Christine realized, after sliding into the car, that she had absolutely no idea where her new husband lived. Erik followed her in and pulled the door shut, giving a soft "we're ready" to the driver. Christine nestled into his side and he stiffened, looking down at her in alarm. "Christine? What are you doing?"

"Am I not allowed to sit close to my husband?" She looked up at him with innocent eyes.

He nodded, but she could've sworn she saw tears glistening in his eyes. He looked away, riding with her in silence. She didn't know how long it would take them to get to his home. As they drove, they passed fewer houses and more wooded areas. The driver was clearly well acquainted with their course; he took the many curves on the winding road without ever slowing down.

After about twenty minutes, she rested her hand on his thigh, and felt his muscles jump under her touch. She glanced up at him, his reaction hidden by the full mask. Slowly, she moved her hand up his leg, until his hand caught her wrist. "C-Christine."

She couldn't remember having ever heard him stutter before; he was always so confident and assured in his speech. "Yes?" she asked sweetly.

"Perhaps you should keep your hands to yourself." He gently moved her hand away, feeling the stirrings of what would soon be an obvious and mortifying problem if she didn't stop.

"So now I am not allowed to touch my husband?" She pouted at him. "Why not?"

Erik stared down at her, but was saved from having to answer by the car pulling into the driveway. The car had barely stopped before he jumped out, carrying some of her boxes into the house.

Christine stepped out of the car and stared at the magnificent house before her. Mansion was more of a fitting term. She had known her husband had money, but had no idea he could afford a home like this. It was a private manor, distant from the main road and obscured by trees, with a Gothic exterior that made Christine feel as though she'd stepped back in time. It suited Erik, she thought. It was dark, intimidating, and in need of a little upkeep. Christine lifted a few of her boxes from the trunk and went in search of her husband. The foyer was open, the ceiling two stories high, with halls leading to different parts of the house, and a grand staircase which Erik was ascending. She hurried after him and he led her down a dark hall to one of the many bedrooms.

"I thought you might like this room." He shifted his hold on the boxes and opened the door. The room was painted a pale blue and decorated with dark, wooden furniture. She had a bed and a wardrobe, as well as a vanity, a large mirror, and a small fireplace. Christine nodded, but noted, with disappointment, that the bed was too small for the both of them.

"Where will you sleep?" she asked him innocently.

"My bedroom is just down the hall."

Christine placed her boxes on the bed and turned to him, but he was gone, the boxes he had carried placed neatly on the floor.

She didn't have many belongings; it wasn't too long before she was unpacked and decided to explore her new home. She wandered the halls, finding most of the doors to be locked. Christine stumbled upon the beautiful music room from their lessons. The house was terribly quiet and dark; more than once, she found herself turned around. Her surroundings slowly grew darker as the sun began to set; she felt increasingly anxious at the prospect of being lost. She headed in the direction of the foyer, but after passing through the same drawing room three times, she realized she was lost. The house was a maze, and she almost felt as though the rooms changed when she wasn't looking. She started to call for Erik, and let out a shriek when a hand gripped her elbow.

"Christine…" Relief flooded through her body when she heard Erik's voice. "Christine, where are you?" Erik appeared down the hall in front of her with a glowing candelabra in hand. Christine turned in horror to see who or what was holding her, but found herself alone. She ran down the hall in terror, barreling into her husband. He staggered back a step, but wrapped one arm around her tightly. "Christine, what's wrong?"

"I… I got lost… And I thought… something touched me." She sniffled, trying bravely not to cry.

Erik ran a hand through her hair, smiling a little. "Are you afraid of the dark, my dear?" She nodded. "Forgive me, I am used to it. I'll have to remember to turn on some lights for you."

He led her to the dining room, a long, dreary chamber that housed a ridiculously lengthy table with only two places set for dinner. Ever the gentleman, he pulled back her chair for her, and gently pushed it in when she sat. Christine looked at the meal waiting for them, a feast really, with chicken, potatoes, peas, and a few dishes Christine couldn't identify. "This is very nice but… when did you have time to cook all this?"

Erik chuckled. "I'm flattered that you think me capable of preparing this much food in the short time we've been home. No, this is Buquet's handiwork. He wanted to make us something special for our first dinner home as a married couple. Sentimental old fool."

Christine smiled a little. "Who is Buquet? The house is so quiet, it feels like we're alone."

"Buquet cares for the property. He uses one of the guest rooms in the left wing. He cooks and performs other menial tasks as well. He does… whatever I need him to. He's been with me a long time."

"How did you come to live in this house? Was it passed down through your family?"

Erik chuckled. "No, my dear. I designed and built it, with a little help."

"Why did you design it like this? It's so confusing, I swear, I thought the rooms moved on me!"

"I erm…" Erik took a hasty sip. "I have designed similar buildings for my clients."

Christine cocked her head. "Houses designed to confuse?"

"To trap."

She wasn't quite sure how to respond, looking down at her plate to avoid staring at him. "You are a man of many talents… A composer, architect, designer and magician…"

"You flatter me," Erik gave her a small smile. "I am just a man."

After dinner, Erik escorted her up to her bedroom, but she took his hand before he could leave her. "Erik, this house frightens me. I don't want to sleep alone."

He had changed into the white half-mask before coming to find her, and she was glad to see more of his face. He stared down at her, clearly thinking hard.

"I suppose I could keep you company, until you fall asleep."

Christine shook her head. He wasn't getting off that easy. "I want you to sleep next to me, Erik."

"Christine…"

She stood on her tiptoes, grabbing his collar and pulling him down to meet her lips. He immediately went rigid. Christine closed her eyes, trying to coax him to kiss her back. She felt his hands on her waist, only to gently push her back. "Christine… You are pushing us dangerously close to the point of no return. Proceed with caution."

"I am not afraid." Her voice was soft, but her eyes were determined.

Her words were all he needed; his mouth descended on hers hungrily, nearly knocking her backwards with the force of his kiss. He cupped the back of her head while the other wrapped around her waist and hauled her against him. He kissed her like a man lost in the desert finally quenching his thirst.

Christine eagerly returned the kiss, pressing her body against his. She could feel the hard evidence of his desire. She lifted her hand to cup his cheek but was met with the cold porcelain. Without thinking, she pulled away the mask, wanting to feel his warm flesh instead.

Immediately, he stilled, and Christine drew back, her brows knitting together in confusion. "Why did you-?" Her eyes widened at the sight of his face.

Erik shoved her away from him and she stumbled, falling onto her bottom. She gaped up at him but no words would come. Both his eyes were matching in shape and lit with intelligence, that she could have never imagined the horror that surrounded his right eye. While the left side of his nose was perfectly sculpted, the right side was so sunken in it appeared crushed, scarcely covered with purple skin. The rest of his skin was mottled and red, pulsing and oozing in a way that reminded her of a beating heart. His skin was bloody and raw, no doubt caused by the constant chafing of the mask.

"God dammit, Christine!" He covered his face, scrambling to grab the mask and put it back in place. "You had to ruin everything, didn't you? Damn you!" He punched the wall, leaving a hole. Christine scooted backwards.

Erik advanced slowly. "Why, Christine? I warned you… I told you to never touch my mask!" His voice was a furious roar, Christine had never seen him in such a state. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her to her feet. "You wanted to see?" This time he whipped off the mask himself, throwing it to the ground with such force that it shattered. "Go ahead and look! Feast your eyes on the man, your husband, who only has half a face! Would you like it to touch it, my dear? Would you like to feel the rotting, oozing flesh that you just had to uncover? You just couldn't help yourself, could you?" He brought her hand to his face and held it against her cheek. The warm, sticky patches of skin made her squirm. "Is your curiosity satisfied?"

Christine tore away from him and ran. She heard him pursue, chasing her as she blindly rushed through the winding halls. When the echoes of his desperate steps died into silence and only darkness surrounded her, she collided into a solid form that sent her sprawling onto the ground.

"Miss, are you alright?"

"Who are you?" There was a slight tremor to her voice.

"I'm Joseph, the groundskeeper." He helped her to her feet and she could just barely make out his shape. "There's no electricity to this part of the house yet. Not safe to wander if you don't know your way. Follow me."

He led her to a large rotunda. The wall-length windows allowed the moonlight to flood the room, and Christine felt a little safer. Relief washed over her and Buquet caught her as her legs gave way. She could finally get a look at her rescuer. Joseph appeared to be around fifty, with a scraggly beard that was starting to go grey and calloused hands that held her firmly. He guided her to a bench by one of the windows. "Are you alright?"

Christine nodded, but her whole body trembled, giving her away. "What happened Miss?"

I did a terrible thing, she thought, too ashamed to speak of it. I saw his face.

"He didn't hurt you, did he?"

She shook her head quickly.

"Oh." He sat there in silence with her, waiting. The silence was deafening and Christine felt compelled to break it, trying to calm her nerves.

"How long have you worked for him?" Her voice was soft, almost worried he might overhear and find them.

"A long time now, Miss. Years and years. Lost track, if I'm being honest."

"It's been months but I still feel like I barely know him."

"He has… many secrets. Most of them dark. If I were you, I'd get out of here before dawn."

Her eyes narrowed. "Why? Surely he isn't so sinister that I need to leave immediately? What do you think he's going to do?"

"He's never brought home a lady before. I don't know what fate awaits you. But I've worked with him on some of his unholy rooms; Mazes that lead to nothing and rooms with doors that go nowhere. Torture chambers, more like. He takes care of "problems" for people without ever getting his hands dirty. Nothing to show but a room with nothing in it. It's not his fault if a man just goes mad and blows his own brains out, is it?" He seemed to realize he was rambling, falling silent.

Christine pinched the bridge of her nose. She was starting to realize she'd made a huge mistake. Was she trapped now?

"I can take you back to your room. But… be careful Miss. You can't trust him."

She nodded, rising and taking hold of his arm. He brought her back to her room, and Christine was relieved that Erik wasn't there. She locked the bedroom door, suddenly feeling safer alone.

Christine was awoken by a knock on the door. She opened it to reveal Erik, who had come to bring her breakfast. She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes; She hadn't managed more than an hour of sleep. Erik took in her exhausted appearance and looked as though he might cry. "Christine…" he placed the tray on her bedside table and turned to her. He had a new mask in place, identical to the one he'd broken the night before. "I am so, so sorry. I should not have screamed at you."

Christine shook her head. "You asked me not to touch your mask. It's my fault, and I'm sorry, Erik. I should have respected your wishes. I got caught up in the moment."

Erik dropped to one knee and tenderly brought her hand to his lips, ghosting a kiss across her skin. She smiled a little, trying not to remember everything Joseph had said. She didn't want to believe that she had bound herself to a murderer.

"Breakfast looks lovely. Did you make it, or did Joseph?"

"Joseph?" Erik watched her for a moment, before rising. "I did. I have not seen Buquet yet this morning."

He sat with her while she ate. Christine tried to keep her eyes on the tray, hating how he stared at her in silence, keeping perfectly still. She was almost afraid to look at him, but as soon as she was finished, he took the tray from her and left the room.

Erik took her shopping, and while they were able to amicably choose a meal to make for her friends and select the groceries needed, Christine found that there was a distance between them again, one she felt increase when the Girys arrived with Raoul in tow.

She greeted Meg with a hug, and her friend murmured, "He insisted on coming, we couldn't stop him."

Christine felt Raoul's eyes on her all through lunch, the attention making her uneasy. Antoinette and Erik exchanged pleasant conversation and Christine knew she was still feeling him out and determining if he was worthy of her surrogate daughter. If only she knew...

Meg and her mother assisted Erik in cleaning up from the meal. Christine moved to help them but was stopped by Raoul's hand on her arm. "Christine…" His eyes searched hers. "Can we talk?"

Christine glanced towards the door Erik had disappeared through with her adopted family before nodding and leading Raoul in the opposite direction.

Raoul walked along in silence for a long moment, admiring the house. "I thought we were happy."

"Raoul, please…"

"I wanted you to meet my family. I wanted to ask you to marry me. I didn't even know you knew my architecture professor, and now suddenly you're his wife? What am I missing Christine? Were you with him all along too? Did I mean anything to you?"

Christine pretended to be looking at the paintings they were passing. "It's… complicated."

"Don't give me that. I deserve more of an answer."

She sighed. "Does it truly matter? Nothing I tell you will change where we are now. I went to France with him. I married him."

"Were you sleeping with him? Is that why you wouldn't sleep with me?"

"Raoul! That's none of your business!"

"I have a right to know!"

"You don't have a right to anything! I don't belong to you!"

"That much is fucking obvious! You ran off and married another man behind my back! I never pegged you for a whore, Christine."

Her hand flew up and struck his cheek. "How dare you!"

Raoul rubbed his cheek, but something else caught his eye. They had come to the entrance of the rotunda.

"We never decided anything, never said we were exclusive. I made you no promises."

"Christine…"

"No, I'm not finished. I wanted to tell you but, how could I? You tell me you love me and look at me with all the adoration in the world. How was I supposed to tell you that I don't feel the same way and never will?"

Raoul did not respond, placing his hands on her shoulders and turning her out towards the open room. Christine gasped, clamping her hand over her mouth. The ceiling arched in a magnificent ivory dome and there, at the highest point, hung Joseph Buquet.