Like Alice, you pass through the looking-glass and descend once more into darkness, into a world of mist and candlelight, into his world. In the dark it's impossible to tell if your eyes are open or closed. It doesn't matter, your feet and heart know the way. Your descent levels; the cool, wet air frisks around the lace of your changing gown; an island of light emerges from the gloom. Your light-hungry eyes lust for the candle flame, irises contracting with a pleasant pain as the you come to focus on the figure of a man lounging in an extravagance of blue satin cushions.

His strong, long arms are open; to caress or crush? His slender hands languidly pet the fabric surrounding him. From his pale hand to his pale shirt, yours eyes move. Almost feminine, the shirt skims the surface of his skin with silken kisses. Your jealous lips quiver with a desire to caress that skin with kisses of their own, feel the texture; soft skin hiding hard muscles just beneath.

A nervous laugh bubbles from between your betrayer lips. You've been here before, seen him before, why are you so consumed by nerves (or is it lust?) only now? Perhaps it's the lesson he offers tonight; might the maestro's Don Juan do more than just sing this night? His note, in its elegant script, trembles in your still-clutched hand. "Much still to learn" it says and you don't know if you anticipate or dread the possibility of a change in the subject of your master's lessons. Will his voice reprimand cruelly or whisper sweetly?

A shiver rides your spine at the thought and you close your eyes, inhale deeply and hold it, trying to steady and ground yourself. You open your eyes, see his fiery gaze fall on you and your captured breath escapes in a slow sigh that shudders through your whole body. You are lost. You are his.

"Christine..."