The Victorian world is extremely dark and extremely bright.

I think it's amazing to have one writer write every episode of a series. It's very rare, I think. You get a voice that continues.

None of us really know where we're going.

The different variables involved in anything creative, really, are massive. When it comes together, it just clicks, I suppose.

Weirdly, some of the middle stuff of the descent into something going wrong were the hardest, tonally. You don't want to jump the gun and be instantly paranoid about the fact that she has made coffee wrong because that would be weird. It's the slow build and letting it sink in. If they say everything is okay, you believe your partner. You don't want to rattle the boat too much on your honeymoon.

The Victorian world is extremely dark and extremely bright.

The story revolved around this universal identifiable fear that we must all have, at some point, when you commit yourself to being with another person, to have and to hold until death do us part. It's a huge thing. I just felt like it was a brilliant examination of what would happen, if the person that you trusted implicitly and thought you knew every follicle and pour of, inside and out, started to not be that person anymore, inside. Physically, they're still there, but they're not there mentally.