The first streaks of dawn were littering the sky before I found a suitable place to spend the day. Brilliant oranges and pinks danced across my mask as I gazed up at the towers that reached to the sky. Yes, this small cathedral would provide ample sanctuary, at least for the time being. I didn't know which one it was, nor if it even had a name. I didn't care, either, because unlike my beloved, I had never had any affections for any sort of pious rituals.

Footsteps resounded off the stone walls of the buildings around me, and I was reminded that soon the streets would be crowded. The west portal served as a relatively obscure entrance, away from prying eyes. I stood for a minute and allowed my eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness and brushed the light dusting of snow from my shoulders.

I craned my neck up, taking in the exquisite rib vaulting and rosettes. The stained glass windows cast long, beautiful colors across the tiled floor, and I found myself appreciating the brilliant architecture in contrast to the drab exterior. From the outside, it was menacing, fearful, with its spires and iron fencing, gothic features. But here, inside... Surely heaven must look something like this. Warm, candlelight, bold, luminescent colors falling across the ground, making it look as though one is constantly walking through jewels.

More irony. Perhaps the reason I was so drawn to this truly delightful building was that it mirrored my own station in life: So often misjudged by its exterior, frightening as it may be, but wondrous and full of beautiful things and good intentions.

Perhaps I would make a good cathedral, when I am dead. Yes, and the maggots and worms will come to Mass everyday, punctually at dawn, of course, and they will consume my long-dead flesh. But do the dead really die? I pondered while I wandered aimlessly through the open space in front of the altar.

Clearly, I'm quite insane.

But I am not insane merely for the sake of being insane; no, I am insane because I am in love! Surely all lovers are quite mad! Yes, yes, with all their talk of poems and flowers, they are clearly not fully thinking. It is my station, nay, my duty to be insane! I'm the damned Phantom of the Opera! Nobody wants a sane madman, do they? Heavens, no! I am Don Juan!

"I am Don Juan!" I said suddenly, my voice echoing around me. I listened for a moment, me ears straining to be sure that my voice was perfectly pitched, not the least bit flat, no, not even when I speak. "Yes! I am Don Juan Triumphant! Any woman who sees my face is forever mine!" The acoustics of this loud space were quite remarkable, and I stood for a moment, and relished the sound of my own voice.

"Father?"

I cursed myself suddenly for forgetting that I was not the only person that would be seeking sanctuary in this place. I cut my eyes around, searching for a way to escape the chapel, and spied a heavy wooden door to my left. I ran for it, pulled on the handle, it wouldn't budge, turned the handle a bit more, there it's moving! I slammed it shut behind me just as someone opened the door that I had come into the cathedral through. I stood on the very tips of my feet, and peered through the small window in the door. A young boy, very curious, no doubt, peered through. Perhaps part of the Choir? It didn't matter.

"Father? Is that you?" he called again. My heart started pounding harder as he took cautious steps toward the very door that I was hiding behind. My poor old heart, nearly stopped as his hand reached up for the handle, and I gritted my teeth in anticipation of the blood shed that would no doubt ensue. He would scream, and I would be forced to break his little neck. I really didn't want to have to kill someone so early in my journey, not really, but if I needed to kill this boy, even in this sacred place, so be it.

"I'm here, Jean, in the rectory. You are late!" a voice called from somewhere behind the altar, through a set of doors. The boy hurried through and a door slammed shut.

I released a breath I didn't know I'd been holding, and looked about as I tried to regain my senses. Stairs spiraled up behind me, and I started climbing. They no doubt led to the bell tower, and that seemed as suitable space as any to wait for nightfall.

I was panting like a dog left in the heat by the time I came to the tower--the air was stale and stagnant. It wasn't especially high, but alas, I am not as young as I would have liked to have been, and the moldy smell was bothersome. The climb, however, was undoubtedly worth the effort, as the view that spread out before my eyes was something grand to behold.

The sun was just peeking over the horizon, casting brilliant oranges and yellows on the buildings and streets below. It had been so long before I had seen Paris, this beautiful city, by daylight. I was once again struck by its elegance, much as I had been when I first arrived at this city of paradoxes. It moved me, strangely enough, and I wished that I had my organ, even my violin, to capture the essence of the moment. Oh, but for a pen and some paper to write but a few notes on! I would have to be content with the sound of my own voice, humming quietly. Not a requiem, this time, but a dirge, for the heartbreak of such a beautiful thing as a sunrise being wasted on me.

But isn't what all your music is? some cynical part of my inner-consciousness asked. Isn't it all a dirge, a requiem, a ballad for something as wondrous as an angel being wasted on you?

I had no answer.

A cold wind blasted through all at once, halting my mournful song, and I huddled low on the floor. I cursed the wind, then myself for letting it bother me. Don Juan does not feel the cold! I shivered.

Some Don Juan, my inner-demons laughed.

Christine was never cold. Her skin was always warm, fairly emanating heat from it. Surely she could warm my frozen skin, if not my heart. Yes, her warm hands, her soft body melting into mine... Surely that would warm me. Such a delicious thought. I shivered again, but this time not from the cold.

You are not worthy!

I shivered.

You are not worthy...