Gian Boromeo -- Rising from the ashes.

[like neon lights]

"I'm going to call your pretty bird, my friend." Gian was acutely aware of the dull pain throbbing in his skull. Or was it on it? God, his whole head hurt too much to even begin to reason this.

Minding his own business on the streets after visiting a very old friend that helped in setting his leg and treating the few scrapes he had, Gian was ambushed from behind. He should have known better than to stay out after dark, especially with one so nefarious on their tails. But Gian never was any good at heeding his own advice (do as I say and not as I do type of bird.) Before he could make sense of the footsteps behind him he felt something cool and metal connecting with his skull and then his cheek smashed against the pavement.

But they were in a room now, a damp, dusty smelling corner and he was slumped against a wall. "What..." His words all slurred together like a drunk, but the concussion was more to blame.

"I have your friend here, pretty bird..." Raoul's voice purred into the phone, disgustingly smooth, and he pressed the receiver against Gian's ear. "Say something, Gian."

"Valentina..." More confused than anything else, he slurred and tried to grab the phone, tried to stand, but found his limbs were too heavy.

"Come and get him before I set his soul free, Vallie."

And the line was dead... and so was Gian, soon to be.

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[our decadency]

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Nayana.

I find it amusing that you come to me now, after all of the years that you left me abandoned and broken to fend for myself in the streets. I did that of my own accord, I appreciate you giving me the opportunity to find myself and I do not appreciate you otherwise.

You are aware of this, of that I am sure.

I will never set foot in Venezia again, whether we reconcile or not, whether the old flat is intact or not. I cannot stand the sight or sounds of that city nor the thought that your ghosts may yet be roaming within it. Do not misconstrue this into something of romantic origin because it is only that I cannot stand that taste or smell of you in my mouth again and I fear that the city is filled with that decay, lurking in the corners.

Valentina does not make a fool of me, I make a fool of myself by making sure she survives and I made the biggest fool of myself by giving her the gift that you gave me and perhaps not learning from the mistake that you made by giving it to me. I have found now that love is something I can only play at and never truly experience, despite all of my best romantic intentions and the shred of courtly blood that runs in my veins and longs for the old ways of noble love.

I wish you would not come to find me, I do not wish to see you.
But why should I believe you care what I want?

Truly.
Gian