Erik: I hadn't intended to make Meg angry. I never wanted to make anyone angry, because anger led to violence. Of course I doubted Meg would turn violent, but she did slam the door with her foot.

I was nervous as she proceeded to throw her clothes off, unlacing her boots as if they were made from hot coals. I wondered if she would throw them at me.

After several questions and answers; neither of which got us anywhere, I was able to deduce that Meg had indeed developed feelings for me. I couldn't understand, however, why that would make her angry.

Of course, I didn't exactly feel the same way for her.

She was an innocent, young woman; but I was a much older, and not quite as innocent man. I wondered if she could even remember she was talking to her own father's assassin, or in her mad rage she had lost all common sense.

I was not a good man for a woman like her; I was murderous, contemptuous, and a theif. She deserved a man of society, and no matter how I had appeared the past year, I wasn't.

Yet she continued to probe me, until I finally broke down and told her. I liked her, indeed, she was beautiful and interesting, but no woman could ever replace Christine.

I loved Christine, though she had never truly loved me.

Suddenly, I realized that the same feelings I had for Christine were the same feelings Megan had for me. Now, after nearly a year, I could actually see how Christine had felt for me.

Because the shoe was on the other foot, as people liked to say.

Yet there was something else, something I was sure Christine had never felt for me. I did love Meg, as a dear friend and companion, and also as a woman. She treated me with kindness and respect, loyalty and above all, trust.

She trusted me. I knew she was sad, bitter and rejected, but I didn't want her to think that I would never love her.

I would love her, yet not as how she wanted.

My heart belonged to Christine, but my mind and soul belonged to Meg.

I came closer to her bed, sitting beside her as she broke into tears. I didn't know how to react, but it would have been rude to let her sit there. I held her close to me as my heart beat.

She sobbed into my chest as I stroked her fine, blonde hair. She had braided it; yet I didn't like that. I liked when Meg's hair flowed around her soft face, and I tenderly undid the knots as I ran my fingers through it.

Meg cried as I caressed her hair, thinking how wonderful it actually felt to be holding a woman, touching her without her reeling in repulsion. I couldn't sort out my feelings, whether I felt for Meg as a father does a daughter, or if I truly desired her, as a husband does a wife.

The only emotions I had ever experienced before had been anger, loneliness, and despair.

Even my love for Christine had left me feeling hopeless and sad. Because she'd never honestly loved me back.

She had cared for me, she had pitied me; but the only time she'd ever shown affection was when I was her Angel. As a man, to her, I was nothing.

Meg had calmed down and was looking at me, and I realized how perfectly her hair glowed against her pale skin. Suddenly, she asked me, of all things, to remove my mask.

It was a horrible way to end an evening.

I knew she had seen me on occasion, sometimes sneaking glances at me; but she had never really seen me up close, nor known me when we talked without wearing some kind of barrier.

I wondered, perhaps, if she would leave, finding another room or actually hitching up her horse.

But she hadn't left me during our long trek together, and the only way to see, if her feelings were honest and she loved me as a man, was to grant her request. It was also a good way to stop her advances; for I did not expect a relationship after she saw me for who I was.

A sad, but true, reflection.

I prepared myself for revulsion, rejection, and pity. But not affection. I did not expect Meg to even touch me, but she did. She caressed my mangled, shredded flesh and my hideous features with such tender mercy that I felt my heart bleed.

I moaned as she embraced me, feeling an imense surge of pleasure at having someone touch me without pain. Suddenly, I felt her lips on mine and opened my eyes. She reeled back and I stared at her.

Touching me was one thing, but to kiss me, that was entirely out of the question.

I watched her timidation and reached out to touch those lips.

How sweet it had been to kiss Christine.

Would it be as sweet to kiss Meg?

I reached down and kissed her, feeling all my despair and mourning deepening as I realized Meg's soft lips were upon me. It almost felt as if I were cheating on Christine!

Yet Meg's tender embrace pushed me farther, and I felt my body responding. I grasped her lips in urgency, savoring the gentle carress and simple pleasure.

When we parted it was with some reluctance.

I looked down as I held Meg's hand, thinking of how Antoinette would not be pleased.

I broke our contact to get ready for bed; perhaps a little too adruptly. Meg looked at me with stupefaction, almost as if she couldn't belive this had happened.

Neither could I.

I wondered down the hall to the outhouses; replacing my mask. I knew now that Meg was not afraid of me, nor did she only feel pity.

She really did like me, as a friend and confident, and more. My problem was, while the kiss had been spectacular; I did not share the same feelings.

Lust is a different emotion than Love.