A/N: Because Les Mis gives me feels
He hadn't made it better. It had been centuries and he hadn't been able to make it any better. He had always intended to go back, and make it right, but he couldn't, and now all he could feel was pain in his chest. He was old. Older than he ought to be. Older than he deserved to be. He was infamous, peace was achieved after many long centuries and his name would ring throughout the rest of history, recorded forever. Vladimir Dracula, Chosen One and Saviour of Vampire Kind. But he didn't care for it, not any of it.
His dreams haunted him, showing him how it could be, showing him a reality that he wanted. He was alive, they were together, and everything was right. Things had gone right, better, faster, he had made it happen the way it was meant to go. He forgave him, and Vlad could still see the smile before he drove the stake into his chest. His ashes were kept in an urn on his desk.
He was the Chosen One. He could do anything.
Just not the one thing he dreamed of.