Once again, I don't own POTO or any characters

I heard another body drop down after me.

Ignorant fool, do they not know that only death awaits them here?

Looking out from behind one of the many mirrors in my torture chamber, I saw a bundle of fabric. Green fabric. I carefully moved out from behind my mirror gazing at the heap of—breathing? It was moving! I shot back behind a mirror.

That girl! She ran into me and ruined my entrance! I had it all planned out and she…

She attempted to stand up, and collapsed again.

Oh she fell down. Poor thing probably has a concussion.

He stood over her, noticing her straight blonde hair cascading over her chest and face. He nudged her with his foot and seeing she didn't stir or mumble he decided what he had to do. In one swoop he picked her up and carried her into one of his many secret passages.

I'm floating on water, like a boat… hmmm this is nice.

I opened one of my eyes and the pain was terrible, like a hundred knives being stabbed in my forehead. There above me was a dark shape. I groaned and fell back into darkness.

She made a noise.

I stopped rowing and looked at her laying on the cushions of my boat. Her mask was askew and her lips barely separated her breath coming in short soft bursts.

"She must be dreaming," he said to himself sighing and looking down on this new blonde… "burden." He said out loud.

The house on the lake was approaching. When he hit the shore he tied the small boat on the bank and lifted the girl up. She was tall and very skinny. Her dress came up to reveal her knees, and he looked away like a gentleman. He didn't know this girl, and he certainly wouldn't goggle at her like a piece of meat.

Where did I think I would put her? He thought, glancing around his home. He eyed his coffin and smirked.

That would be a pleasant surprise.

He saw Christine's room, and his blood ran ice cold.

No, not her room.

He decided to dump her unceremoniously on the small divan by his organ and sat down, watching her, almost daring her to wake up.

She made a small noise in the back of her throat that unnerved him a little. He reached out to brush a stray piece of hair from her face.

NO. What do you think you're doing? She wouldn't want a monster to touch her! But—

He glanced at the mask on her face, and saw the red marks it had left on her cheek. He touched the cheek of his own mask, knowing all too well the constant rubbing and irritation of a mask against your skin.

"Maybe if I just…" And he reached out his hand towards her face.

There is something on my face… It tickles… OH MY GOD THERE'S A BUG ON MY FACE!

I was snapped out of my temporary coma immediately by the touch of what I thought was a bug and smacked the "thing" on my face, only to realize that I had grabbed a cold, skeletal hand.

I began opening my eyes very slowly.