Clear sunshine shone through the wispy white curtains. Christine stretched and yawned. She sat up and immediately laid back down on her bed as her head pounded. She reached for her nightstand and found Advil and a glass of water sitting there innocently.

What the Hell? Shit. She thought remembering last night. How the hell did I get back to my apartment? I didn't put those there, either. She looked over at the painkiller. She took the painkiller and rolled out of bed. The aroma of coffee lured her into the kitchen and she fixed some eggs for breakfast as she pondered the night before. She shrugged and gave up. She didn't feel like she had been violated. Maybe answers will pop up later. Christine looked over at the clock. 1:00! I'm late!

---------((0))

Christine dashed out the door after throwing on her yoga clothes. She was a bit uncomfortable with the amount of skin the tank top showed, but it worked and was what most of the others in her class wore.

She ran into the classroom and tossed off her jacket as she spread her mat and joined in the warm-up exercises.

Class stretched long, but Christine found herself relaxing further and further, forgetting about last week's misadventures.

Jules Andres skipped up to Christine after the class. "So how was last week, Christine? Meet any new hunks you want to share with me?" They both laughed, thinking of Christine's last date, an awkward dinner with Sven, last year's intern. He had tripped and the waiter had spilled Parmesan fish all over Christine's favorite little black dress.

"No, sorry. Maybe next week. You?" Christine asked.

"Well, there was that one – Holy Hell, Christine, what happened to your back!" Jules dragged her over to the large mirror at the end of the room.

Scars covered her lower back, depicting three roses, one red, two white. Two old, one new. Christine shuddered. Three roses.

"I d-don't know." Christine stuttered.

"Creepy..."

Christine shrugged her jacket on. "I don't know. I really don't..."

They left the studio together. A blond haired man brushed past them.

"Promise me you'll take care of yourself, Christine."

"I promise," Christine shivered at the sudden draft around her.

---------((0))

Christine stood at her mirror tracing the scars with her fingers. Who was that guy that we passed on the way out? I could've sworn I've seen him before. Hmmm... Not a problem that a bucket of ice cream and a movie couldn't fix.

---------((0))

Brahms was softly drifted from the ebony piano. The soft, sad strains gently woke me. I stretched in the warm brown leather chair. A soft grey blanket was draped over my shoulders. I looked over at the piano to see Erik's dark figure sitting at the piano his fingers dancing along the black and white keys.

"Good morning, or rather, good evening," he commented casually, not turning from the keys. I walked up behind him. What laid beneath his mask? The question was like an illness, it ate me from within propelling me towards him. Of its own accord, my hands reached up towards his face.

The music went silent abruptly as my wrists were twisted painfully.

"Never touch my mask," his whisper cut through the silence. His cold ungloved hands loosened their grip on my wrists. His eyes, filled with the passionate fires of Hell held mine like a bird caught in the gaze of a snake. They held something I could not describe. They were conflicted with something between want, anger, and maybe even fear. I felt consumed by them.

I jumped as he abruptly turned his back to me. He started digging in the stack of music and I took up my place at the curve of the piano. He kept his head down, not looking at me again for the rest of lesson, barely speaking, only to give a command. Afterwards, he left me for a moment. I decided to follow. I steppe out into the dark hallway leaving the door open behind me. I turned to the right and headed out through the mansion. I wandered for awhile before I realized that I had no idea where I was. All of the doors were perfectly identical. I turned back to where I had come from. I could have sworn that I had turned there! I turned and ran blindly, turning down hallway by hallway. A dead end!

I started trying each of the doors.

Locked. Locked. Locked. Open. I sighed my relief and stepped inside the door at the end of the hallway.

I squinted at the shadows around me, unable to make out the edges of the room. Staves of music seemed to glow from the walls, illuminated by the sparse candlelight. I touched the silver embroidery, "Dies Irae, Dies Illa, Solvet Sanctum in Favilla."

I shuddered. The Requiem Mass. The ancient funeral Mass was embroidered all over the walls. I scanned the room. I the middle was a six- sided box. A...coffin. I backed up slowly. A solid cold barrier stopped me, wrapping its thin arms around me.

"You really are much too curious for your own good, you know," Erik breathed into my hair.

"What – what is this room, Erik?" I squeaked.

"Why, my dear, it is my bedroom, of course," he explained as if to a small child. "You know one must get used to all things, especially those that last an eternity."

I shivered, "Please, let me go home now."

"My pleasure," he remarked sarcastically. He spun me around and bowed shortly as he opened the door.

Hmmm... It seems our little ingénue has gotten herself into more trouble than she thought.

To M. Night Wolfalona: I have never seen "Nightmare on Elm Street." I'll have to go out and rent it now. To be truthful, I have only a vague idea where this story is going. The plot is constantly changing in my head. Thank you for your review.

With all the truth one can maintain while writing lies,

Raven P. Sharpe

(posted Valentine's Day, 2010)