Lord Vincent touched Kylo's lost glove to his lips. In the solitude of his room, the lord sat upon an armchair, nothing to keep him company but memories of the night which lingered like fading perfume in the air. Outside, rays of moonlight slithered through broken fragments of clouds and trickled in the otherwise unlit room. It had been hours since the last guests left. Even the servants had gone to sleep by now. Four AM knew all of Vincent's secrets, even the ones he pretended no longer existed.

Rising, he walked to the window. Holding the glove close to his chest, he whispered into the night. "I will come for you, angel. Come tomorrow I shall come hunting high and low. I will not rest until I have found you again." The recollection of Kylo dancing in his arms held Vincent close. When he breathed in, he smelt Kylo's blood and the rose fragrance which had enveloped them. The pull was intense, it felt like something beyond Vincent's power, something akin to the pull of gravity.

Touching his hand to his heart, the lord winced as it no longer beat. But he would have to wait for evening when twilight turned to dusk and the sun settled elsewhere. Vincent cursed the sky knowing all too soon daylight would be upon him, tarnishing the land with its wretched light which burned and mocked him with its power.

Closing his window, the lord pulled the thick curtain over the glass. He settled in his bed and dreamed of Kylo.

When the morning came, Kylo woke with drops of blood lingering in his mouth. With no water nearby to rid him of the vile taste, Kylo swallowed and winced. Rising off his thin mattress, he felt every inch of him cry out in agony. His back and shoulders wept angry tears. Though Elmira had cleaned him off once the mother had finished beating him, he still felt as though blood was running down his skin.

"You should not have disobeyed her," Elmira had said arrogantly as she'd slid a cool washcloth over his back. "This is what happens when you do not do as you are told. Consider yourself lucky I've offered to clean you up or else you would be laying in your own blood right now." The step-sister's hands had been rough and impatient, but when she slathered a soothing cream over his skin, Kylo felt a beautiful release from the intense pain.

His cellar room was cold. No fire had been lit last night. There was nothing in the hearth but cinders and soot. Gingerly, Kylo slipped his old shirt over his head. When the paper-thin material touched his wounds, he sucked in a mouthful of air to keep from screaming. Though he had got only ten lashes, the mother had used all her force, letting the willow branch tear into his already scarred skin.

Making his way out of the cellar and out of the house, Kylo felt his body was as heavy as stone. Though each step was agony, he headed to the back where he collected some water for breakfast and the washing. Setting the bucket down, his muscles wailed. Trying to ignore the pain, Kylo dipped his hands under the pump, washed his face, and drank handful after handful of the cool liquid. Running his damp fingers through his long hair, he remembered the way Lord Vincent had run his own through the strands. Kylo ached deep in his chest. He longed for the lord the way one does when in love. The lord had enchanted him like no man or woman ever had. All through the wretched morning, where he had to make breakfast and clean up after his step-family who scoffed and mocked him for getting found out and punished, Kylo thought of Vincent.

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