I have a feeling you all will like this chapter. I just finished my econs exam and am so sad D:

Hug me please I am depressed and my body is broken down and ache all over OTL

I want to study but you all gave me so many reviews my email is spammed. Can't find my notes but I am so happy for your love :-) My english sucks today because I am brain dead.

Chapter Thirteen

Once in awhile,
Right in the middle of an ordinary life,
Love gives us a fairy tale.
~ Anonymous ~

Christine awoke the next day, her head spinning and pounding as an effect of the alcohol she consumed the night before. Lying back in the soft pillows, she whimpered to herself, rolling over to shut the light out. Erik had placed her in another room, not able to make it all the way up to her room. As such, the light was shining into the room and she strained her eyes, trying to go back to sleep. A wave of nausea took over her through the dull throbbing of her head, and she cried softly, hauling herself to the bathroom before she threw up. Then, wearily as she toddled back to the bed, she closed the blinds, falling back asleep.

She woke again to Erik softly stroking her hair.

"Wake up," he cooed, pulling her gently. The headache had not gone away, albeit subsided. He had a tray of food in front of her, and clumsily she rubbed her eyes, accidentally swiping the glass of water onto the floor. The glass shattered with a resounding ping, and Erik pulled the cord for a maid to clear it up. Reassuring her that it was okay when the maid had cleared it up and left, she sunk her head into his chest, sobbing. The buzzing in her head wouldn't go away, and it made her irritable.

"I'm dying, Erik. It hurts so much…"

Judging by her reaction, Christine's virgin experience of real drinking was probably, last night, and, he chided himself in the back of his mind, she would have another virgin experience of another sort if you did not control yourself, you monster! He scowled inwardly at the thought, letting her sob into him for a while more, before he sat up straight and began to feed her a bowl of tonic.

"Drink up. This will help to alleviate the pain and the results of a hangover." She nodded, slurping up the brown liquid thirstily. Poor child, she probably did not have a drop of water since the night before, or any food. When she had finished the tonic, he began to feed her, the grilled cod. She hungrily ate, spearing a preserved pea and some carrots, trying to feed him too. Shaking his head and explaining that he already partook of breakfast and lunch, he continued to feed her. She chewed slowly and obediently, beginning to find her headache slowly subsiding. Closing her eyes, as she grew drowsy again, her head fell against his shoulder, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

"Happy nineteenth once again, my dear," he said, stroking her hair as he felt her soft, supple form against him.

"Sing for me—" she said, yawning widely. He complied.

La dagen få sin hvile nå

Og natten vil våke for den

Nokturne

Selv mørket må en gang forgå

Så natten kan føde en dag

Christine's form slumped at the dying notes, whispered softly to her. It wouldn't do her good to sleep the whole day, but she had to wear off the effects of the alcohol, right? He made up his mind to wake her before evening should arrive, such that she could spend the evening with the rest of the household. Right now, he decided, slowly finding himself losing the battle of wills, he slipped under the covers with Christine, kicking off his shoes and socks and undressing. Christine, however, was still fully dressed, evidence that neither maid nor anyone else had really come in here to undress her and place her nightgown on her. All the more it played into Erik's favor, at least he could avoid temptation, but the way that the gown clung to her, he could very well feel it under the sheets made him remember the night of passion and drinking…almost wanting her again. All he managed was a sigh, stroking her hair repeatedly.

Christine awoke in an hour, finding the headache she had gone and Erik smiling down at her. With a shaky breath, she asked if her birthday was over. He gave her a fond look, shaking his head. He then pulled the blinds open and she noticed the day progressing and the skies beginning to be dusted in reddish golden hues. Walking out to the gardens where Madame and Meg Giry already were, they as four people brought together by the strange twist of fate looked on, enraptured by the sun as it waned for the day.

Night had fallen and dinner was served. Erik introduced Christine politely to his friends, Nadir and Darius. The girl recognized Darius as the doctor that had served her, and she realized Nadir had been the Persian. The olive skinned man humbly greeted her, gently kissing her hand, which earned a low growl from Erik.

"Sit, please, Nadir," he said, in a clipped tone, ushering the man to his seat. Nadir gave a hearty laugh at his friend's posessiveness as they all dined together, the table flowing with the delights Erik had ordered the chef to make. Christine clapped her hands almost childishly as Erik had ordered all her favorite foods, from escargots to falafel. The maids brought out small bowls of ärtsoppa, a pea soup. Christine sipped at it gingerly, for fear that she would burn her tongue. She let the simple broth slide down her throat and she sighed, remembering her childhood when her father would make this, for they were poor and had not much. Sliced isterband was on the other side of the table, and Erik nimbly speared a few for Christine, as she could not reach it. Nadir, due to religious reason had ended up eating the pitepalt and chicken kalops. That evening, another cake was served, a Prinsesstårta. The singular rose that lay in the middle of the sea of green delighted Christine to no end. Instead of pink as she had often seen in the shops, this was decorated with a red rose. A singular red candied rose. She cradled it in her hands, picking at the petals. In the end, Erik decided for her as they shared the rose amongst everyone, each having a single petal until the heart, the bud encasing the cream was left. Taking a small butter knife, he cut it deftly in two, and they shared it. Watching Christine lick the cream off her fingers, his mind wandered to a much more sexual connotation of the consumption of the rose. He swallowed the last bits of the sugary treat slowly as she smiled at him, her hair and her head encased in the gossamer sheen of the candlelight. He coughed politely into his hand, motioning for the champagne to be brought forth. With a toast to the night and to Christine, the dinner together ended.

Christine sipped the glass of champagne, the sweet tang of it going down her throat again. As a child still, she wanted more, her wide gaze pleading with Erik after the alcohol had begun to eat at her senses again. She giggled and sipped the last few drops out of the fluted glass. Two glasses, and she was already half drunk. Erik could still remember the disaster that was the night before, and Nadir's reproving. Taking the glass out of her hand politely as they all left the table to their activities, he decided that they both should retire. Christine nodded sadly, understanding.

"Goodnight, Erik," she said, as they parted at the landing in front of her bedroom.

"Goodnight, Christine," he said, turning to walk down the stairs again. She sadly stared at his retreating figure, left in the darkness of the night. The moonlight streamed into her bedroom as she knelt by the bedside like a child once more, lighting the candle beside the frame containing her father's daguerrotype to say her prayers.

Gud, som haver barnen kar,

se till mig som liten ar.

Vart jag mig i varl den rander

star min lycka i Gud's hander.

Lyckan kommer lyckan gar,

den Gud alskar lyckan far,

Amen

Her father had always made this into a happy tune, and with the emotions of want and of love that seemed to consume her whole, she sang this, tunefully, soulfully, and to more than one...To Erik, she thought. May this prayer be for us.

~X~

The day of the marriage dawned fair and bright, with no hints of thunderstorms about to arrive. Erik had scheduled a late night wedding, for he had engaged a priest far in the city area of Vienna, and they lived at the outskirts of Salzburg's city. Christine donned her white gown, a perfect fairy tale gossamer piece of artistry as she twirled in the mirror, admiring herself. The bodice and the skirt of tulle sparkled with the gentle shimmer of gauze, dotted with little jewels, and the daring neckline, which left the dress off her shoulders like that of the gown she had worn when she first performed in Hannibal, was lovingly crafted with roses. Erik laughed when she said she couldn't wear such a thing for the cost of it, waving it off as a small expense. She later discovered the receipt for it though, not very well hidden amongst the junk on his table. Which in turn made her eyes fall out of her head. That exorbitant amount could have fed a family or two for a month! She gave him a look with spoke volumes about her views to his exorbitance and he waved it aside, presenting her with her veil.

Suddenly, it was almost as if she was teleported back in time, to a time where he had done as such, roughly shoving the veil on her head as she had cried and begged for mercy. A time where she had called him a liar. And a time where her world had come crashing down on her in flames, and they had regenerated and they lived again like a pair of phoenixes rising out of the ashes. Sealed with a kiss, their eternal promise to each other as his green, crystalline gaze focused on hers. She silently stared at him as he placed the veil on her again, this time gently, with reverence. Out of her brown eyes he could sense fear and memory, and he wiped a stray tear away as it rolled down her cheek, holding her as close as possible without ruining the light sheen of makeup on her. Never again would the Phantom spirit live in him, he vowed, slowly taking her hand. For the occasion, he had dressed in his dress clothes as he had during the days of the Phantom Angel of Music. He smiled warily at her; afraid she would burst into tears. Giving him a reassuring pat as they climbed into the carriage, they closed the door, giving the roof a resounding thud as the horses sped away to the chapel. Behind, a cream white stallion followed. And the stallion was followed by two horses black as night, with the olive skinned servants of Erik along with them.

The chapel, as magnificent as it was, had certainly seen better days. With a dwindling number of parish leaders, in accompaniment to a dwindling number of churchgoers that preferred this church save for the older set, which had fond memories of this place, Erik found it to be a safe choice that others should not poke and pry into this strange marriage. Not to mention that Father Vanadius, the priest performing the rites, was an elderly man of ninety-five, and virtually blind in both eyes. When Erik opened the door, it set off a draft, which alerted the elderly man to his presence. The groom himself quickly assisted the priest, who was hobbling down the steps on a cane, and as such Erik received heaps of praise. If only the good father knew of the sins Erik had committed, he thought to himself, humming the tune of the wedding march. Christine, beside herself in glee and excitement, fought back an urge to tell the man to hurry up. Behind them, Madame Giry stood with Meg, with the solemnity of an owl. Meg was beaming radiantly at her friend. This happy company was so joyous, so much so they failed to notice a man, skulking into the chapel with the face of thunder. The chapel was, although old, filled with the warm rays of the dying sun, as it filtered in and lit the stained glass angels with warm backlight, making it seem almost alive. Christine let out a soft sigh of happiness, remembering the little chapel in the Opera. Erik seemed to have the same sentiment, looking at Christine. She looked breathtaking; an Angel bathed in the dying rays of sunlight, with the gentle colors of the stained glass dancing upon her, like waves and spring faeries. Only when her hand touched his arm did he realize Christine must be real and not the likeness he had begun to believe his mind must have conjured in his fervent wish to have her here with him. She was stunning, exquisite, her beauty unsurpassed by any mortal. The priest cleared his throat politely, beginning the ceremony.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the presence of these witnesses, to join together this man and this woman in holy Matrimony; which is an honorable estate, instituted of God in the time of man's innocence, signifying unto us the mystical union that exists between Christ and his Church …"

Erik almost cried out in joy. The tremulous crescendo of emotions in him, the tumultuous waves with its feelings of exhilarating joy, wonder, sadness, melancholy, bitterness, shock…it all became clear in a moment to him that Christine, his Christine in all her graceful beauty of a swan, stood beside him, her small hand in his as she stood there, there! Beside him! To become his wife. The gravity of the hallowed truth unfolding before him like graceful flower that she was, shook him to the core, stunning him utterly. In happiness, tears sprang to his eyes, a slight sheen that cloaked them. He smiled, feeling at bliss.

"…Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health: and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her so long as ye both shall live?"

Erik spoke but two simple words, which were the exact sentiment of his heart since the first day he had met her crying in the chapel and she blossomed under his tutelage.

"I will."

The priest turned to her. "Wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love, honor, and keep him, in sickness and in health: and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him so long as ye both shall live?"

Seconds seemed like days, like months, like forever as Christine nodded softly at Erik as she spoke the simple words that would forever bind her to him.

"I will."

The priest duly continued with the ceremony, asking if any in the congregation should have objection to their holy union.

"Si l'un d'entre vous connaît une raison valable qui s'oppose à leur union légitime, qu'il parle maintenant, ou qu'il se taise à jamais." Erik muttered, under his breath to himself, proficiently explaining to Christine. She nodded. Surely there would be none to oppose them? After all, the congregation was made of Meg and Madame only.

A hand shot up. A single hand, and a familiar voice.

"That man, good father, is the Devil's Child! He had us all deceived right from the beginning. Say, good father, have you heard of the strange tale of the Phantom of the Opera? Why he stands before you, right now, ready to marry this charlatan woman who left me for him, right after I rescued her from him! Surely, this union cannot be of God!"

Raoul, having said his piece, gave a glare at the couple. Christine, about to cry. Erik, wanting to kill him. Nadir was stunned. Erik had made no mention o such a person harboring such ill intent toward him! Who was this strange creature that should speak so forwardly at the wedding? It was then he remembered a certain article in the papers speaking of a scorned lover of Christine's, and a unnatural disappearance, amongst other items he vaguely remmebered. So this was the Vicomte, Raoul de Changy. Nadir stood as Madame got up, and frigidly directed a string of French at him, and then spoke to the minister.

"It is my belief that this man himself lies. I brought up this man and this woman, they were both orphans somewhat. It is my belief, and this woman's dead father's belief, that they should be joined. Pardon me, Father, for having such and interruption. I shall handle this," she said, briskly walking out with Raoul. Nadir hastily followed at Erik's silent directive to do so, his soul feeling more down than ever at the sight he had just witnessed.

As puzzled as the priest was, he arranged his robes, coughing slightly at the strange things he had just heard. Phantom of what opera? As a cardinal and a priest, he knew not of such matters. Nevertheless, he continued, and thus so, the priest instructed Erik to take her hands in his, which he did, feeling the warmth of her hands against his cool, gloved one, knowing what came next. His vows. He had recited them in front of the mirror, day after day when she had said yes, but nothing could prepare him for this glorious moment. Stumbling slightly over his words, with the faint dusting of embarrassment and yet also love in his voice, her gazed into her brown eyes, repeating those holy words as he had read again and again in his library of books.

"I, Erik, take thee Christine, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance: And thereto I plight thee my faith."

Christine looked up at him, in slight bewilderment, not knowing what to do, this being her first time, and she was never told anything about weddings. Blinking slowly, as if waking from the dream, with slight, kindly, motherly prompting from Madame Giry, she repeated his vows word for word.

"I, Christine, take thee Erik, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance: And thereto I plight thee my faith."

No more interruptions ensued, Madame Giry really doing her job at taking care of the meddlesome boy, Erik noted, as he stared into Christine's eyes, which were now glazed over in sadness and worry and yet a twinge of heartbreaking happiness for their situation. An oxymoron, for she lost a childhood friend and gained another, not to mention she had finally her childhood fantasies and as well as her guardian with her.

At the minister's pause, Erik looked at him, and the man nodded, although he could not see. From the pocket in the lining of his waistcoat, Erik pulled out a simple gold band, a match to the first ring, save for the fact it was more grand in terms of color, and took her hand in his, slipping it over her finger to meet the other ring. He spoke the vow as the priest earlier instructed him.

"With this ring I thee wed, and with my worldly goods I thee endow, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost."

Christine stared for a moment at the ring, and putting it up to the sunlight, she smiled at him, the events of earlier momentarily forgotten. The priest took both of their right hands and again joined them, laying his hand over theirs.

"Forasmuch as Erik and Christine have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have pledged their faith either to other, and have declared the same by joining of hands; I pronounce that they are husband and wife together, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder."

For a moment, they could only stare at one another, the realization still vague that their dreams shared, together and individually, had forever become the sweet verity of their future. Erik then took her face in his hands, gently cupping them as he slowly, slowly brought his lips to hers at the priest's instruction, a sweet, tender kiss like no other, one that burst into fireworks and wrought a trail of happiness down her body. Slowly, he pulled away, looking deep into her eyes.

"Mon amour, mon épouse…" he whispered.

As they looked at each other in reverence and love, a sudden brisk clearing of Madame Giry's throat brought them back to earth. Beside her was Raoul, mouth agape and a twisted face of shock and disappointment, not to mention sadness clouding his fine features. He barely muttered congratulation to Christine, stumbling out of the chapel drunkenly. Christine started after him, only to be pulled back by Erik.

"He cannot be salvaged. The damage is done of his own accord," he said, reassuringly stroking her hair. She nodded, gulping down the lump in her throat. The past would be the past, she thought, walking down the aisle with him. To their first night together.

When they get home, the butler opens the door politely, addressing Christine as a queen of sorts with his polite greeting. She looks at Erik, for this to her is unexpected and strange. With his eyes dancing in the gentle flame light that the mansion is bathed in, it is almost unreadable. Perhaps she will get used to this, she thinks. The words almost catch in her throat, for she knows not what to do on this glorious night. Madame and Meg direct her to her own room where she has slept in for the past few months, while Nadir follows his friend to make their own preparations. A slight blush covers her cheeks as the thought that this would be the last night she comes here enters her mind, before she is instructed to change. The dress is reminiscent of the one she wore in Don Juan Triumphant, the golden gossamer skirts floating about her thighs. The gentle green bodice and inner dress wraps around her, warping as it pleases, falling to gravity, as it likes. It feels free, set free by music. She feels free tonight. Since her childish manacles are shed, there can naught be anything but freedom now. A glimmer of a smile appears on her lips as Madame Giry compliments her on her radiant self that night, The words in her throat seem to run dry, as Meg smiles, giving her a hug.

"You're so lucky, Christine! I'm very sure Monsieur Phantom loves you a lot!"

The exuberant cries of her friend in congratulations makes Christine blush, as she is reminded of how she truly has succumbed to Erik, body and soul…She gives a smile, a brave smile that betrays nothing of her fears of the pain, nor or of her actual thoughts toward Erik… Hopefully.

Wahhhh I finally married them! I am sobbing so much happy tears now :') I feel like the wedding is way too fast though...OTLOTLOTL

How did you all like the whole thing? Sigh I wish I could tell you my life now it is so sad

what does authoresses do when they like a pretty guy who can sing.

a. disfigure them that they can be Erik.

b. refer to a.

c. refer to b.

d. all of the above.

e. all answers are correct