Is the power of love possible for everyone?
 

     Esposito Vegada was spending the first dark hours of night as he so often did, roaming around the endless maze of silent, empty rooms.  Foaming at the mouth, feeling his own skin crawl, hearing his own footsteps echo through the cavernous hallways, seeing his own reflection in the grand ballroom lined on one entire wall with mirrors, hearing only his own voice, sometimes a muffled growl, other times not, knowing either way that there was no one to answer.

     This was what it meant to be lonely.