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Lightning burst through the sky and the thunder crackled and boomed ferociously. The rain spilled down his face forcing him to squint his eyes and wipe his face repeatedly. The air was pungent like he could smell the dark evil of the night forest.
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Two months surpassed together in their little cottage. When Christine and he were separated, Erik had worked on revitalizing it for himself as a new home, secretly, with the dream that she would one day come back to him. He bought the property from a merchant in town who he had frequented daily. Before this, he was living at a hostel while working on new compositions. Once the keys were laid in his hands, Erik supplied the house with beautiful furnishings and the kitchen with all the necessary tools and food including a month's worth of game. Living the majority of his life in the caverns underneath the Opera house while receiving his monthly 20,000 franks had granted him much fortune in addition to the money he was already drenched in from his days as the Persian Kings Assassin, thereby making any financial whim like the purchase of the cottage a small thing.
Life together was brilliant. Erik was still in unbelief that Christine decided to live out the rest of her days beside him; a person that society would never choose and that even the unwanted would disregard completely. Her daily kindnesses made all the hurt from the years slip into what felt like a faded unimportant memory.
They shared the space quaintly, Erik wasn't sure what living together would be like. When he'd imagined a future with her all those many years ago, he felt the imagery in his head to be too idealistic, that indeed Christine would begin to resent him because he tended to dedicate countless hours to his music and art. On the contrary, Christine had adapted to his workflow and she enjoyed the time spent reading, the cottage was well equipped with the books Erik had picked up along his travels, including classic French and English novels. It delighted him so much that she found so much joy in all the literary adventures, sometimes he would read to her at night or she would read to him while he gardened. It was a charmed existence... for the most part.
One evening as the crickets chirped and the frogs croaked outside, long after Christine had resigned to bed, Erik stayed wide awake painting, when after tirelessly stroking away at the canvas in front of him for hours he decided to take a small coffee break. As he made his way to the back door to fetch water from the well in the backyard, the memories of all the love they had made since arriving spun like a zoetrope in his mind. The recollection of their morning together caused a shiver to travel up his spine and buzz pleasurably as it spread up his neck and blasted with tantalizing that tickled every inch of his brain.
