Antonio had grown up beside you.

You didn't know that, of course. Your mother's family owned a giant theater and opera house where you had lived your entire life. You grew up dancing and singing, always a little performer. He was about your age, and you were his dearest friend, even though you had no idea he existed. He was born perfectly normal, a dear beautiful little boy with dark chocolate eyes, creamy tan skin, and perfect black curls, until an accident left half of his face scarred. His parents were so ashamed that he was left to fend for himself. Your mother took pity on him, and let him live secretly in the parts of the opera house no one ever went to, and gave him the porcelain mask that only covered the scarred half of his face. Few had ever caught glimpses of him, and he was lovingly called the 'opera ghost' by the more superstitious performers. He grew up well-fed and well-clothed, learning everything he needed to know and more- he was amazing with languages, especially. He never thought it was odd that he watched you; it was just a habit. He watched you perform from the rafters, watched you sleep and study from the two-way mirror in your bedroom...you were his dear friend, his only friend.

Which is why he was filled with an utter sense of dismay when some blonde flufffy-haired romeo tried to romance you and was discussing marriage with your father.

It was now or never, he had told himself when he opened the secret door into your room that night.

Now or never.

He had picked you up and hauled you bridal-style down into his lavish, cozy apartment, supposing that sooner or later your mother would get the hint and scare the boy off. He'd just have to...keep you until then.

You were lying on his bed, still asleep, the crimson silk sheets cool underneath your body. He was rather fond of silks and satins and other expensive fabrics; he liked to try to forget about his marred face by surrounding himself with beauty. He was watching you for any sign of movement.