Thunder cracked as the whole village was engulfed in dark stormy clouds. The huge doors of the Fosterman manor creaked loudly as his steps soaked the carpets. The thunder cracked as lightly gave his tall stature a much more imposing silhouette.

He left some wet tracks as he entered, his dark burgundy hair, unruly and wet. He managed to find his way to the manor's large staircase, catching a glimpse of the woman he adored, in a pale white night gown, the candle holder's gleam illuminating her face.

"When lighting strikes, vermins tend to run."

He smirked as he took a few steps up.

"A perfect night to be graced by her grace."