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It is time, she knows.
The ring is so heavy in her hand, almost like it wants to leave imprints in her flesh. It is so small—could it really form an impression? For being such a simple thing, it really is so prominent. The little silver band and shining onyx stone blink at her and threaten to stay in her very soul.
It is all Erik. Erik, the Angel who sang to her; the beast who hunted her; the man who loved her.
She knows what she has to do. She knows she has a heart, and Erik does, too. A poor, broken heart that wants to love but does not know how. A bruised, battered, and broken heart that hardened to stone and gives venom to a hating world.
She tells Raoul not to wait for her. She’ll be fine. She ignores his pleas and runs back through the tepid water.
When she goes back under the portcullis, there he is. Erik is sobbing uncontrollably, his cries echoing heartbreak and pain. Her own heart feels like it is being ripped from her chest.
He hears her and stands, sniffling in through his half-formed nose. His golden eyes are red-rimmed. He attempts some composure and elegance. Yet she knows now that he is a man, a full man capable of showing all emotions.
He does not need to pretend for her anymore.
“Christine,” he begins in a broken voice thick with sobs, “I love you.”
It is the most genuine thing he has ever said to her.
She comes closer and he reaches out, wanting to hold her hand one final time. Like a lost, sad child looking for guidance. He is giving her the one thing he can offer: himself, in all his weakness and broken pride.
His eyes well with tears again, and her resolve hardens. “I know,” she says, her own voice a whisper. She grips the ring hard in her hand, pressing it into her skin.
Before she can say another word, Erik falls to his knees. His shoulders are hunched and shaking with his sobs.
“I love you, too,” she says, voice stronger. Yes, she knows now. The wedding dress feels form-fitting on her body, pressed against her. It feels right. If only the way he hadn’t gone about winning her love was so unsavory…perhaps she would have chosen him from the beginning.
Her confession seems to stop his crying. He looks up at her in stunned amazement, his misshapen mouth slightly agape. His eyes are full of an almost childlike wonder.
“Erik, I want to stay. I love you.”
He gasps. “What?” His own angelic voice is just a whisper now.
Be strong, be strong for him. “I want to be here…with you. Erik…my darling Erik—“
“Christine!” he rises to his feet. His heart must be hammering in his chest. “You…you mean it? You…you—you want me— ?” Then, he slowly brings his hands up, and his fingers just barely caress the outline of her face.
She nods, tears coming out of her own eyes at the sight.
Then, he smiles. He gives her a true, genuine smile, with light coming into his eyes. More tears fall; this time, they are happy ones.
He takes her hands and kisses them, each kiss pressing harder as if to confirm she is there, she is real. Then he looks at her, right in the eyes. Hope and trepidation are in his.
She nods. With surprisingly fluid motions, she slides the ring onto her own finger.
He gives her his first, real kiss. He presses her close, giving her the full force of his lips. His hands grip her back and waist—the full kiss of a new groom. Her chest is pressed to his, and their hearts finally beat as one.