Erik held her eyes with anxious silence; he knew this was a monumental decision for Christine, but even the briefest of moments left him on edge. He looked upon her with tenderness as she smiled sweetly to him, and with her answer, the greatest relief and joy washed over his entire being. When she wrapped her arms around him once more he returned her embrace without hesitation, tears of happiness brimming his eyes as they held one another. He wished to thank her, to swear his love to her in as many ways possible, but her words left him speechless. He wanted nothing more than to stay in this moment, but if he was correct, the hour would soon be late, and she was committed to morning rehearsals. “Christine,” he hummed her name quietly, once more releasing his hold on her waist and smiling lightly when their eyes met. He lifted his hand lightly and brushed her cheek softly, a touch so simple, yet so utterly thrilling to him. “You have given me more than any king has ever received this night, and you are an angel for doing so.” He slowly rose to his feet, grasping her hands in his own as they stood before one another, the smile never fading from his lips. As he looked upon her, he felt himself being caught in her youthful eyes, and he could not help but think of the young man she so willingly turned aside. Something told Erik he would never accept any explanation Christine created for why she could not return his advances, and he nearly exclaimed openly as he remembered his night in the streets of Paris not too long ago. “Forgive me,” he spoke gently, releasing her hands, “I will only be a moment.” He left her by the organ as he quickly turned and briskly strode out of her company, his focus lying on the small box which rested on the mantle of his fireplace. Erik returned promptly, his hands wrapped tightly together as he went to Christine once more, his heart beating wildly in anticipation of what was to come in the future. The dark years he saw coming suddenly filled with a light, and the solitude he knew for so long seemed distant in memory. “Christine,” he uttered tenderly, taking her left hand in his own. “Please, this is simple and I will be sure to find something more proper for you, but for now,” he showed her the gold band, which he then slipped on her ring finger gently, avoiding her eyes should she be displeased. “I would be honored if you would wear this ring, for the world to know you have my heart, and I yours.” He did not wish to propose, not like this, not here. He knew the manner in which men did such things; elegantly bowing on one knee, making himself vulnerable to her heart and willing to let her see him as a pleading man. He was willing to do anything for her, but he felt she deserved something more from him than a sudden proposal after a night such as this. “You will have everything you ever dreamt of, I swear it.” He looked up to see her glancing at her hand, and with a hesitant touch he lifted her chin until her gaze met his own. “Your young man will have questions, Christine. What do you intend on telling him?” 
(via christinelotte)
Erik let the bow fall from the strings, and the violin rest steadily beside him on the organ bench as the music ended. He felt at rest; calm despite the storm he foresaw, and at peace, if only for a moment. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly when he heard a light footfall behind him. He turned to see Christine before him, her eyes meeting his own, and only tenderness emnating from the depths of them. He wished to know her thoughts, her mind, her heart, but he had no time for such an inquiry; as her arms enclircled his waist and she drew herself to him, every coeherant thought and function he knew left him immediately. Having never been held, never shown a loving touch, he knew not what to do as Christine held him as if her being depended on his solidity. He held his arms above her body, not daring to touch her in fear of waking from a dream. ‘I do not want to lose you…I don’t want you to be just a memory…’ His heart beat wildly in his chest, and gently he lowered his arms, softly returning her embrace, resting his chin atop of her brown curls. His emptiness, solitude, and years of loneliness, torn down and buried in a moments embrace. “You never will, Christine,” he whispered tenderly, “you will never lose me.” He felt tears brimming his eyes, his heart aching with compassion for the young woman in his arms. There was so much he wished to say to her, so many praises he desired to crown her with, yet he knew no words which would grace his tongue. With a silent sigh he brought his hands to her wrists and loosened her arms from his waist, smiling lightly when Christine lifted her head from his chest and met his eyes once more. His world was hers. Everything he was, he was only for her. His Christine. “And is this your choice?” he questioned softly, still holding her hands in his. He did not wish for her to leave him, to find happiness in the arms of her young man, but he did not wish for her to give herself blindly and fall into regret. There was time yet in which he would be willing to wait patiently for her, but if her heart decided, he desired to know. “Please, Christine, I must know if this is what you wish for…” Come away, O human child…for the world is more full of weeping than you can understand…
“I…I promise, I will try. Goodnight Christine, may you have sweet dreams…”
“What happens?” He questioned quietly, his eyes on her as he considered what she asked him. He knew what would happen to him, surely, and what would happen to the both of them, but present thoughts of the future do not account for the changes which emotions cause. And he knew that. “Hearts will be broken, Christine,” he said sadly. “I only know for sure what will become of us, and myself, depending on the decisions you make.” He looked upon her with an emptiness and loneliness he never truly realized he felt before; this young man could give her the life she dreamed of, and she would be rightfully happy in his arms. This young man could destroy them all. “You see, some hearts heal from brokeness, and some have been broken too many times for hope of recovering,” he spoke softly, calmly, despite the conflicting emotions he felt. “You and I would find happiness, and I would see to it that you have everything you ever dreamed of. I would be the man you need, do anything you willed me to do, and I would love you endlessly, and you would never doubt it.” He wanted to plea with her, to tell her how much it would destroy him to see her leave, but a part of him knew she already understood him. She was the only one who ever could, but he was unsure if she knew this. “The world would be yours,” he whispered, “but if you find you love your young man, I will only be a memory.” He did not know how to express himself any further, and he felt words would fail him should he try to speak any longer. He looked away from her eyes and glanced to the table, their meal untouched and plates empty. He sighed sadly and rose from the table, gesturing to the spread before them. “Please, enjoy this meal, you have worked diligently today and deserve to dine well,” he announced sincerely, his gaze falling upon hers once more as he stepped from the table. He did not know what he saw in her eyes as she sat in silence, but he desired nothing more than for her to see him as he was. How could he prove to her his worthiness over that of her young man? “If you will excuse me, there is something I must see to,” he spoke evenly, bowing slightly before leaving her presence, lifting his violin from its resting place, and settling himself on the bench of his organ. He sat in silence for a few moments, the bow in position on the strings as he waited for the peace which music has brought him in his times of despair. When he began to play, the melody was soft and sorrowful, but beautiful nonetheless. His music was his safety, his peace of mind, and his distraction from the world which he found so hateful, and in this moment, he needed something to hold on to.
“What is that?” |
