Cry at the Moon
Prologue
A tall man wearing a long, black leather jacket stood staring out to the sea. His long, curly dark hair blew in the wind.
Behind him, a diminutive friar stood by a large funeral pyre. The friar held a bible in his hands.
The man sighed deeply and mournfully. What now? He wondered. What was he to do now that he had lost almost everything. He had won, triumphed over the wicked beast that had terrorized Romania for hundreds of years. So why did he feel so hollow?
He briefly looked back at the funeral pyre. The smoke blew towards him and stung his eyes. Or was that tears? He turned back towards the edge of the cliff. The wind blew about him, caressing his skin as it headed out towards the sea.
"I have never been to the sea. I'll bet it's beautiful," a soft, accented voice echoed in his mind; a ghost from what felt like ages past.
The man sank to his knees. What was the point of going on? If some great evil had been at fault, then he'd be able to avenge her. But, cruelly, fate had turned on him. There was no great evil to vanquish, no dragon to slay in vengeance for his lost love. The blame lay squarely on his shoulders. He had killed her. He was the monster.
He was the monster that she had died trying to save. He could feel a few scars on his side, where the beast had bitten and therefore cursed him. He could feel the tiny dot-shaped scar where the cure had been stabbed into him. He looked down at his hands. Not two nights ago, they had been claws covered in fur.
The small friar stepped up beside him and placed his hand on the man's shoulder. Gabriel Van Helsing stood up. The turned around and started walking back towards the horses. He took one final gaze back at the sea. "Anna. I'm sorry."