Everlasting Agony

Chapter 1

        1825 England

       It started out innocently enough.

       He was like all other teenage boys. He cared, pursued maidens, always tried to fit in with whatever his friends did. But there was always something missing. Like the missing pieces to a puzzle, the puzzle never completely finished.
       Emmett knew his life was considerably well-off, considering his slightly lanky figure and a case of Tuberculosis. His disease typically attacks his lungs, giving him did of dry cough and occasionally, the flu. However, that never seemed to prevent him from doing much. His life was good. But at night, when the innumerable starts stood, shinning in order like a living hymn, written in light, he liked to stare into the endless night, trying to find his missing piece.
       His mother had always whispered in his ear while lulling him to sleep that he was extraordinary but the words dissipated like mist as he never believed it. He wasn't extraordinary, just different, somehow.

       And then he found Damian.

       Damian was stunning. And not in the superficial ways of the world, although the chiseled jaw and defined cheekbones were certainly good-looking. His perfection radiated from within him, making him absolutely stunning, at least to him. He would catch himself staring at Damian, a queasy feeling forming in his guts. But slowly, he adapted to the nagging pangs in his stomach. He learned to ignore the feeling within him, locking it away like a beast or like a forbidden secret but he could feel the beast clawing away in his heart, begging to be let free.
       He was standing in front of the mirror one day when he came to the harsh realization that he would never be content with never pursuing the mystery that is Damian Salvatore. He was too intrigued and curiosity ate away at him, threatening to swallow him whole. He glanced down at the book he was holding, before turning to the window. There was a narrow cobblestoned street beyond, with rows of manors lining either side. It was close to night, the sky the dimming blue of twilight, obscured by smudges of fog. In the distance, he could hear voices, the sounds of children playing, the clop of horse's hooves.
       A noise made him whirl. The knob of his bedroom door was turning. He realised with a sinking feeling that there was no one supposed to be home, except him. He hurried across the room, seized the porcelain jug from the wash stand, and then scuttled to the side of the door, the jug gripped hard in his whitened fist.
       The knob turned; the door opened. In the dimmness all he could see was shadows as someone stepped into the room. He lunged forward, swinging the jug with all his strength-
       The shadowy figure moved, as quick as a whip but not quite quick enough; the jug slammed into the figure's outstretched arm before flying from his grasp to crash into the far wall. Broken crockery rained down onto the floor as the stranger yelled.
The yell was undeniably a masculine one. So was the flood of cursing that followed.
       He backed away, then lunged for the door but it had slammed shut and tug as he would on the knob, it wouldn't budge. He spun around, bracing himself for an attack- but stopped. There was a boy in front of him, face partially covered by the shadows. He couldn't have been much older than he was- seventeen or possibly eighteen.
He was dressed in workman's clothes- a frayed black jacket, trousers and tough-looking boots. He wore no waistcoat and held a letter in his hand. His other hand was bleeding where he had gashed the back of it with his pitcher.
       But that wasn't what made him stare. He had the most beautiful face he had ever seen. Tangled black hair and eyes as blue and as deep as the sea. However, what made him dumbfounded was the familiar defined cheekbones. The familiar set of the boy's jaw. Chiseled and slightly scruffy.
"By the god," he murmured, unsure of what to do.

       He had just attacked Damian Salvatore.