Disclaimer: Once again, not delusional. I know my name is not Gaston Leroux or Andrew Lloyd Webber. I know Erik is not my creation. However, Bianca is, the Fromages are, and so is Monsieur Sacrois. Once again, thanks to my sister for help with the Franzözeich, especially for the helpful tip of: "Fromage means cheese!"

I didn't know much about my neighbours. I sometimes heard the family to my right yelling at each other. Their surname was Fromage, and they consisted of a lazy man who liked wine a bit too much; his stout, nosy wife; and their plain teenage daughter, Elsa. Madame Fromage paid me a lot of attention for the first few weeks after I moved into their building, but took to ignoring me after seeing that not only was I disfigured, but I was heir to nothing and had no promising career.

To my left was a man named Monsieur Sacrois, who I had never seen once. My theory was that he kept odd hours-- perhaps as a vampire. I had heard Madame Fromage mention him more than once to poor Elsa. He had apparently become rich in some way, and so was now the ideal choice for Elsa's husband.

After seeing Bianca off, though, I left the flat myself, and stepped into the hallway just as another man did. He had light brown hair, long legs, and broad, muscular shoulders. All in all a very healthy looking man. Sacrois, I thought. Madame Fromage probably prays that any children he and Elsa hypothetically produce resemble him exactly. He was humming a tune that I didn't recognize, but he stopped abruptly when he saw me.

"Nasty dog bites there," he said. "You should think of getting a lawyer."

It took me a moment to realize what he was referring to, but when I did, I let out a hollow laugh and snarled at him: "I was born this way, monsieur."

"Ah," he said, obviously flummoxed. "Then I'm sorry. But-- if you ever need a lawyer, then I'm the one to go to."

"You're a lawyer?" I asked in disbelief.

"Oui, monsieur," he said. "Marc Sacrois."

I laughed. "You don't act like most lawyers."

"Then the lawyers you know have no sense of fun."

"I don't know any personally," I said. "I've only read. I tend to keep to myself."

"I've noticed," he said. "And I don't blame you, living next to that Fromage woman."

"You don't like Madame Fromage?" I asked as we walked out of the building.

"Non," he said. "She's constantly throwing that poor daughter of hers at me."

"Well, what's wrong with Elsa?" I asked. If he says it's because she's not beautiful, I'll kill him, I thought. Being hideous my entire life has made plainness appealing.

"Nothing," he said. "She's a charming girl, really. But she always seems so... dead. Like she'll agree with her mother on just about anything. She'd make a much better wife if she'd stand up to the old hen sometimes."

"I see," I said. We walked out onto the street. "So you'd marry her?"

"Oh, of course," he said. "If her mother weren't always in the way."

I nodded. Madame Fromage was an idiot, then. We passed by Bianca, and I nodded to her in recognition. She smiled back at me, completely messing up her playing.

"Who's she?" Marc asked me.

"Bianca," I replied. "I just met her yesterday. But she thinks we're friends."

"Well, I'd let her think that, if I were you," Marc advised. "She is...wow."

"I don't let myself get caught up in that anymore, Marc," I told him.

"Pardon moi, monsieur- you're calling me by my first name just like that?"

"Oui," I said. "I don't see why not."

"Fine then," he said. "I don't really mind. But what is your name, then?"

"Erik," I said.

"It suits you," he replied. "And Bianca-- Erik, you shouldn't worry about whatever you're worrying about now. Just talk to her."

"I don't care for her in that way," I protested.

He shook his head. "I've tried to deny that sort of thing too," he said. "It never works."

"I'll handle my own life," I snarled. "When you've been through what I've been through, then you can-- Marc, what are you doing?"

He was dancing on the sidewalk was what he was doing. "I can't stop it, Erik," he said. "Neither can you. You have to go get what you want. And I can see what that is already. It's been nice meeting you. But I have to go to work. And you have to go to-- Bianca. Don't lock yourself inside anymore, Monsieur!"

As he continued dancing off toward the courthouse, I shook my head and thought: At least I'm getting out more now.