Charles 'Charlie' Van Alen was a serious, but generally kind and pleasant boy. He was short, with a handsome and regal face that always seemed just a bit too adult, too mature for him,

no matter his age. He was slightly pompous, and he did not deny it. But he did very much deny the fact that he was insecure, even though it was completely true. Charlie Van Alen was a

philanthropist, even at the young age of sixteen, more interested in environmental and humanitarian matters than making money off of his business ventures. He was more than fond of

his dog, Heath, a purebred of course, and found reading books while holed up in his bedroom or perhaps wandering around the Met much more enjoyable than engaging in the often

frivolous and trivial activities popular among his peers. He was a responsible boy, never neglecting or shunning his duty, yet still shying away from taking up the mantle of leadership, the

one that was expected of him. He seemed utterly confident, almost to an arrogant point, when in reality, he was not very sure of himself at all. This was Charlie Van Alen.

Charles Force was a business-minded, coldhearted, impassive, and often ruthless media magnate. He'd long grown into both his regal visage and his position of authority. He ruled with

an iron-fist, and struck down any who dared defy him. He was Michael, fully aware of his responsibilities, completely willing to lead the Coven, the Blue Bloods, the blessed and the cursed,

in their journey to salvation. He had come into all his memories sooner than most, was concerned with only his success and no one else's, and to the world was a flawless, and steely-

eyed merciless driving force- pun intended. He was the power behind the power, who had time for nothing except for his many business endeavors and multi-billion conglomerate

corporation, as well as his many activities after business hours, that occurred strictly behind closed doors and away from the hungry lens of the eager paparazzi. This is the Charles of

today.

Charles Force examined the papers in front of him, a glass of wine in one hand and a pen in the other. He looked up from the papers into the eyes of the trio of his the timid businessmen,

a contradiction in itself. All cowered under his steely gray gaze. "This contract," he began slowly, sipping from his wineglass. "Yes?" asked one of the nervous men- boys, really. All young

and pale, cowed to be in his presence. "You would have already known what had you not interrupted me." Charles said in the voice he reserved specially for tense negotiations and

business meetings. "Oh- I-I'm so sorry, Mr. F-Force-" he began stammering. "I would prefer if Mr. Conroy come down here himself to negotiate the terms of this contract." Charles said,

smoothly cutting across the fool's stammers. "Well, Mr. C-Conroy can't be here unfortunately, he's unavailable at the t-time." said the young man, paling visibly from having to deny the

most powerful man in New York, possibly in the United States. "Well then he must not want this deal very much." Charles said in a reserved, cold, and almost detached voice. He swished

around the contents of his glass and then set it down. "Tell Mr. Conroy that if he wishes to make this little business arrangement, he shall have to attend a meeting with me himself." he

pressed a discreet button on his desk. "Yes, Mr. Force?" answered his human secretary. "Julia, please come into my office and show these gentlemen out." he said. "Right away, Mr.

Force." she replied instantly. Before the 'men' had time to object, his secretary came bursting through the door. A young, attractive woman, only twenty-five he would guess. He'd been

considering making her into another familiar, although he usually preferred to keep his work separate from his private life. She was a rather efficient worker, and he did not have the time

to go searching for another adequate secretary. "If you all would just follow me." she said briskly, ushering them out of his office. With a brief nod, she left with a snap of the glossy dark

wood door. Charles sighed, dropping the pen onto his desk. Thank the Archangels the fools were gone, he thought to himself, then realized with a twist of irony that he was, in essence,

thanking himself. It had been so long, thousands upon thousands of years, since he'd really been an archangel. Since before Ancient Egypt, before everything. But he'd made his choice,

hadn't he? He'd chosen to leave the Light, to leave his fellow Archangels and the Almighty, in favor of following the others down to Earth. He realized he'd begun lying even to himself. He

knew the real reason he'd left Heaven. Gabrielle… The name was like a whisper, a caress of the wind, just a wisp. It had been so long since he'd allowed himself to think of her. To think of

his other half. But not anymore, Charles thought bitterly to himself. At least not to her. She'd made her choice too. And in his opinion, it was more drastic and sudden and downright foolish

then even her choice to leave the Light. She'd left him. Left him. The way a lowly Red Blood would to his or her spouse. They were bondmates. Apart of each other. They were supposed to

be together for eternity. But no. She had forsaken their deep bond, the symbol of their love for one another, and had eloped with that disgusting little wretch of a boy, that rogue, Bendix

Chase. He remembered their days at Endicott, and not for the first time wondered what would have happened, what life would have been like, had Cordelia not acquiesced and allowed

Allegra, and as a result, he himself, to attend there. He could not forgive her, even though he knew her transgression was not a transgression at all. Still, someone had to be to blame for

his heartbreak, for his terrible loss. And it could not be Allegra- not Gabrielle. For it was she who he mourned for. What is it that those stupid Red Bloods said? Ah, yes. One cannot speak

ill of the dead. And to him, Allegra was dead. Because she'd left him, had made it clear that she did not want to be with him. And in truth, he could not rightfully blame her. She thought

that it was just because she felt guilt for the incident in Rome, or that she did not feel ready to take on the responsibility of being Mother to all in the Coven, for leading their people. But

he knew the truth. It was not something they would forget, those who had been involved. Kingsley, Forsyth, Lawrence, the Twins, though they did not yet remember. Charles drank more

of his wine. It had to be done. It had to be done. He repeated those words to himself night after night, when the guilt became too much to bear. Because he had destroyed, killed,

murdered her daughter. Gabrielle had been so confused… she had not known that it was not he, Michael, who she was with, but Lucifer, the Morningstar, the Dark Prince- their doom and

their punishment. But her daughter had been an innocent. Her hands, her tiny, cherubic hands, had not yet been dipped in blood. She was an innocent, and yet inherently evil. Was such

a thing possible? He mused to himself as he poured himself another glass. Could it be possible that Allegra's blood in her veins could keep her from acting on what surely would be dark

whims. It might have been so. But they could not take a chance. They could not risk setting her free on the rest of them, on the Coven, the unknowing Coven. They could not let them

know that Lucifer had finally reached Gabrielle, the Virtuous, the one who would bring news of salvation to them all. It would have destroyed everyone, not just Gabrielle. Charles

clenched the glass tightly, almost shattering it, remembering him. The Devil. He'd always lusted after Gabrielle, always wanted her. But it was not the way Abbadon had. Charles had long

tolerated his flirtatious demeanor towards Gabrielle. Foolish boy, he smiled, thinking of Jack now. No. Lucifer's had been a sinister obsession with her, depraved, evil. Just like himself. And

Gabrielle was the exact opposite of all those things. So how is it that they could have made such a thing? How is it they could have made a baby together, when she and he, Michael, Pure

of Heart, could not? Yes, Azazel had to be destroyed. The Darkling was just that. And yet still, he had never been quite sure, had never been completely positive, that his actions were

right, and justified. And the guilt, that damned guilt, had never gone away. He'd promised himself he would always protect Allegra's other daughter for it. Even though he'd secretly felt

outraged and most of all, devastated, that she'd once again conceived a child with another man. But Schuyler Van Alen was not evil, in any way. He could not justify the destruction of her

the way he had attempted to with the other. He could not let the Conclave, as eager as they had been, to murder her in cold blood just to erase all evidence of Gabrielle's betrayal of

them all. He'd convinced them to drop the charges, had refused to call for the justice ritual, had refused to hunt down and burn Gabrielle. How could he? They did not know, after all, what

he had done to her. They did not know that she had absolutely every right to not want to be with him. But he did. And even without his guilt, he could not have brought himself to kill his

other half. He would always love her, even if she didn't reciprocate that love. He had already given himself to her even if she would not give herself to him. And Schuyler, the proof of her

infidelity… he wanted to hate and despise her. He acted like he did; he knew that she thought he abhorred the mere sight of her. But he could not help but feel a connection to her. She

was all he had left of Gabrielle. She should have been mine, he couldn't help but think bitterly to himself. She should have been his daughter, not some pretty boy Red Blood's. And what

had he done, after he'd gotten everything Charles had dreamed for all of eternity? After he'd gotten Gabrielle and a child, a real, true child? He'd gone and died. Left them, abandoned

them. And with him, he'd taken Allegra's spirit. She'd long slumbered in that hospital room, never awaking, never speaking, just lying there. The worst part was, he could not help her. She

would not allow him to. She wouldn't let him help her recover. He'd tried, countless times, to revive her. Had ordered dozens of blood transfusions, hoping it would wake her up, had gone

though a hell of a trouble to do it too. She wasn't lacking in blood cells, the Red Bloods refused to authorize it, but what Charles wanted, Charles got. It was lucky in the end though, that

they had no knowledge of it, because Allegra's body had rejected it. Dr. Pat, the Red Blood doctor for the Blue Bloods, as well as her well-trained team of surgeons and medical experts,

had all come to the same conclusion. Somehow, Allegra's blood, the Sangre Azul, the very thing that had kept her alive, refused to absorb the red blood cells. It kept on rejecting it, so that

somehow, the blood would just end up mysteriously vanishing. A knock on the door woke him out of his reverie. "Yes?" he said in his usual impassive voice. "Mr. Force, your wife is on Line

One. She wants to know when you'll be home for family dinner." Julia appeared in the doorway. Charles sighed and waved Julia away. "Yes, dear?" he said, picking up line one. "Charles, I

understand that you're very busy at work, but really, you know that Wednesday is family dinner night. Schuyler and the Twins are already here, Rosetta has already prepared dinner, now

will you please come home?" Trinity said, sounding slightly exasperated. "I just have to take care of a few more matters. I'll be there in twenty minutes." he said. "Well, alright then." she

hung up. Charles typed up a few emails to some of his business associates, scheduled the next Conclave meeting for that week, and then logged off. "Julia, I'm going home now, call up

my town car. Oh, and tell Stan and Bradley that I've postponed the meeting with Conroy and that they are not to make any more phone calls or contact him in any way until he contacts

us. Tell them to finish up things for the night." he instructed his secretary over the intercom. "Yes, Mr. Force." she replied. Five minutes later, he'd packed his briefcase with all his files and

documents and had his sleek black coat on. "Mr. Force, your town car is here." Julia buzzed in. He walked out of his office and out of Force Tower, then stepped into the sleek black car

waiting outside. "Where to, Mr. Force?" his driver asked. "Home." Charles replied.