Arthur would always prefer to see Malachi in the sun.  The way the light caught on his hair and made each individual stand shine, made his skin glow, reflected against the blackness of his eyes; it was the most beautiful, to him.  It was only in such bright light that Arthur could truly appreciate every miniscule detail about his lover.

It had taken years, but he was glad Malachi came out into the sun eventually.  Arthur would make sure he was never forced to hide from it again.

Walking by his side, Arthur brushed off the shoulders of his vest to make sure all the dust from the cellar was gone, continuing their conversation idly as he did so.

"He wrote a poem when he was alive, called The Cask of Amontillado.  It's about a man tying up and leaving his friend in to perish in the catacombs under his home.  He chains the man - Fortunato - up, and builds a wall to keep him there.  I hope you don't get offended hearing this, but I'm fantasizing doing the same to Miriam."

The only downside of doing so, of course, would that her death would not be certain.  If they were to burn down the estate, there was a chance someone would find her after putting out the fire, and rescue her.  Arthur could not allow such a thing to happen.

"I don't think it is wise, though, as we are on a bit of a schedule.  So I will think of some other methods over dinner, and run them by you, if you'd like.  Now that I think of it, I have a collection of Poe's work in my house you could borrow, if you're interested."