"Ah, I see you still persist in the belief of a historical notion that all men are somewhat good," he flexed his fingers, eyes glinting dangerously, "But I shall let you know, child: all men are evil."
He began to pace, head bowed, lips stretched into a taut line, "Indeed! How shall I enlighten you?" The shadow pivoted lithely during his monologue, once again facing his prey. His mind teetered on the edges of sanity as he calculatedly studied her thrumming jugular. "Really, dear, there is no reason to be afraid!" He leered, towering over her, "There is simply a monster in your presence!" he growled, "A dreadful monster!"
The house on the lake was enshrouded in darkness, save for a single lit candle. Christine's hands twitched on the rug, repeatedly tugging at the fraying tresses.
His eyes trailed to Christine's fingers, and his countenance quickly twisted into a scowl of displeasure before tearing the rug out from under her hands with the toe of his right shoe.
"That rug was from Persia," he stated, his voice taking on an almost weakened tone, "Do not destroy it."
He was once again met with silent compliance. Only several moments later did he shatter the oppressive silence.
"Speak, Christine!" He shouted, "I can bear it no longer!"
His hands gnarled at his bare face as he desperately attempted to cover its hideousness in hopes of her acceptance, her love...
Her face was blank yet tear-streaked. He parted his left middle and index fingers to open his eye and only see yet another tear roll down her cheek. Her beautiful cheek... It was reddened and lined with salty liquid, yet her lips were redder and her lashes darker as they curled over her cheekbones delicately, almost as if...
A moan escaped him as he knelt down onto the cool stone floor, his arms now covering what his mask once had.
"I cannot beg for your love, I cannot!" His hands dexterously began to weave through his sparse strands of hair, strangling a few. More moments passed, and he did not look up. His mask was still in Christine's possession.
Her nervous tic had led her to finger his mask; to feel contours of the eye hole and the curve of the chin. Her eyes were still distant.
"Please do not make me beg, Christine!" he shouted finally, despairingly wrenching his head upwards and into the shallow pool of light.
"Please..." he sounded like a child. His eyes once again trailed to Christine's hands, which still traced the mask.
Suddenly his fury grew, and impassioned notes began to form envious chords and patterns in his mind. He was jealous of a mask!
Quickly, he snatched the mask from beneath her fingers, causing her to jolt at his icy touch. "As I can see, you are in no mood for conversation this night," he said bitterly, "Return to your room at once."