In the dazzling halls of the London theatre, where the elite sat and their magnificent costumes clashed with the glow of the gaslight, a young ballet dancer moved in his own elegance. The grace he exuded was phenomenal, dancing across the catwalk like a centuries-old professional.

His movements screamed: "Look at me, I'm the star of this show. You mere mortals feast your eyes on me and realise you are not worthy of me and never will be," Peter would never say or think such a thing. He has no time for that, he is far too busy going through his steps in his head and then performing them every second. He clearly gave 100 per cent, that was expected of him, by his boss, by his loyal audience and of course by his patron.

But today he was more perfect than ever, he was the white rose dancing in the moonlight. The elites whispered how great he was, they probably thought they were the wind that made the rose dance. Peter was happy to let her believe that, these people were not his motivation, but his wonderful aunt.

He did everything for her, they both needed the money, he earned it with the ballet. Not enough for them both to make a living, but his patron is happy to pay him more if he gives his all and dances just for him.

Even if he feels that his bones will soon break and his teeth will soon fall off, he must continue to suffer for the money. He must support his family, no matter how self-destructive Peter must be!

And so he turned gracefully in the gaslight at night and looked at his patron, who only nodded stiffly. The man's rigidity was a sign that he was good, but he had to be. In the man's eyes, Peter hadn't reached his full potential, confusing, isn't it?

So he leapt into the air and bowed, trembling slightly. His feet were killing him! The crowd applauded like never before, and that meant... His patron is satisfied when the elite are satisfied! He smiled as he bowed, knowing that people would give him a lot of money today, especially the lusty women, they would slip him letters and give him their address.

Unfortunately, his patron confiscated these letters, Peter was to remain pure forever. Free from sin, more innocent than a newborn kitten. What his patron didn't know was that he was writing to these women behind his back, for a few dollars. Soon enough for him and his aunt to finally move out, enough to become independent of his patron who controlled everything he did.

Peter sighed wearily and closed his eyes briefly. Tired from dancing, but when he opened his eyes again, they were wide open! White roses everywhere, the crowd threw roses at him. A smile crept onto his face and he realised what had happened: Peter was getting into the papers.

Which meant other opera owners would invite him, which meant he would be free of him!

White rose Peter was born,

intentionally or unintentionally, but he was now the distinction of the grace of a white rose in the moonlight, it was a God-given talent. Everyone would be courting him now, and if Peter was clever enough, he could pretend to his patron that he had no interest in leaving him.

No one would stop him,

Not even the paid newspapers, who would call him a "coward". They saw what a gift from God it was as he leapt into the air, spinning. Soon he'll be dancing somewhere else, and if not, he'll finally be in a school.

As a celebrated ballet dancer of his time, whose talent and youthful beauty were admired in equal measure, he was the pride of the theatre and the dream of many admirers.

No one would let the Rose of Night go so quickly, especially not when one of them was the influential and controlling giant Tombstone. Who was also their patron.

Peter released his bow after a few minutes and turned round a little more inelegantly this time, but the people continued to clap and demanded a repeat performance.

But no man was as tenacious and influential as Tombstone, a man of mysterious origins and immeasurable wealth. His eyes followed every turn, every leap with an intensity that sowed fear and desire in Peter's heart.

There the man sat, as he always did after the performance.

"You were good," the man commented and threw Peter a bottle, which he caught without hesitation. He threw himself down on the chair next to tombstone and stared thoughtlessly at the floor as he sipped, visibly exhausted from all the dancing. The man did not want sexual services or a romantic relationship from Peter; he expected very different things from a young man who could be his son than dancing at the opera. It would be a shame to use such a 'pretty face', people said.

No, quite the opposite. Peter was just his protégé, his hobby.

Peter lifted his head, exhausted, and asked quietly: "Can I just go home today, boss?" Normally, the giant asked if Peter would accompany him to an after-party. This was more than humiliating, he was tired, scrutinised by the other men, while Peter himself was about to fall asleep. He had two jobs: to look good and to cling to Tombstone. Sometimes answering questions about how he was doing at school, as if Tombstone would allow him to go to school. He doesn't say that, of course, but the ballet dancer is lucky,

Unlike his colleagues, he didn't become a whore, but had to cling to Tombstone and sit like a little boy in a sailor suit. Most of the ballet dancers were jealous of him because he wasn't being used, no, he wasn't allowed to. (And he's damn glad he did)

The patron just stroked his sweaty hair, which was usually silky and curly but now stood straight at the sides. Peter only heard a soft sigh and knew that he had won. Tombstone realised that Peter was about to collapse if he wasn't held down and allowed to rest. "You're off tonight, but that also means you're coming to the party tomorrow night."

Peter grumbled angrily, hating what was coming next. "-You will, however, appear before the party and let the servants wash you," the criminal baron's voice sounded false, not unlike when he spoke to his real subordinates. "Of course," Peter just sipped his water as he stood up and walked to the cloakroom, closely followed by Tombstone. He knew what the man was up to and Peter hated humiliation!

"I'm not a kid anymore, I don't need anyone to help me change!" protested Peter before the man could enter the cubicle, and as he went to close the door, the giant just put his foot between them. tombstone just stared at him angrily and growled formally when the boy contradicted him: "You're legally a kid, even if you're not..." Thomby interrupted himself.

"I belong to you," the young ballet dancer replied with a sigh. "And no one else but God and Aunt May."

A slight smile spread across Tombstone's face when he heard Peter's aunt's name. "The most dangerous woman in London," was all Peter heard before he collapsed and fell into tombstone's arms, as he did every evening after the show.

(So thats a victorian-era au, where peter is a poor orphan who lives with his aunt. As he searched Work after school, tombstone found him as he balanced himself on the roofs of the city.)

(and no, tombstone is not romantically interested in peter, who is in the au 14 years old. He is more a possessive overprotective dad, but also a very controlling slaveholder)