Higher and higher, the Count, as a crow, flew above the vast enchanted forest. He flew past the Mountains of Madness. Past the River of Regret. He soared above the Lakes of Lamentation, looking at his reflection on the calm surface of the water. He seemed so small then. So insignificant.
He landed on a clearing near the mountainside, and retransformed into a vampire before showing himself to the witch. She was naturally suspicious of intruders, so it was best that he show his true form. He walked towards the hut.
"I sense a soul in search of answers," she said suddenly out of nowhere. She appeared beside him. Materialized rather, since he didn't notice her approach him. Unlike most, the witch somehow liked him. Perhaps it's because of their common darkness. She can also transfigure herself into an animal - a raven. Birds of the same feather flock together...
"You've reached a decision the same time as you reached me," she said, her hand held his arm so he cannot walk further. Her eyes bored into his, filled with sympathy and understanding. She could have been his blood-mother, the way she looked.
"Death cannot be healed," he replied. "Your magic can revive her, but it cannot revive me. It is hard, but sometimes, we just have to accept who we really are. I was born a vampire, and should follow the same fate. I was born not to associate myself from princesses nor any other humans. I was born to live a dark life, filled with uncertainty. A life, which most people will disapprove of, but is destined to be mine." He spoke as if he was simply speaking his thoughts aloud.
The Count looked away, onto the splendid view the mountain side offered. All his life, he wished to fit in with humans. He wished he could do the same things as they can do. He imagined himself a human father, with a blushing wife and a noisy little kid. He has pictured himself coming home after a long day of work. Coming home to the arms of his loving wife. A kiss and a simple question she would ask, "How was your day?" His little kid (a son, he has always wanted a son) would come toddling to him, and he would lift his child up and sway and hug him. And they would laugh. Oh how they would laugh.
But now the princess, his only chance of fulfilling that dream, was dead. Dead because he as good as killed her. In any case, whatever the cause might have been, he was the cause of her death. And now, he didn't want her back anymore. He had marked himself, with this decision, as an outcast of society. He has given up on his dream of living a normal life. His life is different. And unlike in fairy tales where your wishes come true, real life offers no pity. No miracle. Not even hope.
But I have to be at peace with myself first before I can have relationships, he thought. He'd rather be alone and complete, than be with someone with a question constantly nagging his mind. And besides, he knew he wouldn't be able to love fully unless he learns to love himself first.
"You're pretending," the witch said. "That you are not affected. It will crash on you one day. One fateful day. But you've got your friends to lean to. And this decision that you just did has just changed your future. It is clearer now, true. I cannot say if it was the best outcome as others will look at it. But for you, it is. This I Foretold."
The Count was silent. He was thinking about his future. He was thinking about how difficult it would be. But deep inside, he was anticipating how it would feel to be just himself. And akin to humans, following what their instincts tell them.
I will kill humans and drink their blood, he thought. That is how I was meant to be. And for once, I will treat myself rightly. I will give myself the respect I deserved a long time ago. Vampires are not to be looked down upon nor pitied upon. We are beings, the same as humans, and although we have differences, we are similar in the sense that both of us are looking for something. To be appreciated. Be accepted. Be loved.
My potions always work wonders, the witch thought as she gently left the Count alone as he contemplated the view of the forest. The proper combination of encouragement, sympathy, words, and silence are the best ingredients of a potion meant for his condition.
At first, she thought that the Count would ask for the spell to bring back the dead. Little did he know that that spell was just a lie. Time and again, beings have asked for the incantation of that spell, but in the end, after some time of thinking, they decide to leave the dead alone. Things happen for a reason, and that, although unclear, should be accepted and not changed nor questioned. Death cannot be healed.
The really powerful spells are not those with the loudest bangs and brightest lights. Nor is it those which can control the strongest mind or weaken the bravest heart. In her opinion, it is those spells which, like this, are nonexistent yet can produce the same effects as if they were indeed cast.
The Count, again as a crow, flew away from the witch's dwelling. To where, he did not know. All he knew was that he was free. Free to be himself. Free to look for the real one waiting out there for him. But some things, like the princess' touch, her singing voice, the feel of her body close, the endless talks late at night. Some things like the imagined home, the blushing bride, the acceptance of society, the laughing child in his arms are no more. They will come no more.
He was free from those things, too.
And he flew away. HIgher than he has ever flown. Unthinking of where he would end at.
Some things are just no more. Just... no more.
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