Chapter Eight

                                    

                                          
"Leave?" Christine blinked. She'd not even considered that as a possibility. Would Erik truly leave the security of his home underground just so that they could stay together? How many years had it been since he'd lived amongst the common society of men? His eyes were unreadable, and Christine found herself wondering what this man would not do for her. 
                          
"Yes," he nodded. "We would have to leave the opera house. We would have to leave the city - possibly the country - altogether."
                          
"Where would we go?" Her voice was soft. She'd traveled quite frequently when her father had been alive, but it had been over two years since his passing, and Paris had been her home for that stretch of time. "Would you really wish to leave this place behind? Would it not sadden you?"
                          
"Oh, on the contrary, my dear," Erik replied gravely, "I feel as though this house of mine has been both my solace from mankind and also my damnation. Perhaps...perhaps it is time for a start somewhere else." 
                          
A start with her. He'd not said it, but it was implied. It would be easier for him to live above if he was not alone. Something about that fact was rather sad, but Christine was glad to know of his trust in her.
                          
"I...I cannot say I shall be happy to leave this place, for I am rather fond of most of the memories I have of here," Christine admitted with a small shrug of her shoulders, "but wherever we go, I shall at least be comforted to know that you will be with me." 
                          
Erik swallowed thickly at her comment, breath hitching in his throat. "Yes, well," he paused, attempting to gather his thoughts. "I suppose we should begin the process of packing." Pulling a pocket-watch from his waistcoat, Erik peered at the time and nodded. "It is currently half-passed eight in the morning. We will leave just after the sun sets at seven, which gives us ten and a half hours." 
                          
Christine stood, nodding, "What shall we be taking with us? I will likely take everything I brought with me here from the estate, but apart from that-?" 
                          
"Do not trouble yourself with that until the time comes; I shall see to it that what needs to be brought will be packed away," Erik straightened from where he stood. "I, for myself, will be bringing only the barest necessities." With that, they both exited the room to get busy.
                          
*** 
                          
Christine surmised that Erik had underestimated her packing abilities. She was finished within twenty minutes, and immediately sought him out to find that he, too, was finished with his own baggage. He seemed rather shocked to see her standing in his doorway, and she simply offered a smile, hiding the smugness she felt at having had surprised him. 
                          
They brought their personal luggage out into the parlor and placed it beside the door, then Christine set on the task of preparing food for them to have during the trip. They had three-fourths of a loaf of bread that had been fresh the day prior, a decent amount of cheese that could sustain them for a while if they cut it into small portions, and an assortment of berries. Overall it seemed that this would only last them a couple days, at most. They would need to stop somewhere to procure more food. 
                          
She packed everything up carefully into a sturdy picnic basket, covering it all with a few layers of cheesecloth and placing Erik's good silverware inside, as well. There was little they could do in the way of drinks, save for a bottle of wine that looked as though it'd been sitting inside Erik's wine cooler for a very long time. Christine then made certain to place two wine glasses inside the basket, wrapping them in more cloth so that they would not chip.
                          
Erik was gathering all of his best compositions and drawings, and placing them inside a tired-looking brief case that he'd not used in many years. If he was sentimental about one thing, it was his compositions. He turned his head to watch as the blonde came out of the kitchen carrying his picnic basket towards the door.