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He stretched out his hands, letting the tips of his fingers; inquisitives as they were on the icy night, to prove of the flakes swirled in the snowstorm, stealing his temperature with every new touch. He shivered under a cold that was nothing but himself. But can’t the winter yearn for warmth? Taking a bottle out of one of his pockets, he closed his eyes as the alcohol ravished his mouth. The bottleneck, dry and frozen with the winter, stole bits of his flesh with every sip he took. Not that he cared for that. The vodka was spreading like wildfire on his guts, but that was fire of make-believe, a badly told lie, wrapped in the torpor of

"Unhand me, you vile demons! I demand an explanation for this! Unhand me, I say!" Thomas was being dragged helplessly towards the entrance of the castle. His blood was racing, his heart was pounding, and his nerves were shot. Two butlers, dressed entirely in black-aside from their black and white striped masks around their eyes-remained silent as they lifted the boy up the stairs to the door. Finally, the servant on the right of Thomas hissed in a snake-like tone, "Our Mistress will certainly be pleased with this one," he whispered in a light snicker, "you know how much she loves those who resist and fight her power." The two servants chuckle