(A/N: Firstly, this is part 2 of my series: Facade. If you haven't read it yet, please do so before starting on this installment or you will be confused and not at all invested in the characters. Now, this is a short chapter, the reason behind that is because although I set a deadline, I didn't want to rush through the writing process and bring a half made chapter. Instead I have a short chapter that helps prepare you for Masquerade as a whole. The next chapter will come when I feel it is complete and unrushed.)

Chapter 1: Awakening

*May 14*

"Because." I whispered the next part of the sentence. "I might not have to break my promise."

"You're thinking of marrying him?" Theresa asked, clearly enthusiastic about the announcement.

"Yeah," I admitted. Sharing the news helped put myself at ease after dealing with the recurring thought for so long.

"I will, of course, be the maid of honor." She practically demanded over the phone.

"Yeah, of course" I giggled.

I woke up after reliving the faint memory, my head aching from the after effects of the chloroform I'd been forcibly knocked out with. My first instinct was to move, but my wrists and ankles were being held down to a wood chair by coarse ropes. I struggled against them for a short while before admitting defeat. Looking around the nearly pitch black room, I grew more terrified by the minute as my eyes adjusted to a darkness that had swallowed me whole.

Upon attempting to think up some comforting thoughts, my lip began trembling, because those sweet memories had been made bitter by Jonathan's horrid disclosure. Thinking of his stuttering proposal made me recall our marriage was designed as a trap. Remembering Jolie's adorable behavior lead me to the realization that the puppy would be placed in his hands after Teresa was done looking after her. Would the man experiment on the St. Bernard too? Had he already?

My eyes started aching from the pain in my head and the flood of foul thoughts permeating my mind. I reflexively reached to wipe away the tears only to rediscover that the range of my hand was limited to a centimeter by the binds. Of course, how could I be so stupid as to forget. Looking down and toward my legs, I felt my shoulders tremble as I cried. The room was dead silent aside from the faint sobs I was making until my throat started seizing and soft coughs rattled tears off my cheeks and onto my skirt. They culminated and formed a darkened patch of salty water on the fabric.

"I've been doing this since before you came into my life, and you won't start having an impact on me now."

I shuddered, the man could very well be beyond saving, and if he wasn't, would he even be worth it? Years of animal abuse coupled with recent experimentation on humans shouldn't be something a spouse puts up with for the sake of the relationship.

"Mireille!"

His outcry echoed loudly in my head. No, I couldn't think he wanted to apologize or make things right after I'd run away. He tortured others, and while talking about it he even had a grin on his face. What would we even discuss if I answered his cries, let alone dared to walk back to that house? Would he bind me to that bed in the basement and torture me? Ensure I wouldn't talk by ending my life in an 'accident'? I didn't want to think about it.

I blinked my damp eyes to clear them of tears before analyzing the room as best I could. Slivers of light peeked from around the poorly hung door across from me and I shuddered when I saw streaks of blood trailing under it. Turning either way, I spotted familiar objects to my right. There, on the dusty floor, was the silhouette of my ratty old messenger bag and a leather bound box that was much newer. My eyebrows furrowed, the syringe? Why would my captor ransack the apartment for a syringe? Even the engagement ring on my finger was present, why didn't they remove that if they desired valuables?

Thinking back over the criminal's I had treated, I started to compose a list of the people who may have captured me. Two Face hardly ever showed much of an interest in me, although he did offer advice on occasion. His advice, I now realized, was designed to keep me from getting involved in Jonathan's experiments in solitary. Then there was the Riddler. He had talked to me a lot over the years and did seem to be somewhat fond of me. Perhaps it was him? But wouldn't there be florescent paint on the walls or a puzzle challenging me? Killer Croc was still in the asylum and strapping someone to a chair and using chloroform rags hardly seemed his style if he did manage to get out, nor did it seem like something Poison Ivy would do. I wasn't blonde, striking the Mad Hatter off the list, and Joker wouldn't be the type to just lock me in a room. I imagine there would be a kid's train set with a knife attached to it slowly slicing my ankles or balloons filled with blood popping next to my ears. The last scenario made me recall watching a horror movie with Jonathan that contained such a method of mental torture. So that was why he liked watching my face during similar films, he found my fear interesting.

I lowered my head and suffered through the pounding headache and grating thoughts for what felt like hours. Then, I smelt something burning. My grip on the arms of the chair grew tight, was I to be burnt alive? I waited for it to dissipate or an alarm to sound, but it only grew stronger over the next few minutes. I began praying under my breath as I tried once more to loosen the binds by jerking my wrists and ankles against the unyielding ropes. Then, I heard a voice.

(A/N: Sorry for the cliffhanger, I really wanted to keep my promise about getting a chapter out today and I'd rather it be a short, complete chapter than a large, rushed one. Until the next update, please feel free to guess who Mireille's captor is.)