On one cold winter's eve, two broken souls meet through unfortunate circumstances. Tragically deformed and disillusioned toward the world of his fellow men, Erik must learn compassion for the young woman in his care. Christine must overcome the fear the streets of Paris have instilled within her upon the death of her guardian. Sometimes healing can only be found in the arms of another.
-X-
Her eyes welled once more and she shook her head slowly. "No. It is…" She sniffled loudly, putting aside her bowl and wrapping her arms around herself tightly. "There are cruel men who like to…" She seemingly could not give voice to what perversions the men of Paris were inclined to inflict on her.
"I am well aware of just how cruel men can be."
Her eyes rose to meet his, and for a brief moment he felt she could truly see him. Her eyes roamed over his mask, and for the first time he did not begrudge her for it.
"What is your name?"
He gave a slight smile though he knew she could not see it.
"My name is Erik."
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