Light trickled through the canopy above, a pale green glow by the time it reached a small cottage buried deep in the grove of trees. A soft wind whispered through the branches as the weeping cherry trees around the residence danced, petals swirling on the breeze like a late season flurry of snow. As the sunlight percolated through the trees the day began to open up the early blooming flowers unfurl, hurling their pollen into the brisk morning air.  New sounds greeted the day: chirping birds, sawing crickets, croaking frogs, and the occasional meow of the stray cat hunting one of the birds out by the antiquated iron birdbath.

The cottage could have been centuries old by the architecture, a small floor plan with elaborate scrolling fixtures and finials, slate roofing and spruce paneling painted an aged honey color. Going inside, the cottage was equally elaborate and mildly eccentric, with wallpaper covering the majority of the walls in paisley, stripes, floral prints and one very shiny damask throughout the different rooms so that not a one looked the same as the other. If you managed to ignore all of that, you might notice that the place seemed to be larger inside than it should be, as there was a large square room filled with what appeared to be antique furniture all tidily arranged around the central fireplace, which was a grand thing made of high quality iron adorned with gold-plated brass filigree accents brazed onto the large urn shaped heating device. Travelling still further down a small hallway lined with prints from some early French plays there lay a bedroom and bath, which is where we find the sole resident of the cottage: Verona.

Within the cottage an alarm went off.

"Damn!"

"I'm late! Late! Fucking alarm clock always goes off at the wrong damn time!" A young man burst out of the cottage, his clothes still in a bit of disarray. A royal purple dress shirt under a chocolate blazer - two of the three buttons still undone - a pair of slender dark-washed jeans and a pair of mid calf boots to round it all out. He ran through the copse of trees down a well worn path, feet crunching on the gravel, past the cat that had been stalking the birdbath, who promptly bristled and leapt into the nearest shrub. The light caught the man’s silver hair and gave a bright glow to his golden skin. The old trees creaked and swayed gently as he ran beneath them, their height only emphasizing how short he was. This would be Verona. And this is his usual morning, waking up 20 minutes late because his alarm clock from the 19th century doesn't keep track of time as closely as it used to. But that is a subject for later.

________________________________________

"Finally decided to show up to class today Verona?" Mr. Purle was definitely not the first person you might desire to meet in the morning. You see, Mr. Purle was a morning person with quite an unsavory attitude.

"Well," Verona began "my alarm clock hasn't been working quite right for the past few days…"

"You mean weeks? You've been late for the past month Verona." Mr. Purle had gotten into a habit of wasting the first 5 minutes of class taking attendance and looking over homework to wait until Verona would finally saunter in in all of his multicolored glory. "And I see you look ever so much like a peacock in chocolate cashmere" Mr. Purle looked the lad up and down, his peculiar method of punishing anyone who dared come late; making them regret doing so by means of a few minutes of awkward torment. Verona smiled, despite the glare being directed at him by his professor, his amber colored eyes glittering with amusement.

"But it's velvet this time! I haven't had the time to knit anything this year, and the moths got to my last umber cardigan!" Verona made exaggerated gestures as though pointing out nonexistent holes in his blazer. His thin face featured a small smile as he tormented his professor and his pearly white teeth flashed as he spoke.

"Really now, did they?" The sense of false concern weighed on the air in the classroom until Roxy, Verona's more conservative studio partner finally pulled him to his seat before he could quip something about the lack of decent quality mothballs, or the entirely possible prevalence of massive moths.

"You know, if it wasn't for your work in this class, he so would have failed you by now." Roxy looked over at Verona with obvious fake concern. Roxy was a generally agreeable person, and she looked ever-so-much like a standard wallflower. Her pale,round face was framed with a simple bob for her mousey-brown hair and her clothes could have come from any run of the mill department store and bore little personality as they covered her narrow 5'5" frame. As they were  both standing to unpack their supplies, the difference between their heights became more readily apparent. She was at least a hands breadth taller than Verona, which he found annoying half of the time.

"Oh, please don't you start on me too.” He chided with little emphasis. “I mean, The alarm clock is older than I am, of course it has a few problems." Verona seemed a little less concerned about it as he was busy pulling supplies out of his bag. Today was, after all, watercolor practice, a class that Verona hated with a passion.

"So, any ideas on what to paint?” Roxy had decidedly put the issue of his alarm clock from her mind and decided to focus on other matters, like if she could mooch some ideas off her sleep-addled partner.

"I have no idea what to paint, really. I just wish it didn't have to involve watercolors… I mean, I can do oil paint, and acrylic. Even gauche I can work with, but watercolors, they just don't like me." Verona had finished stuffing brushes and a pad of rather costly 300 lb weight cold pressed cotton rag  onto his easel and was now working on clipping his shoulder length platinum-colored hair behind his ears while also stifling a yawn. He rubbed at his eye  in an attempt to wake himself as his hair fell in front of his face again.

"You know," Roxy was never one to leave someone alone when there was something to be said, "If you cut your hair like a normal guy, then you wouldn't have to clip it every single day." She was also one to rub salt in wounds, it seemed, yet somehow still appear agreeable. Maybe this was because she smiled so sweetly the whole time.

"You… really now? Haven't we gone over this?" Verona gestured to his hair, which was shoulder length in the back and on the sides, with one side longer than the other, and long, angled fringe in the front to frame his face. "I wear my hair like this because I like the way it looks.” Verona picked up his easel and stamped out of the classroom to go find a something to paint.

An hour and some cursing later, Verona was finally finished with his painting. He sighed, deflating until he sat on the granite bench behind him. He had tried to paint the obelisk and statues surrounding it that they had on display in the plaza of the university. And things just weren't working. He had really liked the idea of the statues and the obelisk. The statues were of four horses all rearing up facing outward from the obelisk, their open mouths jetted water out to shimmer in the air before filling the basin of the fountain in which they were featured.

"What's up?" Roxy had found him again. And he had left her behind twice already, starting a new painting elsewhere.

"I just can't get this to work out how I want it." He sighed again, pouting a bit.

"Umm, I don't see what the problem is with this photograph. I mean, where can you even get a picture printed on campus in such a short time? And weren't we supposed to be painting?" Roxy could lose herself in her own conversation.

"What?" Verona had a bad habit of looking at people like they were crazy. "This is my painting. I just can't seem to be happy about it."

"That is your painting?" Roxy was pointing at the paper on his easel.

"Yup."

"And you don't think this is good enough?"

"Nope."

"Are you wrong in the head?” She made exaggerated arm gestures. “This is better than DaVinci man! It looks so real! And with watercolors too! Mine just looks like a technicolor acid trip in comparison."

"And how would you know that?" Verona glanced over at her incredulously

"Umm… something to talk about later?" She smiled sheepishly and walked over to inspect his work just as her phone buzzed. “Oh! Time to be getting back, class is gonna be over soon, and Mr. Purle wants us to turn in our work this time."

"Like how you wanted him to trust you that you had actually painted something last time but that you wanted to keep it as a surprise for him at the end of the year, and he didn't want to believe you?"

"Yeah, like that."Roxy flipped her hand at him and picked up her own easel and wandered off in the direction of the classroom.

_____________________________________________________

The remainder of Verona’s day went much better. The College of Art and Design at his university was spectacular in the variety of classes that were taught and the skill and renown of the professors. His favorite class, by far, was figure drawing. He drooled behind his hand as he covered his mouth, the student models were walking in with their bath robes on. Verona quickly composed himself as the model sat down on the stage and the rest of the class began setting up their easels. Verona prepared his station and was standing attentively with his charcoal in-hand when the professor gave their assignment and explained the pose to the model, who complied. The bath robe slid off of his body as the model undid the sash, the fluffy fabric slipping down a tanned chest with well pronounced pectoral muscles and a rippling abdomen.

Verona’s hand flew over the canvas making quick marks with stunning accuracy as his eyes scanned the body before him, drinking in the sight and relaying it in black and white to his paper. His eyes probed the body before him, measuring the length of the muscles and bones, determining the curve diameter and blending for things like the jawline and the buttocks. His face flushed slightly as he stared at the models groin, but even then his hand did not faulter as he mapped the man’s image onto his paper. Mrs. Pennywroth crept across the room. She was a rather slight woman who typically drew subjects in a very classical manner and whose work was featured in art museums as tributes to Leonardo Da’Vinci or Michelangelo. Her habit of wandering constantly around the room changed somewhat when Verona entered her class. Now the professor had a tendency of standing behind him to watch him work.

“You didn’t follow the method that I taught you, again.”

Verona pulled his charcoal away from the paper quickly as he started, something he had learned to do with a professor whose habit of creeping about the room had surprised him on more than one occasion, he turned and looked at her with anxiety knitting his brows. The woman was like a tiger, stealthy in her approach and imminently dangerous to his wellbeing.

“Sorry, but I’m just not used to doing it that way. I can try it in the next drawing, if you like?” He asked with a weak smile.

“Oh, no need, no need.” The woman chided softly, keeping her voice low to not disturb the rest of the class. “Your work is already better than what I can draw, at least that quickly.” She said with a wry smile. “I just want you to try a different style sometime, I feel that you may become constrained by your own if you don’t.”

Verona smiled at her earnestly this time. He was used to receiving praises from the students within a class, but professors rarely extolled his work. “I’ll try.” He said around his smile as he went back to his drawing and the small, elderly, raven haired professor continued her walk through the classroom.

The class went by surprisingly quickly given that it was a three hour long class, but by the ache in his feet, Verona decided that his eye candy would have to wait until the next class meeting because he desperately wanted to find somewhere to sit down and have a cup of tea.

_____________________________________________________

Verona sighed deeply as he walked along the path into campus from the collection of art buildings. He had decided to walk to the downtown district to have a cup of tea at his favorite tea shop. It wasn’t terribly far away, and the weather was beautiful to walk through campus. The large brick buildings of the original campus blended chaotically with the shining plates of glass and large expanses of concrete that made the newer buildings. It was a mix of old and new, and he found it to be quite interesting. Not strictly to his taste, but comfortable to be around. He walked past crowds of people who were clumped together like blood clots in an artery, forcing other groups of people walking to meander more slowly around them. Verona glanced at them peevishly, only changing his expression every once in a while when someone that he’d had a class with greeted him with a wave. He neglected to remember most of their names, but he still waved back with mock cheer.

Finally breaking free of the university’s campus, Verona made his way to a tea shop down a side street off of main street. This tea shop had been set into one of the older buildings of downtown, which featured ornate mullioned windows which featured delicately arched peaks and a doorway set into an arch with a beautiful round, translucent, stained-glass window which depicted a teapot and cup on a saucer. He entered the fairly small brick building and walked to the small marble counter which separated the lounge from the kitchen. He smiled warmly at the employee that walked out of the pantry as the bell above the door finished ringing. The employee was a average enough guy, but he had a calming warmth about him. Maybe it was in the gentle smile that fit his almond-colored rounded face, or maybe it was the softness in his brown eyes. It might also have been the somewhat careless way that he held himself. Whatever it was, it was endearing and coupled with some delightful tea selections and accompanying foodstuffs, it kept him coming back.

After ordering a pot of the early winter house blend, he wandered off to the back of the store to sit in his preferred spot in the back, by the fireplace, in a comfortable leather armchair. The employee, whose nametag read Alex, brought him the tea soon after along with a slice of angelfood cake smeared with marmalade.

“I didn’t order the cake, Alex.”

“I know,” Alex replied sheepishly as he moved a hand to rest it awkwardly on his neck, “but I thought it would go very well with the tea.” He smiled a little as he started to walk off.

“Thanks, Alex, but you’d better not get yourself in trouble over this. I’ll pay you back for it next time.”

Verona sighed gently, his breath disturbing the gentle swirling of the steam from the spout of the pot. Picking it up, he gently poured the peach-colored liquid into the accompanying ceramic cup, watching the stream of warm liquid fill the vessel before setting it down and lifting instead the cup. The warm vapor smelled divine; sweet orange zest and pulp and the fragrant zest of a meyer lemon with lemongrass with floral and highly aromatic rose hips and petals to complement the sweetness of the sencha green tea that was the base of the tea. It wasn’t early winter just yet, but this was still one of his favorite teas. He ordered it frequently, especially when he was feeling particularly tired, it always seemed to be just the thing to perk him up. He sighed again, deeper this time as he finished his second cup of the tea and finally got around to the cake. Glancing across the room at Alex, who had walked back to the entrance of the room momentarily.

Alex had been right, the cake did go well with the tea.

_____________________________________________________

The next morning started off quite pleasantly, as the calendar on the wall marked, it was Saturday. Verona always enjoyed his days off from class, because it meant that he could finally spend some time around the house.

He smiled as he shifted in his bed, working his way slowly to the edge of the queen sized bed until he slid over and slipped to the floor with a grunt. He glared at the old cabinet radio which had begun making noisy crackling sounds. “Don’t you even start,” he grumbled as he lifted himself to his feet and walked over to the doorway, which creaked quietly as it opened, before walking down the hallway and into the the bath. The lights clicked on as he entered and a warm glow filled the room, shining off of several brass fixtures and one rather prominent white enameled cast-iron tub that stood on clawed feet at the middle of one wall. He walked over and twisted one of the knobs as bubbly water filled the basin. He sniffed the steamy air as he shed his sleepwear onto a nearby bench. His dressing dummy stood in the corner of the bathroom that day with his clothes selection of a thick turtle-neck turquoise sweater and a pair of black skinny-jeans.  “Hmm, I think it’s rose-scented today…” he mumbled quietly to himself as he stepped into the tub and sank into the froth.

Verona felt quite pleased with the prospect for the day, as he walked down the stairs to the lower floor. Or he would have had he not noticed that there were visitors, and they had tracked in some mud.

“Can I assume it’s raining?” He asked petulantly as he stormed into the kitchen before stopping cold. A man sat in partial shadow within his living room, despite the overhead light casting radiance around the room. The shadows seemed to congregate around the man as he stood and removed the hood of his cloak.

“No, it- it can’t be…” Verona stammered as he stepped back.

“I’m afraid it is. It is time for you to fulfill your duty.” The man’s voice seemed to grate from his mouth as though his throat were made of granite rather than flesh. His features were distorted by several scars that covered his right eye and the break in his nose, the tear across his cheek and into his lip. “My master will not remain patient much longer as you dawdle with these… “ He looked spitefully out the window “... mortals that you are so fond of.”

_____________________________________________________

“All those years of living and the only thing you’ve bothered to put effort into is this stupid human affectation of art.” The shadowed man grumbled from his position across from Verona inside his large black SUV as it trundled out of the forest.

“Oh please don’t patronize me, Damon. You know exactly why I don’t bother with what you would consider fulfilling enterprises.” Verona almost spat the words out as he glared at the man momentarily before looking away to stare out the darkly tinted windows.

“Fine then, we shall arrive at my master’s manor shortly. You have much work to do…” The sneer that contorted his mouth disfigured him into a cruel being.

Verona shivered as the temperature in the cabin seemed to drop dramatically, and he clenched his fists into the soft material of his sweater, his knuckles growing pale from the strain. He bit his lip in anxiety as he recalled what his last visit to the manor was like.

The vehicle came to a stop outside of a large wood and stone building built in a surprisingly traditional japanese style, with pagoda style roofs and waxed paper sliding doors. A tall, heavily muscled man stood in the doorway wearing a traditional men’s kimono decorated with a repeating pattern of chrysanthemums in blue and violet on a dark grey backdrop. It was startlingly imposing considering the subject.

“Hello little brother” The man called from the stairs as he walked down the path.

“Hello Sebastian.” Verona looked up at his older brother. Where Verona was short, thin and had dark golden skin with platinum hair, his brother was the opposite. Sebastian was tall and muscular with raven-black hair and pale skin. His vibrantly red eyes seemed to see through any appearances, and saw the fragile way that Verona held his head, and the faint tremor that shook his hands, the nervous way that his eyes darted to the sides on occasion.

A wide smile split his brother’s face as he held his arms apart. “Welcome back to my home,” he said with a flourish, “I hope you are comfortable while you are here.” He watched as Verona’s eyes widened before narrowing as his brows knit in frustration.

“I must thank you, Damon, for inviting him for me.” Sebastian said as a dismissal for his man-servant, who left them to their business and walked along the front of the house to the servant’s quarters.

Sebastian walked forward and gripped his brother’s arm tightly, a smirk on his face as he felt Verona stiffen in apprehension, and he watched his brother’s face as the muscles shifted as his jaw tightened.

“Oh, don’t act like you aren’t happy to see me,” Sebastian taunted as he led the man inside and off to one of the rooms.