Sometimes he caught her playing with herself, and he was helpless to do anything but watch, even while knowing she was doing it to mock him. His body burned and burned for her touch, her warmth. At night, if he could sleep, he always dreamt of her. The bed always seemed cold without her. No matter how many lights and candles and fires he lit within the manor, it always felt so dim when she was not there. He would have given anything to see merely a glimpse of her, to know what she was doing. Yet time continued to pass, and there was no sign or word from her.