I wonder, father, what you would say if you saw me now. I do not fast. Boys come to me and I feed from them when I am hungry. I use the red pools of their life to satisfy myself even as I do not deny myself their flesh for my other ... appetites. I find temporary satisfaction, and then I turn it all into my art.

     "Welcome..." the sleepy young man whispers, "...home." A kiss at your cheek, "My love..."

     And he rose from where he sat. He rose without goodbyes. A stained glass shadow, he abandoned the remainder of the reminders. This is what it is like to be without you.

     How you alone know the songs that no one else remembers, a language that he only speaks, save you, recall a time that was everything to him...but is now only books and perverted recollections of fae, myth, and lies that once used to anger him, but now only make him wish for home.