A/N: inspired by the character of Javert, though the man described here doesn't necessarily have to be him. (I found the hardest thing to do is to write something while being restrained to such a few amount of words!) *sigh* but I am pleased with the result. Enjoy...

Pursuing Shadows

An apparition emerges out of shadows, taking substance from the enveloping fog. My heart trembles and I daren't make a move; I can distinguish the shape of a top hat, the length of a cane, and at last the silhouette of a tall broad man, as the figure gradually becomes less of a phantom, his boots clicking in determined steps against the cobblestone streets.

The sound of a held breath escaping lips reaches my ears and the man freezes. He slightly tilts his head, listening vigilantly. I realize with horror it was my own release of breath that caught his ear. Quickly, like a hound on the hunt the man straightens and looks directly at me through the fog and with increased pace, threateningly approaches.

I know I cannot flee, my chance has passed. I should have ran the moment I fathomed he was flesh not spirit. I am trapped, sinking into the ground, an abandoned marionette waiting to be pulled back to life with broken strings, hopeless. For alas I know my fate, I can read it as surely as if it were written in ink upon my skin; I am going to die.

The brooding man reaches me at last and his cruel pale gaze pierces into mine, cutting through the barriers of my mind; stealing the secrets of my soul.

…I know this man. That hollow desolate look, the haunted dark circles beneath his eyes, his sharp nose, and that mouth which may have been beautiful if not marred by lines of harshness. This tortured soul was feared by many yet fascinated me. Then again I have always embraced what others dread.

I knew the cold heart which beat, ever-steadily within his chest, hard and wooden but not incapable of burning, of catching fire under the veil of darkness...

"Why do you stalk the night at this treacherous hour?"

It took me a second to comprehend he had spoken, that the strangled whisper, rough with emotion was not but a memory.

"I had to find you-

"Why?" He demanded; his tone fiercely bitter. His moment of lapsed control enraged him.

I broke away from his scrutinizing gaze and gave him a thorough examination of my own. His jaw was clenched, his head held high, but his large callused hands trembled at his side. The moment I saw this he shoved them back into his long black coat, glaring at me with accusation.

You see this man was my lover. We meet in the summer of 1795 in France. Even in youth he had been reserved and rigid, tormented by some grim past. He was a son of shadows; I was a daughter of light, his star. He proposed to me one dark moonless night, I accepted whole-heartedly, never had I known such sheer bliss! But he was not a favorite of society, in truth he was an outcast. For he was not a pure Frenchman; he was tainted; he had gypsy blood. I was held high in society, a rich foolish girl who began to see the looks of disdain received when walking arm in arm with him; they saw my engagement ring as proof of my folly instead of a symbol of our sacred love. I couldn't bare it, and as a stupid young thing I fled on the eve before our wedding. He never saw it coming.

Five years later I married a man I've never loved. And though I dreamt of what was lost; I never saw him again…until now. I'd heard word that the gypsies, the very band of rouges he ran with were in this town, not so far from where I lived.

Dressed as a gentleman he stood before me. Silent and watchful. I brought my hand to his face, and caressed the dark sideburns there. He closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled a shaky breath, but in the next instant he pulled back and caught my hand with his own, jerking it in front of his face, he saw my wedding ring and growled.

"Forgive me…" My whispered plea was lost upon him. The only man I ever loved turned away and I forgot my pride as sobs broke from my lips, scorching tears streamed down my face. He swore and turned to me once more…

Without words;

Without permission;

Without waiting for my submission, he pressed his lips to mine and stole my reason-

shattered my virtue with disdainful disregard to the ring upon my finger.