I read through it several times to make it sound good, so if I missed something (which I am sure I did) let me know. This is a horror/romance story, so there will be death upon us soon. If you have time, leave me a review or pm me. Enjoy! Updated 6/19/16

Chapter 13

In seven grueling hours Georgia would finally meet her benefactor. Nettie was almost as excited as she, but Sir John kept a cautious reserve. He certainly would not have been pleased with her if he knew of the other letters Monsieur Rossignol sent her or the one she sent that simply read:

Are you my poet?

At breakfast, she was eager to see Bernardo and what he might have for her. To her annoyance, he arrived late to their apartment, causing her anxiety to fester. When he finally arrived he bowed to the three of them and offered his apologies.

Bernardo appeared flustered and annoyed but claimed it was due to the impending ball. There were additional tasks that he was obligated to see too, although he would not say what those obligations were. He straightened his tailcoat and then handed Georgia the note she was so eager to possess.

Georgia went to tuck the note away when Sir John stopped her. Finally exercising the rights he had over her as her guardian, he demanded to know what the note contained. Georgia blanched. What if the note was from her poet? She had not yet told Sir John of her nightly visitor, how could she? What if this note contained the reminders of their secret kisses? Their longing for one another? Worse yet! What if Rossignol wasn't her poet and grew angry with her for her secret rendezvous?

Sir John, however, grew annoyed that she sat before him pale as a ghost and showing no signs of obeying him. He demanded once more to see the note, unaware of her internal struggle. His calm reserve was fading fast. Sir John had given more than he had ever expected and all he asked in return was that she honor her father's memory and be happy. How could she then sneak around like a commoner, with no sense of propriety? How could she let a strange man lead her astray? It cut him deeply at the thought of how distraught her father would be.

"It simply says 'I shall see you tonight at the ball'. See for yourself, Sir John. Nothing else." The taste in her mouth was bitter. She had one chance to write him and it was wasted. The mystery wouldn't be solved until later. She cast her eyes to the window and frowned at the weak sun as Sir John read the note; night seemed so far away.

"So it does. For your blessed father's sake, conduct yourself in the manner of a woman of your station. I will not—" he stopped for a moment to try and control his temper "— have you subjected to the open ridicule and gossip that I faced in England. Bernardo! These notes are to stop until Signor Rossignol presents himself to me and declares his intention for Georgia. And Georgia," he added with a cold look. "You are to turn over his other notes. Any felicitations that I deem unpardonable will be the end of this trip and our relationship with Signor Rossignol."

Sir John was angrier than she had ever seen him. Why would he turn from what Rossignol offered to them? She was willing to seal her heart for the Frenchman offering them safety and security. She was willing to pretend to love Rossignol when her heart belonged to her poet if it meant that Sir John would not be ruined and if it meant that they would be safe. Why was he unwilling to compromise? With as much wealth as Rossignol claimed to have the nobles in England would flock to Sir John, they might even forget what caused Sir John's fall from grace.

"People say and do cruel things to others simply for a laugh, Georgia. I do not want you to be taken advantage of. I spent my life hiding and it brought you to ruin. I need honesty from Rossignol in order to honor your father's wishes."

Silence fell on the three of them before Georgia turned to Bernardo. "Signor, will you bring us tea? Coffee keeps us alert, but is ineffective in quieting our nerves."

Bernardo nodded, bowed, and left. The weight of the room he quitted was immense and threatened to bring their apartment down on the one below. There was nothing they could do to amend the past so their thoughts turned to the present. Georgia rose from her seat and left to collect the other notes Rossignol had written to her.

When she returned, she handed the precious letters to Sir John. As he read through Rossignol's letters Georgia tried to eat and forget her anxiety. The poem from her poet was something Sir John could never see, even if it was composed by Wordsworth and not himself. But there was such a connection between her poet and Rossignol. Georgia's hand trembled as she ate a biscuit.

"Keats? Georgia, there are three Keats poems in this letter. He has no shame in his flirtations. But now I understand why." He was exasperated with her, but no longer angry.

"'Miss Georgia,

It is with the greatest despair that I confess my reasoning behind hosting a masquerade. I am unsightly and deformed. I have the greatest capacity for love and I am told that I am matched in this regard by you alone. Thus, fair maiden of the north! I have composed an evening of joy that I might present myself to you and your guardians. If, by Sir John's leave, you accept me despite my deformities I shall be the happiest of creatures. But despair not, Miss Georgia, for if you decline me then we shall part amicably.

I am at your service until you are returned to your home.

Your humble servant,

M. Rossignol'"

Georgia's heart knotted. Rossignol had to be her poet. She was sick with desperation to know. Another biscuit found its way into her mouth. Sir John folded the notes and returned them to her. His anger subsided, but he looked to Georgia with an unnerving amount of sorrow. He would present her to Rossignol, but she was to remain near both Nettie and Sir John at all times. If Rossignol wanted a private audience with her, he would have one with him first. To this Georgia agreed, but her heartfelt conflicted beyond anything she could have imagined.

The sun, weakened as it was from the impending winter, descended beyond the boundary of sight. With night came the twinkling of lights and the voices of the ball's unknown guests. They were gathered in the courtyard below and followed several halls that would lead them to their evening entertainment. From the windows, Georgia watched the array of colors, costumes, and masks as they embarked on their joyous journey.

Georgia touched her silken gown, an envy of the Rococo period. The underdress was a soft, silken pink, as was her corset. The outer dress was a brilliant gold and swept along the floor. Her sleeves fell in silken ruffles at her elbows. When her mask was tied to her face she felt majestic, almost like a queen. The looking glass revealed a creature unknown to her.

The mask concealed her forehead, nose, and half her cheeks beneath her eyes. The coloring was the same pale pink as her dress and was accented by raised, gold-plated wires that formed patterns against the frame. White lace offered one additional composition of the beautiful garnishment. Georgia felt beautiful and powerful. Whoever Rossignol was he was giving her an evening she wouldn't forget.

Excitement hung in the air like electricity after a storm. Georgia was eager to leave and learn the truth. She sighed as she waited for Sir John and Nettie to emerge from their rooms and out into the parlor. After what felt like an hour both Nettie and Sir John finally emerged in their masks and costumes. Sir John helped both women into their cloaks before leading them to the bustling scene below. Georgia's excited left her petering on her feet, ready to race to her destination like an impatient child.

They followed the crowd past the courtyard of Locando del Fiore di Venezia to a building on the other side. An old theater, they were told, only recently converted to house parties such as the one they were attending. Both Nettie and Georgia were swept away by the colors and unfamiliar sounds around them. In the distance, they heard an orchestra playing songs neither had ever heard before. There was a roar of laughter and a sea of voices crying out in Italian delight, marveling at the splendor of their host.

Shimmering golden light invaded their sight when they finally entered the ballroom. With their cloaks filed away, they felt only a breath of the cold air from the outside; they were surrounded by strangers, roaring fires, and a multitude of candelabras. Georgia, once again, felt more like a queen than a fallen gentry girl. She blushed profusely from the unashamed stares the other guests were giving her. She quickly became aware that she was the only one in gold and pink and to her horror, the only one dressed in light colors. There was an overwhelming display of deep colored gowns and suits. Rossignol made sure she stood out. But where was he?

"Signorina Daniels, Signora Blankenship, Signor Lafoy, are you ready to meet your host and benefactor?" Asked Bernardo who seemed to emerge from the air like a phantom.

Had they overlooked him? Or was she just that easy to find? Yes, she was easy to find.

He led them through the throngs of people and food that circulated the golden hall, to a smaller room where several merchants and other men were gathered. In one corner stood a man towering above those gathered around him. He was locked in a conversation with an Italian beauty dressed in a deep red gown. She seemed taken with the gentleman and continuously inched closer to him. He gave her his attention until Bernardo approached and his conversation with the Italian was finished. The tall man straightened and fixed his masked gaze on Georgia. She felt her cheeks go warm, this most certainly was Rossignol. He wore the blue coat with golden cuffs, the same one she saw at Signora Pausini's shop. His mask, however, was not like anyone else's. It hid his entire face, exposing only his chin so that he could speak easily. Gold paint and white lace added a gentleness to the mask that exuded a burning intensity.

"Signor Rossignol, may I present Signor—"

"Sir John Lafoy, Ms. Nettie Blankenship, and Miss Georgia Daniels, whom you are so intimately familiar with," interjected Sir John. His mask was simple and neglected to hide his frustration.

Rossignol bowed to them and they returned the gesture. He then indicated that they were to follow him to a quieter room. They obeyed, to the disappointment of the Italian woman excluded from the party. As they followed behind Rossignol, Georgia noticed that binding his black hair was a blue ribbon she hadn't seen in months.

"Nettie," she hissed. The two leaned close to one another as they passed into a private study hidden from the view of the masquerade attendees. "It's him! My poet."

She nodded. "I believe it is. I am so sorry, Georgia, for what I put you through."

Georgia, however, only wanted to hear her poet speak. She had to know. For months his voice lingered like a dimming fire in her mind, it needed to roar back to life. As she beheld him walking ahead of her, murmuring to Sir John, she felt the urge to take his gloved hand into hers. She wanted to untie the ribbon that bound his hair at the nape of his neck and remove the mask that kept his lips from hers.

Once they were all in the study, they sealed themselves in, Rossignol motioned for them to sit. Georgia could barely contain herself. She looked to Sir John, silently urging him to say his part. A layer of sweat formed on her hands.

"Sir John, please, ask your questions," invited Rossignol. His voice set Georgia's heart on fire. It was him! The soft, odd inflection of his gentle voice cried out to her spirit.

"Your behavior has been immodest and Miss Georgia has suffered enough ridicule, she doesn't need anymore. I will get to the point: what is your intention with her? And who is this mutual friend you speak of in your letters? Only the Italians have ever heard of you."

Rossignol's masked eyes fell on Georgia. They were blue; a perfect watery, glassy blue, just as he said they were. Her breath hitched and she felt her mind swirl. They were certainly unlike anything she had ever seen. But they looked upon her with such tender affection that she quickly forgot their oddness.

"My intentions are honorable although my actions may have been less so. I wish to marry Miss Daniels and I have sought to deserve her and prove that I could protect her. As to our friend, it is Frankenstein. I assure you that it is the patriarch and not the one who assaulted Miss Daniels.

"I was, however, at the time of our meeting, unable to offer her anything to make my deformities seem less apparent," he ended hopelessly. Georgia felt a tinge of anger at his preemptive judgment of her.

"You are the one she has mourned for these many months then? You are well liked here, but I have never heard of you. How fortunate that the Frankensteins are indisposed and cannot speak to your character."

Rossignol seemed annoyed by Sir John's accusations but he hid it well. "I take no pleasure in the pain I have caused by leaving Miss Daniels. But I am not as unworthy as you believe; I have my documents, all confirming my rise to wealth to be true and honest. It is for Miss Daniels that I have opened myself up to the scrutiny of others. It is the wealth that I have acquired that has kept the vultures at bay. I offer Miss Daniels the same sanctuary."

"He speaks the truth, Sir John," offered Nettie. She became visibly shaken and the creature wondered for a moment if she would finally release her contempt for him. Would she scream and call him a monster? He pushed the thoughts from his mind. Georgia was the person he needed to focus on.

Rossignol's voice was muffled slightly by the mask, but it carried a pleading and hopeful tone. "Miss Daniels, pray do not let the men of the world decide your fate. Speak, mon perce-neige."

A smile flittered across her face. Her mask shifted slightly from the movement causing her to readjust it. "Why the name 'Rossignol'? Nightingale?"

A subtle laugh escaped him. "Is it not obvious? You are my muse and songbird. I chose it so that I could feel close to you. And—" he said looking back at Sir John through his mask. "— when society tossed me out I wandered the forests of central Europe. In the woods, I beheld the sweetest music of flittering songbirds whose melodies filled me with courage and love of all that is beautiful."

"A poet through and through," declared Georgia. She radiated with joy. It took all that she had not to reach out her hands or fall at his knees. "Am I to understand, Monsieur Rossignol, that you are asking me to marry you?"

Beneath his mask, he was pained and troubled. If she could see his face she would have been able to see the frown on his lips. This was the moment he had spent months planning for and he was filled with utter terror. "Yes, Miss Daniels. But before you answer I ask, by your leave, Sir John, that you dance with me. When we are finished we shall return to this room and you shall behold my disfigurement. If your heart is turned from me then I will release you from any promise and we shall part amicably."

Georgia shook her head aggressively. "I could never turn away from you! I am not so fickle as society would have men believe."

Rossignol smiled. How it hurt to control his desire for her! "My heart is warmed by your declaration, my lady. But I shall not deny you the option of rejection."

"Then let us dance!" She cried, snapping to her feet. Her blood was rushing. Months of tortured aggravation and Georgia was ready for it to end.

Sir John nodded. He was far from approving of the situation, but he was interested to see how Georgia would respond to their host revealing his appearance. He knew Georgia wasn't shallow and had been scorned several times before, but what would she do when the tables were turned? Would she scorn someone for something they could not help?

Rossignol rose to his feet after her and once again towered over everyone. He extended his hand to Georgia, her fingers wrapped around his hand, desperate to be touching them once more. Nettie and Sir John rose as well and followed behind Rossignol as he led Georgia out to the ball room.

The beautiful Italian watched as Rossignol led Georgia to the floor. She fumed quietly to herself but neither Georgia nor the creature built by Frankenstein noticed. Rossignol gestured to the orchestra to prepare a waltz. He lifted one of Georgia's hands in his and placed his other hand upon her lower back. He pulled her close, causing Georgia to gasp and blush. Her free hand reached up to his shoulder where she nervously dusted his coat. He whispered to her and then motioned for the band to play. A shrill of notes sounded and Georgia soon found herself spinning in a waltz.

His dance skills were impressive and if she had not known him better she would have believed that he was actually an Italian, an exceedingly romantic one as well. Their dance was unlike anything she had known in England or in Switzerland. This was something gallant and bold, something a king would do, not a fallen gentry and an elusive stranger. It was like gliding and Rossignol was too proficient at the waltz to allow her to falter. Soon she found herself understanding the measures and beats of the music, thus cracking the code of the waltz.

Their circles were large and he made sure that each time he spun her their audience would have to retreat to avoid a collision. He wanted everyone to see them and know that they were together. The people of Venice would not look on him with scorn or disgust, but with admiration and joy. Was this what happiness was? He thought so as Georgia smiled and laughed throughout their dance. He wanted her to be happy and to remember the joy she was feeling in that moment if it all came to a horrible end.

When their waltz ended, another slower, longer waltz started. It was simpler than the one before and they were no longer left in solitude when Rossignol's other guests joined them.

"I am sorry for what I put you through," he whispered sadly. She gazed at him with a blank expression, not understanding what he meant. He then elaborated. "I'm sorry for deserting you. You're so much thinner and paler. It grieves me to know that I did this to you."

"I was heartbroken," she replied after a while. "And I found out that Nettie had met you and sent you away. She and I have only recently resolved our issues. The abandonment I felt at my father's death didn't compare to what I felt when you left. But now," she declared with a grin, "I have quite forgotten those feelings. You are forgiven as long as you never do it again."

This he could consent too. "If you marry me, I never will. I will be with you until the end of time. I left because Nettie gave me an idea. I needed to prove myself capable of providing for you and I have. You need not fear poverty— even if you decline to marry me."

Georgia clung to Rossignol. "How could you think I would say no to you? I love you. Beauty only grows with love."

She could hear his gentle laughter. "You are an angel. If only you knew you converse with a devil. I love you so much that no amount of pain or anguish could ever make me stop loving you. But you must learn of my past, my origin, and my deeds."

"Just the bad? Or the good as well?"

He looked down at her, her green gaze was more intense than the burning sun. If he could kiss her, then and there, he would. "I will tell you all that you need to know and want to know. As I said in my note: 'I am at your mercy'."

They continued their waltz despite the attention they were receiving. Rossignol narrated his journey to Italy and his utter agony at leaving the comfort she offered him, but it was necessary. In the beginning, he had been lonely and fearful of the welcome he would receive. But he hunted the markets, listening for an opportunity to appear. One did. A merchant had lost his goods further south of Venice in a careless shipwreck. His wealth remained intact, but no one would retrieve it for him; no one takes what Poseidon claims. To take it, one would be cursed. At this, Georgia laughed, she was surprised that such a belief existed amongst such renowned Catholics. But old pagan fears still dwelt in the populace.

The creature, of course, feared nothing of the likes. His life was as cursed as a life could be. He approached the merchant one evening and said he would take a small payment in return for retrieving the lost goods. The merchant agreed and the deal was struck. Rossignol took a boat out to the site and spent several days hauling all of it back to shore. When the task was completed and him near dead with exhaustion the merchant beheld his lost goods and Rossignol's hideous form. The creature did not shy away from this point in his narration.

At first, the merchant was fearful but he quickly realized what sort of undertaking he had pressed upon such a stranger and he was moved with compassion. The merchant gave Rossignol his first mask and his first job, saving his life and securing his future.

"You have led a very interesting life without me," she observed as he spun her once more around the dance floor.

"It would have been far better with you," he answered. He could feel her heart pounding in her ribs. The flush of her chest told him that she was just as excited as he, but that would soon end.

"I want to see you, my poet."

The end had now come and it was ushered in by the ending of their waltz. He bowed at the end of the dance and led her past the throngs of admirers to the study with Nettie and Sir John in tow.

At the study's door, Rossignol stopped and turned the two behind him. "Please, remain just outside. This is for Miss Daniels only."

The agony he was enduring! Could they not dance forever and let that be their life? He led Georgia into the room and shut the door behind them.

Georgia went to one side of the study and untied her mask, she set it on top a sofa and waited for him. It seemed to both that it took forever for him to reach her. As he gazed upon her hungered face he could not help but believe her beauty was no less diminished.

She reached for his hands and when he presented them she removed his gloves. The hands she had grasped so often were now hers to behold and she found them to be beautiful. Smooth as polished marble, their only oddness was the coloring that adorned them: a soft pale white with patches of faint red beneath layers of skin. The first time she saw his hands she mistook them for being grey. Georgia pressed his hand to her face. A tear fell from her eye and he quickly swept it away with his thumb.

"I leave the rest to you," he uttered, kneeling before her.

"I'm frightened," she wept.

His thumbs cleared away several more fallen tears. "Of me?" He asked, suddenly troubled by what he was asking.

Shaking her head she revealed that she feared what removing his mask would do to them. He encouraged her and placed her smaller hands on his mask. Her fingers went behind his head to untie it. Blood rushed past her ears and her heart thundered so violently in her chest that she wondered if she would faint. Her hands trembled as she removed the cover. Rossignol's hand reached up quickly to catch the mask should she drop it.

It was off, he was utterly exposed to her. He hadn't been so open since the De Laceys and Frankenstein had seen him, all of whom loathed what they saw. But Georgia said nothing. She neither moved, nor screamed, and he quickly realized she was holding her breath.

"Georgia, scream if you must, but breathe." His face contorted in agony, making her release her breath and gasp. "Let me put the mask back on, Miss Daniels."

Georgia was frozen. The face staring at her was pale and blotchy, as if struggling to darken with the plump hue of vitality. His glassy eyes stared at her from dark, sunken sockets. Like the thick branches of trees, his black eyebrows hooded his trembling gaze. The flesh she touched and kissed in the months past was bare before her. His skin was more elastic than it had been the first time she touched it; the odd crinkling of his flesh didn't seem as evident. She could not quite discern how she felt about him. He wasn't beautiful, not conventionally, but he wasn't as hideous as he had led her to believe.

"No," she said at last. Her face contorted in horror. The creature's face dropped when he saw the familiar look.

"Only someone as ugly as I am could love me." He lifted his mask. How he wished it could cover his eyes and conceal the tears of his now broken heart.**

"No!" She gasped and pushed the mask back down. Georgia took his face in her hands. No longer able to stop himself, tears fell from Rossignol's watery eyes. The look of horror was gone, replaced with joy, happiness, and amusement. "Georgia," she said. "You may only call me 'Georgia', or 'my love'. 'My wife'. 'Madame Rossignol'. But 'Miss Daniels' is no more."

The creature felt light and his lips began trembling fiercely. "Do you mean—"

"That I accept your proposal? Yes! And, my poet, you are not ugly. Different? Yes. But ugly? Never!"

He wept loudly; the relief he felt was immense. Georgia reached out and untied the ribbon holding his black hair at bay and took hold of the tresses. She moved closer to him and brought his lips to hers. There was a hungry desperation to the way his lips fit hers. He couldn't stop and neither could she. Arms then reached around her waist and she was lifted into the air as he stood to his full height. He then spun her around. Her laughter filled the air as they momentarily broke from their kiss.

"You have done more for me than I could ever say. I will devote my life to making you happy." He kissed her once more, savoring the taste of her flesh. All the anguish he had known from the first day of his creation faded like the remains of a dream. The villagers he stumbled upon when he first roamed, ignorant as a baby, was nothing more than a shadow. The De Lacey's clung to his heart, but he felt them fading into memory. Georgia was now his world, his muse, and angel.

The image of the mate Victor promised resurfaced in his mind. Could he have made her happy? Could she have made him happy? All the while Georgia would suffer poverty and ruin. Oh! How strange this world worked! Georgia was bursting with joy, joy at being with him. But then his sins returned to haunt and remind him of his crimes.

"Georgia, my love, I have a confession. I don't know how to say it. I have done—"

She silenced him with a kiss. Whatever he needed to say they would have the rest of their lives to say it. Her fingers graced over his coat, enjoying the feel of the fabric as she thought about how wonderful it would be to remove. Every one of her senses was on fire and she was glad, she wanted to remember every second for the rest of her life. Georgia won him over, he would eventually tell her about the murders and pray that she would forgive him. For now, though, he would feed his desire for love.

Rossignol's lips traveled to her jaw and then slowly to her neck. Her gasp made him hungry for more, almost delirious for it. She went weak in his arms, but he held her close as he suckled the flushed skin of her neck. Her breath hitched before he brought forth the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. A deep moan erupted from Georgia, sending a jolt of electricity through him. He fought back his urge to rip her gown off, he fought all the painful urges to love her body completely. With a deep, and shaky breath, he ceased his movements, no longer dragging his tongue against her soft flesh. He rested his face against the curve of her neck, feeling her quivering in his arms.

"My darling, it is taking every bit of my strength to keep from removing your dress and loving every centimeter of your body this moment. We should return to the ball and announce our engagement." Every nerve in his mismatched body was screaming for her.

"Can't we stay like this?" She asked breathlessly. "We could run from here tonight and marry. Forget the rules and decorum. We'll exist in our own world."

Good God! How perfect her plan sounded. This had been his plan for the mate that never was. He was going to take the creature made for him to South America to dwell forever in the wilds. But that was his plan for a creature unfit for humanity. Georgia was altogether different; she was from a world he longed for. He needed to protect her and cherish her in her world, not steal her away. The suffering he would endure to see her content and happy was beyond comparison. He would not see her struggle in the wilderness when he knew she would not survive it.

Rossignol moved and kissed her forehead softly, stealing the scent of her hair and sealing it away in his deep vault of memories. She was immortal in his mind, forever frozen like the image of a princess clad in pink and gold. An announcement of their engagement would make him an honest and honorable man and a creature worthy of love.

Georgia sighed softly as she realized that he would not concede to her plan. Tears of joy fell from her bright eyes, the creature was quick to wipe them away with tender kisses. She laughed and embraced him once more. "Okay, my love, lets—"

A great shrill of screams and shrieking erupted from the beyond their sanctuary. Georgia paled, but the creature hardened his face and moved her behind him. "Stay here. Barricade yourself inside. Open the door for no one but me."

He reached for the door handle just as Georgia went for his mask. She instructed him to put it on once more. He looked at her with sad eyes, her request stung. Then his face changed and he smiled, not a kind smile, but one of understanding. Before he could press the mask against his inhuman face, the door to the study burst open. The volume of shrieking increased tenfold. In the doorway stood a frightened Nettie and a horrified Sir John.

"You're like that. . . monster!" Sir John blurted.

Georgia cringed at his words before locking her arm around Rossignol. Both hurt and anger flashed over his face, distorting the image of love and peace she had previously seen. For a moment disgust filled her before the shame of her thoughts brought back her love for him. She clung even tighter to him.

"Sir John," barked the creature. "What monster? What person looks like me when I am the only one? What has happened?"

Sir John shook his head and backed away briefly. "A man— a creature— he ripped the heart out of that Italian girl you were with earlier. H-he killed someone else. Georgia, we must leave!"

"No! Stay here. Lock yourselves in. Nothing will happen to my bride." The creature quickly fastened the mask to his face. "When it is safe, I will return."

The creature stepped out into the hall where people ran past him. Several screamed for him in Italian, but he aggressively encouraged them to flee. Hardly a few feet from the study and Rossignol noticed he wasn't alone. Sir John secured the study and accompanied Rossignol past the rush of panicked Italians screaming and crying. Whatever had ruined his ball and murdered his guest was still prowling around. It didn't take them long to find him.

Gathered in a half circle Rossignol's guests brandished sabers worn with their costumes. They held their weapons pointed at the crouching creature lingering by his two victims: the beautiful Italian and a man Rossignol knew to be in love with her. Seeing the Italian girl's wide, terrified eyes filled him with immense guilt. She was infatuated with his position and wealth so he allowed her to remain near him until Georgia arrived. She was dead because of him. Would he always condemn the innocent?

Their murderer remained close to them, clutching at his filthy body like a madman consumed by his own demons. Tattered rags clung to his misshapen form. The creature before him reminded Rossignol of his earlier days of utter ignorance. Telltale scars poked from beneath the rags and slashed through his skin like a heedless volcano pouring out its rivers of molten lava. Blond hair decorated his scalp in tufts as most of his hair was burnt off, leaving the skin and hair tough and singed. From behind he was grotesque to behold, but when he turned, even Frankenstein's creation cringed in disgust. A horrid, thick scar cut from the murderer's forehead diagonally down to his chin, sealing one of his eyes shut and utterly ruining his lips. Only a few teeth poked out from his mouth and his swollen tongue made it impossible to know if he had more teeth.

He hissed when he saw Rossignol and a looked of bewildered curiosity passed over his sickening features. "Bra-broth-brother," he stuttered.

The Italians shuddered at the sound of his voice. But for Rossignol, his evening took a much darker turn. Appalling horror pumped through his blood. He knew this man. He knew what he had been and by his wretchedness, he knew what he was. Rossignol wanted to cry and scream. He wanted to run to Georgia and confess that he wanted to elope and flee all of society, but he remained perfectly still, unable to fully understand what he was seeing.

Rossignol took a deep breath. "Felix?"