Allright, taking a break from my Curiousity fanfic.. I wrote this. I don't know what inspired it.. but, I like it. Um, it's M/E. PG-13 for, erm... hinting at sexual situations. If that's not your thing, hit that back button now!

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom. It'd be soooo different if I did.

She is no Christine, I remind myself over and over as the scrawny, blonde dancer squirms beneath me.

Her eyes are not the beautiful and deep, chocolate brown colour that with just one look, you could see the very depths of her soul. No, instead, a pair of dull gray eyes stare lustfully back into mine.

Her hair is not the lovely chestnut, springy curls I grew to love of Christine's. It held no bounce or life. Just light blonde tresses fan out beneath her. Now developing tangles and knots from our doings.

She does not hold the healthy, yet fair glow of Christine's soft, angelic skin. Just a slightly tanned girl with bright pink, blushing cheeks.

Her body was nothing like Christine's either. Christine was taller. Long, sculpted legs from her few years of dance. Perfect curves in every correct place. The lightly gasping girl below was tiny. Always seemed as if she would break if one was to rough. And the girl was should to snap soon.. because I sure was not being gentle.

Her voice was absolutely nothing next to Christine's heavenly songs. She just could not compare.

As my dark eyes lock on the girl's mouth now opening to speak, I once again remind myself:

She is no Christine.

The sound of her untrained voice was the immediate giveaway though.

"Erik." She whispers through her damp, parted lips after letting out a tiny moan.

I do not respond. She continues.

"Erik," She repeats, her voice squeaking a little in the midst of our passion.

"Yes?" I finally answer in between pants.

"...I know you do not.. feel the same," She pauses and gasps for breath, "And that is fine."

As I go to protest, she continues.

"I love you." Maybe she meant it. Maybe she didn't. But, one thing was for sure:

She is no Christine.

I could not say the same sweet words to her. They just did not feel right.

Later that night, as the ballerina lay next to me, her head resting on my chest, she spoke once more.

"I'm sorry."

What an odd thing to say after what just happened. I feel my brow crease slightly at her words. Seeming to notice my confusion, she continues.

"I'm sorry I am not Christine. I am sorry I don't make you happy like she did. I... I am no Christine."

The poor thing. So eager and willing to please. In any way possible.

I began to stroke her soft, now seemingly glowing blonde hair carefully in thought of how to respond.

"It's true," I began almost cruelly. "You are no Christine."

Immediately, I felt her stiffen at my words.

"And yet," I continued with a slight smirk playing across my lips. Her head tilted up to face me. Her gray eyes now seemed to shine a pale blue colour. Coming to life. Why had I not noticed her eyes were so lovely before? "I could not ask for anything better." I watched as her lips pulled back into a shy smile. A smile so innocent and pure, I felt sick thinking of what I had done to her.

"Really?" Her cheeks still held the adorable pink colour from before. Only now, she did not just look cute, but lovely.

"Really. Now, sleep, little Giry." I whispered, laying her head back onto my chest.

She is no Christine...

...and I love her for that.