Reaching down, Christine placed a gentle, delicate hand upon his head, stroking the few, randomly placed strands of hair upon his balding head. They were surprisingly soft, like baby hairs, and they tickled the tips of the singer's fingers pleasantly. The warmth from his pale cheek on her thigh and from his hands, resting ever so gently upon her hip. Goosebumps scattered across her skin, small, microscopic hairs rising up across her her arms and she shivered slightly at the touch despite it conservative nature. He was too kind to her and sweet. Did he truly not realize all he had done for her? How he had brought her back to life, inspired her voice once more to fill the drafty rafters and spaces of the Opera house? Without him, she would have never sang again or ever like the bird her father and so many others knew her to be.
Bending her head, a thick lock of chestnut hair sliding over her shoulder, she pressed a delicate kiss to his forehead. "How can you say that, Erik? You, my Angel of Music, brought me to life again. Made my soul beautiful. You inspired me to sing again", she whispered. Her hands cupped his face, once resting on the smooth, perfected side of the mask, and the other finding itself upon his almost equally pale cheek. Gently, she lifted his face and very soft sang a few stray, but nevertheless, perfect notes. "You see, when my father lay dying. He told me I will be protected by an angel. An angel of music." The smile returned to her lips despite the obvious sadness in her large, doe like eyes that any mention of her father brought forth. Truly, she did not believe she would ever be able to think or speak of her father without sadness trickling in somewhere, voice, eyes, or her lovely face.
Trembling, though this was no longer their first kiss and Christine so hoped it would not be their last, she pressed her mouth, soft and warm, upon his own and kissed him ever so briefly.