Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.

Oh look, I'm publishing another story that isn't the next one-shot in When Words Fail (it's coming, I promise! I'm sorry Gloriana!) BUT I saw this prompt on Pinterest and I just had to write. I'll put a 'link' to it at the bottom, but if you don't want any spoilers I wouldn't read what the prompt is until this story is complete. Okay, enough talking, on to the story!

To say that death had followed him around his entire life would be an understatement.

For starters— because one must always begin at the beginning— there was his face. Had he been born with it? Had he been the victim of some freak accident that he somehow managed to survive? Boiling water? A house fire? Acid rain? A lava pit?

He may never know, nor did he really want to know if he truly thought about it.

But whatever the reason, his mother's womb or his down-right unfortunate luck, his face looked like the grim reaper itself. Sunken pits around the eyes, bulging blue and purple veins under paper thin skin stretched taut across his cheeks, and perhaps the worst of it all: his nose. Or lack thereof, to be more accurate.

In blunt terms: he was about as ugly as they come.

However, whatever caused his unfortunate…profile…it hadn't managed to kill him.

Oh, and then there was his teenage years when he had been forced to venture around like a gypsy. Running from place to place…stealing what he needed, killing when he had to, sleeping on the streets in the rain…in the hot, in the cold. The utterly freezing, burning cold.

And yet he survived.

Of course there was also his stint in Iran to think of. An accomplished assassin…and a damned good one too if he might be so bold as to add. He had done unspeakable things, things that in his weakest moments he would even admit that he was not too proud of. He had committed terrible felonies and tortures that still made the pesky, old Daroga quiver at just the memory of hearing about them. In the dead of night when he had nothing to haunt him but the wind and his own mind, he still heard the echoes of the faint whispers that had been hissed into the air about him…murderer…traitor…angel of death…even Death himself come to terrorize them in human form—

No, he was not death, but death was always close behind.

Everyone of those god-forsaken days he fought for his life. Every word that was spoken had to be carefully chosen, every bullet shot had to be just perfectly aimed—

But that hadn't been enough, he had still been sentenced to death…which he then narrowly escaped of course.

See a pattern?

To rephrase: death has practically tailed him his entire existence.

That is, until Christine Daaé walked into his life.

In she came with her sky blue skater dress, blonde ponytail and tiny moon and stars tattoo right behind her left ear. She was all happiness and sparkles and every time she spoke it was as if bells were ringing softly in the distance. As if choirs of singing angels accompanied her every action….

Needless to say, Erik was smitten.

He wanted her. Wanted every part of her from her pale pink lips right down to her lace-up combat boots that came half way up her calves. If he had no self-control about him, he was quite certain that he would've kidnapped her right then and there and taken her to his apartment the second their eyes had met in the tea aisle of the grocery store after they had bumped into each other on accident and right before she had whispered a quiet apology. However, Erik claimed to be nothing if not at least somewhat a gentleman, so against his better judgement he did not kidnap her.

He decided to follow her every move instead.

A much more respectable act of admiration if he did say so himself.

She drove a black 2008 Toyota Camry and lived toward the outskirts of town in a small white farmhouse. There was a front porch swing and small blue and purple flowers serving as decoration around the circumference of the house. It looked like a cover off of one of those Home and Gardens magazines that his mother used to have around when he was a child. She used them to beat him with of course, but that was beside the point.

She emerged around three o'clock to water said flowers and then sat on said swing for exactly forty-three minutes to read a book she had brought out with her before going back inside, apparently frustrated that the wind kept blowing her pages over. He discovered her name when the mailman came (he had snuck across the street from his hiding place behind a large oak tree and quickly scanned through her mail before she realized it had come), and then mused about it the rest of the evening as he sat in his car watching the sun sink behind her house.

Christine E. Daaé….the perfect name for the perfect human being….it was just as beautiful as she was in his opinion. He could picture it now: them both living out the rest of their lives in this quaint home of hers. She could garden and he could play her his music. They would have pets, or maybe even children and would spend their evenings as a family on the front porch, listening to the crickets in the breeze of late summer evenings. They would be normal and happy….

He needed a game plan.

First, he had to approach her. Approach her, and 'woo' her as they say one must do before one can marry a girl. Silly in his opinion. But still, he wished to do things the proper way. Perhaps he could do so with a love song, or chocolates, or his dashing personality—

But that brings us back square one of course: his face. How could any woman ever want to become involved with anyone looking like a corpse that had been dead for a decade? Even with his mask he still looked like a Halloween store mannequin come to life. He needed a better way to truly introduce himself. Maybe finding her on social media and impressing her via online conversations before they officially met in person again would be the best option? Yes, that could work! But then that would only be possible if she had a social media platform, which she very well might not have, he realized. He doubted the internet signals were very strong in this part of town come to think of it…

I should've just kidnapped her in the grocery store—

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Erik's heart skipped a beat as he heard a rap on the passenger side window. Someone had discovered him! His hand flew immediately to where his pocket knife was kept secure in his pants pocket before he whipped his head around, ready to fight off whoever had found him—

It was her.

Christine E. Daaé stood on the other side of his tinted window waving at him, a small smile gracing her lips.

He couldn't breathe. How long had he been a master assassin, never discovered by any of his victims, yet this girl managed to snoop him out in less than four hours. Either she was a P.I. or he was losing his touch. Then again, perhaps picking the tree across the road a quarter-mile away from her house was not his best decision…

He could hear the Daroga's taunting words already.

With wide eyes, he rolled down the passenger side window.

"Hi," Christine said before the window was even half-way down. "You're the guy from the grocery store, right?"

He could do nothing but nod, his mouth dry and his brain still in shock.

Think, Erik, think! Say something you imbecile!

"Uh-huh," he managed to get out, his hand loosening it's grip from his knife.

She smiled a little wider and then laughed, A.K.A. the sound of tinkling bells themselves. Her eyes were a deep ocean blue, he could see that now as she leaned into his car, her elbows resting on the door where the window had been. The wind was picking up outside. It had been windy all day, but now it seemed to be getting worse with each passing second. Her ponytail was blowing practically horizontal behind her head, but she didn't seem to notice or care, her attention on the man in the car.

"Have you enjoyed hiding out here all day? I thought your car might have broke down at first, but you've been here for hours…" she spoke again and his heart soared through his chest up to his ears, making them tinge red from embarrassment and ecstasy. If she would just keep talking he would happily stay silent forever.

"I'm assuming you haven't had any supper?"

His jaw dropped just a little at her words. Where had this girl come from? Not only was she smiling at him (which was a miracle in and of itself), but she was inviting him inside for a meal.

Willingly.

What kind of crazy day was this?

"Um…no…no, I haven't," he forced himself to say, clearing his throat in between phrases.

Why couldn't he speak around her? His mouth was drier than the Sahara desert on steroids!

"Well, then I suppose you had better come inside with me. I made extra hoping you might say yes," she admitted as a faint blush rose to her cheeks before she smiled with the tip of her tongue between her teeth. She stood up straighter and patted the spot where her elbows had just been. "Come along then before this wind blows us both away! It is just insane tonight," she added, still looking at him with an expectant stare.

He nodded in agreement and then unlocked his car door. It was then that a large whoosh of wind blew past as a loud creeeeaaak and then a sharp crack echoed through the air.

"Oh!" he heard Christine yell as his eyes landed on what had made the noise.

The oak tree he had parked behind was directly en route to the ground and his car was right in its way. With all the speed he had in him, he pushed the door open and ran past the falling tree right as it finished its journey to the ground.

CRACK!

You're fine, you're safe, he tried to tell himself to calm down his thundering heart—

That's when he remembered.

Christine.

He gasped and looked around. Surely the tree had crushed her and all of his dreams of happiness along with her. Why did everything always have to go wrong when he was around?

Thankfully, his eyes landed on her petite form a few yards away from the tree standing off to the side.

"Are you alright?" She called out to him as she rushed his direction.

"Yes, I…I think so," he said as she reached him and he locked stares with her once more. She had an aura around her that felt familiar, almost as if he'd known her for a very, very long time. Ha! That of course was impossible, but his racing heart was comforted by her presence anyway.

"I'm sorry about your car—"

"No," he cut her off before she could continue on. His hand acted without his permission and landed gently on her shoulder. Her skin was soft under his ungloved hand, and he already knew it was going to take all of his willpower to remove it from her shoulder. "It's not your fault, I'll just leave it here until morning if that's alright with you, and then I'll come back and get it."

"But how are you going to get home?" she asked with all of the innocence of a newborn kitten.

I'm going to melt, right here under her gaze. I am. And I will melt happily because she is so kind to an ugly stranger who has spent the better part of his day stalking her—

"Don't worry about that, I'll find a way—"

"No," she cut him off this time. Feisty. He liked her even more. "It's already dark out and it's my tree that destroyed your car. Just stay the night, I have extra rooms."

He changed his mind. He was not going to melt, he was going to die.

Of happiness.

Pure, unadulterated happiness and joy with his hand on her shoulder and his heart floating on cloud nine—

Am I dreaming?

Come to think of it the entire day did seem to have a haze around it. That could of course be blamed on the summer humidity, but…

He decided that he must have dozed off…or more than likely had overdosed on something. But this wind certainly felt real, and the tickle of her hair blowing against his wrist felt real, not to mention the bare skin of her shoulder beneath his hand felt incredibly real.

Or maybe the tree had hit him after all and he was suffering from the after effects of a concussion.

"I…you don't have to put me up for the night…" Well, if he was dreaming he decided he might as well let everything out. Nothing to lose when one was dreaming after all. "You don't want me in your house. I followed you home from the grocery store and read your mail to figure out you name and I watched you garden, and read, and…and…"

"Shhh….you're in shock from that tree falling over. Just come inside and clear your head and you'll feel better. Just until morning and then we'll figure out what to do about your car, okay?" She reasoned as she took the hand that was on her shoulder into her own comforting hand.

He knew he shouldn't. Knew he should just wake up back in his dark apartment and face reality and forget about this heaven his mind had dreamt up but—

He had another thought. A better thought.

If this was all just a dream, he might as well play along until he woke up. After all, what's the use of being miserable in a dream?

"Okay…" He said after his moment of thought.

Erik had never been a religious man, but as he followed her back across the street hand in hand, he began to pray just as hard as he could that he would never wake up from whatever fantasy he was living in.

Oh, Erik, you know what they say about things that seem to good to be true! This is going to be a short multi-chapter story, probably no longer than five or six chapters. I'm not sure when the next update will be, I'll try and update weekly, or perhaps bi-weekly, we'll see! Haha! Thank you for reading, and please leave me a review and tell me what you thought!

Here's the link to the prompt, but like I said at the beginning, I would suggest not looking at it until you've read the whole story so that you way you won't get spoiled! (Just take the spaces out of the link and put a period where 'dot' is)

www . pinterest dot com / pin/ATrrTwBjDzKcOMWER72xxfvbJvvNqpVQNBv5tEXuNodp0rgH9iH_aH4/