8.1 Shadows and Cages

I cried myself to sleep the first three nights at the manor, staring at unfamiliar shadows on an unfamiliar ceiling, in a place I didn't belong. Trapped, in a refuge I created that Dark Dorian had turned into a cage. At least my prison was beautiful.

The manor was filled with all imaginable luxuries the 19th century could afford. The large, airy rooms featured floor-to-ceiling windows framed by hanging lace and floral curtains, opening on magnificent views of the sea and the moors beyond. The furniture was Edwardian - polished wood and oriental rugs; plate glass mirrors decorated the mantelpieces above roaring fireplaces. Closets were stuffed with Victorian era clothing - silk dresses with full skirts and stiff collars, walking suits, day dresses, and evening gowns of every color. Each night I went to bed in a girlish, frilly nightgown; it was only force of habit, and the gentle pressure of my handmaiden, that gave the me the strength to rise and dress myself each day.

Most mornings I had breakfast by the sea. Every night I had dinner in the parlor. And the handmaiden kept her promise to Dark Dorian. She didn't have a name, so eventually I gave her one - Emily, after the Brontë sisters, when I found her reading Wuthering Heights on the stairs. Twenty-something, with the most charming Yorkshire accent, she dressed in plain clothes and aprons that didn't dilute her pretty features, her long brunette curls usually tied back in a vintage chignon.

Emily tidied after me, preparing and serving my meals, mending broken things, washing my clothes in the sea. And despite my sour temper, how I threw my dinner at the wall my first night in the manor, shouting at her to leave me alone and disappear, she did her best to keep me entertained. Emily played music on the phonograph, tempted me with books from the shelves, and always encouraged me to play tennis or croquet when the weather allowed.

At first I was lonely and miserable. But as the days passed one to another, and I realized I might never leave, the manor became a home away from home. I took over many of the chores, cutting the handmaiden's job in half. I learned how to use the cast iron stove, and how to prepare my own meals from scratch. I washed my own clothes and cleaned my own room, beating rugs, scrubbing windows, and polishing wood. Learning to fend for myself took my mind off the thought of feeling imprisoned for the rest of my unlucky life. And on the days when I felt inspired, I gathered my materials and painted by the sea.

Dark Dorian may have sent me into exile, stripping away everything I knew and loved, but my will was one thing I refused to let him tarnish.

I kept track of the days for a while, but stopped after the first month, when the task became painful and tiresome - what was the point? Here, there were no birthdays to look forward to, no holidays or celebrations. When Emily presented me with a diary, at first I refused, relenting when I realized how soothing it was, writing my thoughts by candlelight at the end of each day.

I don't know if I'll ever get out of here. Maybe I don't deserve to leave. I thought this could be a home for Dark Dorian, a place for him to escape to, away from a world in which he didn't belong. But I was wrong. How can you make a house a home when you have no one to share it with?

Suffice it to say, I had learned my lesson.

One afternoon, as Emily and I were playing croquet on the beach, I nearly dropped my mallet when I saw Dark Dorian striding towards us. Had he forgiven me? Had he finally come to take me home? He stopped a short distance away, hands folded behind his back as he observed Emily expertly hitting the wooden ball through its hoop. Speechless with shock and anger, I waited for him to speak, or at the very least to look at me, his prisoner.

Finally, he cleared his throat, addressing me while his gaze remained trained on Rebecca. "Is there... anything you require?"

"What?"

His shoulders straightened. "Can I... get you anything?"

"Yes," I replied, shaking with rage. "You can get me the hell out of here!"

Finally he looked at me, his expression soft but completely unrelenting. "When it's time," he calmly replied.

I threw down the mallet and stormed past him, holding my skirt as I stomped back to the manor.

Shortly after, Emily presented me with comforts I had yet to see at the manor. Some days it was Blue Bell ice cream, other days it was a bottle of bubbles, a deck of playing cards, or a new perfume. Every night I'd find a flower on my pillow, and knew they came from Dark Dorian. At first I threw them away out of spite. Eventually I got bored with that and began collecting them, arranging blooming bouquets in vases all over the manor. They didn't need to be watered and they never dried out. Their fragrance was everlasting.

Gradually, Dark Dorian visited more often, though he rarely spoke or intervened. A shadow that hovered in the background, he preferred to watch from the distance as I took walks with Emily along the peach trees or pruned the small garden near the shed.

One evening, I happened to be arranging a new vase in the parlor window when Dark Dorian finally broke his silence.

"Ahem..." He was tentative, dare I say, bashful as he lingered in the doorway. "Would you join me for dinner?"

"Alright." Ignoring his smile, I returned my attention to the flowers, pretending I wasn't secretly thrilled by the invitation.

Emily helped me prepare for the evening meal, running my bath water, selecting my nicest dress, rouging my cheeks and curling my hair for our guest. I told myself I was only going out of my way to impress him for the sake of false flattery--if I was nice enough, maybe he would have a change of heart and finally let me out of the painting. But as I smoothed my curls and spritzed perfume in the bedroom mirror, I knew my reasons were much more than that. When left unchecked, loneliness can make you do and feel things you normally wouldn't.

When I finally made my appearance, Dark Dorian awaited at the bottom of the parlor stairs, a rose in hand as I made my entrance down the steps.

"You look beautiful," he said, passing me the flower.

"I know." I took the rose, smelling the petals as I strolled past him...

We had dinner in the drawing room, at opposite ends of the table, a sea of candles flickering between us. We ate without conversation, drinking our soup and wine in delicate silence as we avoided eye contact. Eventually Emily came along, replacing our empty bowls with ice cream and surprising the hell out of me when she set the phonograph to play Boyfriend by Ariana Grande and Social House.

Dark Dorian smiled, his spoon lingering in his mouth as he did something equally unexpected - and blushed.

"I asked her to play something more... current," he said.

"Would you like to dance?" I replied.

"With... me?"

"Do you see anyone else in the room?" I smiled. "Emily's been teaching me how to waltz. I can't promise I won't step on your feet."

Pushing back his seat with an amused smile, he walked around the table, extending his arm. The rings on our fingers glinted in the candlelight as I placed my hand in his...

He had never been so gentle, and certainly not with me. I laughed when I missed a step; Dark Dorian chuckled as he helped me regain my balance, his fingers applying gentle pressure on my lower back. Hand in hand, we danced around the room like a breeze.

Our evening ended outside, on a moonlit balcony overlooking the sea. It was a lovely night, as always. The weather hardly changed but the scenery was never dull.

"How much have I missed? Out there?"

Dorian leaned forward, resting his elbows on the rail, scuffing his Ferragamos on the metal. "Enough for you to hate me, if you don't already."

My heart sank. "I bet everyone's out of their minds with worry. Are they okay?"

"Not in the least. Opal's positively frantic."

My lips twitched in a near-smile. "I'll bet." I straightened, wrapping my arms around myself - it was chilly. Wordless, Dark Dorian removed his dinner jacket and placed it over my shoulders. His hands lingered, lifting my chin and stroking my cheek.

"I lost my temper. I never should have hurt you, Amelia."

"Except you did."

He looked away.

I placed my hands on his arms. "It's not right what you did, but now I understand why you did it. I gave you a painting that I called a home, expecting you to jump for joy. But you spent years trapped in a frame, by yourself. It wasn't a home, it was a prison. And if I had known what I was really giving you, that I was sentencing you to be lonely and alone for the rest of your life, I never would have asked you to come here."

"You're only saying that because you want to be free."

"We all want to be free. But it doesn't make it any less true."

He looked down. When he lifted his face, his eyes were over-bright, filled with sadness, and regret. "There's so very much I wish I could change."

"So change it." I squeezed his arms. "It's never too late--"

"But it is. And once you leave this place... I have made terrible mistakes, Amelia. You'll never forgive me."

"You'd be surprised."

"Why?" He searched my face for answers. "Why are you doing this? After everything I've said, everything I've done--why are you kind? Why do you care? Why do you continue to see good in me when no one else can?"

"Because you are him and he is you. And that's all that really matters." I stood on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek, surprised but not disappointed when he caught my lips in a full, sweeping kiss. As he gripped the bodice of my gown, his lips traveling down my neck, I tried to tell myself I was only doing this because I had to, because I wanted to escape. But in all honesty, as Dark Dorian whisked me on the balcony edge, pushing down the sleeves of my dress to plant feverish kisses along my chest, I enjoyed it more than I cared to admit.

"I've always felt it," he whispered, nuzzling my neck, his words a warm murmur against my skin.

"Felt what?" I asked, taking his face in my hands, marveling at the changes happening to us both.

"When you and him are together. Every touch, every emotion. Every kiss... I taste your lips, and it kills me." His sigh was filled with longing. "He doesn't deserve you."

"Neither do you."

But I led him to my bedroom anyway, hand-in-hand. Arms full of fresh laundry, Emily beamed from the hallway. I put a finger to my lips, flashing a secret smile as I closed the door behind us.

As we lay inches apart on the mattress, the flames in the fireplace weren't the only heat between us. But the sparks between the sheets were limited to laughter and conversation. We were content just looking at one another, savoring each little moment as the candles wore down and the shadows lengthened.

I yawned. "Show me your true face."

He chuckled. "You're delusional from lack of sleep. You don't know what you're asking."

"I do. I want to see it."

"Doesn't it frighten you?"

"Yes." My eyes were growing heavy. I fought to keep them open. "But even good things scare you--roller coasters, blind dates, dreams come true... The usual."

"Alright." He smiled. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

I blinked and there he was - the demon in true form, terrifying and beautiful, dangerous and harmless all at once. My fingers skimmed his cheek without hesitation. I inched closer, snuggling beneath his chin, lulled by his warmth and cologne - and the fact that I was no longer alone.

"Good-night," I said.

He didn't answer, simply held me close, stroking my hair as I fell asleep in his arms...

He was gone when I awoke the next morning. In his place, a portal home shimmered at the foot of my bed.

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