Higher and higher, the Count, as a crow, flew away from the vast enchanted forest. He flew past the Mountains of Madness. Past the River of Regret. He soared above the Lake 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 before knocking on her door. He walked towards the hut.
"I sense a soul in search of answers," a voice sounded out of nowhere. He was not surprised to find the witch suddenly walking beside him. Her powers are at its strongest where she dwells. 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. It is true what they say in the village. Birds of the same feather flock together...
"You've reached a decision the same time you reached me," she said without preamble. Her hand reached out for his arm so he cannot walk further. He turned to face her and her eyes bored into his, filled with sympathy and understanding. She could have been his blood-mother, the way she looked. Her eyes were unusually big and as smooth and as black as the surface of the lake, making him feel as if he was talking to his reflected image. And what he saw there was a vampire, not a human. What he saw was the end of his illusions. What he saw was the truth.
He shivered. Like bubbles of foul marsh gas rising from the bottom of the water, unwanted thoughts slowly found their way to the surface. He knew, even before the princess died. He knew he was bound to fail and he kept that thought to himself because he did not want to hurt the princess. How can you bring yourself to hurt someone who loves you with all her heart? The witch’s eyes were all that he can see.
"Death... cannot be healed," he said finally, almost automatically. "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. 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. I don’t care now, what they say." He spoke dreamily, as if he was simply speaking his thoughts aloud. He might have believed that he was under a kind of spell if not for the stabbing pains the truth of what he just said was making him feel.
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 they can do. He imagined himself a human father, with a blushing wife and a noisy little kid. He pictured himself coming home after a long day of work in the fields. 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 had 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. 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. No success guaranteed even if you filled yourself to bursting with 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 suddenly said, shaking him out of his reverie, "that you are not affected. It will crash on you one day. One fateful day. 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 Foretell."
The witch’s words were absolute in their certainty but the Count deigned not to reply. He was thinking about his future. He was thinking about how difficult it would be. But deep inside, he was also 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 with a smile as she gently left the Count alone while 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, the witch 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. It was one of her biggest secrets. Something she let the other beings believe to keep them in awe of her powers. 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 for them, should be accepted and not changed nor questioned. Death really cannot be healed. And besides, she was sick of beings treating death like it was a negative phenomenon. She believes that, like other experiences, it just depends on how you look at it.
Once again, she has confirmed that 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 ultimate emotional effects as if they were indeed cast. Even her most powerful Compulsion charms cannot make the Count completely forget about that fraud of a spell.
That word, “spell”, brought her attention back to impending tragedy of the here and now. She was curious about how the blood of some humans can have magical effects even if they cannot cast magic themselves, and she made a mental note to do some experiments on the matter. She did not feel sorry for the villagers who were going to have gruesome “accidental” possibly vampire-like deaths some time soon, but she did feel sorry for the Count.
Sorry in a way, she amended, and she smiled as she shot one last look at the Count who was still gazing at the mountains.
***
The Count, flew away from the witch's mountain. 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, and 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.
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 before knocking on her door. He walked towards the hut.
"I sense a soul in search of answers," a voice sounded out of nowhere. He was not surprised to find the witch suddenly walking beside him. Her powers are at its strongest where she dwells. 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. It is true what they say in the village. Birds of the same feather flock together...
"You've reached a decision the same time you reached me," she said without preamble. Her hand reached out for his arm so he cannot walk further. He turned to face her and her eyes bored into his, filled with sympathy and understanding. She could have been his blood-mother, the way she looked. Her eyes were unusually big and as smooth and as black as the surface of the lake, making him feel as if he was talking to his reflected image. And what he saw there was a vampire, not a human. What he saw was the end of his illusions. What he saw was the truth.
He shivered. Like bubbles of foul marsh gas rising from the bottom of the water, unwanted thoughts slowly found their way to the surface. He knew, even before the princess died. He knew he was bound to fail and he kept that thought to himself because he did not want to hurt the princess. How can you bring yourself to hurt someone who loves you with all her heart? The witch’s eyes were all that he can see.
"Death... cannot be healed," he said finally, almost automatically. "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. 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. I don’t care now, what they say." He spoke dreamily, as if he was simply speaking his thoughts aloud. He might have believed that he was under a kind of spell if not for the stabbing pains the truth of what he just said was making him feel.
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 they can do. He imagined himself a human father, with a blushing wife and a noisy little kid. He pictured himself coming home after a long day of work in the fields. 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 had 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. 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. No success guaranteed even if you filled yourself to bursting with 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 suddenly said, shaking him out of his reverie, "that you are not affected. It will crash on you one day. One fateful day. 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 Foretell."
The witch’s words were absolute in their certainty but the Count deigned not to reply. He was thinking about his future. He was thinking about how difficult it would be. But deep inside, he was also 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 with a smile as she gently left the Count alone while 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, the witch 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. It was one of her biggest secrets. Something she let the other beings believe to keep them in awe of her powers. 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 for them, should be accepted and not changed nor questioned. Death really cannot be healed. And besides, she was sick of beings treating death like it was a negative phenomenon. She believes that, like other experiences, it just depends on how you look at it.
Once again, she has confirmed that 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 ultimate emotional effects as if they were indeed cast. Even her most powerful Compulsion charms cannot make the Count completely forget about that fraud of a spell.
That word, “spell”, brought her attention back to impending tragedy of the here and now. She was curious about how the blood of some humans can have magical effects even if they cannot cast magic themselves, and she made a mental note to do some experiments on the matter. She did not feel sorry for the villagers who were going to have gruesome “accidental” possibly vampire-like deaths some time soon, but she did feel sorry for the Count.
Sorry in a way, she amended, and she smiled as she shot one last look at the Count who was still gazing at the mountains.
***
The Count, flew away from the witch's mountain. 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, and 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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