It was midnight, and all one would be able to hear would be the pounding of hooves. The dusty ground seemed to vibrate with the sound, the ominous shadow of a black stallion hurtling around a shadowed corner. Even more so intimidating would be the emerald eyes staring out from beneath a tri-corn hat, the feline figure shrouded in ebony shadows as the creature galloped fluidly through the undisturbed country-side with rider and creature as one.
Nobody had actually met nor truly seen the infamous highwayman, Arthur Kirkland, but that name seemed to make anyone become petrified with fright. Nothing but the stuff of legend some said, nothing but a rather outlandish fantasy; but even if the rumours spread about him weren't true he was still frightening all the same.
Young Amelia Jones, by chance once encountered the formidable young man; and never in her entire life had she felt so strongly. Fear, perhaps, but most profoundly enchantment and adoration. From the awe-inducing, handsome face to the stregnth and cat-like agility; her heart as well as her parents money had been stolen away by the slender hands in the dead of the night.
A simple smirk had crossed the mans face, but the girl must truly have mistaken it for a seductive, sultry glance. Inspired and captivated, time and time again she wished she could rendezvous with him. Even a mere sighting of him racing across the moors would be enough to satisfy her. Once she had been entranced by heroes, with golden hair and blue eyes, but now she craved the darkness. If only...
Arthur Kirkland himself had taken a shine to the young girl who had caught him red handed, and had then let him go. He had even heard the convincing lies she wove to distract her parents, crying dramatically and making them believe that she hadn't just witnessed him taking everything that belonged to them. Indeed, she was a peculiar young lady and if he could he'd want to see her again also.
The only thing was, he actually saw her every day; but not as a beguiling stranger who was spoke of in whispers. In fact, he'd been living a double life for some time. Magnetic and specious by night without anyone knowing, provocative and ravishing- Nobody would even dream that the book-binders son was the man who pillaged and enticed young women. He'd even convinced himself that he was two different people, trying to sheild his identity if someone even as much as glanced at him in a different way.
It was a light, fresh, envigorating spring day when the young man set out for the manor of his best friend and companion. Initially he had to care for an obnoxious young boy named Alfred, but now he wrote and told stories for the daughter of a noble-man: Amelia F Jones. It was so strange, the gentleman thought, how each time he returned here that things were so different. He was always changed too, but nobody asked him where he'd got his new clothes from; why he'd never remarked that his own modest home had never been stolen from. Everyone else in the town had been terrified, and the boy allowed himself a secretive smirk as he recalled how flustered the law enforcements had been about their inability to catch him. They wouldn't recognize him anyway, he kept his hair tied back and wore glasses that he didn't actually need by day.
Adept at decieving the whole entire world that he knew, an unbeatable charlatan and swindler- Arthur knew he didn't want anything else. He didn't acutally know why he masqueraded as a highwayman, but he adored the rush of adrenaline and the satisfaction that rebellion brought. The only time he'd visited a place for something other than stealing was, of course, when he had gone to see Amelia. He let himself grin again, knowing that the girl was entirely entranced and habituated to his alter-ego. She was always prone to chatting animatedly about him, and he always had to stand by with a sage smile as he listened to her predisposed, obsessed stories. He had to make things up about 'him' too, and he used the skill imbued on to him to his advantage. Whether he was known as a highwayman or not, Arthur was most definitely known as the best writer in the village and a silver-tounged gentleman who could get anything he wanted despite his innocent facade.
Eventually reaching the engraved, cumbersone front door of his employers home, Arthur sighed. Along with telling stories, he also had to do anything else Amelia wanted; but it was a difficult task considering he was forbidden to go anywhere near the kitchens. Shutting the unmanageable, awkward thing behind him, he then began to trot up the stairs.
"Amy~" He trilled up the stairs, black coat swirling around him as he paused to stare annoyed at a worn out patch on his navy breeches. Soon enough the girl appeared, smiling.
"You're here!"
"Evidently~" His arm was taken by the enthusiastic young girl, who was considerably shorter and far more childish than him. "But I've been waiting to tell you something amazing!" She chirped, tugging Arthur further up the staircase and into her room. "Now you're here, I can tell you that he came again!"
"Who?" He pretended to not remember who she was so infatuated with, but hoped she didn't see the small smile.
"Him! Arthur Kirkland!"
"Are you sure?" He replied tenderly, adjusting a bow in the young womans' hair "Or are you just believing my stories a little too much?~"
"No, he did!" Her voice was indignant, and Arthur laughed. "If you say so, My Lady. Though it could have all just been a lucid dream?"
She ignored him the second time he denied what she said. "Oh yes!" Her face then brightens "I need you to deliver something for me after I've eaten breakfast." She hands the brotherly young man a letter.
"Might I ask what this is for?"
"It's nothing, just a letter for my Aunt."
"Then I shall deliver it as quickly as possible; she's very ill isn't she?"
"...Yes. But first, fetch me my breakfast and tell me a story about-"
"About Him?"
"Most definitely."