Author's Note: Really now? Where are all my reviews? Pwease? Anyways, enjoy!

Directionally Challenged

The voice was low and menacing, almost a growl. It was as if the man was a feral beast, guarding one of his most sacred secrets. He asked again, this time with greater intensity, "Why are you here?"

The voice sounded as if it was right behind her, like if she were to take one step back she would feel hia breath on her neck. She whipped around, eager to see the owner of such a voice, but was disappointed. Only moonlight met her eyes. Intrigued, she responded.

"I-I was curious. I couldn't sleep."

"You should not be out of bed. I have heard there are dangerous people about."

The voice was moving. Christine, not to be left behind, followed.

"Dangerous people? It's a good thing you're here to protect me then, isn't it?" said Christine with a smile in her voice.

A low chuckle. "How do you know I'm not one of those people?"

"Because if you were, you would have kidnapped me by now," came her witty response. Christine just hoped that she was not taking too great of a chance. She did not want to anger the owner of the voice; he sounded dangerous enough as it was.

"Perhaps I am lulling you into a false sense of security."

"Then I have something to look forward to, don't I?"

"Touché," he said in an amused tone.

Eager to keep their tenuous conversation going, Christine continued.

"So, about the fireplaces. Are they all like that?"

He was silent for a moment and Christine thought her strange guide had left her. A moment later, he replied, "Passages riddle this castle. It is impossible to know."

It was evident that he would not elaborate, so Christine had to be content with his vague response.

"You're than château's phantom, are you not?"

"I suppose I am."

"Was that you in the stable?"

"Yes," came his quick reply.

"Oh."

A few minutes of silence followed their short exchange. Her footsteps were the only one's echoing in the dark and deserted hallway.

"What's your name?"

"Erik. And yours?"

"Christine."

They were silent for the rest of the walk and Christine looked around for the first time since the start of their conversation. She was walking up the stairs to her room. She had not even noticed walking that far or that fast. All this time she had been talking to a disembodied voice, either above her or to her side, but always slightly ahead, leading her along the correct path.

She and the voice arrived at her door and Christine turned around, assuming the voice was not going to enter into her room. She looked into the dark, unsure about how to voice her next request.

"Listen, this whole time I've been talking to a voice. I was just wondering if perhaps…well, I'd, um, like to put a face to it, if you don't mind."

A tense silence followed. Christine was tomato-red from embarrassment.

'How could I have been so rash and hasty in my words? I feel like I broke some huge taboo. Crap, now he probably hates me, whoever he is. I wouldn't be surprised if he just-'

Her thoughts were suddenly stymied. From the ceiling dropped the owner of the voice. He landed gracefully on the floor, with much less noise than she expected. Christine jumped and gave a yelp, but recovered quickly to better regard her phantom.

He was a man of about 19 but dressed the part of an 1800's gentleman. His long legs were encased in fitted black pants that led up to a green-patterned silk cummerbund with matching tie. His white shirt was crisp and clean underneath his black jacket. He looked like he had just stepped out of an elegant ball and had to return for cocktails as soon as he finished escorting Christine.

His face was his most striking feature. But Christine was not captured by it for the reason she thought she would be. Half of his face was covered by a white porcelain mask. It was striking, no doubt. What held Christine's attention longer than his eccentric dress and her curiosity about what was behind the mask, however, were his eyes.

They were intensely green, clear and bright. They had a depth to them as well, not unlike her own eyes. Hidden beneath the intensity he was now looking at her with (which was making her slightly weak in the knees) was sadness. It was more than sadness, though. It was hurt. It was rejection of the cruelest kind.

It was hate.

People hated this man, for one reason or another, and it showed in his eyes.

She held his gaze for what felt like an eternity. When she looked down at his feet, she realized just how close they were. She could feel the heat coming off his body in waves. Looking back up into his eyes, she felt compelled to say something

"Nice suit."

He smiled. Unexpectedly, he closed the short gap between them and brushed his lips quickly and softly against hers.

Her first kiss.

Their connection was brief, but the feelings transmitted through the contact felt like an electric shock to her body. As soon as Christine realized what was going on, his lips were gone. No, more than that. He was gone. Erik had disappeared into the dark of the castle, leaving Christine flushed andstanding at her door, not exactly knowing which way was up.