The Count's Tale VI: An Arrow Through the Heart

The hunter gave the Count a look of pure venom.

"Are you alright?" the Count asked tentatively.

"This is all your fault! Because of you, they're going to kill me too! What are you..."

"Calm down! I'll think of..."

"You monster! You're not satisfied with killing them, are you? Yu always have to get me involved!"

"Shut up, Lukas, you're babbling. What we should do is..."

"Shut up yourself!"

"If you want to escape, we need to coordinate. We need to..."

"I don't care about escaping! Do you think I can escape? You're the vampire, dammit! You've got the powers! Why don't you just go save your own skin and leave me dead?!"

The hunter stopped his tirade, panting. To his surprise, he found the Count panting, too.

"Do you think this is easy for me?" the Count almost shouted at the hunter. "Fuck it, Lukas! The princess..."

Something seemed to have snapped within the Count. He suddenly slumped down on the floor and sat, covering his face with his hands, rocking slightly to and fro.

The hunter was unaware of how the princess died. Nobody else in town knew yet. The princess was practically banished by the castle since she left. All he knew was that she died while she was with the Count. Perhaps the Count himself killed her. He sat down opposite the Count, lost in his own scared thoughts.

After a while, the Count took deep calming breaths, secretly wiping his tears with his sleeves. This is not the time to show weakness, he thought. He needed to get the hunter out of this alive, if that's the last thing he'll do. He's ready for death but the hunter isn't.

The Count shifted his position on the floor and looked at the hunter opposite him. When the hunter noticed the Count looking at him, the hunter blushed and looked away.

"Sorry..." the hunter said gruffly. "It's just... you couldn't expect me to take this easily." His eyes took in everything within the dungeon cell.

The Count looked at him for a longer while before replying. "I understand. Nothing to apologize for. Don't worry, I'll get you out of here. There's got to be a way. You can trust me."

"Yeah," the hunter replied, but the Count knew the hunter didn't mean what he said. Already, he can see strains appearing on the hunter's face. The possibility of death was slowly dawning upon him. Upon them both.

The Count knew the extent of his magical powers. He drew it within him, and found a very small trickle left. The poison in the arrows which hit him has leached him of them. He flexed his muscles instead, and found that the poison left him with no physical strength either. Suddenly, with him in that state, the image of the hunter dead before him became stronger. More vivid. More real. He could almost...

No, he thought furiously. There is a way. There is a way! And I'll find it out soon.

While looking at the hunter, he noticed that a rather large red bump was slowly growing on the hunter's forehead. That probably came when he was shoved inside, he thought. He judged that, with the small power left in him, he could at least heal that bump, since he cannot find anything else to use that small power for. His own wounds from the arrows were too serious.

"Let me heal that," the Count finally said.

The hunter looked at him, puzzled. "This?" the hunter said, pointing at his forehead. The Count gave a nod, and the hunter gave another in reply.

The Count slowly approached the hunter, placing his hands over the hunter's forehead. The Count closed his eyes. Of all times! The Count felt guilty about touching the hunter. If the hunter was more knowledgeable, he would have known that trembling hands or blushing were not part of the healing process. The Count also took a longer time in healing it because he was having difficulty focusing his thoughts. This is the hunter, that's why, he thought.

When it was done, the Count sat beside the hunter. The hunter said nothing. After feeling his forehead and finding the bump healed, he smiled.

Luck, the Count thought. Countless times, he has asked for a moment with the hunter. And finally, it was granted to him. He wouldn't have minded them being locked up together, but they were being locked up together to die. Still, in times like these, he thought, you relish the happiness you can find.

The hunter felt uneasy about the way the Count was looking at him.

"Don't look at me that way," he told the Count.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the Count replied. He tried to look at the hunter less intently though. He failed. And he did not bother trying again.

"Why did you come here?" the Count asked suddenly.

"I wanted to see you," was the hunter's ready reply.

"Why?"

"Because they were about to kill you."

"You didn't use to care for me that much..."

"You were about to die!"

"Even so. From our previous encounters, you didn't care about what happens to me one whit."

The hunter gave no reply.

"You're hiding something, aren't you?" the Count asked.

"Let's rather not talk about this."

"What's wrong with trying to find out why you came here?"

"Don't jump into conclusions again!"

The Count was momentarily dumbfounded by this answer. "I see..." he said slowly. "Is that what you think of me? Always jumping to conclusions? And 'again'?"

The hunter said nothing.

"That man you were with in your house. Is he your...?"

"Shut up!"

"Lukas, there's nothing wrong with that! It's..."

"It isn't that..."

"Then what?"

"It's you!"

Again, the Count was stunned by this answer. "Me?" he asked the hunter confusedly. "How...?"

"I don't want to hurt you more. That's why I asked for a clean cut..."

The hunter's replies were not making much sense but if he put this and that together, then...

The Count took a deep breath and inclined himself toward the hunter. "Lukas..." he said slowly. "Do you.... like me, too?"

Silence.

"It was just a simple question," the Count added.

"Whatever gave you the idea."

"Nowhere..."

"You're jumping into conclusions again, are you?" the hunter said, shaking his head.

"Yes," the Count replied. "But am I right this time?"

The hunter closed his eyes for a second and looked down. His hands trembled. "Yes," he said, and he gave out a long breath and covered his face with his hands, just like what the Count did earlier.

The cell was so quiet the Count could hear the hunter breathing.

The Count's Tale V: The Prisoners

A distant light...

He was in the town square. An apparatus for hanging criminals waiting for him. People were cheering for his death. Screaming for his blood.

He was ascending the platform when a big brown bear roared and pushed through the crowd. The people panicked. The soldiers, taken by surprise, were useless against him. Arrows magically bouncing off his thick fur. With a roar, he jumped and crashed onto the platform. The bear looked into the Count's eyes. Those eyes, the Count thought, they are his.

The bear calmly rested its paws on the Count's shoulder. They were heavy hands, the Count thought. Then, as fast as lightning, it put out its claws and slashed the Count's neck.

Blood bubbled through the Count's mouth. "You... you..." Darkness closed in on him.

A distant light.

"Wake up, Vampire!" A thud on his ribs. Thoughts were slow in forming.

A few seconds of silence. Then...

"Wake up!" A splash of cold water woke him from his stupor.

He was weak, feverish. A metallic aftertaste in his mouth. He struggled to sit up with his hands tied behind him. His legs were shaking.

"Stand up!" a soldier, he now saw, ordered. He obeyed with difficulty. "Pay your respects to the Prince!"

He was in the dungeons, he realized. No hope for escaping as a crow... He will probably... No!

The Prince came in through the huge wooden door, resplendent in beautiful robes of crimson and gold. But his face was ugly. His hair was ugly. His build was ugly. The Count almost laughed.

"So..." the Prince announced. He was always pompous, this Prince. Always so confident, when, in the Count's opinion, he has nothing to be confident about. I'm better than you are.

"So here is our dreaded little Count, captured..." He stopped listening. Nothing the Prince would say would turn out to be helpful. The Count just watched his ugly lips move. He just watched green spittle slowly slide down his hairy chin. Disgusting. Strange... what you notice in times like these.

He had only the vaguest sense that a soldier to his left moved, then, he was on the floor, the left side of his head aching. "You don't pay attention, do you? Perhaps the poison has started eating up your brain..."

The Prince contemplated him for a few seconds, and then said. I have a surprise for you... you thief. You've caused me so much pain, you know that? You destroyed my life and now that you're in my hands, I'm going to relish every second of utterly destroying yours. I'd live every moment of causing you pain until you are dead. By my very own hands, it goes without saying."

The Prince left. He was shoved into a dark and dirty cell. The only light came from torches on the main corridor. There was no window. No company. Darkness was his only solace. And his thoughts.

He was not afraid of death. He can die anytime. He can die. The Princess is dead. The hunter is with someone else. What is there to live for? He thought. I can go, nobody would miss me. Except perhaps the witch... and the bats. IS living for them enough?

But he wouldn't die without a struggle, he knew that. He wouldn't give up his life easily. I'll make them bleed too. I'll take as many of them as I can. I'm not a Count for nothing.

It was the Prince who locked up the Princess. Locked her up in a tower because he got jealous of their friendship. Jealous. Well, because he was insecure of their relationship. He turned into an Ogre. And it was him, the Count, who rescued the Princess from captivity. Since then, they lived together.

And so, can the Prince's claim of accusing him as a thief valid? In his opinion, yes. But he doesn't give a damn about the Prince. If he caused him pain, well then, sorry, but I live my life this way. Don't get in my way, I'm the Count.

He was thinking of the supposed potion the witch gave the Princess and the Prince that transformed their lives when he heard sounds of the main door being unlocked. Shouts and protests filled the room. There was a new prisoner, escorted by two guards. The Prince himself, was there leading the procession.

"Put him here," he ordered, indicating the same cell the Count was in. The soldiers pushed the new prisoner in with him, and the prisoner, his head covered with a sack, bumped into a wall before settling down to the floor.

"So, Count, because you have angered me enough by your arrogance in our previous interview... I give you this small present. A sacrifice, I might say. Someone to test whether the ropes are strong enough to hang that big head of yours." The Prince waited for him to give a reply, but The Count won't give him that luxury.

"I know about you. And him. And I'm going to kill him first. Kill the one you love in front of you. In front of everyone. Oh, how I know you'll suffer..." He laughed, and the soldiers imitated him.

The prisoner lifted the sack from his head. His eyes darting to and fro, taking in the darkness, torture instruments hanging on the far wall outside. "Why am I in here?" he demanded. "I said I just wanted to see him."

"Well, there he is," the Prince replied, as if explaining why water was wet. "I've granted you more than you've asked for? Aren't I generous? Now, not only can you see him, you can also touch him!" And he laughed more.

The hunter looked from the Prince to the Count. He was terribly afraid.

"You have one whole day to spend together in this smelly dungeon room. Do what you want to do, fags, since after that, you, my dear traitorous hunter will be dead, and the Count will follow shortly after."

"No..." the hunter uttered. "Yes!" the Prince said. "I'll leave you two to cry... and ummm... cuddle each other. Guards, I suggest you shouldn't go within sight of this unholy cell. You don't want to see some... indecent behavior, especially from these two."

"Wait," the Count said as the Prince and his escorts turned. "How... how...?"

"How did I know?" the Prince haughtily replied. His eyes glittered as they locked into the Counts. "Let's just say that I have friends, too. Motherly friends who live somewhere high up there." And he laughed. His laughter echoing throughout the dark dungeon where the Count and the Hunter were going to spend the last of their living hours together.

No. Never.

He was there. He was here. The music was loud, groovy. My feet were moving in time with the beat. And he was here, beside me.

"Enjoying yourself?" I asked.

"Yeah, " he smiled. "Come on, let's dance."

Our dance together was... exhilirating.

"So..." he said, as we sat down back to our seats exhausted. "How does it feel having me as your boyfriend?"

Speechless. Well, it's like a dream. I couldn't ask for more. And I know this is a dream you fuckhead, Bryan, wake up!

Stop hoping! Stop it! Stop before you fall too deep.

I can't! I'm uncontrollable. I'm too strong. I'm jumping into the cliff again one more time. I want to fall again. I want to talk to him. Just that. Just that!

Fool!!

"Really?" he said, smiling back at me.

"It's really... weird. I mean, I didn't know we'd ever cross worlds again. Fate brought us back together."

"Yeah..." he said thoughtfully, looking down on his glass. He was blushing.

"I am so happy," I said, holding his hands. Tears in my eyes.

"I am... too."

PUTANG-INA MO BRY, ANG TANGA MO!

Our heads moved closer. I can see him close. Too close... and then there was nothing. Just me typing here on this keyboard. Just me, with the blinking mouse. Me in front of the screen. Just me. No him. Never him. So will you stop making a fool of yourself, Bry? You're embarrassing.

No. Never.

B-Men

I've just watched X-Men 3: The Last Stand with Chiyo, and unlike most movies, that one got me into thinking. In there, the humans have discovered a cure for the mutant gene - something which can suppress its expression. The movie wasn't very clear on how (in fact, it didn't even explain). Too bad for me since I might have understood bits and pieces of the mechanism...

The point is the mutants were divided - some voluntarily went and took the cure. Others formed a picket line in front of the building where the cure was available - protesting that there was nothing to cure. That's the part which got me thinking. What if bisexuality can be cured? Will I take it or will I be holding a placard instead? A placard declaring that there is nothing to cure. (Well, I know I'm no X-Men... call me B-Men if you want.)

It is a difficult decision, honestly. Well, you cannot negate me since you do not have the same condition as I do. All my life, I've said, I wanted to be normal. But there is something with bisexuality that makes this person you know really me. It is already a part of my package. I may be given wit, a funny personality, creativity, but I have my insecurities, too, including my sexuality. I have accepted it as a part of me. It even makes my life interesting. Imagine, if I wasn't a bisexual, what would I write in here? I don't even know whether I'll turn to writing at all as my outlet. The bottomline - I will be less interesting. I will learn less about my life. I wouldn't be me. The me that I am now.

I have accepted my life as it is. Especially now when I am exploring the other side. I realize that it isn't that bad after all. I once believed that a normal man would marry, have children, etc. But now, it seems like I've begun to live in a different world. A world where your rules do not apply. A world wherein what matters is that you love each other, even if you're of the same sex. Where what matters isn't starting a family, it's just being with each other.

And so, if ever a cure for bisexuality was indeed found, I wouldn't take it. There is really nothing to cure.

The Count's Tale IV: A Black Feather

His legs were already becoming numb. He has been sitting (and hiding) behind this bush for a long while. He was observing the hunter's house. Looking for signs of people. Of activity. But so far, within the last half hour, there was none. It appeared that the house was uninhabited at present. He had a feeling it wasn't. He had a feeling that the hunter was inside. Whether alone or not is another question.

That question did not come to his mind before. It has been a week since they last talked, and he knew and felt that the hunter was his. His alone. Selfish, true, and foolish doubtlessly, but he had that feeling still. There wouldn't have been any reason why he needed to lookout for the hunter tonight. No reason except that a bat (he can talk to them) told him that he saw the hunter talking to someone near the market area in the village. It said the two were talking enthusiastically, and they were too close to each other. When he asked the bat to desribe who the hunter was talking to (because it may only be a child, or a grandmother...), the bat said that the hunter was talking to a tall, broad-shouldered, good-looking, masculine human.

A vein burst in his head right then. Cheater! So you go with the same kind after all! Why all this hiding? Why all this pretense? What does he have that I don't?! I'll show you where you truly belong, I'll show you...

And that was why he found himself waiting outside the hunter's house (after destroying half of his possesions in his dwelling). Waiting for signs of "Mr. Masculine" and of hunter. Waiting for them to fuck each other senseless.

I'm going to come in, he said to himself. I'll catch them red-handed. I'll catch him cheating and see whether he'll feel any remorse. So I can really find out what he feels for me. But the fact that he's seeing other men... doesn't that ring a bell already? Isn't that already a sign that the hunter doesn't like him?

Time and again, he kept returning to this position. He kept hoping. He kept finding signs of love where there was not even recognition. When there was not even friendship left. Time and again. And he can't take it anymore this time. he can't take it anymore now that he knew he goes with his own kind, too. Now that he knew that he didn't accept him not because he cannot go with the likes of him, but because he simply does not like him.

He rushed towards the front door, large quantities of moonlight he did not need spreading on the lawn before the hunter's house. He landed on the main hallway, his steps light despite their speed. He knew where the hunter's bedroom lay, and he found it. Candles were lighted in there. He even glimpsed the hunter, sitting on his bed, smiling, as he ran towards the other side where the hunter wouldn't see him. And as he came close, he heard a noise he dreaded the most to hear coming from his room. Another voice. A masculine voice.

"...it spilled so much blood on my pants, I had to take them off," the other voice was saying, and they laughed.

"I was wondering why you had to help me," the hunter said. "You have your own work to do and that was a messy job I could do on my own. You don't need to do that, that's what I mean."

"Well," Mr. Masculine replied. "Let's just say that spending time with you is time worth spending. Time worth spending even if I did go hungry." They both laughed.

"By the way, how you come you didn't mention..."

"Hey, do you have a pet here?" Mr. Masculine asked. "I heard a weird puking sound just outside..." He stood to close the door.

"No, stay. I'll close it later myself. Must be your imagination. I can see the hallway very clearly from here and there's nothing there but darkness."

"As I was saying," Mr. Masculine continued. "I... I really don't know how to begin. I mean, I was just hanging out with you, hunting with you, and then, I felt this... this... inside. I felt good just watching you move that long spear of yours. I liked watching you observe the trail with your pretty eyes. I like the way how your lips snarl whenever an animal escapes. I just like doing those things. Just being near you. I know it's inappropriate but... I think I like you."

There was a long silence.

The hunter cleared his throat. "Umm... you know... I actually feel..."

CRASH! A sound of broken glass. Everything happened so fast. Wind came in. The candles went out. Complete darkness. An eerie whistling sound filling the room. "Ouch!" and a sharp intake of breath. That was not the hunter. "No!" That was the hunter's voice.

Another crash then... sudden silence. Calm. The hunter finally got enough nerve to light the candle again. He was expecting his room turned into a mess or a visitation by a violent spirit. But there was nothing, just a few pieces of broken glass from his window.

"I'm bleeding," Mr. Masculine told him. There was a rather shallow gash on his cheeks. It will heal, but it will leave a mark. A scar. The Count taught him how to make a potion which can remove scars, but he has forgotten. He has forgotten those days. "You'll be fine. There's some clean cloth inside the drawer."

He went for a closer inspection of the window. Whatever hit it and broke it, it came from the inside. Most of the broken glass fell outside. He picked up a candle and brought it nearer. There were blood stains on some of the glass shards.

What could it have been, he thought? But his question was immediately answered by something falling. Falling in front of his face. He caught it, and opened his palm. His face went pale.

Alarmed, the hunter's companion went to him. "What is it?" he asked. He got no answer. He opened the hunter's hands and saw a black feather, now crushed from the hunter's grip. "What does it mean?" he asked.

He got an unreadable face and teary eyes for a reply.

---

Screams and dying groans filled the village that night. The Count was on the loose again! This time, he was more vehement than ever. More cunning. There was no mercy. Before, the Count was satisfied with killing one in a night. But now, he seems to be killing everyone in the village.

He was alone. He was in pain. And he will take it on the others. Everytime he killed, he imagined "Mr. Masculine's" face on them, although he really wasn't able to take a look at his face. There were tens of Mr. Masculine's. Hundreds. He'll kill them all. Because he loves the hunter. He loves him!!!

The moon climbed higher on the sky, as if it wanted to get a better view of the once placid town now looking like a scene from a nightmare. And in the middle of it all was a vampire, the Count of the Enchanted Forest.

It isn't over yet, he thought, as he let his last victim lie bloodless (and lifeless) on the ground. But deep inside, he knew his hope was gone. Or if it was not, it was imaginary. "I love you. Why don't you love me back? WHY?!!"

And he ran and attacked. Causing more pain and misery to the villagers. Hurting those who have seen him cry.

But if that is what you want, he thought, I'd let you be. If you're happy with him, what can I do? I love you... and I want you to be happy. He was so lost in his thoughts as he was stalking on the main street that he didn't notice the arrow sticking through his arm. Pain rushed on him and he winced. He tried to remove the thing but it was barbed. He noticed that it's end was coated with a green-colored paste. Another arrow hit his right leg. "Poison," his last thought was, as he slumped down on the pavement unconscious, blood still dripping from his open mouth.

The Count's Tale III: The Count and the Hunter

Struggling through the thick undergrowth, the hunter shaded his eyes from the noonday sun above. He scanned the skies for signs of clouds to shield his bare back from the heat. There was no speck of a cloud that hot summer day. There was a crow, though. It looked sick because it seemed not to know where it was headed. And it was flying too high for a crow. Things are strange today, he thought nervously, scanning the enchanted forest to his right.

He continued searching the trail for tracks of animals. A wild boar would be best. It would last me several days, he thought. It would go well with the vegetables I've just found on the other side of the clearing. A loud cawing sound made him look back up at the sky to search for the crow. Crows have always been bad omens. They reap decay and celebrate disaster. The crow was gone.

He wiped the sweat on his brows with his forearm and continued to hunt. He was silently cursing the hot summer sun when a rustling sound made him look back quickly, his spear at the ready.

A black-cloaked man was striding towards him. His black garments emphasizing his starkly white skin. The gaunt cheeks, bloodless lips, long black hair. He was thin, and he walks like he had an accident before. He limped a bit. A small smile formed unwillingly on his lips as he realized who it was.

The Count stopped just a few inches from him. Regardless of the proper distance they should have maintained. He was too close that he could see the quirking of his lips. Too close to see the tear stains on his cheeks. But what surprised him was that he never thought that the Count had such lovely eyes. His eyes were too alive for the rest of his body. And they were intent on him. On all of him, he realized with a tensing of his stomach.

"She's dead. The princess is dead. Just this morning," the Count said. So that explained the tears, he thought. He tried hard to keep a straight face. That was wondrous news but he shouldn't let the Count know that. "I'm sorry," he replied instead, giving him his best smile.

The Count's eyes flashed. And his eyes moved down. The hunter stood taller and asked, "Why are you here?"

No one knows that something happened between them. He has always wanted the Count. He admired him. He was different, quiet, and intelligent. He has a good sense of humor, everything he wants. He is very interesting. But the Count should never know about how he feels. The Count might lose interest in him, once he realized that the feeling was mutual. And besides, the hunter has not given up on his dream of ending up normal. He has the same dreams the Count had given up on. Falling for someone of his own kind is taboo. Unacceptable. Unorthodox.

"I saw you so I came," was the simple reply from the Count. He was tensing, the hunter realized. "Why do I still...?" he said in a rush, as if the words were being ripped from his mouth. "These things I did, these past weeks, it's because of you. I missed you." He held the hunter's arms. A strong grip. A lover's grip. The hunter, alarmed, pried the Count's hands away.

Once, on a hunting trip, he got bitten by a poisonous snake. He was too far from the town to go back. He was alone, and he was about to die. He ran to the nearest dwelling, which looked abandoned. But knock on the door he did. Fear for his life overcoming his fear for what could be inside. The Count appeared on the door in time to catch him as he fell unconscious.

He had to stay for a few weeks to recover from the poison. The Count has prepared the antidote just in time to save him, and he also taught him a lot about potions and alchemy. And the hunter was avid to learn. Slowly, he got to admire the Count. He fought the emotion. Fought as hard as he could. This is taboo. Unacceptable. I am a man! He knew the Count felt the same way, and that made it doubly hard. He did not care whether the Count was a vampire. The Count told him that he wouldn't injure someone he has just helped live. And besides, the hunter has his own secrets...

But he isn't the only one being warmed by the Count's affection. There was the princess, this slip of a girl from the castle. He hated her! And planned to kill her but he was unsuccessful because of the interference of the Count himself. But without that attempt, the princess wouldn't have met the Count and became friends with him. In wanting to kill the Count's love for the princess, he achieved the opposite.

"What do you want?" the hunter demanded in a rasping voice. He was having difficulty speaking since all his concentration is being bent on keeping a straight face. The Count did not know how this was making him suffer, but he can't accept it. Taboo. Unacceptable. Unorthodox.

One night, the Count visited him in his forest hut. He confessed his love for him. The hunter was angry. Inside, he wanted to cry weakly into the Count's shoulder. You stayed with her. You chose her. You built me up then you let me down. I love you! But what he said in his coldest voice was, "I feel bad and disappointed. Leave me. Forget me because I want to leave everything behind." The Count was stricken by his alarming decision. After hopeless attempts of pleading, he walked limping back to his house, crying bitterly on the way. As for him, once he closed the door, he sank down on the floor and wept. Wept for his own blindness.

The Count's eyes were shining now. Shining with emotion. His could-have-been handsome face contorted with suppressed feelings. With a swish of his cloak, he suddenly transformed into a crow and flew towards the forest, raining him with black feathers.

Steady, my Count, he said to the wind as he looked at the retreating crow. Hold on. I'll find the strength one day. I'll have the courage to confess. Steady, my Count. If we're meant to be, you will wait for me.

Tears dropped on his chest. With a roar, he transformed into a bear, the same one who attempted to kill the princess, and came running towards the valley. I love you, too. But as long as I keep this to myself. As long as I am in denial, we would stay this way. That is my decision.

On the far side of the enchanted forest where the crow, flapping his wings without vigor, was flying, a loud guttural growl of anguish was heard. A cry of longing, pain, and frustration. A cry too harsh that it surpasses human emotion.

The Count's Tale II: The Flight of the Crow

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.