"I will stay with you, my Angel."

Those words seemed to be echoing in my mind, trying to break my skull from the inside. My Angel, apparently pleased with this promise, even though he was the one to force it upon me, had left so I could try to rest. Although that day I had done almost nothing besides my singing lesson, I felt even more exhausted than ever. It was not physical fatigue... it had more to do with my thoughts and emotions. When I had left with him into this underworld, I had not been prepared for this kind of experience... and now I was paying a terrible price.

As soon as he had left, I sighed and returned to the bed, curling up, as if it could produce some kind of shield around me. Never before had I felt this vulnerable, this exposed, although he had done nothing to actually hurt me. He barely touched me... and his touches were rather tender and warm. I still remembered that soft caress of his gloved fingers upon my cheek, and if I could think of it without thinking of the promise he had forced me to make... it might have even been pleasant.

However, then I thought of his firm grasp upon my wirsts and I opened my eyes to glance at them. My skin there was red and I could feel it burn; everyone would notice it if I returned back to the opera house... and as soon as that idea came to my mind, I once again remembered I would never be going back up there.

He was a monster. I had no idea whether he was aware of that or not... but he definitely had very little in common with a human being. Maybe it was because he had never really got to know what real love tastes like... but it still was not enough of an excuse. No man, even the one who had been hurt in past, has the right to treat another person the way he treated me. He played with my mind, he made me hate him as well as myself.

I was not sure when I had fallen asleep; I got to know about it only when I woke up, completely confused. Hardly remembering anything from before (or maybe sure it had been just a bad dream), I sat up quickly, looking around. At first, I did not recognise the place, but then, I realised that what I had in mind was not a nightmare, just my life from now on, and I knew it would be better for me if I got used to it. Maybe one day I would even be able to find a tiny droplet of happiness in this quasi-life.

Maybe I should not have thought that way. I should have fought, I knew that, but at the same time I realised I might never be able to get back to the life I had known. And if I kept fighting, I would never be happy again. And I did want to taste at least some happiness – I was so young and I believed I deserved it if I were to live on.

As I finally calmed down a bit, I noticed that something had been placed on the bedside table. At first, I was afraid to check what it was, but after a while, my curiosity won and I turned in that direction to find out that my Angel had brought a cup of water as well as a bowl of fruit for me to eat. That was when my stomach grumbled, remembering that it still needed food, despite the fact I was now dead to the world.

Beneath the bowl, as I noticed then, there was a piece of paper. I recognised my Angel's handwriting – I had seen it just once, when I had been singing the tune he had composed, and yet, I was sure I would always be able to distinguish it from any other.

At last, I sat back down on the edge of the bed and reached for the cup. It was the first time water actually tasted this wonderful to me. I drank quickly half of it, then put it aside, beginning to eat; I did not care about being elegant at that moment, so I grasped the piece of paper and unfolded it, letting it rest against the cup so I was able to read while eating.

I was not quite sure what I had expected... maybe I should have expected exactly what I found, because as I thought about it later on, I realised that it was probably the most natural of all possibilities.

If I did not know what he was like, I could even say it was an apology... or maybe a thank-you. Or a mixture of both. Nevertheless, I knew that he was either trying to excuse himself for what he had done, or make me feel that it was a good choice, while I knew it was not. Had I been aware of it before, I would have never said "yes" in the first place.

Tears appeared in my eyes. He was terrible... the more he said – directly or not – the worse I felt. It would have been better if he had not spoken to me at all.

Without a second thought, I crumpled the paper and tossed it away, not wanting to see it ever again. It was neither an apology nor a thank-you. Every single word in this letter, just like the words he uttered, was filled with poison. And the worst thing about it was that this poison, although deathly, was addictive.

As soon as I finished my meal, I realised that I actually missed him. I missed his sweet voice, the way he whispered my name... I missed his touch, his gentle songs, the way he looked at me, as if I was a real miracle to him.

There was no excuse for me to feel this way. I was an egoist and a hypocrite, calling my Angel a monster and yet feeling such an urging need to be praised by him... because although he had hurt me, no-one before him had ever seen so much in me. Until now, I had always been just a dancing girl. To him, I was so much more, and I thought that I had probably needed that since the very beginning. And that was the reason why I had listened to him in the first place, without taking the eventual possibilities under consideration.

He loved me. In his own, twisted way, not the way I would ever like to be loved, but he did. And maybe he thought that he would be able to care about me. It was definitely not the care I needed, but I began thinking that he might have been sure that he was doing exactly what he was sure a man in love should do. After all, no-one had ever taught him what love was. Maybe he needed that lesson.

I could not help but smile as I remembered his words... that he would teach me how to love him, but as soon as I thought about it, this smile disappeared from my lips. It was not only him who needed to learn, but me as well. We both did.

As much as I hated the thought, we might have been more similar to each other than I had initially considered us to be. Neither of us really knew love... we were both selfish... and both of us praised music more than anything else.

"No. It's impossible," I said out loud.

"What is, my child?" I heard from behind me, and with a gasp, I turned back to see no-one else but my Angel himself.

That was when I realised it might already be the next day. He wore black, as always, but this time, he seemed to feel more... at home. His clothing was more casual and he even resigned from wearing gloves. His mask, however, white and very simple, remained on its place, covering at least half of his face.

I felt an unpleasant twitch in my stomach, and at first I was not quite sure what it was. Then I understood – curiosity. I simply wanted to know what was under that mask. I wanted to see his face, wanted to learn why he decided to hide it away from me.

I was so vulnerable with him... why would he not show at least a little bit of himself to me? I would never be able to use that to harm him, after all.

"Nothing, monsieur," I responded quickly, suddenly feeling ashamed of my own thoughts. I should be more careful what I thought and said out loud. Having lowered my sight, I bit my lip. Whenever he was so close to me, I hated him even more... and yet, I knew that as soon as he left, I would start missing him again. Besides, his soothing voice seemed to be pulling me even closer to him, and I could not free myself anymore.

Yes. I was lost. I could put all of my strength into trying to fight him, but there was no way I could break the chains he had put around me. He had made sure I would belong to him – and only to him. No longer did I belong to myself.

"Don't be foolish," he replied in a surprisingly bright tone as he approached me and placed his hand on my cheek.

I did not mean to do that, and yet, I felt myself shiver upon that touch, and I took a deep breath to calm down. For the first time I actually felt what his touch was like – not the touch of his gloves, but skin. Warm and delicate. His hand was broad and strong, and I would swear I could feel little bumps, apparently from writing too much.

Did he notice my reaction? Although I would wish he would not, I was almost sure he did; one of the corners of his mouth twitched almost unnoticeably before he glanced at me with worry; whether he faked it or was honest, I was not able to say.

"Nothing is impossible if you really want it," he continued after a while as his thumb traced the curve of my cheek. I could feel the warmth of its tip right under my eye... then sliding down, until it reached my lips. He glanced at them longingly, barely grazing against them before he pulled away, as if he was afraid I would bite his hand off.

Once more, I recalled the same words I had thought of before. I hated him. He was a monster. And suddenly, they sounded so unrealistically...

"And what if I do not want it?" I replied with a question, looking at him almost mercilessly. I was the beast now, but I could not lie. That was where the problem lay: I did not want that one thing that was way too probable to turn out to be true.

"Sometimes what is possible and what is not is not our own choice, my child," he spoke calmly, not taking his eyes off of my lips even for a second; almost as if he praised the way I formed words. "And changing it... is out of our reach. Sometimes it is easier to go with the flow. It is safer to do what we are meant to do, although it might seem to be wrong. Soon... soon we may learn that this is the only way we can find happiness."

I was afraid my words, along with the way I glanced at him, betrayed him much more than I wanted to tell him.

"And... if we are sure it would never make us happy, Master?" I went on asking, not sure why I kept provoking him. Maybe I simply thought that it would explain my point of view to him... that he would understand what I felt. "What if we need to fight our fate if we want to stay happy? No... not even that... to stay sane?"

To my surprise, I saw him smile at me. And it was a true, genuine smile I had not seen on anyone's face for a while.

"Have you not noticed that your answer lies in your question, Arlette?" he whispered, taking my hand into his own. He brought it close to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on my knuckles. For a moment, he stayed like this, apparently enjoying the warmth of my skin just the way I enjoyed his, then opened his eyes and leant in to add, "You have said it yourself... now, answer my question: what if happiness does not mean sanity? Or more, what if your happiness means that you cannot stay sane?"

His words made me feel sick. Was that what he wanted to do to me? He wanted me to lose the rest of my sanity? Maybe that would be the answer – only if I were insane, I would be able to get used to living there.

"Bu... but... monsieur, I..."

"You need to stop looking at all of it like you would in the world of the day," he cut in, seeing how confused I was. However, both of us noticed I understood what he had meant. "This is not what you've seen until now. Here, you should walk with your eyes closed... sharpen the rest of your senses... give in to your darkest desires... lose what you have always considered sanity... and then... you shall be free."

I did not know when my eyelids had become so heavy that they had fallen down; when I realised that, he was already way too close to me, his hungry hands sating upon the touch of my skin; his fingers trembled as they felt my face – just like a blind man, he seemed to be learning it by heart, inch by inch... and I found myself completely unwilling to fight it, although it should be indecent to me.

"Oh, Arlette," he groaned and stepped aside, pulling his hands away with what seemed to be physical pain.

And then, he quickly retreated into the darkness of the main hall, leaving me there, with my eyes closed, breath laboured and body trembling.