Author's Note: I am posting chapter 11 today instead of Friday as an apology since chapter 12 is going to be out Saturday evening so a little late but I figured since I have chapter 11 all ready for you guys, it was only fair to release it on you early. I have a question in my end notes as well if you guys won't mind answering it!

Chapter 11-Devotion

Never in his life had Erik believed he would actually wake up in bed, fully nude with Christine wrapped in his arms. It was a dream come true and he nearly died from the pain of how fast his heart was beating. But, even if he did die, he would do so being the happiest man to ever walk the earth.

The angel slept silently, still firmly pressed to his chest, the palm of her tiny hand resting on his abdomen with her thigh hooked around his. Her disheveled curls were splayed across the bed behind her in a state of disarray. He would ask to brush through them later, just as he had always wanted to do. Her perfect curls had been the first thing he noticed about her, apart from her voice, that is.

Erik examined her sleeping face, wondrously curious as to what she may have been dreaming of. It couldn't be of him, but he could imagine it was. He took up his hand and gently stroked her cheek and a small sigh escaped the lips of the beautiful creature he held, an endearing sound that made his heart skip. He swallowed hard, and stroked her cheek again, hoping to produce the same sound, but instead, her brow furrowed and she mumbled something incoherent. Her hand moved to rest on his thigh and she nuzzled into his chest.

He froze, he wouldn't dare wake her, not when she slept so peacefully. As to not disturb her, he slowly slipped his arm from under her neck and moved quietly out from under the coverlet. He picked up a shirt he had discarded days before and slipped it around his grotesque form while taking a seat at the bench of his organ. He sat in a way that he was able to observe the sleeping beauty in his bed, to watch the rise and fall of her chest letting him know she still breathed for him.

She isn't real, a voice in his mind whispered.

Erik shook his head, of course she was real, he had touched her, he had held her, he had been inside of her. He had felt the tight clutch of her womanhood as he claimed her virginity, heard the gasping moans as she spoke only his name over and over again, tasted the sweet nectar that he drew from her with his own hands! Conducted the greatest music that would only ever grace his ears!

She doesn't love you! She only wanted you to fuck her, she is a whore! the voice hissed.

"No, she loves me!" Erik argued, the voice was wrong, blatantly wrong. Christine was no whore, she was his life, his soulmate. His living bride.

Nothing but a wanton whore who let a carcass fuck her!

Tears pricked Erik's eyes and he quickly wiped them away, mumbling under his breath, "Go to Hell. She wants me. She told me she loves me."

No one could love you! Not with a face like that! Cover it up before she wakes and sees you for what you really are! Place that mask over your damned face and never remove it again!

The black mask resting on the organ caught his eye and he hesitantly picked it up, taking the cold smoothness in his hands and running his fingers along the edges. He blinked slowly at the inanimate object. It was the first mask he had ever fashioned for himself over fifteen years previously, the same mask he wore when he first met Christine before he realized white fit better with his Phantom persona.

A persona? Was that really all the Phantom had been? The man he pretended to be for a vast majority of his life, the man he had abandoned in the Opera Populaire the night of Don Juan, was he simply so easily defined as another role he played? Much like the Red Death, Erik had used his role as the Phantom to exalt power over the opera house, to grant himself everything he had dreamed of. A fortune, a stage, a bride.

Just when he was so close to obtaining what he desired most, everything was quashed by his face. It had been his undoing, no longer did the people of Paris believe in the Phantom, he had become a simple–killable–man within a matter of seconds. His life's work, the opera house, both destroyed because he stepped foot on that cursed stage to perform alongside his beloved. Was it worth all the pain? Almost losing Christine? Was it worth all of Paris knowing the monstrosity of a face he was damned to bear for his entire life just so he could be beside her to perform his opera?

But, Paris didn't matter, after a few years, the Opera Ghost would merely be a myth and he could return once the repairs he had already set in motion were finished. It was estimated to be only be five years until the Opera Populaire was restored and when that time came, he would take Christine back and she would be the leading soprano! All of Paris will fall at her feet!

He, of course, would stay in the shadows, conducting his business silently so as to not stir any unsavory rumors about why he would look so familiar to some. No one else would ever be subjected to the sight of him again, nor have fear struck in them in order to obey his orders. After all, he held the deed for the building so he no longer had to play his role as the Phantom. He would simply let that chapter in his life silently close, for now, he was a man with a beautiful woman who loves him.

Erik let the mask slip from his hands and it landed on the hardwood floor, snapping on the line of the cheekbone down to the bottom of the nose. He stared at it, hardly affected by the loss as he had others, and placed his hand over his distortion. His fingers explored the skin that was as thin as parchment and the skull, as cold as his porcelain masks.

His face, the one Christine had been subjected to for two months without a sliver of fright or disgust, was it really so terrible that no one could love him? Had Christine lied to him, made false promises to stay with him so he would bed her? Surely not! He had been good to her, just as she had said! She made him breakfast! Sang for him! It was impossible that she was lying to him…impossible.

Nothing is impossible.

Erik's breath quickened and he felt his chest tightening, "She has to love me," he groaned, shoving his face into his hands and sobbing.

She has to, he thought to himself. He wouldn't allow any other alternative. Christine took such good care of him while they made love, looked into his eyes and caressed his hideous cheek as she found her pleasure. Those actions, they weren't of hate, they were of love!

Whore! sang in his mind, the angry revolting voice of the man he wished he could strangle endlessly echoed over and over again. Erik just wanted to silence the hellish screaming and he wanted to grab the specter and crush it within the palms of his hands until it stopped its endless yapping. Until it left him alone.

Erik cried for what felt like hours, endless hours of misery and self-loathing, all culminating into a massive throbbing pain in his head and the realization that he was merely a monster who had tasted only the slightest bit of Heaven through one of its most beautiful angels. An angel which he had befouled with the body of a walking corpse. Oh, and there had to be consequences. Perhaps lightning would strike him dead or he would submit himself to the dark labyrinths of his old home and surrender whatever was left of his soul to the darkness. He deserved the torture for what he had done to Christine.

How dare he allow himself to bed her? To claim her virginity which should be kept for husbands? She would never take him as her husband, not unless he was threatening the life of the Vicomte. Even then he would have controlled himself and not shared a marriage bed, but he had made a fool of himself for falling for the temptation as soon as she made mention of loving him.

But how was he to know if it truly was a farce?

If he just asked her–

No! Do not doubt her, it will drive her away. It will make her hate you! he reasoned with himself

The thought made him sick. Christine hating him? He couldn't live, no, he wouldn't live knowing she hated him. He would sooner welcome the most painful torture before allowing that. Besides, she could learn to love him, he could atone for his sins and become the respectable man she surely desired. Maybe she would eventually forgive him for violating her in such a way and he would do his best to never bed her again, unless she asked, of course.

The infernal screaming in his mind started to fade and replacing it was the voice of an angel, whispering his name from whatever Heaven she had emerged from. The almost evocative voice beckoning him to open his eyes and look at her.

Just then, warm hands came to rest on his thighs and a sense of safety washed over him, a comfort that he had only felt while touching her.

His Christine.

"Erik, please, open your eyes. You are scaring me! Please!" Christine cried, her voice cracked on the last syllable.

Scared? Oh, no, she couldn't be scared! Not of him! He knew everything that scared her and fortunately his name was not on that list, not anymore at least. What was scaring her then? Perhaps his stillness now that he had stopped his horrendously boorish sobbing. Maybe if he opened his eyes, just slightly to look at her, to show her he was alright, then she would be content to leave him to wallow in his own pity.

Erik let out a shuddering breath then lifted his heavy lids very slowly. In front of him, on her knees, was Christine. Devastatingly beautiful, even in her distressed state, and completely naked. Her breasts were heaving as she grasped at him, shaking his legs and arms and whispering pleas to come back to her.

Relief washed over her face and she sighed, "Erik! You are alive, I thought you were dead. You were so still and cold."

Before he could reply, her arms were around his waist, embracing him in a way that he knew well. A silent pleading to never leave her, just as he had done by the pond when she…when she confessed her love. But, she was touching him! Even after he had desecrated her body and was worried that he may have been dead. Love may be alive after all.

"Christine?" he whispered, "Do you still love me?"

She stared at him with those beautiful brown eyes, wide and brimmed with tears, "I will never stop loving you, don't you dare even question it!"

"But, I am not handsome. I am a monster. I–I ruined you, spoiled you, Christine!" he cried, taking her face in his hands. "Look at this! You cannot want this! You cannot dream of waking up to this every morning for the rest of your life. Our children! What if they suffer the same ailment? What am I to do if you birthed a son with this mark? A daughter?"

Tears fell from perfect eyes and down perfect cheeks while a hand crept up and caressed his haunted face, "This, Erik, is the face of the man I am madly in love with. You may not see yourself as handsome, but to me, you are the most beautiful gift God has ever given me. I am so very fortunate that your face is the first one I will see every morning for the rest of our lives," her hands moved to his and held them against her chest, "And our children, they will be loved unconditionally, just as I love you. I will not allow any of our children to be neglected because of circumstances they have no control of. You didn't ask to be born like this, you didn't deserve to be born like this, but you were, Erik, and I am going to spend every day loving you regardless. I am going to show you what it means to be loved and cherished just as you should have been from the moment you took your first breath."

"Oh, Christine," he choked, kissing her hands.

She freed one from his grasp and moved it to rest on his deformed cheek, "This mark, it's not a burden or a curse, it does not define who you are. You can choose who you want to be, Erik, just like everyone else."

She was a hopeless romantic, just as she had said. Hopeless? No, it wasn't so, not when she was life itself. Life was not hopeless when it involved Christine. Did that mean he was not hopeless? Could he have a chance at a decent life with this beautiful goddess? Did she want to marry him after all he had done? She couldn't possibly take him as a husband, he wasn't deserving.

"I should not have taken you, Christine. It was fantastic, but such pleasure should have been saved for the man you take as your husband," he murmured, pulling his hands from her.

A strong grip locked onto either side of his face, "What if I want to take you as my husband?"

"Don't say that," he mumbled, "You deserve someone who can make you happy."

"You make me happy," she whispered, "I have devoted myself to you, I refuse to take anyone else as a husband."

Devotion. No, she devoted herself to the Angel of Music, not the man she shared a bed with. The soft lock of hair that she left him so long ago, he had no claim to it anymore. It wasn't meant for him.

"You devoted yourself to the Angel of Music, Christine," he grumbled, attempting in vain to remove her hands from his face.

Her eyes scanned his face and her bottom lip trembled before she clenched her jaw, then she spoke quickly, "Do you have a knife? A dagger? Anything sharp?"

Was she to stab him? Bleed him dry so she didn't need to look at him any longer? Perhaps it was for the best that his life ended, that way she would be free of him.

"Yes, in the drawer on the left side of the bed," he whispered, lifting his hand only slightly to gesture towards the bedside table.

He watched as she stood and turned away from him, not allowing his eyes to travel farther down than her neck. He wasn't worthy of the sight of her nude, though he could still see her in his peripheral vision. The way her hips swayed as she walked was enchanting and he nearly lost his ability to keep his eyes trained on her hair. He swallowed hard when she bent over to rifle through the drawer, the promise of the sight of a perfectly sculpted bottom taunted him to take a peek, to give in to temptation and lay his devil eyes on such elegance. He needed a resolution, something to cover such fascination.

"Christine, I have a robe draped over the headboard, please cover yourself. You are far too distracting," he muttered, his eyes started to wander as if they had a mind of their own and were just within reach of her bottom before she turned back towards him.

His face snapped up to hers and he blinked several times trying to bring himself back from the sweet seduction he had almost been subject to.

"You are hardly decent yourself," she argued, dagger in hand.

She returned to him, robeless, and knelt between his knees in a submissive manner. Her hand grasped the handle of the dagger and slid the blade from its sheath, the candlelight glinted off the steel and reflected in her eyes, lightening the dark brown irises.

The angel before him held the dagger in one hand while her other slid behind her neck. Then, she pulled a piece of her hair forward and held the edge of the blade against it, severing it from her head.

Erik held his breath as she slid the blade back into its sheath, and once it was safely tucked away, he released the breath, thankful that she had maintained control of it and had not cut herself. But, now she sat before him, holding a lock of her hair and staring at him with such heated intensity that he thought he would melt.

Was she repeating her devotion, but to a man and not an angel? To him?

Christine twirled the hair in her fingers, shaping it into a loop, "Erik, I have devoted myself to you once before when I thought you were an angel, now I come to you, the man I love, and present you with this gift. Please, accept it as a symbol of my undying love and loyalty."

Erik parted his lips and stared in awe at the offering before him, so simple, yet it spoke bounds against what he had told himself of her love, "You can't mean it! If I–if I accept this, you will be mine, I will never be able to let you go. Is this truly what you desire?"

Without hesitation, she nudged the lock of hair towards him, "I have never been more certain about anything in my entire life. This is my promise to you, Erik."

Christine loves me, really truly loves me, as a man, he thought to himself, as he stared at the hair in her hand.

Lies, the plaguing voice whispered, but Erik ignored it, refusing to acknowledge the words of the specter ever again. He would simply ignore it until it went away and if not, he would continue to ignore it regardless.

With a trembling hand, he slowly took the hair between his fingers, reveling in how soft it was, almost as soft as his silk sheets. It would go in his locket, looped around the gold along with her other lock, to be cherished and savored for a lifetime.

Tears fell down Erik's cheeks and he looked at Christine, "You are a treasure, my love."

She smiled up at him and took his free hand, placing it on her cheek and nuzzling into it, "I love you."

He moved his hand to cup the back of her neck and pulled her lips to his, kissing lightly at first, then with a fiery passion. Her lips parted for him, allowing his tongue to dip into her mouth and taste the sweetness of the woman he loved. The woman who wanted to take him as her husband! Oh, and he would not disappoint. Soon, he would propose to her, once again give her a beautiful ring and slide it onto her finger ever so carefully. A symbol that she belonged to him, that she chose him.

A ring! He had nothing of the sort, not after he had thrown the last one into his underground lake during a fit of rage. Acquiring another should be simple enough, he would need to stop by the jewelers and find the perfect one for his perfect bride.

Suddenly, Christine moved to straddle his lap on the bench, her heat brushed against his member and he fought hard to not think about her silky wetness, how easy it was to slide into her in such a position. How tight her perfect sheath was, even tighter than–

Oh, god, he couldn't help thinking about it, he was throbbing and painfully hard. It was torture each time Christine pushed against him, he wanted to just thrust up inside of her and lose himself. He could feel the heat of her core ghosting across his skin, leaving a blazing trail of need.

Erik groaned and broke the kiss, "Christine, I–"

Her fingers covered his lips, "Make love to me, Erik."

Holy Hell, she wanted it! Again! She wanted him inside of her. How could he refuse such a request? The eyes of his lover were filled with adoration, lust, hunger. Oh no, he couldn't let her starve, it simply was not allowed, not when he had exactly what was needed to satiate her!

He placed the lock of hair on the back of his organ then moved his hands to her breasts, the soft supple feeling of her hardened nipples pressing into his palms was pure ecstasy. The rosy pink buds were expertly placed on the smooth mounds of her small breasts, the perfect way to present such a delicacy. She was constructed by a hand that had an eye for detail, for magnificence in every way, sculpted by the greatest masters of their art. And, he was one lucky man to be able to revel in such beauty.

He flicked his thumbs over the sensitive nubs, earning himself a whimper from the goddess above him. A smile formed on his lips and he leaned forward, trailing his tongue up the center of her chest before working his way to one of her breasts. He latched onto the nipple, swirling his tongue around the bud, taking it lightly in his teeth and tugging on it.

Christine groaned, the beautiful music of the angels, and gripped his shoulders. Her nails dug into his skin and a stinging pain vibrated through him. He growled against her nipple, biting harder and squeezed her bottom with a force that was sure to cause bruising. His eyes flickered to her face, hoping to gauge her reaction and be sure he wasn't hurting her.

Her head was thrown back, jaw slack and eyes closed. He released her nipple and moved back slightly, eyes still locked on her. She slowly looked down at him through her lashes and nudged herself forward, a silent affirmation to continue. So, once again he took her nipple in his teeth and bit a little harder than before and once again she moaned and thrust her hips down against him.

Did she like when he was rough with her? Did she want him to be rough with her?

"Yes, please," Christine breathed, answering his silent questions, almost as if she could read his mind.

It was decided then, he would be rough with her. He would fuck her. The very thing he had held himself back from doing only hours before, having struggled with controlling his speed as he claimed her virginity. He had read a woman's first time would be painful, so he had put his desire to the side and was gentle. For her.

With a grunt, he wrapped his arms under her thighs, lifting her and placing her atop his organ. Her bottom pressed against the keys creating the most hectic, yet alluring tunes he had ever heard. He would have to attempt to recreate it when he sat to compose later in the day, if Christine wasn't in need of his services, that is. He shed his shirt and let it pool on the floor, it was too constricting, far too constricting for what he had planned.

He gripped her knees and roughly pushed them apart, opening her glistening sex to him. Just by looking at her, he could see she was dripping for him, the nectar of the gods he so badly wanted to drink from her. But, he couldn't. She surely would not want his face between her legs and he would never do so unless she asked.

Instead, he slid one hand along her thigh, the cream colored skin was smooth and warm under the pads of his fingers. Her whimpers and mewls fueled his advances and soon his fingers found their destination, the slick folds of her heat. He groaned as he pushed a finger between them, finding her entrance and circling it. The amount of dewy wetness he found was almost unbelievable, and from such a good Catholic girl! No, not a girl, a woman. Such a good Catholic woman…

"You are so wanton, my love," he teased, circling his forefinger inside of her in an attempt to draw another sweet sound he so desperately craved.

Christine's head fell back against the top of his organ and she gripped his shoulders, once again digging her nails into his flesh and letting out a deep sigh. He couldn't resist any longer, so he thrust two of his fingers inside of her warmth, swirling them around her velvety walls, really feeling her. How she clenched around him and pulled him farther in, how he drew even more moisture from within her. It was surely what Heaven would feel like if it did exist.

Erik worked fast and hard, earning gasping moans from the instrument he had no mastery of, though soon, very soon, he would play it with absolute perfection. His fingers curled inside of her, in such a way he was beckoning her to come to him. To come for him.

"Please, take me! Now! Please!" Christine pleaded, her voice cracking on nearly every syllable.

"Take you where?" he asked, trying not to chuckle. He knew what she needed after all, he just wanted to hear her beg for him. To hear how badly she needed him.

"Erik, please!" she cried, lifting her head to look at him. Her eyes were glazed over and she was licking her lips with her marvelous tongue.

His fingers worked faster, and wanting to draw out his little game, he chuckled, "Where am I taking you? Do you have a destination in mind?"

"Erik," the angel groaned, biting her bottom lip.

The lip he wanted to bite so badly, and he would bite it. He leaned forward, placing his lips against hers and kissing her lightly, then with more ferocity. Finally, he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth and lightly bit it, not too hard. He couldn't damage his bride.

"Beg for it, beg for me," he rasped against her lips, his fingers halting inside of her.

She sucked in a deep shuddering breath, "Please, please, Erik. Please, please, please!"

His swollen member twitched and he couldn't resist any longer. He slid his fingers out of her and lifted her from the organ, turning to bring her back to the bed. His lips smothered hers and when his shins hit the edge of the bed, he lost his balance and fell on top of her, thankfully landing on the mattress.

"Move up, now," he commanded, and she obliged, scrambling up the bed until she was resting her head on the pillows. Her hair was a beautiful halo around her head and her chest was heaving as she labored for breaths.

Perfection, he thought as he quickly covered her body with his once again.

"As I said before, if I hurt you–" he started, running his fingers along her cheekbone.

"You won't, I promise," she interrupted, lifting her head to kiss him.

A shudder wracked his body and he reached down, grasping his throbbing shaft between his fingers and sliding the head of it through her slickness before thrusting inside of her as hard as he could manage. The wet clutch of her sex pulsed around him, gripping him tightly as he sat still to regain his composure.

Christine's choked gasp was cause for concern and he pulled from her kiss to examine her. She looked up at him, tears welled in her eyes, but she had the most content smile on her face. He took the smile as silent consent and buried his face in her neck, then slowly pulled out of her before slamming in once again, waiting for her to stop him.

But after several more hard thrusts, she had not asked him to stop. She had asked him, begged him not to and he didn't want to disappoint his lover, so he sped up, plunging harder and harder into her. The feeling was immaculate and stoked the flames within him, but he couldn't come yet, it was not his turn. Ladies first, after all.

Erik growled, wrapping one of his arms around her back and holding her to him, the other arm propping him up. He kissed her hair and quickened his thrusts, snapping his hips against her, their skin smacked together sending stinging sensations through him. She was taking him so well and she became wetter with every thrust.

"You. Feel. So. Good," he grunted through his teeth, kissing her hair again.

Christine quivered under him and whimpered, widening her legs, and he slid further into her wet heat. He shuddered and laid his full weight on her, grasping her thigh and sliding her leg farther up his back.

"More! Please! Harder!" she screamed, raking her nails across his back.

Erik winced but obeyed, tightening his grip on her thigh and driving her into the mattress as hard as he could. The old wooden bed creaked and groaned beneath them, but he didn't care. His angel wanted him to fuck her harder, so that's what she would get. Just then, a chill came over him and he felt the threat of release but he didn't dare slow his movement.

"Touch yourself," he hissed into her ear.

She immediately obeyed and wiggled her hand between their bodies and within mere seconds he felt the muscles of her tight clutch pulsating around him. Her stomach pushed up against him and her screams filled his ears, a perfect combination of notes that was greater than anything he had ever heard from her.

"Erik…Erik…Erik," she moaned as she rocked her hips against him.

Another more intense chill overtook Erik and he knew he couldn't hold back any longer. He plunged into the still pulsing heat, his rhythm faltering as he built to his precipice. His low groan filled the room, then, he slowed his thrusts as he spilled into her, working through the most intense orgasm he had ever experienced.

"Oh, fuck, Christine!" he rasped through his teeth.

His heart was thundering in his chest, reverberating through his ringing ears and he felt dizzy. But, god, he had fucked her, he had taken her with abandon and it was magnificent. He shook against her and drew in a deep shuddering breath to calm himself.

Christine's hot mouth kissed his shoulder as she ran her hands through his hair. He shakily leaned up on his forearms to look at her, to ensure she was alright after their escapade. Her face was flushed and her eyes darted around his face, she too was breathing heavily and she reached up, swiping the sweat soaked strands of his hair from his forehead.

A smile formed on his lips and he crushed his mouth onto hers, kissing her as hard as he could. She returned the ferocity of the kiss and held his face in her hands.

"I love you," she whispered to him.

Erik pulled one of her hands to his lips and kissed her fingers, "Please, never stop loving me."

"I promise," she breathed.

With a satisfied sigh, he slowly pulled his spent member from her and laid next to her on the bed, pulling her against his still heaving chest. She nuzzled into his neck as his hand found a steady rhythm on her back.

"Was it alright, my love?" he questioned, lifting his head to look at her.

She purred into his neck, "Better than alright."

His head fell back against the pillow and he smiled. Better than alright? So, she liked it, loved it even. He had made the right decision for once in his life and Christine approved! He would do better next time, build his stamina so he could last longer. He had done so in the past when he was…well, lonely…in his lair and all he had for pleasure was his hand or–

No, he couldn't think of it, not when he had a living, breathing Christine next to him and she would gladly allow him to ravish her at any moment. She was the love of his life and she had just allowed him to ravage her like he was some kind of deranged animal and she actually enjoyed it.

Never again would he be alone, never again would he have to live in darkness. He finally had his Christine and god, he loved her more than life itself. More than music.

xXx

Luckily, the jeweler's shop was still open when Erik arrived at its doors having used as many back alleys as he could while making his way through the city. Though not many people gawked at him in this new place, he didn't particularly enjoy the attention his mask drew so he stuck with what he knew.

The inside of the shop smelled of freshly brewed tea and the all too familiar scent of roses. Display cases housing hundreds of various precious gems and empty settings filled the room to an extent of almost being a labyrinth. Two other men were in the shop, ogling gaudy necklaces that Erik would never dare place on the neck of his beautiful bride. The men turned as Erik walked past them, but their eyes didn't linger on him for long, only a brief moment did one of them stare at his mask before turning back to the garish jewels.

A thin elderly man sat behind the counter at the back of the shop, a cup of tea in hand, eyes glued to the book he was reading. His gaze flickered up to Erik and he nearly dropped both objects, but steadied himself and stood, setting his tea and book on the counter.

"Monsieur Destler, I wasn't expecting you so soon. Your order is not quite finished, a week or two perhaps," the man spoke quickly, fumbling over his words. "It was a rather large order after all."

It was amusing to know he still struck fear in people, though he hadn't even tried with Maurice. Erik merely raised his voice one time and the man became an acquiescent servant.

Erik held up his hand, "It's quite alright, I am not here for my order. I have other business, I have come for a ring. Let's be quick about it."

"Of course, and the occasion?" Maurice questioned as he started walking towards another counter, this one housing rings of all types, most bulky and ugly.

"An engagement, I intend to propose," Erik let a smile form on his lips, a rarity when he was away from Christine. He usually attempted to keep a sense of stoicism when he was in the city, he felt it drew less attention to him and allowed him to move about without the threat of an unwarranted conversation.

Maurice smiled widely, "What a lucky woman you have, not many men would purchase over fifty pieces of my work for courtship. I had assumed you were already married."

Erik's eyes narrowed only slightly, "As I have said, let's be quick about it."

"Yes, yes, I apologize for my incompetence, now, I have many to choose from as you can see. Do any of these catch your eye, monsieur?" Maurice asked, gesturing to the rings in the case.

Erik scanned them, not a single one stood out to him. They were very distasteful, he would never present Christine with any of them, but he didn't have time to have one custom made.

"Do you have any that are simple? Smaller, perhaps?" Erik questioned, becoming worried that he may not find the perfect ring and would have to settle on what was in front of him.

Maurice smiled, "I have an older collection that I keep in the back. With the rise in demand for larger rings, I haven't been able to sell them."

Erik nodded slowly, "Bring them to me."

The shopkeep disappeared through a door, leaving Erik alone at the counter. His eyes wandered and he noticed the two men had moved on to look at the earrings. He pitied the poor women who would receive their gifts as they clearly had no taste in regards to what should and shouldn't be adorned on the woman one loves. Part of him wanted to look away from them but he couldn't help but observe them, how they nudged each other when they found something that sparked their interest, laughing and speaking of how much their women would love such a piece. Their joined laughter stirred something inside of him. Jealousy?

Erik sighed and looked away, not wanting to linger too long on the feeling. Not that he had a particularly strong desire for companionship, but Christine would surely drag him to as many social events as she could and he couldn't just stand alone waiting for her to be ready to leave. It would be rather pathetic and he refused to allow his dislike of mostly everyone he met to get in the way of making Christine happy. Besides, how could he resist showing off his beautiful wife?

One thing was very clear, he would need to get used to large crowds, to interaction with the living. After all, he had promised Christine anything she asked for and if she asked for dinner parties she would have them, and if she asked for strolls through the park with their…children–

The word made Erik's throat go dry and he tried with all his might to swallow the lump that had formed. Of course, they would have children eventually, maybe even within the year and Christine would be a wonderful mother. But could Erik be a proper father? He hadn't read any books on how to appropriately raise a child, what would he do if he lost his temper when it misbehaved? He would need to start reading, absorb all of the knowledge he could before Christine asked him for a child.

His thoughts were interrupted by Maurice emerging from the back of the shop. He set down a small tray of rings in front of him. The rings were much more pleasing to the eye than the others and Erik tried not to smile but couldn't help the slight upwards movement of the corner of his mouth.

"I hope you find these are more to your liking," Maurice said enthusiastically, "I made these almost twenty years ago. No one had taken interest in them, unfortunately."

Erik just nodded as his eyes scanned over the rings, studying each one. There were many with different gems and stones. He was about to pick up an emerald ring when his eyes wandered to the last row of the tray.

The perfect ring for a perfect bride, Erik thought to himself as he picked up the dainty ring his eyes had found. It was yellow gold chiseled with intricate designs that came up the side of the band. An opal surrounded by small pearls was the centerpiece of the ring. He held it in his fingers, bringing it close to his face to admire the mastery of its construction.

"This one, how much for it?" Erik questioned, still staring at the magnificence he held in his hand.

"Two-hundred francs, monsieur, but for you, I can lower it to one-hundred and fifty since you are my highest paying customer," Maurice said coyly.

"Nonsense, I will pay the full price. I am no beggar, Maurice," Erik laughed, letting his emotion slip and placing the francs on the counter, "This level of artistry, it's absolute perfection. I have high hopes for the order I have placed."

Maurice smiled, "I provide only the best, and I wish you luck with your proposal, monsieur."

"Thank you, I will take my leave, I have a goddess waiting at home!" Erik exclaimed, unable to help himself, then he turned to head for the door.

He noticed the two men looking towards him, then both started snickering. Erik shot them a glare but they continued. Were they mocking him? They wouldn't be laughing when he strung them up in the streets! As he stared at them, anger rose to a point where it was hard to think of anything other than waiting in the alley for them to emerge and slipping a lasso around their throats.

Erik clenched his fists and something dug into his palm. He looked down and saw the ring, the ring for Christine who was waiting for him at home. It would be against his promises to do anything so drastic even threatening them was out of the question, besides, they were most likely just drunken fools. After all, who else would go to a jewelry shop so late in the evening?

xXx

When Erik entered through the backdoor of the cottage, it was completely silent. He removed his boots and gently set them by the wall and hung his cloak next to Christine's. He patted the pocket of his trousers to ensure the ring was still safely tucked away and smiled when he felt it pressing against his thigh.

He made for the stairs and silently ascended then walked down the hallway to his room, peeking through the slightly ajar door to see Christine sleeping soundly just as he had left her. He walked over to her bedside, placing his mask on the table, and knelt next to her, trailing his fingers along her cheekbone and placing his lips gently on hers. She stirred slightly and her eyes fluttered open, a wide smile formed on her sleepy face and she pulled him closer to her.

"Good evening, Christine," he breathed.

Her arms wrapped around his neck and she crushed his lips to hers, kissing him deeply. When she pulled away she sighed and murmured, "Good evening."

"My love, why don't you get dressed and meet me in the parlor? I wish to sing for you," he whispered against her lips.

Christine nodded, "Alright, if you insist."

"I do very much insist, I have plans for us for the rest of the evening, so don't take too long," he pressed his lips to hers once more.

"I love you," she breathed, tightening her hold around his neck.

"I love you," he whispered back, "Now, hurry, I cannot express to you how impatient I am right now."

She giggled, "Of course, go wait for me, I will be quick."

Erik nodded and stood, holding her hand in his, the same hand that would soon be adorned with a ring. He stared at the finger and imagined the moment she would accept his proposal and allow him to place the ring on it. He swallowed hard and released her hand, slowly backing away to the door. She stared at him the entire time with wide chocolate eyes and a breathtaking smile.

Once he was at the door, he returned her smile and quickly left, heading back to the parlor to enact his plan.

The proposal had to be perfect, he had to be perfect. With the ring in hand, he began practicing his proposal, lowering gently onto his left knee and holding the ring with one hand while his other held the air, imagining it was Christine's hand. He did the same action over and over again, attempting to perform it flawlessly. It had been some time since he had practiced in such a way, though he had the lifeless hand of Christine to hold as he did so. This time, he would have living breathing flesh, warmth instead of cold stillness. One that would notice his mistakes.

His heart dropped at the thought of making a mistake, or even stammering on his words. Oh, he wouldn't be able to go on if he made a fool of himself in such a way. He needed to stay calm and stop trembling like a fool. After several deep breaths, he lowered onto his knee once more and smiled when he completed the gesture perfectly.

Just then, Erik heard quiet steps on the stairs and scrambled to his feet, tucking the ring in his pocket. He quickly moved to examine a painting by the fireplace and hoped he didn't look too flustered. What felt like days passed by and she still hadn't entered the parlor and he was debating on whether he had imagined the noise on the stairs but just as he was going to turn, he heard the clearing of a throat behind him.

It was time, his dreams were about to come true and he couldn't have been happier. Christine had arrived.

/

Author's Note: I have a question for everyone.

Is everyone okay with the chapter lengths? I've noticed they are a bit long, this chapter is almost 7500 words so I wasn't sure if that was too long for anyone. I don't mind cutting them down, or just keeping them the same.

I would love feedback if anyone has any.