Author's Note: This was written for a challenge for the Erik/Meg group on LiveJournal. The challenge was as follows:
Setting: You decide.
Requirements: None what so ever.
Line: "Love isn't finding a perfect person. It's seeing an imperfect person perfectly." / "I love you not because of who you are, but because of who I am when I am with you." / "A part of you has grown in me. And so you see, it's you and me together forever and never apart, maybe in distance, but never in heart." / "What is love? Love is when one person knows all of your secrets... your deepest, darkest, most dreadful secrets of which no one else in the world knows... and yet in the end, that one person does not think any less of you; even if the rest of the world does." The line(s) are/is not needed in the fic but keep them in mind. They are beautiful quotes.
In this case, I am basing this fic off of the "What is love?" quote, the last quote.
To What Surrender
Silken fingers reached, pursuing. Feet slammed against hard stone across the corridor, torch lit. Darkness stretched between them, her tiny, porcelain figure hardly visible in the murky catacomb.
And so swiftly, the ghost backed away, the hideousness of his uncovered face holding a resurfaced embarrassment that he wished to hide. Yet she advanced, stepping over the filthy threshold of rats, grime and unknown things, suave with trickster sways of movement. Underneath the light of the torch, grasped firmly in aching fingers, he beheld her eyes, dark and dim. Her cold lips pouted in disappointment as she squinted her eyes, searching, seeking.
And the light drifted, over the slimy cobblestones, the tips of her boots, across the passageway…and settled on his cowering form, nestled within the embrace of the shadows…
At her hasty approach, he sank to the ground, the scarlet glow of the torch stinging his eyes, his rotten skin, burning. He shielded his sickly yellow eyes with a wrinkled hand and hardly heard her soft step, nearing him. Closer, nearer, faster.
Her pure eyes beheld him in sweet sadness, her nervous hand outstretching, cold to the touch. Dark hair fell around her face, her lips pressing. And he saw the faintest glint in her eyes, a trace of a glimmer…a marvelous shade of blue replaced black, deep within her gaze, ridding her of any ugliness he might have guessed.
Deep, dark eyes softly stared, the warmth of the torch brought close to her face, illuminating her fine features as she knelt down towards him, on the ground of blood, of slime, of the fifth cellar.
And his decayed flesh soon felt the ballerina's fearless touch, smooth fingers gently sliding over a crippled cheek...
Disclaimer: All of these characters belong to the wonderful Gaston Leroux, I'm just borrowing them. I own none of it. I am not making any money off of this, so don't sue me (please!).