Disclaimer: I don't own any of it. I'm sure hundreds of others have thought of the plot before me, too.

Author's Note: Here's part two of this little thing. Again, this does NOT have a happy ending.

He was looking out the window of his London home. The sun was setting and, while he was cognizant that it would be far more beautiful if he were in the country, he thought it beautiful still.

Sunset had always been his time. From the time he could walk, he adored the sunset. His father had told him once that his mother had loved the sunset. Although the older man had been incredibly drunk at the time, it had made Salazar adore that time of day when the sun dipped behind the horizon and painted the sky with all of the colours he loved.

He had taught her to love the sunset. He remembered the first time he had told her that he loved it. They had been small children with no idea of what the future would hold for them.

He had given her a rose. He had been embarrassed that by the time it was in her hand, it had wilted slightly. He nearly didn't give it to her but she didn't seem to mind. He reflected that perhaps he had fallen for her then. He had told her, after learning her name and telling her his, of his love of sunsets. It would be years before he told her why.

She had been beautiful even then. She had long dark hair that she would let flow down her back because she did not like the feel of it all tied back by the maids. Oh how he had envied her her maids. He was so used to being the son of a servant with chores of his own that it seemed to him that she must be terribly lucky to have her own maids and servants.

He had told her that once, when they were teenagers. She had smiled sadly and told him that she envied him, for he did not have someone watching him all of the time. That was when he had learned of the trouble she could be in if she were discovered with him. He had been amazed at what her life could be like.

When she had come to him in tears, saying that she was being forced to marry some wizard with money and a long line of wizards in his family tree, his urge to protect her and his rage at her father had been overwhelming. That was when he decided that perhaps he should not see her again. His emotions were running away with him.

That had not worked out as well as he had expected. Not two weeks later she had come to him, begging him to take her away. She wanted to open a school for children with magic. The idea of opening a school, of not being a servant for his whole life, had overwhelmed him and he had agreed.

He had written to a friend, as had she. Soon the four of them met up in northern Scotland and had constructed a castle. It was beautiful. There was a lake that was the deepest blue with grey hills sprawled across the background. The first sunset he had spent there had felt all the more special because she had been there with him. They did not speak, but watched the colours spread across the sky, painting the clouds and the lake in their likeness.

He had fallen in love that evening, with the clouds painted gold and pink and orange. Her dark hair was tied back in a bun, her eyes were not so quick to sparkle with mischief, and she was much more serene and wise, but she was still his Rowena.

Apparently she had felt the same. Their courtship had been filled with many sunset walks around the lake. He had thought that nothing could come between them. Believing this, he had asked her to marry him.

Their wedding had been perfect. They had timed it to be at sunset and their guests had commented on the beauty of that sunset. It seemed that there had never been another like it and there never would be again. He and his wife had simply smiled.

She had given birth to his child alone in the school hospital wing. He had been packing his bags, afraid that he would be as uncaring as his father had been; that their marriage would fall apart like his parents' had until she died of depression. He was so afraid that he would do or say something wrong and that would be the end. He was afraid of turning Rowena into a shadow of herself.

Wisdom, it seemed, came with age. He knew now that he had hurt her more by running. However, he was convinced that she would not want him back. It had been ten years and his child did not know him. They may not even know his name. He could only pray that she had told their child that he had loved her very much and that their child was not to blame for his being absent from their lives.

It was his own fault.

"Rowena."