So I've never written a fanfic before (or any other form of story, really) so your critisizm will be greatly appreciated :)

The intro is pretty bad, I didn't know how to start the story so don't be surprised when you discover how poorly-written it is. It gets better though, or at least I think it does. I'm hoping to make it several chapters long. Enjoy :)

.oOo.

A lone figure huddled next to the concrete wall, his sightless eyes staring at the numerous chalk drawings that adorned it. Each brick had a number, which represented the number of days it had been since he saw the sunlight. Over half the cell was covered in chalk.

His name was Matthew. He was from Canada, but he was of French descent. He had been trapped in this room for almost as long as he could remember. He was somewhere in France, he knew that, but his knowledge of the outside world was otherwise non-existent. The room was threadbare, its' only furniture was a small cot for it's single occupant. It was always cold. Once a day a small tray of food was pushed through a flap in the steel door. It was never enough to sate his constant hunger, but he knew the food was not meant to do so. He would be given the necessities needed to stay alive, and nothing more. All he could do was stare at the wall, and wait for his tormentor.

The door to his cell swung open, a man stood leaning against the doorway, an evil gleam in his eyes. "Bonjour Matthew, comment-ca va?

Receiving nothing more than an accusing glare, he strode forward, watching as his prisoner cowered against the wall. "Mon petit, qu'est-que le jour?"

Slowly, Matthew whispered "C'est Noël."

Beaming, Francis grabbed his arms, pulling his from the wall and out of his cell, dragging him out to the open hallway. "Joyeux Noël, mon frère."

Slowly, Matthew ground out the words, "Joyeux Noël, grand frère." He allowed himself to be led down the hallway, his mind blank. It was that time again. Where he would be paraded around his brother's manor like a dog, forced to attend celebrations and dinners, and catch a glimpse of freedom before being shoved roughly back to his frozen jail in the cellar, and beaten roughly as penance for what he had seen. His brother's false joy didn't fool him for a second; this was just another beating, drawn out to prolong his agony.

His brother shoved him into a bedroom, slamming the doors behind him. Matthew knew the routine. He was to clean himself up and present himself at dinner. Until then, he was to stay in the room. It was like this every year. Or so he thought.

Matthew lay on the extravagant bed, staring up at the ceiling. He had showered and shaved, and felt better than he had in almost a year. Francis had left him some sweat pants and a tee shirt, as well as a pair of formal dress pants and a silk shirt that he was expected to wear that evening. Matthew's heart lifted slightly as he felt the softness of the sweatpants. He hadn't worn anything but rags since last Christmas. Beneath the shallow happiness, however, dread was slowly curling through his stomach, growing larger as he thought about the events that would take place that night.

Suddenly, the door swung open, revealing a grinning Francis. He strode over to where Matthew lay on the bed, sitting on the edge and watching his brother's expression change from one of peace to one of barely concealed anger and fear. Reaching over, he brushed a stray strand of hair out of the Canadian's eyes. Matthew's expression didn't change, his violet eyes watching those of his brother, trying to read his thoughts. Sighing, Francis turned to Matthew. "Mon frère, as-tu m'aime?"

Matthew sighed, running his hands along the edge of the downy comforter. Avoiding his brother's eyes, he replied, "Oui".

Francis beamed at him before standing and making his way to the door. He had heard what he wanted to hear. Matthew was his, he thought possessively. Francis smirked briefly as he thought of the pleasure that awaited him that night. Glancing back at his brother he whispered, "Je dois y aller. Au revoir."

Matthew watched his brother exit the room, the door swinging shut behind him. He could faintly hear the click of a lock. Leave it to Francis to install locks on all the doors in his house. Sighing, he rolled out of bed, absentmindedly running a hand through his messy blond hair. He tried the door, nodding to himself as he confirmed that it was locked. Jogging to the large bay window that overlooked the courtyard, he contemplated his escape. Every year he made a desperate bid for freedom, and every year Francis caught him and beat him for his efforts. It was becoming a hellish sport, impossible to win, always ending in pain and hopelessness. Matthew didn't expect this year to be any different, but he still had to try.

Trailing his fingers along the glass, he looked out over the expansive grounds of his brothers' manor, his gaze lingering on the distant stone wall that encircled the grounds. He remembered running to it, gazing up hopelessly as he realized it was far too tall to climb. He remembered screaming as the guards found him, slamming him against the bars of the metal gate, the only thing keeping his from freedom. The gate over the driveway was the only way in or out of the manor. Matthew had never seen it open. Peering out the window, he tried to find the landmark that was the source of his constant torment. Following the road with his eyes, he gasped at what he saw.

The gate was open. Francis's guests must have arrived. This was his chance. For the last twenty something years, he had looked out the window and seen the closed gate. Francis had only taken his from his cell when they were all inside. Someone must have shown up late. Frantically, Matthew searched the room for a means of escape. Grabbing a soapstone carving from a shelf, he dashed back to the window. He was on the second floor, but he had no other means of escape and he wasn't about to let this chance go to waste. He would jump. He had broken bones before in some of Francis's more violent beatings. This would be nothing in comparison. Taking a deep breath, he smashed the sculpture against the window, smiling slightly as it shattered. Using the sculpture he hurriedly cleared a hole big enough for him to jump through. Francis would have heard the noise, and he was bound to have some sort of alarm system that registered the broken window. Closing his eyes, he ran at the window and jumped.