A/N: Thank you for the warm welcome; I am glad my story has not been forgotten. Once again, I apologize for the neglect. Happy New Year to all, and please enjoy chapter ten.

Chapter Ten

I immediately pulled away, stiffening. She looked up at me in confusion and shock as I blindly clutched at my now-bare face and gave a cry of horror and anguish. It was over! Now that she'd seen me, she would flee. She would resign and escape to a place where I'd never be able to find her again! And it was all her doing, too! She'd brought this horrific end upon us both with her damnable, feminine curiosity and arrogant, subjected privileges. Damn her, the prying vixen!

I heaved another cry as I turned sharply away from her. Bitter tears of despair turned in my miserable eyes. It was obvious now that I'd lied, that my face wasn't a product of the war. How much had she seen? My misshapen, thin lips? My nonexistent nose? The horrible hollows which harbored my eyes? Any of these traits could be enough to send a woman away screaming, but oddly, I heard neither sound nor movement from her. Perhaps she had fainted. Perhaps a mere glimpse of my hideous countenance had been enough to send her into a dead faint.

I turned back to her slowly after some time had elapsed, my hands still spread over my death's head. I found Christine standing before me, the black silk mask still in her tiny hand. She was the perfect picture of shock, her pink lips parted and her eyes wide, but she also hosted fear, disgust, regret, and pity. As I gazed at her there, once more a little girl, overwhelmed by the consequences of her actions, I felt my rage slowly begin to dissipate. It had been after all an innocent gesture. When one kisses another, would they not want to feel the flesh of their lover's (lover's?) cheeks against their own?

Although I'm sure she'd had some idea in her mind's eye of what my face would look like, it likely did not come anywhere near to the grisly reality. An unsightly blemish, perhaps, or some sort of valiant, noble scar, but the very face of death? Why, never! Whose demented imagination could ever conjure that, anyway, besides our blessed creator?

I continued to stare at her, watching her expression undergo subtle changes from shock, to a more mild surprise, to fear, to uncertainty. She returned my gaze unwaveringly, anxious, but brave. I admired that in the face of such hideousness and horror, she could stand her ground, even if her stance was a bit shaky.

Eventually I felt calm enough to speak without losing control of my tightly leashed temper. "You must not have been expecting such ugliness, to even dream of removing my mask," I remarked bitterly.

"No," she whispered tremulously, vulnerable and childish.

"I understand that you wish to resign now," I continued with an almost eerie calm and patience. "Now that you have seen me for what I am, I realize it would be difficult to work for me anymore. I will contact your agency and pay your way back to the boarding establishment. You can depart by morning."

She had no reaction to my words, and I did not press her for one, for in truth, I did not wish for her to leave in the morning, nor ever.

Many moments passed with an awkward, unsure silence between us. Finally she said, her voice soft, "I do not wish to leave, Erik." The way she said my name, even now! "This place is my home now, and my work is my devotion. It is a joy to do for you." She paused and looked to the ground. "And I don't want to leave you," she continued near-silently.

I was shocked, so much so that I reacted in anger. I never had taken very kindly to being surprised; I supposed it rooted from the intense pride I invested in my superior knowledge over others. If that knowledge was ever usurped, my higher place was compromised, in my mind.

"How can you say that, you foolish girl? I am a monster, a beast!" My passion brewed and all at once I tore my hands from my face, exposing it to her in its entirety. She reeled back as if she'd been slapped, but with a bit of effort, she was able to turn her gaze back to me.

"It is horrible," she agreed rather bluntly. Her comment did not hurt me, for I'd accepted the fact myself; embraced it, even, in my deepest moments of self-loathing and despair, not to mention the fact that I'd been told the same thing by numerous other people in my life.

"But," she continued as I cast my gaze away, suddenly wishing I had my mask, "it is so curious…"

And like the other not so brave souls before her had only longed to do, she reached up and brushed her fingertips against my waxen cheek. She pulled away almost immediately, but in a few moments shyly found my face again, this time exploring the barely considerable bump that was my nose. I closed my eyes, though more from pleasure or shame, I did not know. It was embarrassing, to be sure, to have my most grotesque, guarded feature exploited by the fingers of a beautiful maiden, yet at the same time, I had never been touched like this, with such tenderness and gentle yearning, especially not on my face.

"Christine…" I breathed, but she did not respond, only continued to touch my face with a somewhat morbid curiosity. I allowed her to do so, forcing myself to feel numb and careless toward her actions.

I nearly died of shock when she rose to her tiptoes and followed where her fingers had made paths with her soft, beautiful lips. "Christine," I said again, a bit more loudly this time, "you mustn't do this…"

"Why not?" she whispered with a seductive confidence, which took me by surprise.

I could come up with no real reason, and she seemed to know this would be the outcome, for she smiled knowingly before taking my face in her hands and kissing my lips gently.

"Erik," she whispered against them, pressing her body to mine, "your face is hideous, but…" She paused to kiss me again, and I felt myself being slowly lifted into a bliss, unaware, dreamlike state. I must be dreaming. I must, if the words I felt pending on her lips were correct. "But I love you," she continued breathlessly, her eyes full and wide with apprehension, "and I'd never want to leave you, no matter what you look like."

"How could -- "

"I don't know, Erik," she cried, "I don't know how I love you, but I do, and it is a love so exquisite I'd never trade it for the world." After this passionate outburst she shied.

"I know I am young…but I am ready to be wed…I've already had a few informal marriage propositions," she daringly chose to divulge to me, with a certain amount of pride, I daresay.

"I am not an arrogant woman," she continued quietly, her gaze darting from mine to the ground to the piano, "but I am quite certain that I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and even if I may just be a silly servant girl with foolish dreams, I do so want to be your wife, and have your children, and stand beside you always…"

She'd gotten carried away with herself, and now a slight blush rose into her cheeks as she waited for my response.

"You wish to be the wife of an ugly man?" I asked weakly with a half-hearted smile. This unbelievable news was draining me of my energy.

"I want to be your wife, Erik," she replied firmly, abandoning all modesty.

I then felt the most compelling urge to say to her something I'd never said to anyone before, not even my wife, and somewhat beyond my control, I found myself giving in to the impulse.

"Christine, I love you," I said, and rather than feeling vulnerable and exposed, as I'd expected, I felt the most delicious sense of belonging, of acceptance and relief and forgiveness and happiness. I was in love. We were in love.