Does anyone here know about the new movie V for Vendetta? That story reminds me slightly of PotO, since there's a masked super genius in black who is smokin' hot. Just thought I'd ask.

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That morning Adrian woke up feeling a little better, though far from her best. Her vision was slightly blurry, and her head felt wooly. The pain in her ribs and ankle had lessened dramatically, but her head was spinning.

It was very tempting to stay in that warm, soft, canopied bed. The black lace hung like a soft mist and made her drowsy. Her poor head cried out, "Don't get up! It's much too early. Let's sleep."

But ignoring the impulse to succumb once again to blissful slumber, Adrian pushed her way out of the canopy and stood.

It was only then that she discovered how very weak she was. Her knees buckled and she toppled over with a thump.

Well, that was stupid.

Nevertheless, she stood again, this time leaning on a table for support.

Food. She wanted food. And lots of it. Food to fill the gaping hole that seemed to have appeared over night around her middle. Food to give her back the strength that was so necessary to independence. Glorious food. Wonderful food.

Adrian shook her head a bit to stop the spinning images of hot bacon sizzling over the fire, its tantalizing odor hanging in the air, the salty grease covering her fingertips begging to be licked off. Now was not the time to display weakness. Now was the time to find out where she was and why.

The room she stood in was very beautiful. Lush and vibrant, but still retaining an elegant grace. The bed she had occupied was the most impressive piece in the room. It was some sort of black metal, shaped like a long necked bird, its wings forming the sides. The bedding was blood red satin, velvet and silk, and the black canopy hung like some benevolent presence ready to wrap her in a warm embrace. A thick carpet dancing with exotic flowers cushioned her bare feet. Everything in the room was pleasing to the eyes, and to Adrian's relief, nothing was pink (or lavender scented for that matter).

There was something off about the room, and Adrian finally noticed; there were no windows. Candles held in black iron brackets on the white walls lighted the entire room.

What sort of house had no windows?

The unsettling question brought Adrian back to the present, and aroused her senses.

She was in a strange environment, not dressed in her own clothes, sapped of strength and she was standing there like an idiot gaping at the décor! What kind of suicidal fool was she? She had to get out now!

Gradually, her pulse and breathing slowed to normal and the icy presence that took over whenever she was afraid made her close her eyes and count to ten.

There was nothing to do but find her host.

The trip down the hallway was slow and painful. Every step simply showed her how weak she had become, how tired she was and how defenseless. Anyone could have walked up to her at that moment and tossed her over his shoulders like a bag of potatoes, and she would be powerless to stop them.

There was light at the end of the hallway, and she headed toward it. Where there was light, there was usually some sort of life. She would confront her host and…what would she do? Demand to be taken back to her room? Demand to know where she was? Demand to know who he was? At the present, demanding anything at all would be unwise. For all she knew, the person was a hulking eccentric living in his basement developing his muscle tone and waiting for someone either brash enough or stupid enough to demand something. It was best to start with something more polite and submissive.

The door was thick and made with some dark colored wood carved with fanciful designs. Someone had left it slightly ajar, and flickering light played upon the walls of the room.

Maybe it won't be so bad. Maybe he (she?) will be a weak little librarian who dislikes the light and…

All such thoughts were dispelled. Hades himself sat before the fire in an armchair that reminded her of a throne. There was nothing human about him. He was too perfect for that. For is death not perfect? Perfect peace? Perfect slumber? Thick black hair tumbled over his ears, shining in the firelight. His skin was pale, as if he knew not the light of day. Black and white, with no color. He turned to her.

The two stared at one another, eyes never moving. Green sparkled and blue shone in balls of flame. And then it was gone. His eyes were only gemstones, dead and cold, and not the miniature stars she had thought them to be.

Adrian took another step. Why would her body not respond? It did not walk, it shuffled. She did not blink, she closed her eyes very slowly, and opened them again. And she could swear that her heart was beating about twelve times slower than it was supposed to. Suddenly, a hand sheathed in black leather appeared, offering support. If she had been in her usual state of alert defense, the hand would have received a cold shoulder.

A sinking sensation began to grow in her chest cavity. Why did she have to collapse now? If she didn't get to a chair soon, she would most definitely make a fool of herself by falling in a dead faint on the floor. Presumably, her host would not want to have her lying on his floor, so he would have to pick her up. Wordlessly, Adrian took the hand. Pride be damned. She was not about to force that sort of physical contact.

The chair was soft and warm. A fine piece of work, neither over- nor under-stuffed. The chair was a dark wine red and enveloped her like a parent welcoming a tired child to their lap.

Adrian closed her eyes. It hurt to think of parents. Parents that never welcomed her to their laps. Parents who never coddled her, showered her with affection. A father who hated her, and a mother…

"Monsieur…please, what is wrong with me?"

The words had come unexpectedly. A subconscious scream that manifested itself as a whisper to the outside world. What is wrong with me? Why am I so weak? Why can't I talk? Why can I never talk? To anyone?

"You had a…nasty fall. Your ribs are bruised, your ankle broken and you have been unconscious for the past three days or so."

"Three days…"

A nasty fall. When had she had a nasty fall? Snippets of memory began to arrange themselves into chronological order. That morning. The window. Silver clouds. A push. And then a jarring collision. Everything had hurt, and then nothing had. And then, the voice.

Adrian stopped her thoughts abruptly. Her host was eyeing her, as if waiting for her to speak. She would recall the voice another time.

"When will I be well?"

Once again, the man answered her question with a cold, steel voice made for command, not conversation.

"I suppose within the next few days. When I see that you are strong enough to walk about more freely, I shall return you to your room."

A few days. A few days usually meant three, but what was a few days to this prince of darkness? He was dressed like a prince. Every stitch of clothing was cut and fastened just so, and it was all as dark as the shadows he inhabited. The voice had sounded like a prince. It possessed command of her thoughts in an almost princely fashion. But this voice could not be her voice. It was too cold.

"I suppose you are hungry?"

Adrian snapped her head up. Food? This person would give her food? She would have food to fill the empty space in her middle and give her back the strength to be independent of any helping hands! She nodded.

"Wait here. Breakfast shall be ready shortly."

The man disappeared behind a crimson tapestry. Just like the one in her room. Maybe later she would look behind the tapestry to see what was behind the door.

A nagging sensation told her that she had seen this man before. Something in those eyes, in his mannerisms, in his cultured demeanor.

Wait! There was something paired with the voice! A face. No, not a face. A pair of eyes. Brilliant green eyes that flamed with despair, shrouded with cold anger. But for a single moment, the flaming ice had cracked, and she had seen something beneath. Something more precious than the most precious of gems. But then the smoke had swirled in from the edges of her vision and suffocated her senses.

The man was back. But not empty-handed. There was a tray loaded with food that he set before her on a small table.

So many delicious things to taste and smell!

Before she realized it, half the food was gone. All was cooked to perfection, and each bite simply whetted her appetite till she felt she would die if more food were not eaten.

" Calm down, child. I'm not about to take it from you."

Adrian paused and slowed to a more human pace, feeling abashed. The man had spoken to her as if she were a silly child who has just done something foolish. Well no wonder. She had been eating like an animal! Stuffing food and drink down her gullet like a starved wolf, afraid that if she did not eat quickly enough, a bigger, stronger wolf would take it from her.

Finally the meal was done. The man was watching her still, gemstone eyes fixed somewhere at her cheekbone. Why was he watching her like that? Suddenly, a sickening reality came into focus. She wasn't wearing her own clothes. A comfortable nightgown had replaced her usual dark dress. To have gotten her dressed like this, the man would have to have seen the scars…

"Monsieur, would you be so kind as to show me to my room?"

She would have to get back into solitude to sort out the tumult of emotions in her head. And although the meal had been exquisite, it did not have the strengthening power she had hoped for. She would need her host to help her back.

When they had reached the door, Adrian turned to the man. She must find out who he was. Was he the voice that had captured her so fully? Or had that simply been a dream?

A cold wave of horror slashed at her face. Blood. Gallons of blood coating her skin, soaking her hair, stinging her eyes, lining the inside of her mouth like a sick second skin.

She slammed the door in his face.

He was the man. He was the angel. He was the voice, the music, the safety. And she had murdered him simply by being pushed out of a window.

Her back to the door, Adrian slid to the floor, her hands clutching her shoulders in an attempt to protect herself. So blank. So empty.

All things she might have loved were destroyed, and she destroyed them herself.

Her breath was ragged and quick.

Dead, dead, it was all dead.

I'm losing my mind, I'm losing my mind.

She was shaking now.

Blood. And she had drunk it in like a vampire at the feed.

Her love was toxic, and even the slightest premonition of it would cause death.

"Mama…"

The most beautiful woman in the world. How lovely she had been. But the second Adrian was born, a feeble thing with stick limbs and bluish tinged skin that screamed, Mama was blank and empty. She had been tipped over and poured out, leaving an empty beautiful vase. No effort from her only daughter could arouse any affection. Mama had been silent and staring, sitting on her bed and seeing nothing, or walking alone at night on the sunless meadows, staring before herself and not returning till morning.

Mama had died inside because Adrian was born. Because Adrian, like all children, loved her mother from birth. And her love had broken so many lives. She must not let it happen again. She would love no one and nothing. All emotions were locked deep inside, leaving her alone.

All alone.

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"Good morning, my love!"

Charles kissed his lady's hand gallantly and then, grabbing her close, kissed the rest of her.

"Oh Charley! You're such a rouge!" Laughed the diva.

Now that Adrian was gone, Deborah had Sir Charles all to herself. He bought her things, took her out, and kissed her. Yes, everything was going according to plan! Without Mlle. Cartier to distract him, Charles was doing his part of gallant lover wonderfully! How glorious it was to be in love!

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Love. Buy it, steal it or borrow it, but always have love. Never leave the house without it. Never forget it. Love is everything.