You are wrapped in a jay feather blue cloak, and your hair is hanging loosley in an auburn cascade. You hadn't pulled it up before leaving. Taking only your jacket, a letter, and your warmest cloak. The winter months had certainly settled into the french countryside. The snow crunched under your ballet flats you had instinctively put on in your haste. You could see the puffs of your warm breath as it left your body.

You suddenly heard a faint, yet soft and angelic voice.

”Christine…..”

It was Erik. He called you so softly…Somewhere inside, hiding…Somehow you knew he's always with you…He, the unseen genius…