The pain was unbearable.

He had thought it hurt when he'd been tortured. The hammers, pliers, shears. The fire, the blades, the electricity. The sleep deprivation and drugs had taken their toll, as well. When he stopped trusting his own mind to seperate reality from a waking nightmare.

Time and again he called to his Tower, begging for the power to free himself. Time and again, it answered, and his weaves were destroyed by his captors. Time...

Time had always been on his side. Now... it, like his mind, had betrayed him. Turning seconds into endless moments, days into lifetimes. He wept when they showed him his severed limbs, and his handsome face was no longer recognizable in the mirror.

He had thought it was only information wanted; information he gave in the first hours, or minutes, of this ordeal... but it had not been. When he had finally given in... he knew that the pain he had suffered was only a shadow of true loss.

Heartbreak. Like a loved one gone, or rejection. Like homesickness. Except... again, only a shadow. The deep ache that took his breath away, that filled the void of where portions of his soul had been. The bloody remains of his hand muffled his cries, as his own elegant fingers gagged him. They would never bring a piano to life again, even if his shredded soul was still able.

He watched as the soulstones were gathered, watched as pieces of him were gently placed in a velvet-lined box.

The knife raised, and the only thing he had left was taken.

In a cheap motel room that reeked of old blood, urine, and feces, the Rose's petals had been plucked, and Starling finally died.