Chapter 5

Her father was there.

He was smiling at her and holding her hand, looking at her adoringly, just like he used to before she left.

He reached behind him and plucked the most beautiful rose. It was the deepest color of red, and looked like velvet.

Her father reached out to hand it to her, her hands reaching out to grasp the stem. As she took the rose from her father, a thorn caught his thumb and pricked him, drawing a little drop of blood.

Suddenly he was writhing on the ground, foam coming out of his mouth. She panicked and looked down at his thumb. That was odd. Even with the constant shaking of his body as he convulsed, she could see his thumb slowly start to crumble.

As if in a trance she watched as, slowly, his whole hand turned to dust as he writhed on the ground. His arm had crumbled almost all the way up to the shoulder when she finally snapped out of it.

She started to scream. It was the fear of the unknown. She had no idea what was happening to her father. How could a person be pricked by a rose thorn and then start to turn to dust?

After it had climbed up his shoulder it worked it's way across his torso.

She was screaming at the top of her lungs, terrified. She couldn't stop screaming. Why couldn't she stop and do something to help him. She was screaming so loud, it was ringing in her ears.

Suddenly she was shaking. She screamed louder, thinking that she was turning to dust too.

"Emma! Emma!" she heard through her screaming, "Wake up, you're dreaming!"

And she was awake.

Looking into green eyes that weren't even remotely covered by a mask.

Looking into the most handsome face even marred by grotesque scarring. It went from his right temple, clear across his face onto his nose and slicing, just barely, into his left top lip. It was long, deep and jagged. It looked like it was put there intentionally and meant to inflict pain and ruin his face. But his face wasn't really ruined. It was a wonderful face, scar and all.

Emma couldn't help herself. She reached up and ran her fingers over the raised ridge cutting across his beautiful face.

She barely got her fingers halfway across it before Burke abruptly yanked himself away and turned his back to her.

"You had a nightmare, Emma." He said, his back to her.

She couldn't think of that now. "How did you get your scar?" She asked him. His back muscles quivered and then tensed up.

He turned to face her, fury clear in his eyes even with the limited lighting. "I'm sure Gwen has told you how much my father hated me." He said coldly.

He got it from his father? His own father had done that to him? "I'm sorry that happened to you," Emma told him softly.

"I need no pity from a woman." He said without inflection. He turned his back to her again. "I trust my sleep will not be interrupted again." And he left. Just like that. He woke her up from a dreadful nightmare, she discovered his secret, and he leaves so coldly?

It was then that it struck her that he had called her 'Emma.' Not 'Mistress Emma.'

Just Emma. It was a first. And she was sure he would be back to the same old thing in the daylight hours.

She rolled over and attempted sleep.

It was close to impossible because the face without the mask was burned into the front of her brain.

<~<~<

Emma's prediction was right.

In the morning at breakfast, the mask was back in place and not just figuratively. He called her formally by 'Mistress Emma'. But he only spoke to her when he had absolutely no other option.

She went about her normal chores. After all, what other option did she have?

And they fell back into their usual routine.

She would do her work, occasionally she would do something to anger him, he'd spank her or whip her(though never as hard as before) and then they'd ignore each other.

But it wasn't so easy for Emma, now that she knew a little bit about the man behind the mask.

And again, he had proved himself human. How was she supposed to despise him when She found out that he had weaknesses too.

And maybe she was just deluding herself, but it seemed she might be one of his weaknesses.