"Oh, what to do with you Alfred," chanted the Frenchman, "What to do with you is zhe true question for je, non?" The long haired blonde gazed at his captive with eyes full of fiery hatred. "If it was not for you zhen d'arthur would be mine alone, but non! You had to 'ave been born zhen. Stupid American!" More fire added to the pools of pool as hatred piled up inside from his unrequited love with Arthur that had originated centuries back. "I will make you suffer and that is my most sincere promise to you."
Aged golden and lightly tinted orange hair fell over Matthew's closed eyes. A soft moan escaped Matthew's lips as his body twitched in sleep, dreams over flooding his entire mental process at the current moment. His eyes flicked back and forth underneath the cover of pale, yet creamed lids.
Smoke engulfed the room in billowing clouds of gray in all shades. With each inhale the smoke burned the delicate throat and caused the owner to cough heavily with each intake. Violet-blue eyes wandered around, blinking multiple times to clear the onset of tears that poured out each lid due to the fog of the A fiery blaze slowly creeping in with each second and turning all it touched to blackened ash. More heavy coughs escaped the thin lips. "G-GIL!" screeched the faltering voice. The smoke tearing more into the thin throat as heavy coughing continued to erupt. A pale hand sneaked up to wipe the thin lips and when pulled away revealed blood. 'I don't want to die. Not here and alone. Please, Holy Father . . . Do not let me die here. I . . . I want to live with him. Please!' came the steady thoughts of denial and bargaining.
"BIRDIE!" yelled an accented voice. "WHERE ARE YOU?!" Red eyes scanned each room of the burning building, their home being destroyed by them. "MATTEA!" Aching ghost limbs pushed forward to move through the burning belongings of their home. Pushing slowly through the blackening debris the ghost of a man kept trying with all his might to put out the fire, to keep their house together.
Eyes looked in the direction of the voice, but smoke blew in the violet depths as tears began to well up. "Gil," whimpered the weakening voice, "Please . . ." Flames began to lick the pale skin, causing the snowy elegance to melt into angry red scorch marks and followed by the slowly blackening of the areas licked by the flame. Pain spread like lightening through the small body as the flame slowly started to engulf the pale body. Eyes closed in defeat with tears falling in lost hope.
'I am going to die,' thought the burning body.
The moment of giving up was within arm's reach, the pain slowly starting to dim away. A dimming thought provoked its way into the weakening figures mind as her body pushed her towards the broken crib and burnt hands clutching her child's stuffed animal hard, a trinket she had as a small child. "Birdie!" yelled the ghost man as he found his beloved. Red eyes brimmed with tears as he laid his eyes upon the brick, crusted form of his lover. He limped his way towards his lover and picked her up gently. Redden limps delicately, yet strongly held the dying female as the ghost of a man pushed himself out of the burning house. The scent of burnt flesh laced the air; meat overcooked in a skillet was similar to the scent, but weaker than the surrounding and repulsive aroma that attacked the albino's elusive sense of smell. Counting in his head the albino counted his faltering step, until his legs gave way: knees bending in and arms encasing the burnt figure tighter as the cool ground aided in supporting his lover. Red eyes looked down at the reddening figure with seared limbs and bared witness to singed hair coated in soot, while the flesh seemed to be ripped off, or even overcooked to the point that the flesh shrank. "Oh, Mattie . . . My Mattie . . ." breathed the albino as he gently licked at her wounds with an even paler tongue, but to no avail for the wounds sustained were too great.
"G-Gil," smiled Mattea weakly. Her skin and muscles aching at the stretch of her smile, brows furrowed in pain at the motion. ""m sorry . . . 'm goi' to f-fall you."
Tearing eyes looked down at fading violet ones, "Fail? Heh, Birdie, you could never fail me. With what we had I'm glad I was able to meet you . . ." Gilbert falter in his thoughts, being scattered and trying his hardest to be strong at the paining situation at hand, "You were my light at the end of my tunnel, you gave me a purpose to keep living after so long of living an unwanted and unfulfilling life, but you gave me a reason to live and filled my . . . No, our life with so much love, happiness, and light of hope and . . . And the fact that we had a child . . . Was proof of our love." The pure thought of his losing his one and only other half was slowly starting to pain him more and more.
"Watch over her . . . Our little princess," whispered the wavering voice. Dying eyes unnoticing of the tears slipping from red eyes at the horrid fact about their child because they were staring at the snow that was delicately falling in an unseen grace. Gilbert, however, kept his tears up unconsciously at first, but now deliberately: their child had been stolen, taken from the protective grips of her parents. "So beautiful . . . I . . . Fell in love with the snow . . . G-Gil . . ." exhausted Mattea as her weak voice weakened more and finally gave way.
Glistening red eyes looked at the figure in their owner's arms. Violet eyes stared up towards the sky emptily, open but not seeing: an inert glaze formed against the once lively, vibrant eyes. Snow fell delicately and settled upon the heated skin and melted quickly at the contact of cold meeting hot. "Ich liebe dich, my bluebird . . . My Mattie," cried the albino. Crystals fell down in a steady flow and dropping, one by one, upon the cooling, stilled face. A healing hand graced upon the marred flesh of his lover's once pale cheek. "I will always love you," incisors bit into his lip at the pain of reality.
A hard sound emitted from behind him and eyes peeked from their corners to gaze at the new editions of their house collapsing into the foundation, flame erupting further. Orange licked away the wood supporting framework and then the foundation was gone. There was nothing left now, no proof of their love.
Eyes snapped open from a nightmare of the past. 'What was that?' Stiff body jostled upwards into a sitting position as a ghost hand slide against the sweat that had gathered upon his forehead. "It felt like . . . Someone was watching me . . . Us." Red eyes looked around the pristine room in unblinking motions as chest moved quickly with breath coming in and out of the ghost body.
Time seemed to tick by as hours passed on the clock for Arthur, but the constant nudging of Alfred's full awakening was a bother to him as his worried increased. Thoughts bouncing around crazily. Maybe he won't like me this go around. Maybe he'll be straight. Maybe he'll be afraid of what I am when the time comes. I . . . I . . ." A pale hand ran through light blonde locks at the crazed thoughts, "What about when he remembers then? What will happen when that comes? . . . STOP THIS ARTHUR! You need to be there for him. Protect him like you didn't do very well before. You need to be there and love him and help him even if he doesn't . . . Like . . . you.
Sharpened incisors pierced into thin lips as emerald eyes peered over to the sleeping human. "I must have knocked him off his feet to hard," breathed Arthur as he rose to his feet. Quietly he walked over to the bed and sat on the edge. Shaking hand reached over and rested upon the bronzed hair and a smile sneaking upon the vampire's face. "Alfred love," he spoke with some form of courage, "Alfred, come now. Wake love." A small jerk escaped from Alfred's semi-limp body as conscious life started to rouse the American. "Come on, poppet," smiled Arthur as he peered at the American's slowly waking body. "Darling," pressed Arthur, "Up." Golden lids slowly slid open to uncover dulled sky blue eyes, blood seemed to clot the whites, and a glaze over the color made the eyes seem rather dead than alive. "Alfred?" questioned Arthur tentatively. The aged blonde head rolled away from the vampire's form as the voice was causing more pounding within his head.
"St-stop . . ." moaned Alfred, who was clearly in pain.
Emerald eyes looked at the American carefully and rubbed small circles in his back. "Darling, whatever is the matter?"
"It h-hurts . . ."
"What hurts?" worry taking over Arthur's voice quickly.
Golden hands reached up and held fast to an aching head, "M-my head . . . It hurts s-so much . . ."
It could possibly be a concussion. Maybe from the trauma earlier, when his head was banging off the asphalt when I tackled him to the ground because of my damned lust! "Love, it'll be alright," whispered Arthur, "Just relax." The vampire slid more into the bed and sat Alfred up enough to slip underneath him, in a nursing position, where the teen's head resting against the coolness of the vampire's lithe abdominals and thin legs surrounding the teen's body. That movement didn't please Alfred by any means because it caused severe pain to radiate with each muscle moved and his head to pound more relentlessly. "It'll be alright, sleep." Arthur kept raking his fingers delicately through Alfred's hair and scanned for any discomforts from his lover.
It didn't take much for Alfred to fall back into the quiet depths of unconsciousness. The pain only seemed to subside when he was in the welcoming blackness of his inner conscious. However, once Alfred was asleep Arthur gently sat the teen up and looked at the knotted, bloody mess of Alfred's head. Emeralds winced at the site and guilt built quickly. "My fault for your current state," breathed the vampire. Blood knotted the aged golden locks at the back of Alfred's head, yet there were occasional black dots here and there, some chunks larger than others, lodged in the open wound: asphalt particles engrained from Alfred's couple second date with the black substance. Clear liquid resonated from the wound in a vain attempt to clean out any bacterium, while blood started to crust over due to time passing by and the oxygen oxidizing. The wound, itself, was rather large for a quick impact, but Arthur guessed that if Alfred was anything like his past self his skull was probably worn thin from other and past head injuries. Pale, chilled lips gently graced themselves upon Alfred's forehead as they pressed down the ailing body part. "I am so, so sorry."
Saddened eyes looked down onto the ailing form. So weak . . . So fragile . . . This form is fitting in ways, but not this way. Not if you could die from this. After another soft kiss to Alfred's forehead Arthur contemplated on what to do. Ideas were coming and going, but one always coming back. After a few moments thinking about that one reoccurring idea and the side effects with the possible negative outcomes that could occur Arthur sighed to himself and the empty space that encased the two. "For you, my dear Alfred, I will do this." Arthur pulled up the sleeve to his dark grey and dirtied shirt to reveal his pale, lanky arm, veins seemed to pop out due to the blue-purple coloration nearly popping out in contrast to the natural porcelain skin of the vampire. The vampire raised his thin wrist to his lips and bared his teeth to the flesh, fangs growing his the hiss-like facial expression, and then, when the canines were fully grown, did Arthur let his teeth sink deeply within his soft flesh. Immediately cool blood filled Arthur's mouth; eyebrows furrowed at the vile taste of the blood. His blood lacked the welcoming oxygen and warmth that came from a human's blood, but he let the vile liquid fill his mouth until he could hold anymore with his puffed out cheeks and let go of his wrist. Arthur's free hand pulled Alfred's jaw down a bit to get those soft pink lips to open up, inviting the paled lips of the vampire. As gently as possible, Arthur laid his lips upon Alfred's and opened his mouth up to let his blood flow into Alfred's welcoming mouth. Once his mouth was empty Arthur remained attached and then used his hand to pinch Alfred's nose, blocking all sources of oxygen until he heard that chilling sound, GULP!
Pulling back, Arthur noticed the thin line of crimson that had leaked down Alfred's cheek in the process and with a quick flick of his fingers Arthur gathered the liquid on his thumb and licked it up. "I hope that makes you feel better." Smiling, Arthur laid back and kept his arms, protectively, around Alfred. A yawn escaped the paled lips as equally pale lids shut over emerald eyes. Sleep taking Arthur away into a world that he thought ceased long ago.
A groan escaped the cracked lips. Wh-what was with that dream? Who were they? That ma- "JE SAID TO WAKE UP! MON DIEU! LISTEN, YOU AMẺRICAIN SWINE!" Furious cerulean eyes lashed out at the stirring figure below him. A ten black oxford encased foot shot down harshly on the twitching leg of the minor. Next, a sickening snap echoed throughout the building.
Purple-blue eyes snapped open immediately as pain sailed quickly throughout the owner's body. "AH!" cried Matthew as the pain kept radiating. The pain would worsen when the Frenchman would wiggle the toe of his encased foot around. White teeth grit in pain, while slightly stained ones were revealed more as a grin of pure evil emerged.
"Do you not love zhe pain? Non?" smiled Francis, "Well, enjoy it Alfred because zhe pain is all you will get from moi."
Tearing eyes looked up at the sadistic blue eyes, "Alfred?"
"Oui, Je want to torture you for taking 'im away from moi, punishment for you."
"I am not Alfred," breathed Matthew, "I am Matthew Williams."
Cerulean eyes came down to observe Matthew closer. A twitch of annoyance would appear here and there as they examined the jerking, pained body. 'e doe not 'ave blue eyes, not zhat absurd bouncing 'air zhat I wish to rip out with moi own 'ands. Eyes kept examining, but always came back to the purple-blue eyes. Francis noted the ferocity behind them, a fire ready to burn down a forest. "Williams . . . I never zhought it possible," laughed Francis to himself as he pulled away, "Not what I wanted, but good enough to reach 'im. Make one of 'is followers fall into moi 'ands to crush and maybe obtain Alfred. I can work with this small change." The vampire turned on his heels and walked out to get something. The tapping of his feet fading with each step was like pure music to Matthew's ears, until they stopped. "Williams . . ." Francis tested the surname again on his lips, "Who was your mother?"
"I don't know who she was. She . . . She died after Al was born."
Francis turned on his heels quickly and nearly jumped on Matthew, "Al? Who is zhis Al?" Cerulean yes burning with sudden interest at the new, juicy information.
A twitch of disgust bubbled in Matthew's chest at the closeness of the Frenchman, "Why should I tell you?"
"Because I can make your life every definition of pain imaginable," smiled Francis as he grabbed onto Matthew's newly broken leg and squeezed hard enough for the bones to emit a creaking sound at the pressure.
"AHHHH!" cried Matthew, "AL IS MY YOUNGER TWIN BROTHER!"
"What does he look like?" Francis squeezed harder, getting that pain gave quicker answers.
"NGHHHH! GO TO HELL! I'VE TOLD YOU ENOUGH!" screamed Matthew.
This irritated Francis to all belief possible. "I am zhe very meaning of hell. You will pay for zhat outbreak." Francis let go of the bruised and broken leg, much to Matthew's relief, and got up. He left to small room and came back with something that had red-orange glowing tip and a smoke-like substance emitting from it. "You will pay for zhat remark by zhe fires of 'ell you will." A cruel smile emerged and Francis closed the distance between himself and Matthew quickly, who was trying as hard as possible to get away. A large hand pushed Matthew against the floor and kept him in place. "Now, don't move too much or else," sang Francis. Matthew, of course, jerked to try and get free, but that hot tip got closer and closer until –
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" screamed Matthew louder than ever before. "I'LL BE GOOD! JUST STOP!"
"Mon lapin, you say zhat now, while I am torturing you, but you will not be so willing later when I am not," spoke Francis simply as his arm kept moving. The vampire's knee pressed down harder upon Matthew's jerking chest as his hand pushed the screaming head into the floor with great strength. The hot tip burning into the pale skin, creamy skin and creating and ugly burn that bled wherever the tip touched. The smile of the Frenchman grew as his skillful creation took place, his name in French engraved in the human skin. "Ah, perfect. A symbol zhat I own you now. A mark zhat you'll never be able to erase and forever disgust you."
"What," panted Matthew as pain still emitted from the newest site of torture, "The fuck . . . Happened to you . . . To piss you . . . Off so much . . . That you . . . Are one hell . . . Of . . . A sadistic . . . Bastard?"
"Zhat, mon lapin, is a long story zhat pains me to zhis day," spoke Francis softly as his mind wander a bit at the question, "And not meant for zhe ears of swine." The Frenchman got up and walked out of the small room, locking the door though. He went up to his private quarters and poured himself a large glass of red wine and took a long swig of the sanguine liquid. "A long and sad story . . .Zhat started with zhat woman. . . ." whispered Francis to himself before he guzzled the remainder of his wine. "Ahmes, mon mere." The Frenchman got up and retrieved another bottle of an unmarked brand and opened it, letting the contents pour out into the crystal glass. However, this time the substance stuck to the glass in a grotesque way. Lifting the glass to his lips Francis smiled, "But if Ahmes did not interfere, zhen I would never 'ave known you, Arthur." Greedily, Francis downed the contents and smiled, revealing stained red teeth. The red to be only one shade possible: blood.
This story begins with a migratory tribe and it's people possessing fair hair and eyes, as well as skin during a time where nature graced the land because this was the time before humans started cutting down trees, before technology started to fuel the existence of the human race. It was also the time when the human population was little in numbers and spread far out and wide. If someone were to disappear then the tribe of that person would just carry on after a day's search.
It was a starless night, the moon obscured behind thick nightly clouds. One of the members of this tribe had followed an alluring voice calling to him: it was a magical, light, and feminine voice singing to him to come. He had followed that voice into the woods, far from his people's camping ground, and came across a fair maiden, a woman whose appearance he had never seen before in his, according the time period, long life, the man was twenty-six as of the beginning of the year. The maiden had long, straight black hair and copper skin. Her eyes were almond in shape and the color of her eyes was a darkened brown, almost black. One of her thin, long copper hands reached out for the man; he was captivated by her and took her hand. "Mon cheri," breathed the man. This was the closest he had gotten to another female since his wife's departure from the world when she tried to bring their child into the world, but now that didn't matter, his wife or his child.
The maiden pulled the man closer and smiled, revealing pearl white teeth. "Ahmes," whispered the woman, her voice was heavy and had a different pull in accent, as she pointed to herself. That smiled turned more sadistic and before the man realized what he had come across the woman had pushed him against a tree, pinning him effectively, and sinking her pearl-like teeth deep within his neck.
A sucking motion was felt as the woman nursed her thirst. The motion became harsher as the women sucked greedily at the man's blood: she had been hunting for days looking for the right the meal to make her own. Ahmes came across the man a few days back, but decided to watch him and learn from his people. Sticking the shadows and watching quietly until her aching throat could not take it any longer and now it showed, for she sucked greedily and fast. "Please stop," begged a heavily accented voice in pain, "Please . . ."
Teeth buried themselves deeper into the long neck that was graced with golden stumble. They kneaded themselves deeper and deeper within that neck, desperate for more of the sanguine liquid that flowed from the twin puncture wounds. The sound of a deep thud came into Ahmes' ears as she heard the man's heart beat slower and slower and losing it's strength with each drawl she took. The liquid was the richest thing she had tasted in years and it was different than the blood of her native people. With a heavy sigh she pulled back and licked her golden lips free of all blood. Testing her knowledge of the man's people she tried out his language from her own lips, "Je vais . . . Vous faire mine." (I will make you mine) The words sounded wrong upon her lips, but the reaction she received made her feel that she spoke right; the man tried to move away quickly, but his body felt too heavy to move. Those pearl-like teeth revealed themselves and they got bigger as the man's body was moved closer to the cool, copper body of the blood-drinker. Long, thin fingers reached up and then went down in a quick motion, a small hiss emitted from the woman's lips.
It was then the moon decided to allow herself to be seen by the eyes of man, animals, nature, and this devil creature. A pale, translucent blue hue took hold of everything that the moon's wavering light touched. The man vaguely saw the thin line of something slowly running down the copper neck. 'Wh-what is that?" Cerulean eyes continued to look in wonder, even though his sight was dimming: it was slow at first and then the black edges started to invade more. 'Zhis is it. Moi life is over now.' A smiled stretched along the man's face. 'I'm 'appy that I was at least able to 'ave moi son.' Vision darkened enough to where the man couldn't see his surrounding any more, but he could feel himself being lifted up more. Next thing he knew he felt a watery substance against his lips. "Bois, mon enfant," (Stop, my child.)whispered Ahmes.
Not knowing what to do, the man obeyed: mouth latching upon the self-inflicted wound and gently pressure applied to the wound as he sucked. The liquid was thick, different than the fall time drink his people made with the harvest of the wild grapes. It tasted like . . . Like metal. The woman was now petting the man's hair as he drank, each gulp leading to a stronger swallow, until she pulled him away. "Assez, mon enfant." (Stop, my child)
Cerulean eyes opened up as a pain encircled his chest. "Qui êtes-vous?"(Who are you?) whimpered the man as the pain took a stronger hold. The throb of his heart beating inhumanly fast; a cold sweat breaking out across his entire body
"Je vous ai déjà dit, l'homme stupide. Je suis Ahmes. Je suis ta mere," (I already told you who I am, stupid human. My name is Ahmes. I am your mother.) smiled the Ahmes, "
Quel est votre nom, mon enfant?" (What is your name, my child?"
The man's back tensed as his hips lifted high in the air as the pain kept throbbing; mouth opened to the pain, yet no sound coming out. Muscles tired and strained from the inhuman positions the man took during his transition from human to this devil-creature. 'Mon dieu . . . It 'urts . . . 'Urts so much . . .' Eyes closed and a hope of never opening them again came through as the feeling of a million men sitting on his chest took place. Air seemed impossible to gather in his lungs due to that crushing feeling that the man felt. Ahmes just remained calm and ran her fingers through the man's long, golden hair. The pain seemed never ending and continued to what felt like hours and then it was gone. The pain evaporated away to nothing and all that was left was an empty feeling in the man's chest. Cerulean eyes snapped open and looked around in amazement. "Où suis-je?" (Where am I?)
A small chuckled erupted from Ahmes' lips. "Nous sommes toujours là où nous étions."( We are still where we were.) Dark brown eyes watched the being in their owner's lap looking around. The world seemed to evolve, though everything remained the same. "Quel est votre nom, mon enfant?" (What is your name, my child?) repeated Ahmes.
Cerulean eyes looked up at the dark browns ones. "F-Francis."
A smile formed, "Francis, mon enfant, nous allons voyager ensemble à partir de maintenant. apprendre et de grandir." (Francis, my child, we will travel together from now on. Learn and grow.) It was then Ahmes realized Francis was staring at the beginning of the morning. "Francis venir," (Francis come) commanded Ahmes as she rose to her astounding height as walked towards a the shelter shade of the forest. She knew that there was a cave in there somewhere due to the bears she saw earlier that month. However, she looked back to see Francis standing, yet looking towards his people's camping site. "Francis venir. Vous n'êtes pas l'un d'eux plus." (Francis come. You are not one of them anymore.)
This still didn't get the newly turned Francis to move as he watched his people starting to awaken with the coming of light. He didn't care about the morning rays started to shine through the clouds and burning Francis' face. Cerulean eyes looked as his people started moving about and tearing down their tents to move on. He then saw his son running around calling for him. His heart seemed to ache even though it didn't beat. "Mon fils, Jehan." Bright golden, long locks wavered around as the boy ran around looking for his father.
"PAPA!" yelled the boy as he searched. His volume and urgency helped to gather others of the tribe to aid him in looking for Francis. Tears started to gently pour down Francis' cheeks at this point in time. His only son was now left alone if he left. Forest green eyes looked all around and finally looked up in a begging motion from an unknown deity to help. After a silent prayer those forest green eyes reopened and was about to start another search but green made contact with blue. "PAPA!" smiled the boy as his legs moved without thinking to reach Francis as soon as possible.
It was then that the women grabbed Francis by hand and forced him to run; his newly born strength was no match for her years of strength. She pulled him forward as Francis looked back and saw the shadow of his sun coming.
The child, no more than teen made it to the clearing where his father stood not minutes before. He looks around and saw no trace of his beloved father. A set of warm hands made their way upon the boy's fallen shoulders in a comforting manner as an elderly woman guided him back to village.
Years Later . . .
"Allistor!" cried a small boy as he searched for his elder brother. Tears had long since leaked down his pale face as his worry grew due to the night coming. "This isn't funny you limey!"
Cerulean eyes looked at the boy from afar and when that child's face looked his way they grew wide and a feeling that Francis never thought would occur again encased his heart with pain. The boy looked just like his son: light golden hair, rich green eyes, and was roughly the same age. The only difference was the hairstyle and the eyebrows. His son's hair was long, having never been cut since the day he was born; the boy in front of him had short and messy hair. His son's eyebrows were slim and natural looking; the boy in front of him had the biggest set of eyebrows he had ever seen in his life, they were just unnatural!
However, the difference didn't matter to Francis because he was able to put them aside because he had his 'son' again. His loving, dear son was back. "'ello dear boy. I am Francis Bonnefoy," smiled the older vampire.
"Will you help me find my limey of a brother?" asked the child innocently. He received a nod from the taller man, whose long hair bounced around from the motion. "I'm Arthur."
"Pleasure young Arthur," smiled Francis as he took the boy.
Since that chance meeting the Frenchman loved his on again and off again one sided affair with Arthur. When Arthur got old enough he ran away as fast as he could and this made himself a prize to Francis because it was game to Frenchman. He would follow Arthur around and reclaim his property. This cycle continued until the 1600s when Arthur met Alfred.
A Few More Hundred Years
The Frenchman had just caught up with his 'lover', who had made his latest getaway to the New World, the American Colony. He would just have to ask people if they had seen a man with caterpillars for eyebrows and they would point the Frenchman to the right way. Though, this time he wished he hadn't. When he reached the outskirts of the Jamestown Colony it was nightfall and a single cabin was seen due to the light of a lantern. Francis dismounted his horse and walked up to the wooden building. As he made his way closer he heard something, moaning. This immediately quickened Francis' pace as his eyes looked through the window. Nothing on the bottom floor. "Arthur!" moaned a masculine voice. Tongue flicked angrily against his teeth as the vampire pushed himself to climb up to the top window. Cerulean eyes peeked up through the corner of the window and Francis let his grip go and he fell to the ground.
His eyes had just seen his 'lover' making love to a farm boy. Not only just making love, but drinking his blood. His Arthur . . . Tears pricked their way through Francis' eyes at the thought of possible losing Arthur. 'I will not lose him.' This caused the plans to part the two lovebirds and bring Arthur back to him, and only him.
"You will be mine again."
Meanwhile, Matthew nursed the burn that had been endowed upon his face. The site was still warm from the encounter with the poker and his leg still throbbed at the slightest twitch of his aching body. I never thought that I could care so much about pain when I've been detaching myself from everything. Images from the dream that Matthew had before he had been brutally woken up started to flash within his skull. Images of flames flickering away pale, cream flesh by turning it into something grotesque, turning a once beautiful house into nothing more than rubles of debris and ash, and then the imagine of a lovely couple with their child torn apart, leaving the man alone with nothing. It was like a picture waving in front of Matthew's eyes before being burned away by an ignited match that was started from an unseen force. "Why is this dream haunting me so? I've never had a dream like this before, one that seemed so . . . So intimate and personal."
Even with all the torture and pain that had just happened from a psychopath, Matthew's thoughts were always returning to that dream. "Who were they?" An ache started to make its way into Matthew's chest and it set up a home that throbbed worse than Matthew's broken leg. "I . . . I feel like I should know them . . . Why? WHO?!"