In the dystopian time of pandemic and uncertainty there was a bored, recent graduate girl who while doing Cyber goth photo shoots in her house, blasting the German goth band Blutengel, decided she should learn German. Being a student is what she knew how to do and she thought it would be nice to finally understand the lyrics of the ethereal darkwave music she often found herself captivated by. Thus began her descent into learning a second langauge. So she signed up to take courses once again through her university and was told to download an app that would connect her with native speakers that could tutor her. What she didn’t expect was to end up finding her book boyfriend enchanted to life. Two years later she would find herself in the most romantic city in the world, staring up at the Eiffel Tower. She turned to see the man she’d fallen in love with, down on one knee with a very important question- but that’s jumping ahead. This is the story of a couple of strangers: Jessica and Niklas, two countries, two languages, and an ocean between them.

On a day like any other, Jessica opened her app to start practicing German. She had a few short exchanges but found it difficult to keep a conversation going past,

Speaker: How is the weather?

Jessica: insufferably sunny

These messages dwindled into nothingness, until Niklas was introduced.

He sent voice clips of smooth German, speaking slowly for Jessica’s beginner level. He was thoughtful to type his translations so she could read along, like subtitles to a foreign film. When the topics became more in depth he switched to English. Niklas spoke of theatre and literature, including works from the German poets he was studying. Sometimes, he even shared the music he was writing. He then asked, in a sharp direct manner, “Why are you learning German, Jessica? What is your end goal?” Caught a bit off guard and feeling slightly flushed, she paused.

She hadn’t thought of an end goal, hadn’t planned for his serious inquisitive curiosity. She explained how she felt very moved by this acoustic performance by her favorite German band and that she wanted to understand the words which accompanied the music that moved her by expression and sound alone. She talked about the dark twisted fairytales she’d read when she was very young and how she wanted to read them in their original written language. That her end goal was to understand the things she already loved dearly.

Niklas seemed to find her answers satisfactory and asked to be sent the acoustic concert she mentioned, so that they could do a live video chat and watch the concert together with Niklas translating certain parts along the way. Thus the tradition of Weinnacht (Wine Night) was born. Each Friday they would video chat and share music and literature in their first languages while sipping wine. Jessica would read Niklas her favorite poems. She introduced her belovèd Poe (...”We loved with a love that was more than love…and “the wingèd Seraphs of heaven coveted her and me.)”

She shared Heathcliff's lament.. begging Cathy to haunt him, “Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!" She eventually built up the courage to read to him her original stories . Stories of dark forbidden love, cursed love, true love that that should be but was lost. The sort of love she’d always longed for but feared in her heart, had no place in this modern world. He would listen, carefully, listening to every word and noting ones that were new to him. He was moved by her words in ways he had never known before and felt he too would share his art with her. The next Weinnacht he had learned her favorite German song on his guitar and played it for her. His voice was like a dark angel and when he intimately sang to her, she felt and she heard as she’d never heard before. He sang to her often and for her birthday he surprised her and sang her the song from her dearest musical, the love story that had inspired and tormented her since she was a child, “Music of the Night ,'' from The Phantom of the Opera.

Well, what does a writer do when her feelings begin to drown her, to choke her without being expressed? She writes of course. And write she did. She wrote a letter on parchment, embedded with rose petals and sealing it with blood red wax, sent it across the ocean.

It read as follows:

What is immortal, if not words?

I would read to you forever,

The experience of this

soul stimulating, sharing

stirs one's senses,

Whispers into one's dreams.

Let my voice lull you.

Let us touch that which cannot be felt in the physical,

Yet still excites the blood to race.

You, with your eyes closed so that your mind can taste the words,

process them,

play with them,

and pull them deep within.

Your breathing; soft,

as to not lose a moment.

Careful, intrigued,

You fascinate me.

Let me be your descent into this world,

The dark literature which beckons me,

Now too,

belongs to you.

And though we be a world away,

You are beside me.

Alas,

We are cursed with the blessing of drowning in depth

As we read more than words, crossing worlds

And fool ourselves,

Perhaps through spoken verse,

Perhaps armed with a pen,

We might enchant death in the end.

The once rather cold, disinterested in romance Niklas, was surprised to find the trail of wetness down his cheek as he read the words that had been created just for him.

The world opened its borders at last and Jessica found herself standing in an airport in Germany, that extraordinary man walking towards her, to embrace her at last.

The next week was filled with castles, waltzing, endless talking, and the romance of dreams. They sat in a graveyard café and tasted the sweet honey collected from bees that took their nourishment from the flowers that grew from the graves. They walked amongst tombstones. Jessica was awestruck by the tragic beauty of crumbling statues and mausoleums. As Niklas held her hand he read some of the beautiful epitaphs of those long departed.

Niklas was exactly like her favorite characters come to life. She was more than he could have ever dared to dream. And when it was time for Jessica to make her journey back to her own country the pain of leaving and uncertainty caused silent tears to fall down her face as she tried to compose herself at customs. She felt the words of Emily Bronte, “Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” If eyes are the windows of the soul, “Vultus es index animi” then the heartbreak that lingered in Niklas’ eyes as she left must mean something…

It would come to be that the uncertainty had been for naught, as Niklas booked his flight to the US and they began their long-distance courtship of flights and letters and hours long Weinnachten.

Last October they were in Paris where Niklas took Jessica to the Eiffel Tower before sunrise. He turned to her, kneeled down on one knee and asked her a question of most importance. She gazed at the one who had kissed her soul and reached out to caress his face. He looked like Lestat with his golden curls and blood red coat,and she, a gothic queen with her trailing black ball down and silver heels. Her lips curled into a soft smile,

“Yes, Niklas, I will be yours. In this lifetime and the next.”

Formal Masquerade ball