I woke up shivering and breathless, but unable to remember whatever nightmare I had experienced. It took me a moment to register the fact that I was not in my own apartment, in my own bed, in comfort and safety, and that I had not left any nightmare at all.

I hastened to wash and dress, thinking perhaps routine would calm me. I used the porcelain washbasin in the bathroom, but upon rinsing my face with the cool water, I began to tremble uncontrollably. Barely containing my tears, I rushed over to the closet to dress, and searched for the blue dress I had worn to Perros. Only, it was absent. Confused, I looked through the dresses again. And again. And once more for good measure.

Had I misplaced it?

I moaned and pressed my head against the wall, a few hot tears trickling down my cheeks. Oh, he had taken it away! I had nothing of my own at all now.

I cried until I could no more, then cried again when my mind turned to Raoul. Oh, I just wanted Raoul! I wanted him to hold me and kiss my forehead and lie to me that everything would be alright... I wanted to smile and nod at his ignorance as to my situation, what I felt for my angel, my captor now. For I did feel something, and I hated that I did. I hated how his music made me fill with indecent emotions and how he loved to toy with my mind and bend it to his will.

For one day I just wanted to be myself again. Perhaps that was why I loved Raoul, because I could be myself with him and feel loved. He listened to me, was kind, was everything I had ever wanted in a fiancé. He was so adorable in his imperfections, and how small they were in comparison.

There was none of that with my angel, none at all, and when he sang to me, he could simply make me do as he pleased, be drawn to him in ecstasy. But he had murdered, manipulated, blackmailed, and... and when he sang I forgot. I forgot all his errs and let the music envelop me and fill my soul.

But his music was also freedom. How could that be, though? His music bound me to him and made me do as he wished, and yet... And yet when it filled my head there was such lightness in my soul, and I felt free as a bird. My voice was my spirit, and when I sang with him, it soared. Without his accompaniment, I never flew as high. I could feel a hollow space in my heart when I sang alone, but with him, once my head had cleared, I felt I had never been happier in my entire life.

But how could two vastly different feelings combine in such a manner? How could I despise and adore the same thing? Music could not both be my chains and my liberty.

Crying while thinking had exhausted me, and I realized that the undesirable feeling in my stomach was due to hunger and not only sorrow. But when would he come in?

I glanced to the tassel he had gestured to the previous day. Didn't he understand how ironic it was for me to call him like a servant, when I was the slave? Even so, I pulled it gently, then let it go, a little wary of it.

How long would it take him to come? And what time was it? Was he even awake?

I tucked my knees up to my chest, huddled up on the sofa. I considered occupying myself with a task of some sort, or a book, but my eyes glazed over as they stared at the wall, and I was quite content with that activity. My thoughts faded away, and I only focused on the blurry outline of the room, blinking every so often.

Then the hidden door opened, and I looked up from where I sat, still fearful of his intentions. My captor came over to me, the unmasked part of his face relaxed, and a hand at his side rose ever so slightly, as if with the intent to touch me, but it faltered and fell back. Perhaps my frightened expression had stayed it.

"What do you need?" He asked kindly.

"Breakfast," I replied quietly. "Please."

"Of course..." he said, then he gestured oddly to me. "Why are you sitting like that?"

"I'm cold," I lied.

"You're frightened."

I set my head upon my knees, "I'm upset."

"I should assume so..." he told me, then moved swiftly to another subject, "How do you like your dresses?"

"I... would like them if they were mine."

"They are yours. I bought them for you."

I shut my eyes for a moment, "What time is it?"

"Around seven."

"Can I see?"

"A watch can lie as well as I can," he retorted. "But I will check for you."

He removed a perfectly normal pocket watch from his jacket, and for some reason, it puzzled me. I blinked at him in confusion, for why should he own such a thing? A phantom, a murderer, owning a pocket watch? And it was overlaid in gold, with an indecipherable engraving on the back, like an heirloom. But how on earth would he have anything of value from his parents, when he had more than hinted to having suffered abuse by their hands?

His eyes met mine for a moment, and he removed the watch from his pocket and handed it to me.

"Fine, indulge your curiosity," he told me. "Do you think it's pretty?"

I swallowed my indignation at being talked to like a child, and replied, "Yes... but what does it say on the back?"

"'No one.'"

"What do you mean?"

"It says 'nikto,' meaning 'no one' in Russian." He said, seeming pleased at it as if it were a clever joke.

"But it's so faded... how long have you had it?"

"Five years, perhaps longer."

"Do you speak Russian, then?"

"I speak many languages."

"Oh..." I said softly.

"What have you been doing all morning?" He inquired.

"Nothing."

"At least you did not cry, then."

He waited for a moment, and I wished he would just go bring my breakfast and stop talking.

"But you did cry," he informed me. "I can see the dried tears on your cheeks."

"You knew I would cry."

"Perhaps it is best you do, so that you can run out of them." He replied. "Let me get your breakfast for you... Do you have a preference?"

"Porridge... with jam... if you have that."

"Of course. But if you want jam with it, I need to come back and see you not sulking around. Occupy yourself."

He turned to leave, and I felt pained at his words. Was he going to manipulate me, then, into doing as he pleased for simple things?

He had already left by the time I considered whether I wanted jam that much. But it was not much at all, really. He only wanted me to sit normally and read a book, feign normalcy.

So I picked out a book with a green cover, not reading its title, and found it to be a collection of fairytales, as one would have for children. I set it back among the others, staring at the spines, even running my fingers down them, but could find nothing that had any appeal, nor did I feel like exerting my mind any further than it had been this morning.

I took out the knitting and began the second sock, which was already turning out far more even and well-shaped than the other. My mind again wandered, and I found myself wondering whether my captor had a plan sorted out, and if he had, what horrible events would come to pass from it.

Unless... Unless he meant to kill Raoul?

But he wouldn't... he couldn't. And besides, wouldn't he have done that already?

I just wanted to know Raoul was safe from harm. My darling Raoul, my childhood friend, oh, what was he doing now, while I was captive down here? Knowing him, something brave and rash. What a dear he was, but still so much a boy that I feared he would find himself in the hands of my captor.

Oh, I couldn't bear the thought!

My captor returned with a tray holding a China bowl with porridge and jam inside it. Before he could even set it down at my desk I had exclaimed, "Have you hurt Raoul? Will you hurt him?"

He slammed the tray onto the desk and rounded on me, causing me to gasp and press myself back against the sofa cushions.

"Do not," he said darkly, his pointer finger drawing attention to his words, "mention the patron. Do not say his name or mention him... But I have no care for the boy... He ought to find a mistress soon and lose all interest in you. So there is no point in killing him."

"Mistress? He doesn't take mistresses-"

He laughed at me, "What an ingenue you are, my dear Christine! Come eat your porridge."

"Do you promise not to hurt-?"

"I promise nothing!" He retorted. "Now eat your breakfast."

I shuffled over to the desk, trembling all over, silent. My eyes were welling up with tears, but I kept draining them, and during this struggle, I somehow managed to eat all of my porridge. Upon finishing, I turned to my captor, who had not moved a muscle.

"Are you done?" He asked.

I nodded meekly.

"Can I trust you to come play music with me now?"

I averted my eyes, "I don't want to play music."

"What do you mean?" He demanded, somewhat smiling in disbelief. "Not want to play music?"

"Not down here."

"Then I'll sing for you instead-"

"No," I moaned. "Please don't."

"Why not?"

"I don't want you to."

"Is my voice yours to control?"

"Is mine?" I trembled out.

"Why are you so sharp this morning? I will sing, or you may come sing with me. Which do you prefer?"

"I don't... want music right now."

"Fine," he said simply.

Then he went over to my candles and began to promptly blow them out. I cried out against this, and he came over to me.

"Do not contradict me," he commanded, and I thought I caught a hint of pain in his voice. "I can control every aspect of your life down here... Don't try me."

I nodded hastily, fearful.

"Good." He sighed. "Now come out of here and we shall sing."

I followed him outside the room and found not the cavernous lair I had remembered earlier, but a dark tunnel. I wanted someone with me, anyone but my captor... my captor who had once been my angel...

He led me through a short maze, and I tried to memorize how to get through, but he seemed to be weaving in and out purposefully to confuse me. Indeed, I felt we were going in circles. Then we were suddenly in the center of the lair, with all the familiar furnishings from my nightmares, including the bride doll. She terrified me, for I could not tell whether her resemblance to me was intentional or not.

Perhaps he saw me shy away as we went over to the organ, because he addressed me.

"Does that scare you?" He asked.

"N-no," I replied. "Yes, a little."

"Let me cover it up, then."

He took the black sheet, which was silken in nature, and flung it over the shattered mirror to cover the doll. I was greatly relieved that she was out of sight, though also embarrassed for being frightened of a doll.

"Come here, Christine," he said kindly, gesturing the organ.

I followed, going up the two stone steps to the sort of pedestal holding up the organ keys. The pipes were behind it, glinting yellow in the candlelight.

I glanced out upon the lake, which was mostly closed off by a portcullis, though a shallow puddle trickled in about an arm's width or so.

"Have you heard me play?" He asked.

"I can't remember."

"How much can you remember?"

"Bits and pieces... They kind of blend together like watercolors."

"You're a painter now?" He teased.

"No... I tried it as a girl, but I was terrible."

"You can do whatever you like down here."

"Not whatever."

"Whatever I say," he told me. "Come stand over here."

He handed me some music and sat down at the organ. I feared my voice would come out a tremulous whisper, and I had barely looked through the first few bars when he started. The place was enveloped by the music, and soon he glanced over at me as my part began.

To my incredible surprise, it was an exceptionally easy piece that fit my voice in every aspect. The melody was like one long, lovely sigh. I felt euphoria fill me, and so ecstatic was I to be back with music, that I forgot myself entirely, forgot my fears, my anger, they dissolved into beautiful song.

I shut my eyes for the repeated parts, so I could hear without distraction, and as I opened them I realized that my angel had not been paying any attention to the notes he was playing. He was simply staring at me in awe, and in meeting his eyes my voice flickered out and I stepped back, nearly tripping down the steps.

His entire demeanor changed in an instant, and he rushed over to me as I caught myself, horrified.

"Are you alright?" He exclaimed, forgetting himself entirely as he held my face. "You're fine?"

I nodded shakily, and he sighed in relief, regaining his composure and releasing me.

"You'll become accustomed to seeing me," he said, perhaps mostly to himself. "Then you won't be frightened... Do you want to keep singing?"

"I want to go back," I told him, my eyes averted.

"You were enjoying yourself so much-"

"Please, I want to go back."

"You like that room?" He accused.

"No, I... I don't know. I want to be alone."

"You do?"

I shivered at his strange tone, "I don't mind if you stay... I just want to lie down is all."

"Come here, then. I'll take you back, my dear."

Don't call me that... You don't deserve to call me that. You lied to me. You manipulated me! You've taken everything away! My angel, my love, my very soul, and I... I...

I don't hate you... I don't hate you.

How I wish I could say those words without fear.