"Stop! Don't touch me! No more!"

Baldwin spun around, away from the old man, waving his arm at him in frustration. It was a terrible, unfortunate fate. Beauty was such a fickle thing. It stayed with whomever it wished, and left ever so quickly. In short time, Baldwin began to turn 'ugly' and he did not know why. The nobles' children stayed away, their mothers forbidding them to even touch him, for fear of catching his curse. Wherever he passed, he did not need to know that they would turn their heads, or, if they did look, looked in pity. At 13, after the death of his predecessor and uncle, he was crowned. He became Baldwin IV, the King of Jerusalem. But the shame of his body grew to be too much. It was easier for people to relate to one who shared the same face as themselves, so it was then that he had his 'new skin' made. A bronze shield with a boy's face it was, but cold and impervious. Unchanging and perfect; the keystone of his authority. Now he was 17, and the lone ruler of an entire city, though few could guess that he even aged behind the mask. It was unfortunate that the world could not see the beyond it.

"My lord, please! Be careful!" cried his physician, exasperated in his final inspection. The routine examinations were extremely uncomfortable moments for the young king. Each time, there was something new or something different, but it was always worse. Baldwin abhorred being touched.

I will not lose to this.

When he was younger, it had always been his physician who would fasten his bandages. Now he only provided them. Baldwin refused to be treated as an invalid, regardless of his condition. He could lead an army, ride a horse, and wield a sword as well as anyone, if not better. But a man who could not bind his own wounds was not worthy of being a man. Jerusalem was in need of a strong man, and an able king.

Baldwin gave a final tug on the last strip of linen.

"There. It is done. Now let me be."

"Yes, my lord."

When the physician had gone, Baldwin was left to himself in his vast, sun-bathed room. When he sighed, he sounded more like old man than a young one. He fixed his eyes on the delicate white curtains that weakly shielded him from the outside. As white as his robes. They were like ghosts, constantly hovering in his presence, waiting to envelope him in his time. When the wind was strong enough, it was almost as if they would reach him from where he sat on his bed.

Will they wrap me in those when I die? Wrap me in the warmth of something clean, so that I may cling to it on the way to heaven? To hide myself amongst the angels?

Each day, he held together the fragments of a fragile peace in a hostile land. When they were not in heated dispute, his court kept a keen eye on his frail health like vultures. Perhaps it was some form of morbid entertainment for them, counting his days as if he had not been doing so for the past eight years. They had merely to wait until he fell; then surely the sands would become an oasis of blood once more. At times, he wondered if his affliction was the price for his seat in God's kingdom. If such is true...

He eyed his chess table, whose ebony and ivory pieces stood in perfect formation, ready for war.

...then I have known humility all my life.

The soft sound of approaching footsteps reawakened his senses. Quickly, he got up and walked into open archway where the curtains hung. The sun was warm and gentle today. Hopefully, it would ease what would come next.

"Baldwin?"

"Yes, Sybilla. I am here."

She entered the room and gazed at him with his back turned to her, his hands behind him, his head slightly bowed. In her hands, she carried a wooden box, which she held in an uneasy grasp. In truth, she loathed with all her heart what she was doing, even though her brother would have chosen no one else. As his conditioned worsened, Sybilla had only grown more beautiful. Her skin was soft and flawless; her eyes were like jewels, and her hair was a veil of curly silk that flowed all too easily over her shoulders. It was as if whatever beauty he might have had was being sacrificed on her behalf. Already, she had many a suitor seeking her youthful hand. Envy was something he felt every now and then, but jealousy, never. Not for all the world. When he had first began to suffer the disease, it was Sybilla who would comfort him in the night, and hold him until he feel asleep. And it was she who would re-bandage his hands when he tried to tear them off, as they would irritate him terribly. She had helped him step out of the realm of childhood, so that he could become who he needed to be. He would rather rip himself to pieces than wish onto her even the slightest mark of his fate.

I can feel it when you are near…my comfort, my memory.

"Do you…have it, Sybilla?"

"Yes." She replied quietly. "I do."

"Please. Bring it here. Into the light."

With a breath, she brought forth the box, the scent of roses following in her steps..She would be strong for him, if not for herself. For this would never happen again. As her brother turned, she lifted the lid of the box for him. His hesitant reaction was expected. Inside, was a new mask. One of silver and more beautiful than the one he was currently wearing. Carefully, his gloved hands removed and lifted out. Its polished surface was as enchanting as it was ominous. Sybilla set the empty box down on a nearby table and took his arm, squeezing it gently. She closed her eyes as her brother spoke.

"I knew this one would not last forever, Sybilla. I can no longer wear this boy's face. This face will be my last—the one I shall wear as a man." This was why he had asked for her. He would have no one else deliver to him the final walls of his new prison. The thought that Sybilla had carried it personally might warm its cold touch.

"Thank you, Sybilla. Please leave me, now…I can do this alone."

It is better this way. She does not deserve to see...

He stiffened as he heard her step back.

But reaching back to unfasten his mask, he felt her hand come over his. As he turned, Sybilla stepped close and put her free arm around him, pulling herself to him. "Perhaps. But I will not let you. I cannot."

He replied softly, "One look at me and you will wish you never had." Yet as much as he longed for her to leave, he could not deceive himself with a half-hearted wish. His arm curled around her waist. "Why would you bear this?"

When she did not immediately answer, he added. "It will not get better afterwards, Sybilla. The physicians do little more than acknowledge my own observations; they cannot slow it, they cannot stop it. Why do you still wish to see? Do not pretend that it does not frighten you…I can…feel it."

He enveloped her fingers in his own.

"I stay because...because my eyes have never left you. Not then, and not now." Her eyes were sparkling with tears of sadness and encouragement. And for him alone. "I will take you for all that you are and nothing less. If there is nothing more that I can do, then so be it."

She would not so easily obey his dismissals for she knew in her heart that they were empty. He was wishing to spare her, but then there would be no one else to console him in his time of weakness. Their parents were no more; it could only be her. Together, their fingers loosened what held the mask to her brother's face. He heard her breathe in sharply as he removed it, but she had steeled herself against flinching. She would bear it with him at all costs. His eyes had always been bright, but his cheeks had wasted away. His lips were thin and colorless. His nose was collapsing. What was once firm flesh only a year ago was now either limp or starting to stretch over his facial bone structure. "Living death." He whispered.

His words sent a chill through her. What answer could she give?. Blinking away her tears, she gazed upon his face. The curtains billowed around them, slightly tempering the harsh glare of the sun. Warm, like Baldwin's embrace. He stiffened when she touched the right side of his face. It was the most decayed part of him. The ugliest.

She delicately traced the deformed ridges of skin from his temple to his chin. Why could not have the disease spared him this? Shown him mercy?

She swallowed. "Living, Balwin…living nonetheless." She then removed her hand, and replaced it with a soft kiss on his hollowed cheek. It was not the first kiss she had given him, as she had kissed him before when they were children, but it was by far the most soothing gesture he had ever known. He held perfectly still, too surprised—or fearful--to break the moment.

If only I could tell you Sybilla...

All too soon that precious time was gone. He looked down at the silver mask they held. Sybilla spoke again, her voice filled with new strength. "Never forget that, Baldwin. So long as any of us take breath, we live. And will live on. You are our king. You are...my king."

He gazed at her for the longest time before nodding silently. "Indeed, Sybilla. Indeed."

He did not intend on allowing Sybilla to see his face again. Ever. For in the coming years it would become absolutely hideous. The silver mask fastened on and remained secure. Only then, when Baldwin appeared satisfied with it, did Sybilla turn to take her leave.

"Wait." He pulled her to him one last time, and holding her briefly, gently pressed his silver lips to her forehead. In his heart, it was a poor attempt to reciprocate her love, but little did he know that it made no difference to her.

"Thank you...Sybilla."