When the graphite stops scratching, he can still hear her scream, just once, high and frightened as smoke poured from her windows and the roof went up in flames.

He remembers the answering shrieks of her mother, the hoarse shouts of her father and brother, watching. He remembers running across the lawn towards the dying echo of her voice and the cold, wet dew against his face when the stable boy tackled him, the rough voice whispering in his ear, sorry, so sorry, it's too late now, sir, it's too late.

He remembers her laughing, dancing, the feel of her small hand in his, the taste of her lips as she kissed him, once, twice in payment and then for love, again and again for love. He remembers her dancing, and her voice, sixteen and full of secrets, I will wait for you to come.

But he could not and now she is gone. She was gone already when she said good night, or perhaps she never was. The stable boy's eyes are full of pity when he doffs his cap on his way to town

Be careful with the flame.

When the graphite stops scratching, he can still hear her scream.