Antonio always knew that his adopted son was a problem child. Whether he liked it or not, he knew it. He never liked to concede to it, and almost never did. Nobody ever mustered their courage to ask him why he brought in such an insolent and barbaric child, for whenever somebody did, Antonio would respond with a variety of things, from glaring at them to kicking them out of his home. Frankly, Antonio wasn't sure why he cherished his child so much either. He just did.

Antonio never really thought about the inquiry, for he was usually too busy acting as a lone parent for his son Lovino. But when he did think about it, he was never able to come up with a conclusion. His son was bad-mannered, misbehaved, didn't do what he was told, and talked back. Why did he love him so much?

Then Antonio would think about the times where he was distressed or less lively than usual, when Lovino would go up to him and try to enliven him but always having a hard time because of his bad nature, or even when he would just simply ask him what was wrong. Even just that made him feel better knowing that Lovino still regarded him.

Antonio knew that nobody else would be able to apprehend those feelings, so he just rejected the question and tried to keep his son sequestered from the guests that paid visits to them.

When Lovino was matured enough to depart from their home, Antonio wept. He would miss having that problem child of his in his home. He would miss all of the few heartwarming times they had together, and he would even miss the times where he inquired how he could still stand that son of his. But most of all, Antonio was on pins and needles about Lovino's prospective future. He pondered over the likelihood that Lovino would become a delinquent or that his attempts at being a successful adult would come to naught. He also pondered over how Lovino may never get a significant other, or just friends in general.

He would be lonely.

Antonio didn't think he was ready to leave, but no matter how many times he tried to quarrel with him, Lovino would stand his ground. There was no way he would stay.

So Antonio just let him go and hoped for the best. He even prayed for him the first few nights. But, eventually, Antonio started to gain more confidence when Lovino started sending letters.

Lovino had gotten a job as a baker in the capital of Spain where he now lived, not far from Antonio's house. He lived a good life there and even made several friends, but no lovers. He liked it there in the capital, which is what Antonio thought was the most important thing.

It wasn't until the night of a particular day during the Spanish Inquisition when Antonio realized that Lovino's letters stopped coming.

He's just busy with work, probably, is what Antonio would always think to comfort himself. There's nothing amiss. He's lived a fine life up until now, what could have happened? If something was at fault I would have been informed, surely.

Several months after the sudden cease in Lovino's letters, Antonio was invited to watch the execution of a thief in the capital. He accepted.

There were several different torture methods that were used in Spain during the Spanish Inquisition, including the Spanish Donkey and The Rack. Antonio was curious to see what type of torture method they'd use on the unfortunate man who was to be executed that day.

When he arrived at the execution scene, there was already a large assembly forming in front of a large wooden structure where the victim, stripped naked, was being tied to. Antonio looked around at the crowd and tried to recognize their faces, then at the executioners, and lastly at the victim.

Antonio felt a strange churning in his stomach when he looked at the victim. He never felt that way when watching an execution. Was it because the victim was naked? No, that couldn't be it. Many executions involved the victim being naked. Was it because he couldn't see his face? No, that couldn't be it either.

And then it struck him. The victim's figure looked familiar.

Antonio could almost feel his heart drop to his stomach. Who could it be? He couldn't remember. Who did he know that had the same body shape? The same hair?

Antonio knew a single person that looked like that. He didn't want to admit it, though. He didn't want to believe it. It couldn't be him. Not who he was thinking of. He had proof that it wasn't him. But… it would explain so many things. It was like putting the pieces of a puzzle together. The pieces fit perfectly. But Antonio didn't want to believe it.

Before he could do anything about what was happening, one of the executioners brought out the torture device-the Spanish Tickler. It seemed more intimidating to Antonio than it ever was to him before. It had four "claws", all aphotic and unkempt. Antonio looked at the victim, who wasn't looking at the future cause of his fate, but rather was looking down at the ground below him in shame.

Eventually the executioners approached the victim, who still did not even glance at them, and reached their long device towards the victim's back.

Antonio tried to call out to them, shouting at them to stop, but nothing came out.

The executioners dragged the long four-clawed device slowly down the victim's back, shredding everything in its way as it went down. The victim's screams ripped through the sky and it seemed to Antonio that you would be able to hear them from China.

Antonio felt his stomach twist, and he ran to find a bathroom, but after being unsuccessful, he ran into the woods and vomited his supper out onto the wet grass, staining it with a mixture of yellows, greens, and whites.

When he was sure that he was going to vomit no more, Antonio leaned against a tree, and without even trying to hold it back, he sobbed. He sobbed because he felt stupid for not caring about the victim and checking in with him to see if he was okay, he sobbed because he was remembering the good memories he had with him, he sobbed because he had failed at his one job-to protect him.

When Antonio cried himself out, and when he couldn't hear the screams anymore, he dragged himself back to the execution site. There were less people now and everyone who was still there were starting to depart. The victim, with his back slashed open and infections already starting to appear, was being brought down by the executioners. He was laid on a table, face first, while the executioners got ready to leave themselves.

Antonio took the chance to go up to the poor man and stroked his hair softly. The victim was unconscious, but not dead. He was still breathing, very shallow breathing, but still breathing. This usually occurred with victims of the Spanish Tickler. Most of the time they died of their wounds or infections later.

Antonio bent down in front of the man and lifted his head gently to look at his face. He felt silent tears make their way down his dark cheeks once again. He was right about the man. He sighed.

A pause. Antonio just stared at the victim's face for several minutes, studying every mark, every cut, every blood drop, every detail. Then he put his head back down and walked around to the side of the table. He lifted the sheet that was covering the victim's back, and studied his wounds.

It was painful to try and choke back the sobs. Run all up and down the victim's back were deep, wide scratches where of you peered into them, you would see ripped muscles and broken bones and ribs. Antonio felt the strange churning in his stomach again and covered the victim's wounds again. It took all of his effort to swallow the vomit that was traveling up through his esophagus.

When he felt like he could speak without bursting into tears or purging all over the ground, Antonio bent down to the victim's ear and paused, before whispering softly in a shaky voice.

"Don't worry, my dear Lovino, I'll get you out of here."