A young boy stands bare foot on a cold stone floor.
Lying next to him is his wet night tunic, the stink of piss fills the room. His cheeks redden from rubbing as the tears are hidden.
The boy stares at the back of a tall man dressed in embroidered robes, a high stiff collar is bedazzled with gems of high value.
The boys' eyes burn with a fierce hatred that melts away to stunned innocence as the man turns and the boy drops his eyes to the floor.
The man lovingly holds a strap of black leather across his open palms,
it is studded with dots of iron along its length.
"Hold out your hands."
The boys' hands are steady as he raises his palms and extends his arms. He strains to
keep his brows raised, to hide the depth of hatred from his face, to show no resistance.
Each time the strap comes down across his palms his whole-body curls forward,
not a single cry is uttered, nor another tear shed. Just as quick as the hit and the curl,
he straightens again, ready for the next hit. By the fourth hit his eyes have found the hollow
of the man's throat. He will not meet his eyes; he knows not to.
The man talks to the boy while he violently whips the strap across his palms.
The words are lost to the boy, he does not hear them. He knows he is dismissed when the man turns
and places the strap in a velvet lined box. The boy stares at the back of the finely dressed man
and utters the line he has been given when his punishments are complete.
"Thank you, Uncle, I will learn this time."
When the boy fails to produce a globe of light after a week of trying, he meets this punishment.
When the boy drops a flask of rare ingredients, he meets this punishment.
When his uncle feels like it, he meets this punishment.
The boy is now a young man. That age that comes full of changes.
The young man has decided what change he would like and he goes about finding it.
He sneaks into his Uncles study; he climbs the bookcase to reach the velvet lined box.
A slip while descending the bookcase makes a thudding noise as he lands on the floor clutching the box.
The young man's eyes dart to the bed in the room attached to the study,
his uncle remains deep in sleep snoring loudly on his stomach. He even stays asleep as the young man
ties his wrists and ankles to the four-poster bed with soft velvet curtain ties he purloined from unused rooms of the tower.
The box creaks slightly as he lifts the lid. As his fingers reach for the strap, he blinks his eyes rapidly,
he can no longer see the box. The room has filled with smoke or fog or maybe... mist?
