. There was always a feeling of serenity when she was near him, despite the mortal chasm that now separated them. But why would he willingly lead them closer to Paris? What could possibly be driving him to allow her out of this stronghold of a house, particularly after what had happened at the park? "If you would like, I will accompany you there as a gift. Unless you'd like something else," he amended as he cocked his head to the side slightly in curiosity.

"No, I would—…" she began fiercely, but she was cut off by the sound of the doorbell resonating through the house. Her eyes met his just in time to see the flash of alarm that passed across his features, but he masked it quickly.

"Stay here," he commanded, and he stood up abruptly before walking just a bit too stiffly out of the kitchen towards the front door. Unable to help herself, she flew from her chair and followed a few feet behind him. It was clear that he didn't know who was calling, and even clearer that this fact troubled him more than he could say. In his fervor, though, he didn't seem to notice her following, even as he moved to open the front door roughly, revealing a tall man standing peacefully before them.

"Nadir."

How convenient that Christmas was on a Sunday in 1881! Thank you endlessly for all the reviews, and I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Worlds are colliding, and I'm beyond excited to jump into the upcoming chapters. Please let me know what you think, and as always, thank you for reading!

Until next time,

Christine