Write four lines of prose about: the renegade.
It would appear that the cold I've been pretending not to have for the last few days has finally insisted that it does in fact exist. Trying to get to bed early tonight so that work tomorrow is manageable.
"What is the matter, master?"
"I cannot sleep tonight, Matthew... an ill wind blows against my window, bringing with it dark thoughts of betrayal and blood-soaked sheets."
"You are safe here, master; go back to your bed and dream the dreams of a man unburdened by the cares of the world outside."
"You are right as always, Matt... wait... you are not Matthew!"