5He was awakened by a sudden pressure on his chest and icicles against his feet.
Half cognizant, he opened half-hooded eyes to familiar chestnut curls. "Chrisinte?"
She shivered against him, burrowing deeper into his warmth. "I'm so cold, Erik."
Blinking the sleep away, he hesitated only half a heartbeat before wrapping her in a sinoway embrace. "My arms are yours for the asking."
She pressed herself closer in response, burying her face in his neck as one of his hands curled around her back, long fingers stroking her spine, back and forth, up and down, south and north again, relishing the feel of the silk beneath his fingertips, His other had joined with hers, losing itself in the folds and flips of her skirts until it was nearly impossible to tell where she ended and he began.
He held her for what felt like hours, until her body ceased its quaking and until his eyes dropped shut to the tune of her staccato breaths turned smooth, and then seemed to cease all together.
"Are you warming?" he murmured at one point, words half slurred with drowsiness.
"Just hold me," she whispered in return, and he swore he felt her fingers hold tighter to his hand. "I want to stay with you for as long as I can."
Too tired to question her strange words, he gave a half sigh and held her firmer, all too happy to relish every precious moment he could. After all, how often did an angel lay in the arms of a demon?
Even he, with all of his wondrous talents, could not elude sleep forever, as proved by the fact that he was awoken (again) what seemed only moments later by the pattering of small feet on his floor and the surprisingly strong grasp of his most recent house guest. "Mr. Y?"
Erik cracked an eyes open, shifting slightly to meet the waiting face of the son he had barely begun to know.
The boy stared back, his brow quirked and furrowed in an all-to-familiar manner. "Are you well, Sir? It's nearly nine and Ms. Fleck has already made flapjacks. Should I tell her to save you some?"
The masked man swallowed, blinking both eyes open and attempting to gather his faculties enough to provide the boy with an answer. He very nearly opened his mouth to warn Gustave not to disturb his mother; she needed her sleep after the night she had endured, after all.
Before he could form the words, Gustave's perplexed gaze shifted from his face to the bed beside him. "What are you doing with that?"
Were children always this annoyingly inquisitive. Biting back his retort to state the obvious, Erik glanced to find the burgundy dress still resting lightly in his arms.
Christine, however, was noticeably absent.
His mind scrambled for a reason - any reason to explain why he was alone in his bed, clutching a day dress like a lifeline.
Heart racing, he opened his mouth to stammer out an answer, but then the Gustave met his eyes again with sympathetic comprehension that no ten-year-old should have to know, motioning to the pile of silf he still held in his hands. "That was her favorite, too."
His heart froze, blood turning to ice as it drained from his face.
The boy was right - the dress had been Christine's favorite.
And his.
Which was exactly why he had seen her buried in it a fortnight ago.
This was not the Halloween phic that I wanted to do. This just kind of happened.
But, it is my first attempt at horror and I hope that you enjoyed this while I work on my *actual* Halloween story, which will most likely be up after Halloween.
Thanks for sticking with me and, as always, I hope you will take a moment to leave your thoughts!