Don’t look at the human beings; all of them have sorrowful faces
I only loved you, and I also hated you, deeply...

-3-

Charles Whicker was a very good man. Hanging on his walls— with fancy and elaborate framing— were many humanitarian awards, alongside some certificates of excellence in his professional trade of photojournalism. On his desk he had a picture of his wife, Samantha, and their three young daughters.

He was one of those good people.

Sebastian hated dealing with people like him, although, they were often the easiest to manipulate. It only took the right actions, and the precise words to push a good heart into doing something, as long as the motive appeared to be heroic, or charitable.

The advantage over those truly white souls was that they did not see beyond the surface of alleged good intentions, into whatever malicious purposes lurked in the depths of the proposal. In fact, they did not even spare a second thought to strings attached, or what the other party would gain from their assistance.

For all Charles knew, Sebastian could run a market for illicit child pornography— and there he sat— willing to help him in whatever Sebastian desired.

Pure hearts simply dove at the chance to do something for the good of others. And this rare quality was one that Charles Whicker possessed twofold. The man would give everything he had if someone else truly needed it. These were the kinds of people whom Sebastian felt served him more efficiently. Deceit was also a beautiful art, and thankfully, one the dark practitioner had mastered early in his life.

Ah, those foolish souls...

In the five minutes that it took to leave the elevator, greet Charles, and be seated in front of him— Sebastian had formulated his request perfectly in his mind. Inspiration could be found in the most unimaginable of places, and for the handsome immortal, the bulletin posted at the elevator had given him a brilliant idea.

He did not feel an ounce of remorse for using other people's pitying circumstances to advance his plans. After all, if everything worked out as he had quickly plotted— the poor people— which would be the subject of his charity— would get the money he'd raise in their name. It wasn't like he needed to pocket the change that high society would spare to his cause.

For Sebastian, it wasn't an act to be taken as a good deed, but rather a devious way to get closer to attaining what he truly wanted. If he helped some humans along the way, well, merry is their luck.

You are all tools in my hands...

"It's great to see you again, Sebastian." Charles smiled, reclining into his cushioned leather chair. "It's been a while."

"Far too long, I must say." Sebastian offered an easy smile.

Silence between them did not make Charles uncomfortable, in fact, the man loosened his tie and sighed contentedly. Sebastian had met Charles many years prior, and though he did not consider himself a man to have those silly things called friendships, he did see Charles as an invaluable acquisition.

Charles' greenish brown eyes flickered with amusement onto his polished, all-black form, and Sebastian arched his brow.

The two of them were absolute opposites in physical and intellectual aspects. Where Sebastian was darkly imposing, Charles was the epitome of angelic. Charles' blond hair had lightened significantly with the passage of time and the addition of fine, shiny, silvery strands of hair added more innocence and didn’t subtract from the image of vigor and drive of Charles’ youth.

His skin was fair and had no undertone of olive such as that of Sebastian's complexion, despite its pallor. If the two were exposed to the sun for too long, certainly Charles' skin would grow red like a tomato, while Sebastian would take on a bronze skin tone.

Sebastian's looks were sharp, penetrating, and intimidating— while Charles' face held lines of compassion and joviality. This man had lived— and though like any human he had also known pain and sorrow— but he remained positive, hopeful, and he even... dreamed.

For a man of four decades, dreaming still came as easy as it would to a teenager.

Every time the two of them met in a public place, it looked like an angel of heaven and one of hell were having council. A small smirk graced Sebastian's lips; usually their meetings did have a bit of a good versus evil type of feel, and this time was no different.

"Man, every time I see you it seems that your hair keeps growing longer." Charles voice wasn't deep, but still held masculinity. The man shook his head of short hair; Charles always fashioned his painfully close to his skull.

Charles usually never offered commentary on Sebastian's appearance unless he was feeling especially happy. Good, it was the perfect mood to set the dragon loose on.

Sebastian's gloved hand ran down the straight locks of his black hair— which fell from his shoulders and over his chest. He had grown quite attached to his enviable mane. A slow grin formed.

"I was thinking of cutting it," he twirled some strands together. "Soon, but not yet."

Charles laughed, "You can donate it for cancer patients. It'd make a good wig." He smiled and leaned forward. “My wife has always nagged me to ask you what you use to keep it so pretty – as if I would engage in beauty product conversations with you.”

“I don’t do anything in particular, if that is what you mean,” he smiled. “It is this way naturally.”

“Again – a perfect wig would come of the hair cut. I mean, you could easily chop off twenty inches and still have it above your shoulders!”

Sebastian had to hide the look of disdain at the thought that anyone would wear his hair. Humans did not know how important and tied to their souls hair was. He doubted that Charles would believe in the magic of it, so he humored his companion.

"Certainly shall when I make the plunge.”

"What brings you here?"

"Already down to business, mm?" Sebastian teased, "And here I thought we could have a nice little chat."

Charles shook his finger at him. "Now when have you ever scared the crap out of the receptionist downstairs, to see me so urgently, when you just want to have a little chat?"

It was good to let people think that they had one figured out or that they knew how one’s mind worked. Such comfort made the person feel closer to the other, and that was precisely what Sebastian was banking on. Ah, such narrow sighted people these inexperienced humans were; a person would never know the other fully, unless they could...

He refused to dwell on Charles' stupidity.

"Charity, actually." Sebastian arched his brow. "I want to hold a fund raiser on New Year's day."

Charles laughed, "You're joking— everyone is going to be broke."

A twinkle of malice sparkled in Sebastian's dark eyes. "Not the kind of people that I associate with, Charles. I do not want small donations. When have I ever aimed for anything trivial?"

"Never," Charles nodded. "But it seems like a highly risky date. Still, what can I possibly help you with? I can't donate even the minimum of what you'd request."

Sebastian waved his hand. "You can help me with preparations. I need photographs. I need very moving and real photographs of the situation in India."

"And here I thought you'd pick Africa,” Charles smirked.

No, Sebastian did not want to choose Africa because that was his home country. Theseus should not touch— or be near— Egypt. He did not want to take Theseus back to the place where it all began because he could remember something and make it an advantage.

Sebastian had cursed the slave with foresight, so that he could torture him with visions of things to come which he would not be able to prevent— or change— yet the man had honed the skill and made it a bit of his own. Theseus could see things beyond those visions sent by Sebastian; the curse had been like a double-edged sword.

Theseus could very well tap into a vision of the past which Sebastian did not want him to see – if he went to Africa, and touched the roots of the past. There were far too many traces of their initial struggle still scattered across the desert.

Sebastian wanted Theseus to only see what was convenient for him – as much as possible.

"There are plenty of organizations focusing on Africa, and my heart is set on India." He lied, "I was there recently and the children— those poor women whom have not enough to even sustain their basic needs."

"It's quite tragic." Charles bit his lip. "I love the idea. Taking pictures of that poverty, the struggle of the parents to keep their children alive--"

"It's a bit of a rush but I need the photographs done as soon as possible." Sebastian added, "Needless to say that I shall fund the trip and personal expenses of the photographer. I want two hundred photographs to choose from. And you know that I can be quite--"

"Opinionated?" Charles smirked.

Sebastian smiled and shrugged one shoulder. "If that word suits your fancy."

"I'll send someone off this weekend, if that is fine with you."

"Excellent." Sebastian smiled. "Oh, and one more request..."

"Anything, you name it."

"Jarret Fallon," Sebastian spat the name. "I want him to go on this assignment. His form of photography is the one that I need for this. He has the eye – the vision – I want him."

Charles paled for a moment, and began shaking his head, "He was actually wanting to see me about going on vacation – he mentioned something this morning and I had promised to make it work. He's amazing, but there are more experienced photographers in this field so--"

Sebastian offered a resolute, "No."

Charles blinked.

"I want Jarret Fallon, or no one."

"Why are you so adamant on him?" Charles laughed nervously.

"Let's just say, that he too, has touched my heart like the starving kids." Sebastian smirked. "They bear a resemblance."

Charles roared in laughter, "Jarret is hardly starving."

Oh but he will be.

"That is not what I mean." Sebastian said, "I want to offer him exposure. And this is a fantastic opportunity for him; certainly you would like him to succeed?"

"As much as anyone." Charles sighed. "Alright, I'll tell him that I couldn’t find anyone to replace him. I hadn’t promised him anything… and I think he may actually need the extra compensation."

"Excellent." Sebastian stood and iced the cake with. "Thank you for your help, my good friend."

"Anytime, Sebastian. Anytime."

One Week Later...

Torture.

It had been achingly difficult to spend one week away from her.

If only he did not have to actually go through with the fund raiser, then he would have been able to perhaps approach her again, sooner than what he had planned. Having been close to her— talking and touching her— he grew increasingly impatient with the charade. However, Sebastian knew that he had to bid his time.

Jarret Fallon, the talented photographer had left that past weekend as promised by Charles Whicker. It angered Sebastian that the slave boy was accommodated on his funds, but it was a small price to pay for the overall benefit of the boy's excursion.

Already, Jarret had sent a dozen photographs of his work in the few days that he had toured the most remote locations of India. He hated to admit it, but the work of the pictures was impressive. He could insult the man all he wished but Sebastian knew that there was plenty more to Theseus than a devoted heart.

He did have power— but he was oblivious to it, of course.

India was a dangerous place for someone so fair and defenseless, thus Sebastian had paid for not only a tour guide, but also an assistant for the foolish youth.

He did not do it to be nice— on the contrary— he wanted nothing more than to kill him off, but he'd want to do so, personally. No other wretched person would have the delicious pleasure of harming Jarret in any form— that was a right that Sebastian reserved for himself.

He sat at his desk, in the enormous study of his mansion, gazing at a picture of him. Charles had provided it because Sebastian planned to use the image to create a small homage for Jarret; for appearances and purpose of hypocrisy, of course.

The boy was twenty-three years old, but he looked a bit younger than his physical age; there was a certain child-like quality to his features. Large, black rimmed eye glasses assisted his clear blue eyes to see the world better. His nose was perfectly erect and narrow, very similar to that of his father's.

Yes, Sebastian had known Jarret's father.

His name had been Cole Fallon, and he had been a prominent professor at Louisiana State University. Cole was a man of knowledge and wisdom, but in the end his sense of right had clouded his judgment.

Jarret had inherited much of his father's traits, and it would be those character flaws which would ultimately be Jarret's undoing.

The fool did not have many days left of life on Earth.

One long, slender finger, extracted from the fist he'd formed, and traced the contours of Jarret's boyish face. He looked so innocent— really— hardly a person worth so much hatred towards, but behind those seemingly harmless lapis colored eyes was a relentless spirit.

Once a slave, always a slave.

And Jarret was slavishly devoted to Nefertiry. And gods favored brainless twits whom did nothing but bend to their wills so he had earned their protection. Yet unbeknownst to Jarret, his real protection came from Nefertiry. The power within her – the magic she was unaware of – that little piece of godliness and sun within her was precisely what protected his fate – his destiny.

Was Jarret perhaps drawn to her because of the power as well?

No – Jarret wasn’t an ambitious man of that sort. Sebastian truly believed the man loved Nefertiry, and he was watchful of her, like a hawk.

No, Jarret was not a little puppy following behind the Lotus' skirt, but he would ultimately do anything to protect her, to keep her away from the hands that longed to touch her; his hands; just as he had been insolent enough to do the first time.

Jarret Fallon— once Theseus, a simple blacksmith— had just enough power to be a nuisance, a hindrance, a thorn in his side.

A knock interrupted the his train of thoughts…

“Come in.”

He did not need her to announce her name to know that it was Caren— and she didn't offer an introduction either. If she came to him, it was because she had seen something.

“Master, the Lotus is in a vulnerable state,” she whispered.

Sebastian lifted a brow, eyes boring into the photograph still in his hand. To know that she was sad and vulnerable because of Jarret only made the fire of his hatred spread wildly.

Pale lids shut over his eyes. “Where is she?”

Sebastian was not referring to her physical location, because he knew that one; she was folded into a ball— in her bed— sobbing. She was weeping for Jarret, because her dreams foretold her that something sinister was stirring, though she knew not what. And not knowing drove her mad because that meant she could not protect her little lover boy.

The Lotus had her very own powers and skills, which she was acutely unaware of how to use. Dreams plagued her of their own volition to offer warnings of things to come, but she had yet to master how to dig into them to find a way to prevent the events from taking place. She didn’t know how to tap into her foresight in a way that would help her, instead of torment her.

This had always been her power— from the beginning— and he could only obscure the truth so far. It was unfortunate for her plans of defense that she had forgotten how to use her powers.

It was taking a lot of work to keep the reality of Jarret's soon-to-be mortality from her – she had been desperately trying to decipher the impending messages of doom.

A part of him knew that his actions— especially how he planned to execute Jarret's finale— would deeply break her apart. In fact, Caren had warned him that she would perish— like the fragile flower that she was when it came to her love for the boy.

She was a flower that could die in the palm of his hands.

“She is anxious and torn, master,” Caren finally answered.

Sebastian's eyes opened, his fist crumpling the photograph of Jarret into a tiny, worthless ball.

Just like him...

“I am going to see her,” Sebastian announced.

“But master, it would seem highly suspicious.”

Sebastian stood, pushing the grand, crimson velvet chair backwards. He took the leather gloves off of the side of his large desk, and carefully put them on his hands.

“I know what I am doing, Caren!” he chided. “And I know just how to appease her suspicions. Sympathy is a great tool, and so is regret— when used appropriately.”

“Master, I still think--”

“Then do not think.” He smiled. “I do not keep you around for your thoughts, Caren. Keep those to yourself.”

She hung her head. “Yes, master...”

“Do not wait up for me,” he said over his shoulder— his luxurious hair slapping her face slightly as he passed by— making haste to exit the study.

A/N:

I had been struggling with direction in this chapter but now I kind of know that I can’t let the dark romance get to me – I must stay true to my story. Thanks for reading, and much appreciation for the reviews.

A special thanks to those anonymous people whom say such heart-warming things:

drea; gothic lil princess; PAINFULLY; Loveless.; hunt 4 gummies; Hai-Hoe

“Ash-ra”

Buck-Tick