I cannot help but want to kill you, my dear Cain, such is the depth of my love; for you are my only brother, yet you are the one person standing between me and Father's affections; your birth took away everything from me, I have no one, nothing, no choice but to love you. And you, of all people, should know that from the deepest abyss of love, hate is born.

Jizabel was almost certain that he had left a very firm impression on Cain during their first meeting, after all, clutching the exploding head of his acquaintance and abducting his most obsessively protected sister tend to engrave one quite vividly in the head of the young earl. Of course the job could've easily been done by someone else; there was really no need for Jizabel to make a personal appearance.

But Cain was special, for unbeknownst to all, Cain was the most important person in his life.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say that you are rather obsessed with me, Doctor." Cain growled, and somehow managed to make the growl sound civilized.

Jizabel wanted to laugh.

"But my dear Cain, there's no question. I am obsessed with you, exceedingly so." He confessed nonchalantly, his voice calm, cold.

He watched with a sense of twisted fascination as his younger brother's brows furrowed.

"Is that to constitute as the reason you are pinning me against the wall?" A touch of irritation in that still childish voice, though it held a stronger, deeper timbre that had been absent only a few years back.

A girl, daughter of some lord or the other, stumbled into the remote corner of the balcony that the pair occupied. Her sharp gasp pierced the still night air around them, followed by a string of flustered apologies.

Cain stared at her retreating form wearily, his eyes held that particular expression of fatigued exasperation specific to a nonchalant husband having been caught in the act of adultery by his distressed wife. A sigh escaped his lips softly. "I suppose it would be a while before I'll hear the end of this one…" He refocused on the doctor, who had proceeded to gain a few more inches while Cain mourned his foreseeable fate of being mistaken as the teenage lover of the famous and enigmatic Doctor.

"Who knows…" Words like poisoned honey dripped into his ear. Cain suppressed a shudder.

"Are you going to release me any time soon?" Voice, arrogant, elegant, but with a touch of quiet resilience all of its own, questioned him.

All these years, there was not one second when his mind was not filled with Cain. Even when staring at the bottled organs of his mother and sisters, even when he stood behind Alexis, the one that ceaselessly occupied his thoughts was Cain. The passion with which he hated the Count, the heat of that hatred that was so similar to the heat of the freshly dead organs in which he had buried his face, made him feel alive. Of all the things that Jizabel once owned—his birds, his pet sheep, anything that he held precious—this hatred alone his Father could not rip from him. It was the only thing that he truly possessed.

"I have no intention of doing so." He mumbled as he buried his face into the crook of his half brother's neck. "I love you, my dear Cain, so much that I can't breathe,"

Cain gave a soft grunt. The faint scent of Jizabel's perfume assaulted his senses.

"so much that…" Manicured nails scratched against Cain's face, and soft lips graced ever so lightly the porcelain flesh of his neck. "…I want to kill you."

If he start this, it will destroy them both; there was too much hate intertwined in his love, too much blood that stained them both, but even knowing this, he could not help but want to be close to Cain, like a moth flying toward a candle flame knowing that the light will destroy its wings.

"Riff will be here soon." Cain's golden eyes, those of one who was cursed, locked on his with an expression of bored impudence.

"So?" Jizabel leaned close and whispered softly against his brother's ear. "He can't save you."

Gray clouds gathered around the moon, drifting to enclose it as though a double sliding door. The air around them went dark.

"I don't need to be saved." Cain murmured, mindlessly savoring the feel of the doctor's soft, silky strands brushing against his face.

Jizabel stilled, a breath caught involuntarily in his throat.

Falling, in the nauseating scent of roses intermixed with the suffocating aroma of blood, addicted, to the agonizing lash of whips across his back that was his only proof of love—the one hopelessly entangled in that intoxicating embrace, was only him.

There were no arms to catch him.

"Then save me. If you don't need to be saved, save me."

A moth, knowing that the fire from which light emitted will burn its wings to ashes, will still fly towards the light, not because it wants to, but because it has no choice.