Disclaimer- I own nothing.

I know it's out of order. But hell. I wanted to finish it off on a slightly lighter tone.

It will be beautiful.

It will be beautiful because she is beautiful.

He listens for footsteps and whenever they come, he extinguishes the candle. Wouldn't want anyone to find him, discover this secret place. This is a room only meant for him, and for her, when she comes.

He has bruised himself, tying drapes here, putting up a tapestry there. He has calculated the amount he needs to open the curtains for the moonlight to shine through, when she comes.

He has spent days acquiring the right chairs, the table, the cushions, the throws and the rugs. He has had the food specially prepared, the wine chilled just the right amount. He could have had servants do all this for him, but why risk being discovered, when he could do it all so much more quickly and easily? Only he knows what she likes, after all. He's the only one who pays her any attention.

He has found her roses, and there are scratches on his hands from where the thorns gripped at his skin as he stole the flowers. Red and white and pink, and if any of them have even the tiniest brown spot he has discarded them. He has settled them so that their scent will be lingering but not overpowering, when she comes.

He has lit up the candles strategically, so as not to cast too much of a light upon the hideous mask that guards his scarred face from her sensitive eyes. He knows he scares her, and he doesn't want to do that any more. Not tonight. He has promised himself that he won't ask her difficult questions, he won't try to trick her, and he won't shout or grip at her. He'll be gentle and speak softly and be charming, when she comes.

The monkey is occupied, dozing on the little satin cushion that he prepared for it. Its tail is tied by a rope so that it can't escape and ruin the surprise. So that it will be a surprise, for when she comes.

He hears whispers, and narrows his eyes. Who else but her would be down here, in this specific corridor, at this late time? He listens at the door for unfamiliar footsteps, counting till the fifth. By the time he has crept out of the little room, the whisperer has gone and he can hear her soft footsteps instead, can see the glow of a candle.

Before he can think to be angry with her for bringing a candle, he is all too taken by being delighted that she has come at all. This time, this will be the right time. He'll prove that he's nothing to be afraid of. He can hear her gentle breathing, his heart feels like it might crack open.

She is coming, and in the moment before he is angry with her, he loves her more than ever.