Christian stood inside the barn, the sun beating down upon him, sweat spattering his brow. He rubbed it with the back of his hand, trying to not let the sun bother him though it took its toll on him. He would not normally work in such heat, with the vampiric gene flowing through his veins, it required him to keep a nocturnal schedule. Of course, the king cared not that the sun would weaken him and sent Christian to the stables early, and made sure he would be there long into the night.
As the sweat covered him like a second layer of skin, Christian had to pause in his work of shoveling hay. Looking around to make sure he was alone, he began to strip off his top layer, the absence of the material soothing his skin. He arched over, beginning his work again, catching sight of his front and grimacing.
Scars covered his torso and back, scars from various punishments. Whippings and cuts, beatings and objects he had been shoved into when standing in the way of those more worthy than him. He looked away from his skin, hating the sight of it. Of him. He stuck his pitchfork into the hay and began shoveling.