@firstsorrow liked for a starter.
deep breath. shaky exhale. first one, then another. staring into those trusting eyes: wide, warm, full of . . . something he doesn't dare to name. his bones feel hollow, muscles so taut he fears he may crumble into dust. there is an ingrained fear within him, so deep-set he cannot decipher where it lies. it lives in the base of his skull, it paralyses him, it takes all the strength he possesses to twitch his fingers toward his face. it's a battle against every instinct, every hard-won lesson, an entire lifetime that has served as nothing but a dire warning against this very action he's attempting to commit.
but he looks upon her — Christine — looks into the depth of her soul and knows deep down that there is nothing he would not do if she asked it of him. he would KILL, LIVE, or DIE at her command. surely he can do this, whatever the outcome may be. the rejection, if it comes, could kill him. but he cannot think of a better end.
( in some corner of his mind he cannot help but laugh at himself ; a grown man approaching his middle age who has lived his whole life according to his own design, becoming little more than a dog begging to be kicked in the presence of this young diva. but then, love has never been something that made much sense to this phantom . . . )
with shaking fingers, Erik removes his mask.
