"Would you mind closing your eyes?"

We stood so close that if he had a breath, I would have felt it against my cheek. My hand was smaller than his, thin pale fingers peeking out in between black covered ones. I lifted my head and stared into his, the warm amber showing nothing but a content gleam. "Promise you won't run me into the wall?" His eyes crinkled at the edges, and a soft laugh came from behind the porcelain lips.

I did as he asked. A shudder shook me when he suddenly let go of me. Something clicked to my side, where I knew the door stood. The soft touch of his hand returned, taking mine in his and placing the other near the small of my back. His leg brushed past mine as he led. Something slid against wood and let in a draft. I suppressed a shudder as he led me through the drafty hall. The low murmur of noise that had become so normal to me grew and grew with the cold.

"Open."

Everyone knows Paris is the City of Lights. From where I stood, I could see why. The roof of the mansion allowed for the bright bulbs of every high rise, every monument, every street, to fill my eyes and transport me away from my dark thoughts. Soft yellow glowed through the grey fog that enveloped the world below. Cold fled from me as I ran from edge to edge. I wanted to say something. Thank him, praise the lights, even just murmur my amazement. The words could not leave my awestruck mind. Something fell on my shoulders, shocking me out of my state. Monsieur fiddled with something near my neck, his eyes so focused on my throat that it almost took what little breath I had left. A click. "There," he murmured, "that should keep you warm." I looked down at the black waves of fabric that now covered my body. His cape. It was cold, but not like the air around us. This was colder. Ice that brushed my skin and left me with tremors that I wanted more of.

I leaned into my shoulder and took a deep breath. Roses and wax. "Thank you, Monsieur." I closed the distance between the two of us and wrapped my arms around him. He did not hesitate in hugging me. "It's beautiful up here."

I like to imagine he smiled when he heard that. The mask and my head on his chest kept me from knowing for sure. "I used to love standing on the roof of the Opera."

"What changed?" My back straightening as he tightened his grip, a quiet gasp being my only sound. Silence took his place. Nuzzling his chest, I took to the quiet and just enjoyed being held in Paris.

When he spoke, he did so in a soft voice. "Back then, you could see the stars." My eyes drifted upwards to the inky sky. Though the heavens were empty, it was easy to imagine millions of stars surrounding us. If only we had flowers and candles, then it would be a very romantic evening. I suppressed my laughter as the thought passed through my brain.

Wet struck my face. Breaking his hold, I wiped away a drop of water. Another plopped against my hair, soaking a few roots and chilling my scalp. He took my hand, pulling me out of what would become a torrential rain storm and into the opening we had walked through. Sliding the door into place, we were left in darkness. I squeezed his hand, grabbing his wrist with the other.

"Monsieur?" He gave my hand a light squeeze, a silent 'I'm here' before towing me a little further. "I don't want to go back." He paused, and I could almost feel his eyes on me as though appraising my words through my face.

"Come closer." My feet moved before I could argue, allowing him to wrap his arm around me and lift me up. The hallway had enough room for me to lay in his arms without my feet striking the walls. Head nestled against his chest, I closed my eyes and let sleep take me.

Opening my eyes did nothing to bring me out of darkness. I sat up, my arm supporting me on the soft surface I had been laid on. Shadows shifted all around me, some objects semi-visible though not enough that I knew what they were. My arm giving way, I fell back down and let my head sink into the pillow. Its fabric crinkled under the pressure. Breathing deep, I could smell the faint perfume of roses in it. The evening came to me in slow thoughts. How long have I been here? I wondered, glancing around the room in search of a clock. Where am I, anyway? Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, it being the only thing I was sure of, I rose and balanced myself on its headboard. There was a faint glimmer near the far wall, a light peering between the cracks of a door. I shuffled my feet. My hand groped the door before landing on a knob and turning it. I expected the door to squeak, but the hinges opened with little than a faint groan.

Gentle orange light radiated from a candle fixed to the wall. There were several lining the hallway, filling the narrow space with warmth and thrown shadows against royal red and gold wallpaper. Two dark stained wooden doors faced each other at the opposite ends of the hall, with the door I emerged from being the only other. Curiosity took my feet and led them to the door on the left. Its knob found itself in my hand and I turned it slow, careful to not make too much noise.

The room inside was dark, but the light from the hall illuminated some of the objects inside. Wood easels, splattered in various paints, lay scattered about the room. Several had canvases settled on them, though none where the light could reveal them. One stretch of canvas laid near the door, but its work had been blotted out with black paint. I could see, where the taint had not ruined, the delicate petals of white flowers – lilies-of-the-valley, I recognized them from the gardens – and a large tree. Whatever the subject had been was gone, soaking in inky death. Shame, I thought. The rest of the painting looks really nice. The door swung closed, slow at the end as to not slam and attract attention. I looked down the hall at the middle door again and hummed. I wandered back to it and settled my hand on the knob.

The one at the opposite end of the hall opened. He walked through, head turned slightly downward as he moved. Amber eyes flickered over me, to the door, then back fixedly on me. "You're awake," He said. As soon as the words had left him mouth, he stood straighter and walked right to me. "Did you sleep well?" I gave a small nod and he hummed. There were murmured words against porcelain that were hard to decipher but sounded almost like "should've gotten more clothes" before he moved to stand beside me and offered his arm. "Shall we? You have a busy day, ma'mselle."

"Oh, do I?" I asked as I hooked my arm around his. "And what is in my schedule today?" I tried to keep my face a mask of the Victorian noble, but one side glance from him and I broke apart in laughter. His eyes crinkled. Together, we walked out the door he had come in. It led to a sitting room, small and sparsely decorated. The walls were two toned, with white on the upper half of the wall and a warm brown on the bottom. Pale wood covered the floor. A few chairs sat nestled in the corner, a rug laid in front of a brick façade almost like a fireplace if it were not lacking an opening. On the other side of the room, a simple table sat pushed up against the wall and two matching chairs sat across from each other.

A painting hung on the wall, a seaside landscape with the same signature as the ones upstairs. "Who paints all these?" I asked. My teeth crushed my tongue for asking such a stupid question.

He paused, staring at the work. "That's the coast of Calais, back when I was a child." His gaze stayed firm as he spoke.

Of course it was him. I blushed at my mind's reprimand. You literally just saw his studio. Who else would paint these? I looked back to the painting and, stepping away to get closer, noticed the small flaws that became invisible at a distance. Colors unblended, the monotony in the sky, the poor shading. His early work then, I decided, noting the vast improvement the work in my hall showed.

My hall. My house. "Where exactly are we?"

No word escaped from beneath the sealed lips on his mask. Instead, he took my hand again and led me through another door. A makeshift porch, illuminated by near dead candles. Beyond the small home was a vast crater that extended in every direction. Tunnels encased in darkness drew my eyes to their abyss. "The heart of the catacombs, Mam'selle Dubois." Pride laced his words. "The manor is directly above us. We must return, your father will be missing you." He jumped off the platform and gestured for me to do the same. He caught me around my hips, lowering me to the ground like I weighed no more than a doll.

Looking from here, I could see the brick façade of the house and the brown tiles illuminated by what little light remained. A little light glimmered to the side, and I turned to see Monsieur with a now lit candle in a brass holder. "Cute lair," I said with a smirk.

His eyes narrowed, the flame flicking ominously in the amber irises. "It's not a lair," he said sternly, "it's my home." The way he said 'home' sounded like how some people might refer to a holy place misnamed in their presence. My smile faltered but it did not fall from my face.

"It's wonderful."

We walked along the edge of the empty canals, his hand in mine and a candle lighting our way. A small smile formed on my face as I watched it flicker. He had no need of it, I knew that for certain. Comforting me was its duty. The empty caverns echoed with my footsteps and the scurrying of things unseen. My eyes stayed fixed on the back of Erik's head. Nothing could convince me to look at the cracks and crevices where vermin gathered to watch us. Occasionally my eye would stray and peer at strange things, like the statues that appeared. Giant men wielding swords as though they were trapped in epic battle in the middle of the sewers. My jaw locked to keep the flow of questions from erupting from my brain, and if the content silence was any confirmation, Erik appreciated it.

Erik. He walked in complete silence. Never did his head turn, like looking at me would trap me here forever. I whispered his name, watching as he froze for the smallest moment. His pace kept steady, now pulling me more than guiding. I thought I saw his jaw clench, but the flicker of the flame left me doubting.

On and on the tunnel stretched. It curved like a serpent and drew more and more upwards. Cobblestone crept closer and closer. The tunnel tapering, I prayed. Please let us be reaching the end. The air around us had turned to lead, weighing down my thoughts and tongue. Any questions I conjured were swallowed. My tongue found a resting place between my teeth as I ground it into silence. His stern grip supplemented my now lax one as my fingers lost their ability to cling to him. Does Dad know where I've been? I wondered.

He did not flinch when I asked. "No," he said. His voice had no irritation in it, no vehemence. He sounded like he always did. Quiet, careful, like he was always considering his next words with the utmost caution. Still, his curt reply made me pull my hand back, just a reflexive response. Not enough to break his grip. I almost ran into him when he stopped and finally looked at me. The amber of his eye was clear, his pupils shrunk to pinpricks. Seeing me, he relaxed and adjusted his grip as to keep a firm hold of me again.

Towing me along once more, I peered around him to the space ahead. The tunnel cut off ahead of us, with a strange arch standing etched into the stone. His eyes were crinkled in the corners as he handed me the brass candlestick. Approaching the arch, he turned to look at me one more time before wiping his hand across the surface. I nearly dropped the light. Where his hand had removed dust revealed a pane of glass, another room beyond it. He fiddled with something in the arch, and the glass moved to show a large room filled with boxes. Now content to walk behind, he let me lead us through the sea of old wooden crates and…props? Large cutouts of houses and trees. At the opposite end of the room hid the staircase, and it took much winding and changing direction to find a path through the maze. Up the stairs and into a grand expanse of emptiness. The stairs were close, but it did not stop my drive to walk through the barren room. Up again, and the walls of the next level had been converted into a honeycomb of wine bottles.

"The basements?" I asked, the question a thought that escaped my mouth. Monsieur hummed behind me, a positive note that acted as his confirmation. With my foot on the steps, he uncurled my fingers from the candle and blew it out. My hand shot out. Fingers snatched his arm and held their quarry close to me.

He laughed, soft and low. "Is the Mam'selle afraid?" He asked. The bend of his arm changed. "Don't worry." His voice was a whisper beside me. "I'm the only thing hiding here." Where his arm had been turned to air and I stumbled down a step.

"Thank you," I said to the darkness. Ascending the last of the steps, I escaped the basement and entered the kitchen.

No evidence of a dinner party had been left behind. The counters and appliances bore not a speck of sauce or dust. My stomach lurched, reminding me of how little I had eaten. The fridge became the object of my fascination and I forced its door open with renewed vigor. Chief amongst the vegetables and meats was a plate filled with linguini and meat, covered in plastic and the word "saved" etched in red marker.

The microwave could not have worked fast enough. I was mid-shoveling when Dad entered the kitchen with his brow furrowed and his eyes downcast. Seeing me changed his expression entirely. His eyes shone brighter and his scowl turned to a smile. "There you are, princess." He grabbed a chair next to mine and sat down. "Didn't know you were awake yet." He quirked an eyebrow at my sauce-stained face.

I swallowed, licked my lips, and smiled. "Been up for a little while," I said. More pasta twirled onto my fork, and I shamelessly rammed it down my gullet. Dad rolled his eyes and laughed.

"Give the girl a choice and she'll have veal for breakfast." He tried to look serious, but the smile and chuckling ruined any chance of that. He gave me a minute to clean the plate before taking it from me. "Any more nightmares last night?" The faucet squeaked as hot water poured into the sink.

"No," I said, trying to think back to before waking in a rose-scented darkness, "just slept, I guess."

"Good." He shook the plate dry and set it on the counter. "D'ya want to join us for a walk this morning? Mam'selle Babineaux suggested it last night and the company praised the idea."

I bit the tines of my fork and hummed a low note. Walking sounded nice, even with the wandering I had just done down below. "Sure," I said, flashing him a smile. "Why not?" He returned a smile and stole the fork. He gestured for me to go, get dressed, and I stuck my tongue out at him before walking to my door.

The lock gave no resistance as I entered my room. Monsieur must've unlocked it for me. A smile crept across my face as the thought passed through. Chuckling, I placed my hands over my face. I'm such an idiot, getting so bothered by him. Settled, I began riffling through my clothes.


I'm sorry that this took so long to come out. Life slammed me like a freight train these part few months and I haven't gotten much of any writing done. Hopefully this was worth the wait.

Part of me wants to promise some sort of a schedule, but that takes some of the joy out of writing for me. Honestly, I write best when I just sit down and do it. I had the majority of this chapter down months ago, but I wanted it finished. Thus it comes 6 months late.

Know that I'm not giving up on any of my projects, it's just a matter of me sitting down and doing the work. Which might be difficult if this job I've applied for goes through. No promises, but I might be writing out of China here soon. We'll see.

I remain your obedient servant,

E.V