A/N: Thanks to all for patience and support. My little Lillian is a beautiful bright-eyed two (nearly three) months old now, although unfortunately she's spent every day of it in the Newborn Intensive Care Unit—which we were fully prepared for before her birth (long story—I may post it in my forum here). She is getting better every day, however, and making so much progress that it astounds everyone around her. We hope to have her home soon.

With not much else to do besides spend time in the hospital with my daughter, I've actually had quite a bit of time to write, which is why the next chapter should be following very soon--it merely wants a bit of editing.

Regarding the story: It should be noted that the epithet of "ass" is used in the context of the period, meaning something more akin to "stubborn, obnoxious fool" rather than its coarser modern connotation of "ignorant jerk," although I suppose since the two meanings are fairly similar, it's not exactly a huge gaffe on my part if I don't make that clear to you. Blame it on my lexicographical obsessiveness more than anything—I like delineations to be precise. ;)

She heard the door to his bedroom slam shut, and the sound made her jump.

"Mon Dieu!" she muttered. "Am I dreaming, or was I really just asked to consider marriage?"

She shivered. After all, you did bring it up yourself, whether you meant to or not.

"Marry him...really marry him?" she whispered, abruptly feeling as though a boom had struck her. It sunk in, suddenly, the implications of it all. Her mind raced.

Images in her head flashed by like lightning-bursts, with frightening clarity, as though she were seeing some odd vision of the future.

Her fingers atop Erik's cold hand in a church…his face covered in a mask (white for the wedding), mouth bare of course, because he would have to kiss the bride…a fat, pompous-looking priest giving them an odd look, on the verge of refusing to marry them unless the groom agreed to uncover his face…Erik pressing money into his hand to keep him docile…words being read from the Bible, strange and echoing.

An awkward carriage ride…a silent descent…a dim room…candles being blown out…long fingers stripping at her dress, hearing him pant in anticipation—

Her mind went into a panic.

"Not yet, not now," she whispered. "It's too fast. Too fast…I can't possibly…"

It was not the prospect of marital intimacy with Erik in and of itself which terrified her so. It was the larger, more all-encompassing idea of offering up a lifetime of commitment to a man who she, in truth, barely knew aside from scattered bits and pieces…and a self-proclaimed murderer at that.

Tora put her head in her hands. "Oh, God," she whispered, pressing her nails into her forehead until they left marks.

She heard the pipe organ playing thunderously in his room, and closed her eyes. "Poor Erik," she murmured. "Poor, dear, pitiful Erik…"

She did love him in spite of everything, she was sure of it. But she was afraid that it was a kind of almost-love, a frightened bird that might fly at any moment if startled (rather like Christine la Lapine Apeureé, she thought with a brief smirk, which quickly faded).

What if she consented, and then found after they were married that she didn't really love him at all? What if it was only pity she felt, and friendship, both emotions combined to create the illusion of amour?

Worse, what if his penchant for tampering with human life—which he himself had willingly confessed to—failed to dissipate or lessen and continued to be a dark, driving force behind all that he did? She could not possibly chain herself to such a man for long. Her very spirit would be rent in twain.

What am I to do? she thought, and ran her hands through her hair, feeling dizzy and sick.

Erik felt like a fool. Worse than a fool—he felt as though his entire world were sinking in an inexorable bed of quicksand, that he had just sealed his death warrant as far as any chance he might have had to win her over.

What on earth were you thinking, you madman? clamored the horrible voice in his head. You horrified the girl out of her wits. She'll never consent to such a union.

Perhaps she will, whispered the half-defeated voice of hope. She has mentioned love…perhaps she really means it.

She lies, hissed the other voice. She never loved you, never! What a preposterous thought! She seeks only to cradle your bruised pride, out of a kind of disgusted pity, no doubt. She'll break soon enough if you press her…her bluff will be laid bare.

Erik pulled sullenly at a stray lock of lank, drooping hair that had fallen into his line of vision, rubbing it between his fingers absently. "I shall never sleep tonight," he muttered, "dreading what awaits me in the morning."

She'll probably attempt to bolt in the night…she knows too many of your secrets now to be truly trapped in this place. She could find some way out…

"Unlikely," he whispered, taking a little pride in his own ingenuity—the mechanisms that sprung the various outer doors to his home were nearly impossible to operate—either from within or without—unless one possessed the express knowledge of their workings. "Besides, she doesn't know so very many of Erik's secrets…at least, not yet."

Enough to destroy you if she wanted to.

The thought paralyzed him, for a moment. She knew about the torture chamber…she knew where the entrance was located…what if she did somehow manage to escape, however improbable, and lead men directly to it? She knew it was made of glass…they might bring pickaxes, heavy hammers. The glass was strong, but only so strong. It would break under heavy barrage.

Erik stood up, so quickly that his heart nearly leapt from his chest. He breathed heavily, his mind in a panic. Surely she would never betray him…but what if, after learning what she had about his morbid tendencies, she changed her mind?

The thought of her possible betrayal stabbed at his soul far more than the prospect of being found out by others. The latter was more of an annoyance than a real terror…his hands tingled suddenly with a familiar rage, and he felt incredibly vulnerable. It was unthinkable, the idea of her giving him up. He truly did not know how he could survive such a final blow.

He strode to the door of his bedchamber without fully being aware, and before he knew what he was thinking, he opened it and stepped into the parlor, intending to gather his thoughts.

Tora was there, sitting on the divan as if in a trance.

Erik started in surprise. I thought you would be in your room, petite.

His feet made an audible shuffle on the carpet as he stopped, and Tora's shoulders twitched.

Slowly she turned her head, and her face whitened, though her expression changed little.

"I have been thinking," Erik said rather menacingly, and her hand clutched at the armrest until her knuckles had no blood.

"So have I," she said in a surprisingly clear voice. The fingers of her other hand were spasmodically grabbing and twisting at a little fold in her dress, but she acted as though she were completely unaware of it.

"Indeed," said Erik, attempting to keep his composure. He felt a bit dizzy, but the swirling anger and knifing pain that had accompanied his earlier thoughts kept him afloat. "What exactly have you…"

"You gave me until tomorrow," she said accusingly, and there was a touch of panic in her voice. "I have hours left to tell you what I have been thinking about."

"Perhaps I have changed my mind," he said in a low voice, "and would prefer to hear it now."

Her face went a shade whiter, if that was possible, and suddenly her tone became angry. "It cannot have been more than half an hour since you stalked out of this room," Tora bit out. "How on earth do you expect me to…"

"Tell me something, Tora," said Erik, cutting her off. "Would you ever give me up to the authorities? Would you ever betray your Erik?"

Tora's eyes snapped open wide, and she stared at him in horror.

"My God," she whispered. "You think I would, don't you?"

Erik stepped back a little, his hands shaking. "Would you?" he snapped, in a desperate effort to avoid answering. "Would it ever even cross your mind?"

Tora closed her eyes and leaned her forehead on her palm. "Erik," she said very slowly, "you know that I…"

"ANSWER ME!" he shouted, but it was more like a sob.

Tora flinched, and then looked back at him, her eyes open and clear.

"Never," she whispered. "I can't promise that I haven't thought briefly about it, after what you have told me…but never would I carry out such a base, treacherous act."

Erik heard the finality in her voice, knew she was not lying, and sighed.

"If you truly want your answer now," said Tora in a tired, small voice, "to your previous…proposition, I will tell you."

Suddenly Erik felt a dread nervousness, almost panic. "There is no need…" he tried to whisper half-heartedly, but his voice would not work. Every nerve seemed strained to the point of pain, and he felt as though he were standing precariously over a fathomlessly deep chasm, staring into the blackness.

Tora sighed, and closed her eyes. "Erik, I cannot marry you."

The bottom dropped from beneath his feet, crumbling all at once, and the grinning chasm came up to greet him, roaring You fool.

Despite that, he stood his ground, though his head was occupied with a strange buzzing and the room seemed to spin, just a little.

Still she stared at him for a split second, poised as if to say something else, and he wondered how she had the nerve to look him in the eye.

Abruptly he regained his faculties, and with them came a surge of rage. After all that talk upstairs, she really had been bluffing after all, it seemed.

"A bold response," he hissed, and she blinked. "Ah, the cruel shards of hope, how they make one bleed!" he snapped out, and suddenly flung his mask across the room.

Tora gazed after it with a bit of horror etched on her features.

"Erik…" she said with a slight note of panic, "you didn't let me finish."

"Spare me your sympathies and apologetic platitudes," snapped Erik. "You have, I suppose, every right to refuse me, but I won't bear to sit through some patronizing explanation for your choice. You will forgive me, my dear, if I am not in the mood…"

"You don't understand," said Tora, almost in tears. "I only meant…"

"Come now, dearest," he said, baring his teeth and grabbing her hand, though his manner suggested that he would rather have touched a poisonous snake at that moment. "I think you'd best go back to the dormitories now. Erik gave you his word that he would not bother you anymore…"

"WILL YOU LISTEN TO ME?" Tora suddenly shouted, and abruptly he felt a sharp, stinging slap across his face.

She looked him in the eyes—full in the face, despite the fact that it was bare—and for the first time, she did not look away.

Her mouth twitched nervously, but her face was devoid of any other fathomable emotion besides a pinched anger.

There was a pregnant silence.

"I have killed men for less," Erik breathed, referring to the slap, and holding a hand to his cheek. He wondered at her lack of expression.

Her eyes narrowed.

"Have you killed women?" she asked suddenly. There was no horror in her tone, merely a note of daring, as though she had already guessed the answer.

She had him there. "No," he said sullenly. "Never." Not yet.

"Well, then," she said—rather suspiciously, he thought—"I certainly hope you don't intend for me to be the first."

Erik shook his head, gritting his teeth. He bent his head near her temple. "I can't promise I haven't thought about it," he whispered rather savagely in her ear.

"Ha!" she muttered, tossing her head and jerking away from him. "You wouldn't dare."

False bravado? he wondered. She was shivering—but not, he thought, from cold.

"I am going to take you to the surface now," he said snappishly, turning to get his cloak, "despite all your protestations…"

She grabbed his lapels then and pulled him so that their faces almost touched. "Now you listen to me, you self-pitying ass," she snapped. "It's high time you pulled yourself from the wretched mental quagmire in which you live and learned to not take every word a woman says at face value. When I said I cannot marry you, I meant that I cannot marry you now."

She was breathing very heavily, and her face was slightly flushed—whether it was from anger or some other emotion was difficult to detect.

Erik was very still.

"Explain yourself, fille," he said softly, a hint of malice still lingering.

"Erik, I must know you before I make such a choice. I must spend more time with you…We need to…to…" Tora blushed, suddenly, and let go of his lapels. "…to court, I suppose," she muttered.

"Court?" he repeated, and the word was as foreign on his tongue as though it were Nepalese. The idea itself did not strike him as impossible, but the fact that Tora was the one suggesting it seemed strange.

"Yes," she said. "It would mean, of course, that you would have to venture out a bit more than usual. Which reminds me…how do you go about wearing a mask and not arouse suspicions?"

Erik wordlessly went out of the room.

For a moment Tora thought she had offended him. "Erik, I didn't mean…" she began.

"Come here," she heard him say from inside his room, and cautiously she crept to the door.

"Oh," she said, and her hand fluttered to her mouth.

He was daubing a bit of what looked like pliable, pale paste around the edges of a false nose, blending it with his skin as best he could. It was convincing enough that someone walking by on the street mightn't notice that it was faux, but his face was so sunken and gaunt—ghastly, really—that it did almost nothing for his overall appearance other than make him a bit less nightmarish. Even with the welcome addition of a nose, he was still ugly enough to turn heads.

"Handsome devil, aren't I?" Erik said sarcastically, and Tora felt the absurd urge to laugh, but stifled it at once.

"W…well…" she muttered, not sure what to say. She wasn't sure whether to tell the truth or lie through her teeth, but she had a gut feeling that a lie would not be the best route.

"N…no…not…not at all," she said at last, feeling terrible, but surprised to see him smile darkly.

"Proper little Jane Eyre, you are," he said smugly. "Though fortunately for you, I have no mad wife locked away in the attic."

"Wh…what?" Tora stammered.

Erik sighed. "Jane Eyre--soppy, largely unrealistic little English novel written by a woman—rather obvious in spite of the male pseudonym it was published under for so long. It came to me recommended by an acquaintance of mine—male, surprisingly. I read it merely to humor him, and had the added bonus of being able to express my intense dislike of it—though it is, I suppose, slightly touching in its maudlin, cluttered way. I would only recommend it for the sole reason that you are female and might appreciate its sentiments."

"Oh…I don't read—at least, not much," muttered Tora. "I didn't even know how, for a long time…"

"Yes, and it's a shame," said Erik, fingering his cape on a hook absently. "You have a fine mind, you know, despite your being of the weaker sex. You should read. Books can transport you to other worlds if you allow them, which is something I daresay you might be interested in now and again."

Tora, torn between bristling at his barely concealed chauvinism and appreciating his praise, resignedly chose the latter. "I simply don't have time," she said. And our conversation has now gone entirely off-subject...wonderful.

Erik raised a black eyebrow. "Speaking of time," he said, "and considering your apparent…unwillingness to return to the upper sphere for now, how exactly do you intend to explain your absence to the ballet mistress tomorrow if you fail to show up for rehearsal?"

Tora shuffled her feet. "Suzette was going to make some sort of well-thought-up excuse," she said. "I left her a note…although I'm not entirely sure…"

"Ah, yes, Suzette," said Erik irritably, dabbing a little more paste around his nose. "She knows far more about me than I would like…all thanks to you, of course, and that inane habit women have of telling each other everything."

Tora narrowed her eyes. "Don't think of harming her," she said.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Erik said unconvincingly, looking in a small hand-held mirror and examining his handiwork. Tora thought she saw a ghost of a satisfied smile flit across his face, and rolled her eyes, thinking of how poignantly ridiculous it was that Erik could be vain.

"Usually I do the moustache, too," he said, noticing her staring, "but it seemed a bit extravagant for a simple demonstration."

Tora barely choked back a giggle, covering it with a hearty cough.

Erik glanced at her again. "Drink some lemon water," he said after a moment, apparently thinking her cough was genuine. "You'll find what you need in the kitchen."

Tora blinked. Kitchen? What kitchen?

And then she felt foolish for not supposing that he had one, despite the fact that she had never seen it.

She realized suddenly just how much of his underground abode she had as yet left unexplored, and felt an odd little thrill up her spine. It was the kind of feeling a child gets when he discovers a secret passage in his house, something nobody knows about but him.

"Or stand there like an ignorant goose," said Erik, "and let me fetch you some." He swept past her irritably.

Tora snapped her mouth shut (it had fallen open briefly) and walked after him, fuming. Ignorant goose? I'll show him ignorant goose...I'll let him hear the most unladylike epithets I picked up on the Boston piers...

In the end, silently watching him squeeze a lemon over a glass of water, she decided to forego coarse insults and use diplomacy instead.

"A potential…spouse should be treated with more respect, particularly a wife," she said, a little more sullenly than she had intended.

Erik snorted--an odd sound, coming from behind that false nose. "You have as yet merely expressed the potential for engagement, not marriage. When you have consented to be my wife, when we are formally engaged, perhaps I will accord you a little more reverence than I have heretofore displayed."

Tora sucked in her cheeks, attempting to ignore the fact that he had said when, and not if. Was he testing her? "You expect me to consent," she sputtered, "when you habitually speak to me as though I were a servant, or a child?"

Erik looked at her with infuriating calm and said nothing, handing her the glass of water with fluid grace.

Tora was tempted to dash it from his hand, but reflected that that was something a child would have done. She grabbed it, muttering, "Thank you."

Sitting at the table as unconcernedly as she could, she noticed that he was watching her hand with an oddly intense fascination as she slowly twirled the blue-tinted glass with her fingers. She looked away and quickly took a sip, nearly spewing it out when she realized that it was warm.

About to remark upon this to Erik, she suddenly remembered with a flash of embarrassment that the singers up above often drank the same concoction—warm and all—to protect their voices.

"I haven't sung in the chorus for a long time, you know," she said at last. "There's no need to guard my vocal chords with warm water. Besides, I always squawked like a chicken. It's not as though my singing voice was precious."

"A pleasant singing voice is precious even if it is mediocre in talent and rarely used," said Erik. "And you never squawked. Only cracked." He shifted in his seat. "Which was bad enough, of course," he amended nervously, as though he had betrayed himself somehow.

Tora blushed, feeling a bit warmly awkward that Erik had noticed her voice—and remembered it—before she had even known he truly existed, for it had been that long since she had sung publically. Even then, her voice had been blended with dozens of other girls, but she knew that any trained ear could pick out one voice amongst many others. And he had even called her mediocre, which, while certainly nothing close to glowing praise, was far more than she herself would have said of her vocal endeavors.

"You could teach me, no doubt," she said cautiously, "to improve…"

Erik glanced at her with such pain that Tora felt sick. Then he forced a chuckle. "I offered, once, and you refused. Besides, I believe my teaching days are over." He did not say it, but everything in his manner screamed I do not wish to be reminded of Christine.

Tora felt the gnawings of jealousy in the pit of her stomach again. "Must everything always come back to miserable little Christine?" she muttered almost inaudibly, and Erik shot a glance at her, this time laced with some other emotion impossible to identify.

"You should speak up," he remarked. "I can't hear you when you mumble. Or was that merely meant for your own ears, and not for mine?"

Tora blushed again.

"It doesn't matter," she said. "Perhaps someday you will feel more inclined to teach me."

"Perhaps," he said blandly, but she saw another ghostly smile flit across his face before it was gone.

Tora sat staring at her cup for a few minutes. She was rather loathe to bring up the subject of courting again, for she would have preferred him to do it. But she felt it a necessity, since he showed no signs of resurrecting the discussion himself. "We should talk of…" she began.

As though he read her mind, Erik interrupted her. "If you truly wish to carry on with this 'courting' business," he said rather derisively, "it will only happen during the night-time. I don't like to be seen walking about by the crowds of people unless I have to, and you have your dancing to consider during the day."

Tora pursed her lips. The phraseage " it will only happen during the night-time" suddenly struck her with an outrageously inappropriate thought, and she felt a horrifying giggle well up in her throat. She choked it back and quickly took a grimacing sip of her lemon-water.

"Fine," she said coolly. "What do you plan to do during these night-time trysts?"

She thought she saw a faint flush of color rise to his cheeks, and realized her own unintentional entendre too late. Oh, dear God... "I have always been fond of carriage-rides," she said quickly. "And walks." Idiot, idiot, idiot...

"Perhaps we might sit in Box Five and observe a performance some night," he remarked dryly, and Tora raised an eyebrow, even though it was obvious he was joking. Well. At least she hoped he was.

"Wouldn't that raise a few suspicions?" she muttered. "After all, Suzette did say that Patr…" She abruptly cut herself off, sipping her lemon water again.

Tora was both frightened and gratified, glancing over her cup, to see the expression on Erik's face. She was not the only one jealous of a shadow.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, you goose," she said dismissively. "It's nothing."

"Nothing, indeed," said Erik smoothly. "Tell me, little bird…what about Patrick?"

The way he said Patrick's name was uncannily akin to the way he had said "the Shah." He bit, almost spat it out, with a sort of coolly smoldering emotion that was like a spring bubbling up from the depths—concealed, but not enough to escape notice, and rapidly gaining momentum.

Tora blanched.

"Patrick…may or may not have his doubts about whether or not I'm friends with O.G., namely you, of course, and now that he's seen you, he may connect the two halves of the puzzle. I didn't tell him," she said hastily, noting his ominously incredulous lean forward, knuckles on the table, "I simply may have been a bit careless—stupid, even…I dropped odd hints—completely unintentional, I assure you—here and there in harmless conversation, without even thinking…"

Erik rose, looking like a dark pillar.

"He's a very unworthy opponent, you know," said Tora quickly. "For starters, he isn't very bright…" A white lie, but he could be rather dense. "He's not at all dexterous or strong…" Actually, she had noticed on more than one occasion that he had a sort of odd grace as well as strength that belied his slim frame, and she had recently (though of course she would never dream of mentioning it to Erik) noticed that Patrick had gained a surprising bit of muscle doing odd cleaning jobs around the Opera House.

"Oh, of course he's not a bad-looking boy…" She tried to sound as fondly contemptuous as possible, to avoid the appearance of either too much disdain or too much friendliness. "…but I've never had the slightest romantic inclinations toward him whatsoever." A rather large lie, to say never—she thought with a fair bit of embarrassment on the scandalous little fiasco aboard the ship to Paris, but that had led to nothing, and besides, what Erik didn't know couldn't hurt him.

Erik glared at her. "Your eyes are blinking. And there's far too much color in your cheeks…you're blushing!" He was really angry now, she could see; he was trembling.

Tora flushed scarlet—much redder than before, now giving the game away more than ever. She remembered with painful clarity that first night in Erik's cavernous home, when he had caught her in a lie the same way. Your eyes are blinking too much to be telling a truth…

"Erik, I love him like a brother, no more than that. Surely you understand…" she tried desperately.

"I have never had cause for familial affections, even in my childhood, with one notable and unhappy exception," said Erik darkly. "And the only love I have truly known in my adult life is that of the carnal kind."

"Haven't you ever had any friends?" Tora asked desperately, attempting not to be mightily embarrassed by his last comment.

Erik shrugged, though he seemed contemplative. "Few," he murmured, "but I suppose I held a sort of distantly fond affection for them, if that's what you're driving at."

"Fair enough," said Tora. "At any rate, I don't wish any harm to come to him. He's such a dear boy, and there really is no need at all for you to be the least bit jealous. I'm not lying about that."

"My dear," he said smoothly, with frightening composure, "What do you think the boy will do if he finds out the true nature of the one upon whom you have, if I am not mad or dreaming, placed your dubious desires? I saw him looking at you, at the Masque. I have no doubt of his affections—or his intentions. And I don't intend to be rivaled again by some puling, pretty lad—it's rather humiliating, if you want to know, and once was quite enough, merci." The spasmodic clenching and unclenching of his fist betrayed his mask of calm.

She gripped the edge of the table, and flushed faintly. "You must trust me," she said.

"Very well," said Erik calmly, "but if I find the boy meddling—or snooping—or being generally obstructive, I will be hard-pressed to stay my hand." He said it rather matter-of-factly, and Tora had the sudden flash of knowledge that he was being completely serious.

Tora gritted her teeth.

Erik glanced at his watch. "You really should be getting to bed," he said then, as if he were her father. "It is late."

She was beginning to feel bone-weary, so she didn't resist the suggestion, despite her furious disquiet. She rose from the table and began making her way around it. "Very well, then...I suppose I'll--"

Her leg caught on that of a protruding chair without warning, and she fell violently to the floor. Barely keeping herself from uttering an obscenity, she grabbed her ankle with both hands and hissed between her teeth.

Erik flew to her side so quickly she barely saw him move. He knelt gracefully down beside her, and she had the suddenly absurd thought of how much his arms and legs resembled a spider's. Long...so long...

Her mind went blank when he took hold of her ankle with his thin, cool fingers without so much as a by-your-leave and probed at it, turning it gently from side to side. "Do you feel any pain when I do this?" he asked quietly, sounding for all the world like a concerned but calm and professionally distant doctor.

Tora's mouth was open, and she simply stared at him. The same man who had expressed an almost irrational terror at the prospect of being kissed was now examining her stockinged ankle without the slightest hint of embarrassment. She could scarcely believe such brash boldness.

His eyes darted up to meet hers, interpreting her expression only partly correctly as outrage at such intimate contact without permission. "Forgive me," he said coolly. "It was necessary to examine it to determine if you had taken any damage…you are a dancer, after all, and to put weight on a sprained or broken ankle could be potentially disastrous."

Tora shut her mouth. He was right of course, but it still seemed preposterous.

That aside, she realized that she was rather strangely touched by his lightning-quick response to determine if she had taken any harm. She touched his cheek affectionately with the back of her fingers, without really thinking of what she was doing.

He stiffened, seemed paralyzed.

He had suddenly become aware of the fact that they were almost scandalously close, and his fingers were still hovering about a rather intimate area, for ankle led to calf, calf led to thigh, and thigh led to...

Erik dropped his fingers from her ankle quickly. "You took no harm?" he asked brusquely, thankful that his dressing-robe was sufficiently roomy enough to hide what was rapidly becoming a far too excited Erik the Second.

Tora shook her head. Her hand had still not left his face.

There was an odd expression on her visage, as though she were experiencing some unutterable, inexplicable urge.

She leaned in, her long hair dropping over her shoulders and brushing lightly against his hands, then his thighs as she drew even closer.

Erik stayed perfectly still, though he wanted to bolt like a deer. The tickling caress of her hair was almost insupportably erotic, though he knew she could not possibly be aware of that. To take her, right here on the floor…no. He knew she would not want that, knew she would resist, and was suddenly appalled that the thought actually increased his arousal.

Her eyes fluttered, then closed as she put her hands on both sides of his face and drew herself in to close the distance between them. Erik leaned back, trying instinctively to avoid it, and she opened her eyes, staring at him. "You really are an enigma," she said. "You complain of not being loved, but it seems you will not allow yourself to be."

"Don't torture me so," he begged. "You don't understand…"

"Let me kiss you," she whispered. Erik's breathing quickened, his heart pounding with fierce denial at the utterance of such an impossible request. Was he imagining all this, some delicious dream? He would wake up quite soon, no doubt, drenched in sweat and another far less innocent bodily fluid, as was usually the way with dreams like these. He had had his share about Christine.

He shuddered, and her lips drew agonizingly close, enough for him to feel their emanating warmth. He could sense her racing pulse, and though panic nearly choked him, he closed his eyes and felt himself about to succumb to the raging tide.

The bell rang.

Somebody was on the lake, and had tripped the hidden wire.

Erik's hands, which were hovering inches from Tora's waist, clenched themselves into fists.

Tora's eyes snapped open, and she leaned back without having succeeded in her attempt at osculation.

"What was that?" she whispered.

"Trouble," he snapped, grabbing her hands and removing them from his face. "Wait here."

"Erik…" she began, rising from the floor and following him into the parlor. Erik tore off his false nose and flung it onto a side table.

"Wait here."

The thundering chain of command was infallible, completely unable to be disobeyed, or so it seemed. Tora sank back to her knees in a daze.

She watched as Erik dimmed the lights, swept to the front door and manipulated it with his fingers, too fast for her to recognize the pattern. It swung open and he slid out like a shadow.

"Erik…" she whispered, her voice first a plea and then a complaint. "Erik…"

He had left it open a little, in his hurry. Tora moved sluggishly against the hypnotic power of suggestion which bound her to the floor, crawling painfully towards the sliver of darkness. It took seemingly ages, and her mind was in a fog. She thought she heard a faint splash, distantly, but couldn't be sure.

Her fingers clutched the carpet, and then she gathered all her strength to shake off the command, feeling it dissolve as she finally broke its ties with her mind.

Up she got to her feet, and moved to the door, pausing as she heard a commotion outside. It was voices, loud voices, echoing through the cavernous hole from across the lake.

Tora strained her ears to understand what was being said through the distortions caused by the sound bouncing off the water and the walls.

"How dare…darog…breach my priv…!"

"Erik, what in All…name…under the wat…"

"…trick…I have…lucky for…and now…entertai…gues…"

"Who are you k…guest…Christine Da…?"

"None of yo…not…Chr…"

"Who…"

"Someone…none of…business…go before I…"

"Keep in mind…I…"

Tora leaned back from the door. The voice of the other man seemed to be fading away, as though he were leaving, and she heard the water slosh, which she took to mean that Erik was coming across again.

Slowly she backed away from the door, thinking that perhaps it would be a good idea to pretend that she was still hypnotized, as she didn't know how Erik would react otherwise.

After what seemed an age, the door swung open, and she noticed the irritable look on Erik's face as he realized that he had failed to close it completely when he left. He glanced at her, and Tora attempted to look gelid, but her eyes widened in spite of herself.

He ignored her, walking past her to his bedroom, leaving a trail of wetness behind him.

Tora got to her feet, still staring. "Why on earth are you all drenched?" she demanded, dropping all pretense.

Erik stopped, and sighed, putting a hand on the doorframe while his back faced her. "You'd rather not know, my dear," he said quietly. "Thankfully nothing came of it."

Tora's mouth opened in confusion, but the door to his bedroom suddenly slammed shut behind him, like the toll of a great bell, and there was silence.

"Very well, then," she snapped to the unfeeling air, and stormed to her own bedroom, slamming her door in kind.

She stripped off the dressing-robe and flung it onto a chair, suddenly looking around the room and wanting to scream as she stared at Christine's clothes scattered all around. She gritted her teeth.

"How…" she picked up a stocking and pulled it until it stretched beyond recognition, "dare…" grabbed a shoe and hurled it against the wall, "he…" pulled at a delicate undergarment until it tore nearly in half, "make…" shredded at it with her nails and stomped on it, reducing it to a ruined heap, "such…a…fool…" beat at the wardrobe with another shoe, leaving small dents in the wood, "out…of…me!"

Tora collapsed on the bed, exhausted.

She heard a creak...was his door opening?

There was a soft scuffle outside her own door, a long pause, and then a clearing of a throat before the knock came, firm and light.

"Go away!" she shrieked, hurling a shoe at the door. It clonked on the wood and fell to the floor, rolling a bit.

"I…are you decent?" came the voice, sounding a bit ruffled.

"No!" she yelled. "Now clear off, or I'll…I'll…" She didn't know what she would do, if he came in. Probably lunge at him in fury, but end up falling into a tangled, ardent heap…

Tora blushed. Her embarrassment at such a ridiculous thought did wonders to cool her rage.

She sighed. "Are you still there?"

There was silence.

Tora got up from the bed, grabbing the dressing-robe and putting it on. She tied the sash around her waist and put her ear to the door, listening for any sound.

Nothing.

Slightly trepid about what she might encounter were she to open the door—more afraid of what she might let herself do than anything—she cracked it so that she could see only the barest bit of hallway.

There came a shadow blocking the light, suddenly, and Tora gasped, flinging open the door.

She blinked, attempting to calm herself. He had replaced his mask, and was wearing dry clothes. The robe was different, but it was similar in pattern and design to the one he had worn earlier.

"Hmph," Tora muttered, her pride overcoming her need to reconcile, and began to close the door, but he put his hand against it.

"Excuse me," she said, and her voice trembled. She pushed half-heartedly, but the door wouldn't budge against his hold.

His eyes glittered in the dim light, burning with some unidentifiable emotion that made the breath leave her throat.

"Tora…" he whispered.

She held her ground. "Slam your door on me without a word of explanation as to…" she began, and then he pushed the door open, and she backed away in panic.

She heard his breathing, heavy and fast, and felt herself stumble over a discarded dress. She grabbed a chair to halt her fall, and stared at him with a kind of horrified longing.

"Erik…what on earth is the matter?" she whispered.

"Even with all you've heard, all that you think you know," he said, his gaze burning her to the core, "you haven't any idea of what kind of monster Erik can be."

Tora gulped, suddenly realizing his intent. "You…you wouldn't…" she began.

He laughed, almost a dry sob. "All men," he hissed in a whisper, "even those such as myself, are driven by an indelible need. Women have no conception of it, this beast inside men, though many pride themselves otherwise. Perhaps it's time to prove it to you, to show you what kind of being you wish to associate yourself with--and grant myself some satisfaction in the process!"

Tora closed her eyes against it. Suzette's words came back to her in a rush.

Do you remember Jolie?

You wouldn't enjoy it.

There was a distant, dizzy roaring in her ears.

"Please…" she whispered. "Think, Erik…" She opened her eyes.

"You wanted Erik's kiss, and you shall have it," he hissed, and his eyes were terrible. His manner said, And more besides. Tora felt faint.

Her mouth was dry, as though stuffed with cotton, and she couldn't speak.

Not like this. Please…

Erik, Erik, not like this.

And then he halted, suddenly, and his hand clutched a table for support. His entire stance changed, from a towering inferno to something more akin to a melting snowman.

Tora watched in horror as he sank to the floor and burst into tears.

"Oh, God…don't…" she stammered, at a complete loss. She had never seen a grown man cry, much less Erik.

He gasped for breath between sobs, and pulled himself along the floor to the door. "You've seen Erik at his worst, now," he said darkly, his voice heavy with misery. "Not only monstrous, but weak as well."

Had Tora not still been recovering from the mental onslaught of very narrowly escaping being forced, she might have flown to his side in an instant. "You…you aren't weak," she said rather lamely, staying where she was.

He let out a bitter little laugh. "Attempting to nurse my bruised pride? After seeing Erik nearly succumb to man's most base and wretched instinct?"

Tora wasn't quite sure what to say to that.

"Forgive me," he said, and Tora closed her eyes.

He waited.

"It won't happen again," he said. "You have Erik's word on that."

Tora let out a deep breath, deciding to forego caution. "Tell me who the man was," she said haltingly, and Erik's head turned sharply towards her.

"What man?" he demanded.

"The man…" Tora stammered. "You were talking to someone…before…"

Erik made a noise and got to his feet. "Women and their prying," he bit out. "If you must know, he was Erik's friend in Persia, and did me a great service, but now he has become a blithering nuisance. Always poking and prying where he shouldn't…he was far too interested in the...business with Christine, and now his detective's curiosity has only been piqued more by learning that she is no longer…" He glanced at her. "No longer here," he said shortly, although it was plain he had been going to say something else, such as no longer the object of my desires.

Tora blushed.

"Have you forgiven me yet?" he asked, kicking his foot against the doorframe like a bored and impatient child.

"Yes," she said slowly. "I suppose."

"Very well, then," he said, and she could tell that his embarrassment about the whole affair had made him rather sullen. "I'm going to bed." He stiffened, suddenly, as though embarrassed by the mere mention of the word bed.

Tora stared wordlessly as he fled into the hallway, and blew the air out through her lips as she heard his bedroom door shut.

She slipped to her open door and closed it slowly, looking at the lock in contemplation. A bolt of sick fear shot through her.

She wondered if trust was more important than safety, but the memory of how terrible he had looked while stalking towards her made up her mind. She slid the latch into place with a soft snick and blew out the lamp, tumbling into bed and giving herself up to fitful, dreamless sleep.

A/N: Lapin(e) apeur(e)é means "frightened rabbit," in reference to Erik's simile regarding Christine in the previous chapter.

The Jane Eyre allusion is referring to a scene where Jane is studying Mr. Rochester's "physiognomy" (his face, rather) and he notices her staring. He then asks her if she thinks him handsome (which he isn't), and she immediately replies, "No, sir," without thinking, as per the blunt honesty which is an integral part of her personality.

Just so we're clear, I adore said book myself.