Gathering all his courage, he decides to give it one last try…. Imagine a room, dimly lit. A single streak of moonlight peeking through windows thickly covered with curtains of grey velvet. Everything from the glossy furniture to various paintings that hang on the walls speaks of taste and class. All is seemingly still, not a particle wavers, and not a soul wanders. But if we move a bit forward just besides the stately oak bed we see a solitary figure sitting cross legged on the cold marble floor. “Lock the door”, orders a chilly voice. Lazily he gets up, dragging his feet along heavily and bolts the door. As he passes by the wardrobe mirror we catch the glimpse of a boy; young of age, handsome of figure, with raven black hair, skin dark as cocoa, eyes the color of burnt coal, lashes thick and curved. But wait something about him is peculiar maybe the cheeks that lack color? Or his movement that's so slow and measured? And then our eyes fall on his bare arms. Angry red...
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