Hi! Herline Here!

I want to thank SloaneDestler for being the first to review! I really appreciate it! * fangirling *

I plan that each chapter has a title of a period song, the previous chapter was Why dont you do right by Peggy Lee, this is So this is Love by Llene Woods. Sorry if the years of release don't add up, but they really do fit in the story!

Disclamer: The main caracters of WFRR or POTO dont belong to me.

My native language is not English, but I am working with the help of a good translator and my experience reading and writing in English, so if you find any errors, I will be grateful if you notify me!

Hope you enjoy! Thank you very much!

.-.

Erik expected the woman to say "I'm sorry, please forgive me! Please! I ask you not to say anything, I will do anything!" Among other words of request. He went out of his way when he heard a "no".

He stopped his train of thoughts. "How did you say?".

"No. I said no. I'm not going to apologize". She kept her lips trembling, her brow furrowed and her hands in fists on the high gloves. A tense silence enveloped them. Erik suddenly felt foolish, like a child clinging to a craving. Seeing the image of this woman caused him both repulsion and intrigue.

"It seems that you are not being a reasonable woman".

"You're wrong about me. I've been a reasonable woman all my life. But when you play with something as delicate as my desires, I can't be reasonable anymore." Christine walked around the piano, stopping midway to say: "I thought you were the angel of death coming for me!" She felt a little stupid now that she was speaking it out loud.

"Have you not felt, that you are so tired of everything that being alive entails, that you just want to disappear? I have been wanting to die, for more than three years, since I came to New York from France. This city, its walls, the smoke and its people ... I feel like I'm drowning, but I can't get out of here". She began to walk onto the stage, her voice and the sound of her high heels echoing through the bar like bullets. She gathered her arms as if in an attempt to hug her own. "You must be worth a damn what I tell you, right?" She turned to look at the man, but it wasn't like she was getting a facial response. She ignored it.

"I am too weak to commit suicide. I cannot bear to see blood, I am afraid of jumping out of a building and coming out alive, of having a drug cocktail and that my father finds me dead. I am paralyzed without jumping on the train tracks. I have no other aspiration, no career, no friends. But, when I think about killing myself I cannot ignore that I am being ungrateful with the life they gave me, and with the opportunities they have given me. I guess I am just being a coward by letting go of the burden of responsibility for my destiny in someone else. Don't you believe?"

"Indeed. You are being a coward."

Christine snorted. She didn't expect him to support her anyway. She turned to see him.

She dreamed of her angel almost as if she could feel it. He had the smoothness and nobility of marble, eyes of icy clear water, features that no painter could have replicated in any way. He didn't speak, because there was nothing to say between them. His visits were so calm, like a relief, like knowing that death stops making people suffer when there is no cure or remedy. She dreamed of his bony hands on her face, like icy ceramic kissing her skin. She would not have minded turning to ashes after her touch, and she would have been ashes with all the pleasure in the world just for him to take her in his hands and slip through his fingers.

When he entered the bar and she saw him, she knew it was his materialization. And yet she could see in his silhouette traces of her angel, as if he were a preliminary sketch of him in her mind. Under those clothes, Christine wondered, was his marble skin made, under the gloves, cold and flawless bones, and under his mask, his pious face?

"What is what keeps you alive, then?"

Christine hesitated. She considered it in her mind to close his mouth and leave, but she wanted to try, at least as far as she could go, with the confidence that strangers are given without the fear of being judged so harshly. "It's a long story. But I tell you, it's not as good as you can imagine. I don't think you want to hear it, a man like you must be busy, and I'm honestly not in high spirits to speak."

"Not at all. I can't find a better way to spend the night, in this damn city, than with some story." Ah! He could spend the night drawing, designing, composing, and generally making money. He didn't think much about it, contrary to his nature, wanting to see what the blonde girl had to offer.

Christine opened her mouth to speak, but felt the trapped air from the bar penetrate her throat and choke her. She lifted her hands and squeezed her throat, she would have been glad to have been able to break her windpipe. He looked at her in what appeared to be confusion.

Christine invited him to go with her to the roof of the building. On the roof, her bare shoulders kissed by the cold of the night, she felt helpless, like a sheet of paper in danger of flying in the wind, but the cold of the night could not hurt her more than she could do to herself. To her surprise, the man listened carefully and calmly to Christine's story. Leaning against the wall. As his father she had met her mother in France on a circus tour, where he performed and played the violin among the other circus performers. His mother was a young laundress staring at him in the crowd. She was fascinated by his music. As he passed his hat, she told him that she had no money, she couldn't leave him anything.

"So my father did not ask her for money, but to give him a kiss on the cheek, and with that would pay him his life and more. He did not expect to get anything, but she gave it to him with great affection. From that moment, he said, he knew that his heart belonged to her. She continued to frequent him until late in his acts, watching him tirelessly repeat the performances over and over again. He offered to take her back home and help her to wash the clothes in the stream, until that she got pregnant with me".

"My father was extremely in love, and left everything to go with her to Sweden, with my father's family who made shoes. There, my father taught me to write and speak Swedish, my mother taught me French and I read and learned more on my own with my grandfather's books. I was there until I was thirteen. My grandfather died and my older uncle inherited the business, he fought with my father and took him out of the business. We went back to working in circuses, this time with a bigger one, with more artists and with exotic animals. We didn't know how, but one night an animal ripped off my mother's right arm. She came running to the store with her shawl soaked in blood, covering up what she lost and calling for my father. She lived until we returned. She couldn't die until she saw my father again. After her death my father almost died of sadness, he began to drink a lot and cause problems in the circus. That's when I heard that a migrant ship was leaving to New York. I dragged my father out of the circus, sold everything we had, and came here to get away from that bad memory".

Christine told him about their life in New York, how her father worked in an Italian shoe work shop and how she worked in as she could. She had been so busy working hard for so long, ignoring her thoughts and her pain, encouraging her father, that now that he remained unconscious from his beating, he left her alone with her memories and fears.

The masked man let out a thick air, as if he had held it all that time in his lungs. Christine felt foolish for a second, thinking that maybe the man was already fed up with hearing her speak, or asleep without even her knowing it.

"I didn't imagine that story was hiding behind that red dress. It was better than the stories in the opening night movies." Erik glanced again at Christine, leaning against the brick wall. Her pale skin flushing from the cold of the night, the sequins of her outfit gleaming in the moonlight. He was not particularly so attracted to women, but now that he was looking at her under the gaze of the moonlight, she seemed a little beautiful to him.

Christine walked up to him and held out her hand. "My name is Christine Daaé." She felt a little hesitation from his part, until he took her hand and shook it.

"Erik Destler. Nice to meet you."

Christine looked at his mask for a long time. And she blurted out, almost like a whisper:

"I suppose that nous ne sommes pas très différents. Nous portons tous les deux un masque pour nous cacher du monde". Erik chuckled. I guess we are not very different. We both wear a mask to hide from the world.

"You have a nice mask on your face. Her charm captivates anyone on stage. You are very lucky."

Christine took on a confidence that there wasn't. "I will apologize if you take off your mask. I have already removed mine to you." Erik released her hand and looked at her seriously. His cold voice come back.

"I don't think you really want to see what's underneath. Those who see my face never see me again. Some people have gone crazy, some brave men have faint. If you have any little respect for me, you won't ask me to take it back."

What could be so bad that will people faint? Did he have any deformation? Any disease on the face? Infections, scars, tattoos or pimples? The face burned by boiling water, or cruelly razed by chemicals, maybe deformed by blows or by nature itself in war?

"Please let me see. I promise I will be strong".

It's a shame, Erik thought. I was starting to like her a little. Who was he to stop her damn female curiosity? If she wanted to see her face, she would run at her own risk, right?

Erik hesitated. Until he began to lead his gloved hand to untie the knots on his mask. Uncertainty began to prick Christine's stomach, until Erik completely removed the mask from him.

Dead. His entire face looked dead. His skin was white, almost translucent, with spots blackened by darkness. His left eye was the best part of the whole face; an eye outlined by a perfect eyebrow, where a yellow dot dominated by long black lashes. His right eye had nothing, it was a crater where a white ball lubricated with a kind of slime came out, with a yellow point that would be his iris. He had no nose, just a few ligaments and cartilage attempts protected it from being fully exposed. His mouth was torn from the sides, in threads and pieces, with the appearance of being almost rotten, if he opened it, his teeth were perfect and bluish at the edges, jealously guarded by a thin and cut lips, where no trace of softness could be visualized.

Christine felt the air leave her lungs, and she was gazing intently into his eyes. He had an expectant vision of her, as if demanding a reaction from her. She hesitated a bit standing in her place. She's going to pass out, he thought.

Christine fell on his chest. A cut of sadness threatened Erik's heart, being quickly repelled by his expectations, he was about to carry the body of what he wanted to think, to be a fainted woman, but she was leaning on his chest, aware of him, almost hugging him. Their temperatures rose and burned against the cold night wind.

Christine began to purr in his chest, he realized that she was like wanting to start a song. He was confused, but he couldn't deny that it was a good pleasure to feel the vibrations of her chest singing against the fabric of his suit and seeping into his skin. She started to sing;

So this is love, mmm
So this is love

She put one hand on his shoulder and the other reached for his hand. Erik was tense. Was this woman delusional? Denying reality with something else? At the insistence he allowed himself to be carried away by the slight waltz to which Christine invited him, still unsure.

So this is what makes life divine
I'm all aglow, mmm
And now I know
The key to all heaven is mine

Erik was confused. This woman had gone crazy? He couldn't know it, but he had never had the pleasure of dancing like this with a woman, much less without a mask. He saw how she sang to him without taking her eyes off him, while the cold of the night caressed his naked face and the moonlight seemed to rest and sleep on Christine's skin.

My heart has wings, mmm
And I can fly

He felt his skin being goose bumps under his tuxedo. Christine, who are you?

I'll touch every star in the sky
She felt her voice take refuge in her throat, and he felt her melody kissed his rotten ears.
So this is the miracle
That I've been dreaming of

Christine stopped, purring again in his chest like a cat.

Mmm, mmm
So this... is love

When silence fell, and Christine seemed to dream in her chest, Erik spoke.

"You don't find me repulsive?"

Christine saw him for a long time, the moon matching its lights, moving angles and hiding gaps. "The face and the body is the least repulsive thing a man can have. No one is born choosing his own body, his face, his gender. But the actions that they can commit is what I find repulsive "and not wanting to remember the few and regretful times in which she had prostituted herself, bled and hiding the tears from his father, to take extra money home, lying to him like today was a great day Dad, I was lucky to find extra jobs.

Erik had never heard of anything like this. Not even his own mother, who was supposed to protect him and love him unconditionally. He suddenly felt a tremendous desire to take her away, to hide her from the world and unseat her secrets, at the same time he wanted to separate her from him, destroy her and flee from her. How would he deal with her ideas and feelings without getting lost in the process?

And there she was. Looking at his face like anyone else, she almost looked at what hebelieved to be longing in her eyes. He heard a rapid footsteps coming up the stairs; his muscles tensing in anticipation. Daroga appeared yelling his name.

"Erik!" And he saw them. He hadn't realized that he was still holding Christine by her waist, that she was touching her shoulder and her chest, and made a light contact of bodies. Daroga froze, almost in shock. Out of the corner of his eye he looked as Christine also turned to see him already late, as if she came out of her reverie.

"Sorry! I'm going!" and he left as fast as he arrived. Daroga cut the air as easily as he once cut necks in Persia. He lightened the grip on Christine's body. Coming out of his trance, and not knowing what to do with what she made of him, he wanted to run away.

"I'm afraid I must go. My friend is severely worried" He almost forgot that he had no mask, he almost forgot that he was not a normal person.

Christine stopped him by the lapels when he tried to collect himself and laughed a little. Ah, was that a laugh, or was it the sound of winter bells colliding with each other, pushed by angels?

"You look like Cinderella. If you don't go, the carriage will be a pumpkin again" Erik didn't understand, and she caught his silence.

"It's the Walt Disney movie at the cinema. In the movie, Cinderella forgets her glass heel on the steps of the prince's palace, who is her first love." She looked into his eyes, fluttering like butterflies tapping the air before landing on a flower. She remembered the sentence he said before removing his mask. "I know that I will not meet you again, because you are not from this kingdom, and I am not a princess. But, I wish you would leave me that crystal on the stairs of my life before you go"

Erik didn't understand the point she wanted to get to, until he realized that little by little she was drawing him towards her. When he breathed in surprise he breathed in her breath; just her breath tasted better than any wine he had been able to afford. Their lips connected. He felt strange until a chill ran up his spine and lodged in his chest.

Christine traveled on his dry, hard lips, seeking an answer that came soft and gradual, like the spring rain. This man's lips tasted of coffee and ground cocoa beans, laced with the honey of a manly-like flavor she couldn't control. She sighed suppressing a moan, if that's what the edge of his lips knew, what would the rest of his mouth taste like?

She wrapped her arms around his neck, wanting to give him her warmth. Her grip began to loosen and his lips to open a little between each kiss. Christine could no longer ignore her breathing and the constant throbbing in her crotch. She took him by the hand and he meekly followed her into the dressing room. She invited him to sit on the loveseat and he accepted, thinking that she would sit next to her, he never thought that she would sit on his lap again, pick up his face between her hands and kiss him. Christine was searching jealously for his tongue and when she got it couldn't suppress her moan. He scooped her into his arms and she bit his lip. He sighed and groaned.

Erik felt like he was about to explode. He took her by the waist and gently tossed her into the extra space of the couch. He couldn't help himself but delight in the sight. She was helpless, her blonde hair cascading over the couch, her chest rising and falling smooth like a bird's. The breasts sheltered in her dress seemed to press against it, demanding to come out, to be touched and loved. Her red lipstick was smudged, and he still couldn't believe her motive was his lips. He tasted the corners of his lips and found they still tasted like passion.

He felt wet. He helped her up. Still agitated, Christine wiped the red lipstick from his face with the fabric of her gloves, not avoiding giving him a smile in the process. Erik felt that he would shatter at her touch, that she would put her pieces together like a broken cup and eat him whole. He thought it couldn't be that bad if he passed through her mouth one more time. He excused himself, muttered that he couldn't stay longer, put on his mask and said goodbye to her, leaving the building technically fleeing. Daroga watched him get out and get into the car as if he blown through the air. And he knew that something was not normal with Erik.

On the way he watched in the rearview mirror as he moved one leg anxiously and leaned his arm against the door of the car, just to rest his fingers on the lips of the mask.

.-.

When she got home, Christine checked on her father, kicked off her shoes, removed the bandages from her ankles, and lay down on the couch rumbling on the wood again. She touched with the back of her hand her lips, and thought the fire of that kiss would stand no chance against the cinderella crystal high heels.

.-.

In the hotel room, Erik thought of his resolutions; he would do something about the tough situation in his pants and find a good movie theater to see Cinderella in the afternoon. He found great shock in the middle of the warm bath water, he had not touched himself for several years.

.-.

That night Christine dreamed of her angel of death; he visited her, sat on the edge of the chair while he looked at her disapprovingly, barely running his fingers over her lips, reviewing the evidence of her crime.