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My little muse is my addiction, and her voice is my drug. If there is a cure to my madness, I don’t want it. I’d rather welcome blissful oblivion.
“You’re my pretty little muse, Scarlett. I worship your voice. Your body, mind, and soul are no different.” “Even the darkness in my mind?” I ask, not sure why it matters if my phantom accepts my madness. “Especially your darkness.”
“I didn’t become the Phantom of the French Quarter without knowing everything that goes on in my city, ma chérie.” “Okay, but why do you know so much about me?” “Because you are everything,” he answers simply.
“You are my moonlight,” I whisper against her shoulder in a kiss. “And you are my midnight,” she murmurs back,
