The Breaking-In Period.

The clicking and ticking of heels made his heart constrict and a his stomach go heavy as he heard her approach. The sun had set more than two hours ago, so it was about time for her nightly procession passed his entrapment. And god, he hated her for the way she soundlessly flaunted her freedom. Thirty-seven more clicks and she will be at his bars, making her entrance with ticks of disapproval.

She may not want to talk to him this time, but he was frustratingly aware of her not-so-aloof shadow stretched across the six feet of his confinement to poke at his piece of serenity, his quiet little corner in this gray hell. Sixteen more clicky ticks till the annoyance begins.

"To whom it may concern,

I am 36 years old, I think. Its probably been 4 years since I've seen a sky full of daylight. She tells me every night that I will be set free at dawn, but she lies, just like a wom"

Warren Reinhold was nearly finished completing his thought into the wall of his cement cell when the hinges began to scream out. If carving his thoughts was not an all consuming project, he might have turned from his crouched position to watch the graceful entrance of his captor, but then again, her flowy attire and floaty manner didn't blow up his ratty shirt like it used to. She posed with her head tilted at a slight feminine angle as he chipped away at the 'n'. By the time he was finished with that letter, it would be distinguishably deeper from the others.

"Warren," she chimed. "Why don't you put down the spoon and take a walk with me."

Holding the sliver of metal in his tight grip, he wondered if it could still be called a spoon since it lacked the telltale scooping feature. As he thought, Warren dragged the flat of his thumb along boarder of unshaven hair. He used to think of that portion of his body as his rugged jaw, his best feature. When his thumb's journey was stopped by a greasy tuft, he froze for a frazzled second before picking up his broken spoon to begin chipping away at the cement again.

"Take a stroll with me and see the leaves of my oak trees. They've changed into a brilliant red. The leaves I mean, not the trees." Warren could hear the begging strain in her vocal cords. "Be a gentleman and take my arm." She extended her slender, pale limb toward his back.

He drilled a period into the cold, gray slab.

She expelled a small burst of air through her slightly open mouth. "I can't believe you would rather waste your time in here with only the clothes on your back and that spoon for company. The moon has waned into a sleek slice. Don't you wish to enjoy it with me?" The pout on her lips went well with the batting eyelashes she flicked at Warren.

'Don't snicker. Don't you fucking snicker. She'll punish you again, dumb-ass.'

Warren gripped what was left of the spoon, trying to get a handle on his raging mortality. With trembling legs, he stood up and took cautious steps toward the fragile looking woman. As he made his way, he could feel the markings of previous diary entries that had been created years ago. By the time he was near enough to strike her, the muscles in his limbs behaved, making his movement smoother. His arms dangled loosely at his side, not because he was relaxed. If she was in a mood again, he wanted to be able to react quickly, or at least quicker than last time.

"There, that's better." In a sweeping manner, she directed her body to stand beside his. After she straightened her dress in a nit-picky way, she hooked his arm at the elbow with her ivory forearm. "I'm glad you changed your mind. We are going to have a delightful time. You'll be happy to know that I arranged for Peter to bring up those cakes you like."

The halls echoed with the sound of Warren's stomach crying out in protest, but once out of the containment area, a breeze blew through the thick evening air, pushing the sent of sweet night blooming jasmine and his own oder of unsanitary male to Warren's nose. It was moments like this that made him question his captor's vampirism. Assuming the folklore was true, she should be gagging; however, she moseyed along the cobble path, swaying her hips with the greatest of ease.

"The landscaper has just been by today. Do you think he did a good job?" After a few minutes of nothing but them walking, the lady continued to chatter on about the activities of her life. "I have been thinking about re-painting the manor. It's color scheme is just so drab, don't you think?" She leaned her frame toward his frigid body.

'Is this tomorrow already? Or am I stuck in the perpetual present? I know, I have somehow fallen back into yesterday.' Warren looked around at setting. When a pointy stone pierced his foot, all he thought was, 'There you are old buddy.'

At the end of the meticulously gardened walkway lined with oaks, ferns, and red roses, sat a table for two decorated with linens, dish ware, and a server. Around the perimeter a mixture of small candles and weathered torches gave weak illumination. The moon played a supporting role in lighting the scene and the star's glow wasn't even worth crediting. When their approach was finally seen, the server pulled out a chair and eagerly waited for his mistress to take the offering.

"Thank you, Peter," she said neutrally, taking care to slowly place herself on the seat cushion. Once Warren had followed suit with his own chair, though it was not held at the ready for him, the woman politely excused herself from his company and disappeared into the darkness of the path.

Peter cleared his throat in Warren's direction, and then he looked down his nose at the seated man in rags. After elevating his chin and tugging the creases out of his dinner jacket, Peter raised a sharp eyebrow at the fragment of silver in the dirty man's hand."Plotting your escape, are you?"

Warren followed the invisible trail from Peter's gaze to the spoon's remainder, which he was tapping against his thigh. A free-floating flake of laughter almost constricted his vocal cords, but in the end, he expressed only vacant silence to the questioner.

"I know you're not deaf." Peter waited impatiently for a few seconds before continuing. "I don't know how you can let yourself go like that. I mean, other people can see you even in poor lighting conditions like this."

Warren started etching a long, rough line into the side of the pristine chair. Peter could see Warren's chest pumping air in and out with increasing speed.

"Take it easy. I'm just saying you could try is all."

"Try what?"

Both Peter and Warren jerked their heads in the direction of the question. Warren was almost startled enough to drop his lifeline, almost; however, Peter's feet reacted when his voice could not and he took a step toward the empty chair, pulling it out as smoothly as possible. She lowered herself to the object with apathetic grace before resting her chin upon crossed fingers.

"Peter..."

The waiter shifted his nervous eyes from her to Warren, who regarded the fidgety sevant with a grin that was hidden under hair. "Mistress, I was explaining to Smelly here that if he changed himself he might be more appealing to you." As he verbally worked through his thought, he pushed forth as many words a possible. "He really ought to take other people's noses into consideration, especially yours, Mistress. Smelly isn't even attempting to make an effort for you. It is shameful, absolutely shameful. Why if I was lucky enough-"

"Well you're not." She said frankly. "And besides, I like Warren just the way he is."

Peter's expression was as ridged as Warren's face was stunned. While Peter placed stale, moldy cakes on fine china and poured sour cream into ornately designed cups, Warren hung his head low, trying to conceal his eyes. Although her intent was not to make either man think, she did enjoy the entertainment. They each had their own way of accomplishing the same task. Peter focused on keeping the muscles relaxed in his face and the color from his cheeks; however, Warren allowed the emotions to contort the different parts of his face, but he kept his head tilted down, away from eye level.

When he thought her attention was on Peter or something in the dark, Warren brought the tips of his fingers up to his mouth, hesitating for a brief second. Discreetly, he wetted the soild surfaces and pushed the tips roughly over his cheeks, nose and forehead. After he thought he had made an improvement, he stretched his arms out. On their way down, he tried to flatted his unwashed, puffy mane. Warren heard a quiet snort from Peter's enclosed area, but he chose to pay no mind to the lady's minion.

She absentmindedly dragged her dry lower lip across her fangs. "So... Warren, would you say that Stockholm is your home now?"

"Yes," Warren replied after swallowing a bit of cake. "I would." As he exercised good posture, Warren's gritty hands plopped into his lap. With them out of site, he scrapped, sometimes forcefully, the cement and filth from under his finger nails.

"Wonderful, I am thrilled to hear it," she said, tapping her feet giddily under the table. Noticing Warren tuck the spoon into his faded pocket, she started moving bits of cake around her plate until all the portions were in their proper location. "I hope you have found everything to your liking."

Warren stretched his lips into a warm looking smile for her between morsels of crumbly pastry. Slinkily, he extended his arm across their distance and took chilled, stony fingers in his hand, bringing her digits to his lips. In his peripheral vision he saw her shiver after he pulled his head away and rested her hand back near her plate.

"That merits blushing," she said in a low voice. "I'm sorry that I can't do that for you right now." Bending her head down, she directed her eyes to stare at the plate of uneaten food.

Feeling elated by possibility in his sights, Warren cleared his throat loudly. "There is Peter." The servant stood there with is mouth making the shape of a perfect "o". His body was so stiff one could have bounced a quarter off his shoulders. "He could go fetch you something fresh from the deli perhaps."

"Sandwich meat isn't really what I am in the mood for, but thank you for your consideration, Warren." She brushed a stray lock of hair away from her eyes, which were meekly focused on her company.

Taking care not to cause a dish to break, Warren moved everything to the side, so he could have an unobstructed view of the beautiful being before him. He placed his palms open in the center of the table. "Love me for love's sake, that evermore Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity."

Inclining toward Warren, she beamed at him and slid her hands so that they could be supported by his. When he progressed from the Browning sonnet to Dickenson's works like "Come Slowly", she released a quiver through her muscles.

"Madame, you look as though you are about to catch your death. We should be going inside." Warren promptly stood up from his chair and was swiftly at her side, his arm waiting to help her up. "There must be warm blankets hiding somewhere in that massive manor."

"I am sure I know where some are," she replied coquettishly as she used his arm to rise elegantly.

Peter watched the behavior of both with a bewildered silence. Without being told, he began to chuck the uneatable food, pack away the dishes, and fold up the linens. "Can't believe it took this long," he muttered while sorting and watching the two fade into the black. Holding his nose as he tossed the cream, Peter heard the faint laughter of a delighted girl.

As they walked leisurely, Warren could feel the small length of metal pat rhythmically against the side of his leg. When they had first started on the cobble trail, the timed beats motivated his steps, but as they conversed and touched, he became less and less aware of its presence. "You look lovely tonight. I am such a lucky man."

She giggled and pulled herself to his side, resting her temple on his strong shoulder. "You are too kind." This time when her lock of unruly hair fell into her face, he carefully tucked it behind her ear.

"No," he said in a slightly lower tone. "You are too kind to me."

She sucked in a breath and tilted her head down, pressing her cheek to him. "Thank you for thinking so," she whispered, hugging his arm tighter and moving nearer to him. "Ouch, what is that?" Jumping back with her hand on her hip, she looked accusatorially at his pocket.

Warren jabbed his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small plank of metal. "Nothing," he said, tossing the shiny bit out of sight.

"I'm glad that is gone. You have no other dangers on your person, do you?"

"No, not a one," he replied as he took the first steps leading to the back door. She looked wearily at him. Warren grinned at her and situated his hand comfortably on the small of her back. "Would you prefer to have me searched, Madame?"

She responded to his gentle urging and followed along side him up the steps. "I might have to. You could do me serious injury."

As Warren stepped over the threshold, he stroked the side of her cheek with the back of his hand, "My heart is not capable of doing such a thing to you. By the way, what name is to be inscribed on my heart?"

She thought of her name, of how out of date and odd it sounded before she whispered, "call me Rose."

After closing the door behind them, she smoothly said, pointing to the second door down the hall, "Off to the bath with you. I shall bring you some fresh fruit and milk when it is ready."

"Thank you, Rose."

She giggled to him, enjoying the sight of contentment in his eyes. 'You need nourishment for stamina, my hunter.'

When she heard the water running, Rose skipped over to a small weathered black book on an oak table near the back door. Biting onto her lips slightly, she filed Warren's statistics under Marshall, who had taken only halve as long to alter. 'five years, seven months, three weeks, and four nights,' she repeated with relief to herself. 'Am I going to have to start savoring?' Setting the book back within the dusty lines it had occupied, Rose slipped off her heels, maneuvering them into a corner where they would be out of the way. As she slowly padded to the bathroom door, the manor's mistress practiced her look of embarrassed shock.