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[align=center][fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 300px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; margin-top: -19px]It had been rather late by the time Bohemian had finished his confrontation with Horrorstory upon the border of the vice leader's new home, the sky had turned to ebony and no silver stars or even that of a solitary moon managed to pierce through it's eternal darkness. It was pitch black, extraordinarily dangerous for the treacherous journey to return to Bloodclan and so the elder had insisted Bohemian stay the night. He was glad that Horrorstory had made the suggestion, for not only was it the best of excuses to visit him further but Bohemian feared the dark with all of his heart though he'd die before admitting it.
Scared of the dark.
No, it was not the eternal black in which the lovely youth feared, it was what lurked within the shadows in which irked him.
So that was the story of how he came to be settled within the elaborate circus tent as a guest, but it did not stand as an explanation to how the youth's mental state deteriorated nor why there was an empty alcohol bottle merely a few inches away from where his broken-down form lay. WIP