Technically the last chapter was the end, but more than a few (and myself included) wanted to see an epilogue and I was up for writing a short, fun, happy-floaty chapter.
I thought that would get this out of my system but no.
So apparently there MAY be another e/m story in me yet. Hell could be fun, I learned a lot from this one and even between the first chapter and the last I see a great (I think) improvement in my writing. So I could consider it learning. Not. But let's just pretend.
Either way, feel free to hound me and keep an eye out for another E/M story. Until then, or really just for now, enjoy a happily ever after for Requiem's End.
Thank you to all my reviewers. You know I save all your reviews and read them over and over if I've had a bad day or a tough day or just need a boost or a smile? I do.
When I read what you have to say about my story, I feel like my dream of getting published isn't so far away as it seems to feel at other times.
So thank you all for your kind words and suggestions and just taking the time to read my story at all.
The first time she kissed Erik, it was unlike anything else. The fact that she had never kissed a man aside, it was not like she would have expected. Not that she had much clue of what to expect. The other Ballet Rats—in giggles and whispers—described their adventures. This was not like that at all, and Megan pitied those girls that it was all they had.
Her mother had never really described kissing and Megan had always been too afraid to ask. It wouldn't have mattered. She could not see her mother being able to give this feeling accurate description.
The book she still had, treasured, which had been a gift from Sorelli, hadn't helped either. It had described them as fire. That was the closest. His lips were not cold, as Christine had credited his hands. They were heat, and sun, and life, and fire.
Kissing him was painful. It was honestly painful. There was this deep pain in her chest, a twisting of hear and stomach and lungs that felt as her face did sometimes when she smiled too much. But she would die to kiss him. Walk willingly into the flames and smile while she burned just to be so near to him. She would burn to ashes and soot and dust just to be able to kiss him once before she went.
She had never been happier in all her life. Because she was allowed to touch him. It was unusual to be so happy, so perfectly content—nothing could make it better—she had never been so happy. And it was just from being allowed to be near him.
They were married in a small creaking church on the edge of a hill, overlooking the sea. He had taken her to see the ocean. I will do anything to see you smile. He promised her as she gaped at the very magisty of it.
Gaped. She was certain that someone elegant like Christine would have gasped, stood in awe even. But she could do little else but gasp and marvel. Attractive or no, she was amazed. He even took her on a boat, a real ship. Covered with lights and silk and filled with lace and champagne and soft music.
Sadly the two soon learned that boats and Megan were not a good mix. She spent most of the time in their stateroom, whimpering, sweating and heaving. Erik felt awful, that he had taken the one person he cared about and made her so very ill, but Megan was happy to spend time with him, no matter what happened because of it.
After a few days of being so sick she was well enough to walk about at least, and he took her up to the main deck and they watched the ocean. She enjoyed the strength of him and still relished that she could touch him so she acted a bit weaker than she was, and leaned against him while they stood watching the waves. He supported her and did not mention that he knew she was exaggerating her weakness.
He was simply happy that someone wanted to love him. Him. Not the Angel of Music. Not because he killed. Not because they pitied him. Megan loved him, him, Erik with no family name. He would let her lean on him, or tease him, or kiss him whenever she wished, because her wish was as good as a command when it came to him.
The trip only lasted a week, but despite illness Megan insisted she loved it, until she saw what lay at the end of the journey, because at the end of their trip he showed her the gift Sorelli had offered. She stood on the hill overlooking the vineyard and made a vague attempt at breathing.
"Whe—how—Erik!" She gasped, laughing and crying and unable to finish even a thought.
He had never seen anyone laugh through their tears before, and was unsure of what to do. He lead her to the front doors with shaking hands and explained. He hoped she was not unhappy with him.
"It was a gift from Sorelli, though I think more to you than me." He attempted to laugh at that and she smiled, her eyes still watering. He watched her when he opened the door. She stared, all the furniture covered with sheets, but she could see the beauty of this place, and suddenly she was dancing. Not to music, or a routine, she just spun and dipped around the furniture.
Contrary to what she had accused him of so long ago he did watch the dancers and he did know of the things they did and the things they could do. He knew Megan was skilled, but here, in this moment, watching her surrounded by golden sunlight and dustmoats and ghosts of furniture, he knew she had never danced like this before.
If she had danced like this at the Opera House she would have been better than Sorelli, she would have been a better dancer than any he had seen. "I've never seen you dance so well before." He told her when she dropped onto a still covered couch, her chest heaving slightly with her effort.
"I never had your full attention before. Sorelli has Phillipe's attention all the time, and now I have yours." She murmured. When he questioned she shook her head. "A secret between dancers...dear?" He shook his head.
She was adamant about trying to find names for each other—he could not see what was wrong with their own names—and was constantly trying out the latest one to come to her mind. Often he would come to speak with her and she would refuse to answer until he tried out her latest attempt at a pet name. Yesterday it had been "Lady Phantome of the Opera." A few days prior to that he had to spend the whole day calling her "Madame Opera Ghost."
She sighed and he sat down next to her, a small amount of space between them. She stared at the distance and managed a smile as she looked up at him. It still hurt that he did not fully trust her, but she understood it, and she knew that as time went on, things would improve. "Women at the Opera House—the guests—always used to talk." She started. And he looked at her, waiting for her to continue. "About decorating this house and that..."
"Would you like to be in charge of how this house looks Megan?" He asked.
"Yes." She looked at him with a small smile that out-shown any of Christine's because this smile had something none of Christine's ever would. This smile had a touch of deviousnesses to it, and it was directed only at Erik.
"All right. What will we do in this house of ours?" He was curious what this would lead to, Megan seemed to always be a mystery to him.
"Books." She announced with a soft nod looking very serious.
"Very well. We shall fill our house with books."
And they did.
There you have it. sigh Done. Though our dear Opera Ghost and Ballet Rat have not let go of me just yet, but this tale at least is done. YAY! And spread the love for this precious couple!
Now for reviewers!
I wish I could thank you all, but because you love my story so that list would be very very long. But hey if you want special attention I am more than happy to get it and LOVE getting random Ims (aim, or Yahoo works and are listed in my profile). Or even emails if that's all you have.
Ally612: I'm glad you liked it, it was certainly a journey for me as well and I had a lot of fun so it's nice to know you did as well. Next time around we should bring snacks and stop for a picnic on the way (or pic-a-nic if you liked Yogi Bear.)
Rowensage: I'm glad someone else likes Megan. As for Sailor Moon fanfics...hmm...I'm not so sure. Don't get me wrong I loved sailor moon for a time, but there were so many different series and so many comics and cartoons and such that I think all the terribly good plots have been taken. Plus me and my uber-perfective ways would lead me to having to watch all those episodes so I knew the characters and I really REALLY don't have the time for that! But I appreciate you taking the time to share some interesting stories to look into.
Kyrene Once Blood Roses: Enjoyed your epilogue? I did. Anyway I suppose I've made it clear now that I plan to write more E/M (And I don't get C/E either.) I don't think they'll ever let me go. I agree the fandom is lacking. Though there are a lot more now than when I started this tale of mine. I don't mean that to sound like I had anything to do with it, I just mean in a year things change. Either way, there are more now, but HEY! We need to spread the love and convert the non-believers.
Gigi the Dancer: I'm so glad you think so highly of my story...my writing in general! It makes my day to hear things like that and it is things like that that make me want to write more and better! (well hopefully better.)
Alana Smithy: YOU HAD BETTER WRITE YOUR STORY. I shal have to hunt you down and force you to otherwise and that's a lot of trouble for a poor college student! I am glad you think so very highly of me, and my writing. I really am and I read your review at least fifteen times. It made me that happy! But I certainly am hurt that you would deny me the pleasure of reading yours! The world needs more E/M stories. I shall be waiting to see something from you I hope you know!
PhantomsRose: In answer to your question first. Erik helped build the Opera House so I took to assuming that he had known the Ratcatcher years, maybe even a decade. So hence the immense trust. At least by Erik's standards. Hope that clears it up a little bit more for you. I'm glad that you enjoyed my story (especially since normally you prefer C/E stuff.) And I am glad that you enjoyed it so very much! I hope my other stories lit up to the standards I seem to have set for myself.
Liriel-eris: Whoa that ol' story you've read? oh deary me. I'm almost embarrassed at the quality of that now that I look back on it. I am in fact. (though I will share a secret with you...I'm tossing around ideas for another go at a Sherlock Holmes story now that I like my own writing a bit better. We'll have to see how that turns out though as at any one time I usually have at least four stories fluttering about in my brain. Damn plotbunnies have a habit of multiplying like...well bunnies.) I'm glad I had you on the edge of your seat as it were. I was hoping I would do that to at least one person so YAY. Made my day right there (and do every time I re-read your review which is often.)
A Heart Full of Sorrow: You had me giggling for days. DAYS I TELL YOU! Days. I am glad I left you "speechless" as it were. And tell Erik thank you for the lovely review. I'm impressed you read it in two days (And touched! You're only supposed to do that with really really really good fics! Not just my lil' ol' fic.) I'm also glad that you think it was so very good!
IrishHeart: It certainly sounds right to me. I love that you think that and agree with me. And that it all makes sense. I wanted it to be difficult for her. I mean in the end she was freeing herself. This was the last act as Sorelli and I imagine that after this she took her love, moved to a small cottage far from everything and lived out her days in peace and quiet. I am glad you agree with Megan (And clever idea with Meghan!) and I do agree. So many stories find their happily ever after in Paris, but their horrors happened there so they needed to find somewhere else for their happily ever after.
Wandering Child24: Thank you...That's all I can find to say after such a kind reveiw. There is just...I'm speechless. You (And all of you really) are just too kind to me! I hardly think I deserve it!
DRUNKEN LANDLORD: No I will not ignore it it's one of my favorite parts of your review it makes me feel like an all grown up real writer! Well That and the part where you compaire me to both Wells (one of my favorite authors) and Dickenson and THEN say they don't hold a candle TO ME! I had to read that like three times before I realized it was me who came out of that the best writer. It makes me smile and I showed it off to all my friends! They didn't seem to care so much, but hey I was happy and that's all that matters in the end.