"It's Gypsies who're to blame, y'know."

The man and woman sitting quietly in the inn's taproom grew still upon hearing this. They exchanged a glance.

Murmurs of agreement rose to confirm this statement. Setting down his pewter tankard, the speaker at table continued without interruption. "And Jews, le's not forget them," he wagged a meaningful finger as though lecturing in university. "Filthy pagans, the lot of 'em. Worse than Saracens. At least they did'na crucify our Lurd and Say-vior. Slinkin' about like rats, bringin' plague'n misfortune eva'where they go."

"This be worse than any plague, Barto," one of his listeners pointed out. "Lest you be counting those enumerated in the Good Book."

"I heard Pitesti is gone," another whispered. "Completely. The whole town. In a single night, they say."

"Tis the End of Days," another proclaimed mournfully, taking a pull at his drink.

"Tha's muh point, right there," the speaker Barto spoke loudly to regain control of the conversation. His fellow peasants looked on mournfully, but the two travelers paid close attention to what was being said. "We've sinned, we have. All of us! By lettin' their lot live amongst us un'mulested. God's punishin' us! And we must do what need's bein' done!"

Some grunts and shifting might have been this lot's way of expressing agreement. Right then the waitress, a plump girl with sad eyes and a pouty frown came up to the two traveler's table with their drinks. "Excuse me," the man said as she set the foaming tankards down. "Do you know how far it is to reach the Turnu Rossu Pass?"

"Pass is closed," she informed him without looking up.

This news caused her clients to tense, though the waitress failed to notice. The small girl in the big cloak leaned closer. "What happened?"

The waitress only now seemed to notice she was being drawn into a conversation. She stood up straight and peered at the pair curiously, noting their heavy hooded traveling attire that served to hide their faces. "The Burning Man was sighted south. Army came in. They closed the pass. Pitesti fell two days past." Her eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion. "Common knowledge, that."

"Thank you," the man spoke hastily, offering two coins to pay for their drinks. She accepted and moved off, but cast a glance over one shoulder as she did. While huddling deeper into the shadowy corner, the outcasts didn't fail to note how the waitress bent low to whisper in one man's ear at the next table while depositing her fare. This happened to be the very same group that was so animated on the topic of local events.

"Psst!"

Both looked down, and were surprised to find a small gray cat sitting near their feet. The feline rose to leave, then looked back at them.

"Come with me," it said.

The creature's eyes were like lamps, shining in the darkness and casting a beam of light bright as the sun across the darkened woods. Xiomara covered Rania with her body. She could feel the girl trembling beneath her. Despite wearing no clothes, the brown-skinned Amazon remained still as a hidden deer. When the hellish searchlights moved towards them, she ducked her head and let it wash over them without moving.

Even with her eyes shut, she swore she could feel the beams linger over her, as if debating. A strong desire to leap up and go racing off filled her which she struggled to resist. Flight would do no good against this enemy. Not now, while she was encumbered by the girl. So she waited, praying with all her might that her glamor would be enough to protect them.

After a time, the glow beyond her eyelids grew dimmer. Sensitive ears detected the sound of footfalls swishing through the snow. After several minutes, Xiomara risked looking up. To her relief, the glowing figure was moving away from them through the forest. Once she was certain they were out of danger, she sat up. "Alright," she whispered. "It's safe."

Wrapped in a cloak, Rania got to her knees. She too stared after the departing figure. Turning back to Xiomara, the Gypsy girl colored slightly at her unclothed state but otherwise gave no comment. Nudity was not the taboo amongst her people as it was the Christians. Still, to see a woman as magnificent as this in all her glory couldn't help but excite interest. Were it not for what they had just been through, this might rank as the most arousing experience of her short life. And speaking of which…

"What was that?" the pale-skinned waif whispered as the wind blew her hair about.

Xiomara peered past her into the night without blinking. "The Burning Man." Standing up, she offered Rania a hand. Once back on their feet the foreign beauty signed for her to follow, also indicating they shouldn't talk for now. She then transformed back into a deer and began leading the way. With that they set off.

After an hour of traveling under the moon, her four-footed guide crested a snowbound hill and cocked her tapered head. Oval-shaped ears flickered from side to side in search of danger. The girl joined her and rested a hand against the warm flank, marveling not for the first time at the strange powers this woman exhibited. Xiomara might be under the same affliction as herself; bound to the powers of darkness. Yet there was something undeniably… natural about her. Like she belonged to this world, and was welcome everywhere she went in it. To a Wanderer, that state of being was only partially obtainable.

At last Xiomara spotted something and took off, slowing her pace for Rania's sake. After a few minutes of creeping through the snowy woods they came upon a cave in a hillock surrounded by boulders. Here the sylvan nymph led them. Once out of the cold, they found a small supply of firewood stacked against a wall alongside the remains of a campfire. Clearly they were not the first to seek shelter here. Xiomara resumed human form and got to work building a blaze to warm them. In no time they sat near a crackling campfire.

Rania gazed into the burning depths, remembering the horrific fate she had narrowly escaped. Were it not for Xiomara, that denizen of hell would have spotted her for sure. The fear she felt at first seeing it returned full force, and she looked over at her companion. "I didn't sense its approach. Normally the Graff's forces provoke a response in me. Could it be the curse is weakening?"

Golden eyes shone in the firelight as they fastened on her, causing Rania to sweat. There was still much about Xiomara she did not know. But her knowledge of their enemy had proven beyond reproach. And now was no exception. "The Burning Man is not a class of fiend like those you have seen before. He is not even like were-beasts or witches, who draw their power from the infernal. I cannot say what he is for certain. But he is alive, and human. Of that much I am certain."

"But you said he is one of Totholtz's lieutenants. Wouldn't that make him over a century old?"

Any hope to elicit more information that would verify her suspicions about Xiomara's age proved fruitless. The fleet-footed heroine shook her sable head in dismissal. "Legends tell of his appearance during campaigns. I suspect the Burning Man might be more closely tied to Totholtz than any of the others. But whatever he is or might have been, of a surety now he represents the greatest threat to our progress. At the Graff's command, he will continue to pursue you and your friends."

Rania looked out the cave mouth into the swirling blackness. There was already so much to be afraid of. Now this on top of everything else? This newfound fear helped her to reach a decision, however.

"I want to know more."

Xiomara looked up, surprised. "About what?"

"This." Rania reached up and pulled down her crimson scarf, the mark of Totholtz's possession of her, to reveal the red spots on her neck. They stood out against the pale skin like drops of blood. "The power Totholtz has in this world. His history. The reason why he became what he is. I want to understand what led us to this point."

Her wild companion appeared dubious. "There are few enough who can speak with any measure of authority on the subject of strigoi nowadays. The Church saw to that. And Totholtz is not a topic they care to divulge abroad, considering how he has cowed and subdued them."

"Then why not start with the Church?" Rania argued. "They might be more willing to cooperate now that his forces are on the move again. If they fear his influence might spread beyond Wallachia, surely they'll offer aid to those who can oppose him."

"The Church would burn you at the stake the moment they learned who you were. There're rumors abroad about the travelers who supposedly lead the Graff's forces to their next victims. The fall of Pitesti served as a wake-up call for the rest of Europe. Totholtz will not be content to abide in the shadows any longer. He has an army to rival anything ever seen in Heaven or Hell. And his power is great. You're his target, not his equal. What do you hope to accomplish by digging through the past?"

Black eyes drifted back to the fire. For a moment, a crimson spark glowed in each of them, causing Xiomara to stiffen warily. When Rania spoke next, her voice carried echoes of something that seemed to emanate from the back of the cave, carrying malevolence and a dark purpose with it.

"Salvation."

"So this is the legendary Biblioteca Corviniana," Ulric mused.

As Ulric Sterne poured over treatises and land grants, he found a cup of hot madeira placed by his elbow. "Careful," a playful voice warned. "Don't knock it over, or I'll be the one cleaning it up."

Very carefully he moved back in his seat and directed a moody scowl at his companion. The boy they all called Bernie stood there grinning in a smock whose sleeves were smudged with wood wax and ink. His short red hair remained unruly, combined with bright green eyes that were out of place in this part of the world. His face seemed all mouth by the way he grinned so wide. Ulric felt certain there must be Gypsy blood in him with features like that. It would explain his status as an orphan, and why he had found himself here as one of the library pages.

"Thank you," the doctor admitted reluctantly and accepted the hot drink. He took the smallest sip. Its warmth was most welcome on this cold night, but there was something just a bit disconcerting at the way the kid grinned at him.

Bernie hopped up to sit on the tabletop. "No problem. I just thought our most determined patron deserved a little appreciation. After all," and here his grin became wider, "not like everyone loves a good story."

While not ungrateful for the offered drink, Ulric nonetheless bristled at this youth's company. Maybe it was the memory of another red-headed Gypsy that served to make him so cross. "Don't you have duties that call for your attention?"

"Oh, I'm finished with all that." Bernie was clearly in no hurry to pick up on any subtle hints thrown his way. He kicked his heels lazily for a bit, then reached over and picked up one of the bound volumes Ulric was reading. Opening the book carefully, an expression of boredom soon settled on his face. "Ugh. More law junk." He slid the tome back and scooted a little closer. "Hey! Want me to show you which ones have the raciest woodcuts? There's things in there that would make the Devil blush!"

"I believe our patron has more mundane matters to concern himself with."

Bernie jumped off the table and stood up straight. Oddly enough, Ulric found himself doing the same as they found themselves joined by the venerable Theodoric. The Master Librarian shuffled into the light of the covered lamp wearing a friendly smile. His heavy beard and sagging eyebrows gave him the appearance of a hobgoblin, though one more disposed to friendliness judging by the smile he now wore. He waved an idle hand to indicate they shouldn't act so honorably in his presence.

"We will have a talk about this later, I think." The old man threw a pointed look at his pupil. "I believe it is almost time for supper. You had best be on your way to rejoin the others."

"Yes, Master," Bernie mumbled. With a last quick look at Ulric he dashed off and vanished into the cavernous stacks.

"He wasn't bothering me," Ulric lied as the boy went racing off. For all his faults, he didn't like the thought of Bernie being chewed out over this.

"I suppose not." The head of library acquisitions made a seat for himself in the seat opposite. "The young ones tend to get distracted by our patrons. Not all of them have learned to appreciate the company of a good book."

"They seem to respect you a great deal, all the same," Ulric swiftly pointed out.

"There is that, there is that." Canny brown eyes gleamed at him from within cavernous sockets. "But in this case, I believe you are something more than a mere object of academic interest for young Bernadette."

"Berna…?" The implication hit fast, causing him to leap up in his seat and proclaim, "HE'S A GIRL?!"

A junior librarian stuck his head around a corner and whispered, "Shhh!"

Abashed, Ulric retook his seat while Theodoric merely chuckled good-naturedly. "Yes, yes. It's true. We accept anyone as a page now. It's my modest contribution to a more well-rounded and well-read society. Girls especially are in need of guidance at that age. And protection."

Sterne flushed at the implication. "I didn't come here looking for–"

"I know why you are here."

This was delivered in a heavy note of finality which caused the Quincy to regard the old man more warily. "Oh?"

"No need for alarm, young man. Your choice of reading alerted me to your quest as surely as if you had written a letter and handed it to me." The aged scholar leaned over to tap several thick leather-bound books. "The archives are not a common source of interest for laymen. Even an obviously educated one such as yourself. You have a broad scope of topics laid out here, matters both historical and social. But the common thread contained therein? They all center around the Transylvanian city of Târgu Mureș roughly 100 years ago."

A sense of peril saw Ulric slip a hand into his pocket in search of the weapon hidden there. "If you are implying that I am engaged in forbidden research…"

"No." At this the old man shook his head. "Merely futile research. You come late, young man. One hundred years late, as it happens. Representatives of the Church long since seized any and all records pertaining to that period and locale. They were quite thorough, one might almost say surgical. Regardless, you will not find a single mention of Radu Totholtz anywhere within the Biblioteca Corviniana."

A certain bit of information did not fail to escape his detection. "Then how do you even know the name, given it was expunged a century past?"

Theodoric blinked with toothless mouth hanging open. Then he smiled and shook his head self-deprecatingly. "Ah me, ah me. Truly those who think themselves clever are often the most foolish." He peered at the bespectacled doctor with a hint of challenge now. "You're no agent of the Church, else I would never have broached the topic to begin with. No, far too circumspect. They come flouncing in here whenever they want, and make no pretense at hiding their origins. Why, not six months past, we had a visit paid to us demanding access to certain restricted areas. Not that anything new was unearthed, I warrant. But… correct me if I am wrong, young traveler, but was this not about the same time that there came rumors of atrocities being committed in that part of the land? Villages sacked and burned, dark forces on the rise, terror abound once more? You hear of such things, even in a library."

The old boy was still playing his cards close to the vest, hunting for information. Ulric decided to cut straight to the heart of the matter. "Graff Totholtz has indeed left his dominion. His armies strike out across Wallachia and beyond."

Theodoric nodded. "Most intriguing. And what, pray tell, has roused that mythical figure at this late date?"

"I am more concerned," Ulric bit out, crossing his arms and frowning, "with finding a way to stop him."

"I see, I see." And here the elderly scholar drew himself to his feet once more. "Well, I am afraid you have made a wasted trip. As I said, there are no documents relating to that topic contained within these walls. You had best return home and look to your loved ones. There is nothing for you here."

As he turned to go Ulric stood up swiftly. "There are many people who might have cause for concern these days! If you expect this poison to remain in its borders, I'll wager you'd be disappointed! Even as far as Bucharest, it might find its way!"

"So you say," Theodoric slowly hobbled off down the aisles. "So you say. If so, we will look to the preservation of what we love. Librarians have experience with that, after all."

Soon enough Sterne found himself alone once more. His mood had soured from that conversation. If Theodoric spoke the truth, then his purpose in coming here was indeed wasted. Could Xiomara have been mistaken in sending him, or had he been deliberately misled? His suspicions regarding that woman might not have been misplaced no matter how Rania vouched for her. Then again, paranoia hardly ever yielded positive results. Case in point; Theodoric appeared to have marked him as some kind of agent, if not from the Church, then possibly acting on behalf of a more sinister power. The Biblioteca Corviniana was supposedly blessed so that no infernal creature could enter here. But the powers of darkness had many underlings at their beck and call, damned or not. Perhaps there was wisdom in such circumspection.

The slightest hint of movement caught his eye. When he looked over, Ulric spotted the page Bernadette watching from behind a pillar. For some reason he flushed at her perusal and sat down heavily in his seat, stubbornly determined not to yield to whatever forces ruled this archive. Had she been eavesdropping this whole time?

"It's not true."

Ulric paused in the act of opening a treatise on military uprisings. "What?"

Bernadette scooted closer to the light. It was easy to see how so many mistook her for a boy. Her clear green eyes seemed doubtful now, flitting over to him and around the silent stacks as though checking to see if they were being watched. "That name you both used? Totholtz? I've seen it before."

Excitement and suspicion leapt equally within his heart. He tried to keep his voice even when he spoke. "Where?"

Though able to pass for a boy, there was still something undoubtedly mature about the way she eyed him now. "If I told you, what would you give me?"

Ulric debated for half a breath, then turned back to his research with a frown. "I'm not inclined to trade treats for tricks, girl."

He heard her make a scornful sound. "You'd never have figured it if Old Theo hadn't made mention." That was probably true, so Ulric said nothing, waiting to see what she might reveal. After just a few seconds, the girl scooted closer. "Hey… is it true, then? Are people dying 'cause of something we've got here?"

Sterne gave her a calm look then that was in no way condescending. "Thousands have perished, it's true. But not because of anything kept hidden in these walls. Not directly, at any rate. However I've been assured there is something you have here that might possibly help us in putting an end to the slaughter."

This admission caused her to ponder for a while. Gently he asked, "Bernadette, do you think you can tell me more?"

She looked at him, clearly debating. The devotion held by most of the staff for Theodoric and the library itself was something he had been quick to hit upon when he first arrived. They were equally protective of both. Perhaps generations of orphans and refugees had grown up in these walls under the old man's protection. Small wonder they would revere him and wish to protect him.

"Everybody here's got a secret stash of books they like to read. Hidden, so's that nobody can find them. It's always been that way. Even the Old Man. We all like to guess where he keeps his. When those priests came barging in a few months back, Old Theo was real upset. Those lot were a real bunch of scabbies. After they left I trailed him 'cause it figures he'd want to cool down and read a good book after that mess. Thought I'd be able to show up some of the older boys. So I followed him, late at night, and he did go for a secret trove, just like I thought. Once he was gone I snuck in and had a peak. But… it wasn't books."

"What was it?" Ulric pressed.

The girl laced her fingers together and lifted them high overhead, stretching from side to side as though to ease muscles that had gone sore. "Letters, mostly. And documents. Some of them looked really old, like way back from before the library was built, even. Written in languages that didn't match with anything else we've got. But some of it I could read just fine, and one of them had that name on it. Totholtz."

He frowned at her skeptically. "Out of all of those documents, you remember that one name in particular?"

His accusation saw her place both hands on her hips and glower. To be honest, it made her look more like a girl than at any time before. "Not on account of this stuff. It's 'cause I saw it came from the Trinity." Before Ulric could even ask, she bowled on. "That's just what we do for fun around here. We've got names for some of the people who wrote a lot of books and whatnot. As a joke, you know? There's the Scribbler, and Drips, on account of he dripped ink all over every page he wrote, and Blue Balls who sent a lot of letters to women in blue ink talking about how he wanted to…"

"I think I get the idea!" Ulric threw up a hasty hand to cut her off.

She smirked in satisfaction at his obvious discomfort before continuing. "Right. Anyway, last century there was this imperial councilor in the far Eastern part of the Empire who always, always made three copies of everything he wrote. He numbered them, see, and sent at least one here for safekeeping. It went on for decades: harvest reports, deeds of land ownership, taxes, local decrees. Everything. The bloke was obsessed. So they called him the Trinity. Anyway, I saw this one piece of paper, and it was written by him, see? Maybe one of the last things he ever wrote, 'cause about a year later he must've died since they all stopped after that."

"But I made sure to read it, 'cause it was the only one of its kind we ever got from him. That is, he must have overseen just about every form of official business that anyone's ever tried to do. We've got the papers to prove it. This one was different. It wasn't about wheat or land or any of that stuff."

"It was a marriage certificate."

"Well, isn't that interesting!"

Ulric leapt up. Down the aisle there came sauntering the succubus… uh… what was her name? Let me go back… oh, right, Semele…

Timofey Sonnen, chief councilor for the city of Târgu Mureș, looked up from his desk and squinted through the candlelight. Had that been a knock at the door? About to call for one of his clerks, he realized the late hour and rose irritably to cross the room, muttering under his breath.

Taking no chances at this time of night, he slid open a peephole and peered out. "Yes?"

"Are you the councilor?"

A man and a woman stood outside. Even in the dead of night, he could make out this much plainly. The fellow was tall and wrapped in a traveler's cloak, while his companion wore a shawl that covered her head.

Having surmised this much, Timofey got right to the point. "Whatever your business, it will have to wait 'til the morrow."

"Please," the girl spoke, and Timofey received a shock as her accent revealed her to be foreign-born. Being on the front lines of two feuding empires, the councilor of Târgu Mureș knew when he was faced with an Ottoman. "We beg your indulgence."

Peering out at this strange pair lit by the glow of his candle, Sonnen asked, "What is this about?"

At this the man stirred. "We understand you can perform marriages in this region. We wish to be wed."

The peephole shut in their faces.

Before they could even consider departing, there came the sound of a bar being drawn, and the door opened to envelop them in warm candlelight. "Come in."

They did so. Timofey shut the portal and drew abreast of his guests. "This way, please." He led them back to the desk, drawing up two chairs for them to sit. "May I offer you wine?" he queried politely, trying not to appear overly excited. Both man and woman declined. Without further ado the chief clerk went around his desk and went straight to a cabinet with numerous drawers, from which he unerringly drew the correct documents for the matter at hand before coming back and setting them out for the couple to peruse.

As they read the statement of marriage, Timofey Sonnen secretly exulted. He had been a clerk of the state in Târgu Mureș for the last twenty years. As a duly authorized representative of His Majesty the Holy Roman Empire and guardian of his laws, Timofey took great pride in the role he played. While never inclined to bear arms against their enemies or being much interested in political affairs, he liked to believe his own contributions went a long way towards endowing the blessings of civilization on the population of the Empire. Having risen to the position of councilor, the highest rank a person lacking any claim to nobility could aspire to in the Imperial bureaucracy, he considered himself to be a worthy and satisfied member of society.

Yet there was one lapse in his career that left a sore spot. For twenty years he had overseen proper and legal documentation of all kinds, ranging from land grants, bills of attainder, travel papers, contracts between businessmen, and the registration of royalty in the bureau. According to a system he had developed, ready-made copies of all conceivable documentation were on hand for any clerk under his care to have available and thus make any business the townsfolk might have be swiftly ratified and made a matter of public record. In triplicate, of course. Timofey believed strongly in making sure any and all pertinent information relating to the running of the Empire be preserved and logged three times over in case of any happenstance along the way. How much less of a loss to mankind would the destruction of the Library of Alexandria have been were a progressive-thinking individual like him in charge?

But in all his long years of service, never once had he been asked to perform a marriage.

Such a thing was quite uncommon in any part of the Empire, really. For virtually the entire populace, the Church controlled such ceremonies and it was to them the people turned when it came time to be wed, from farmer to His Royal Majesty the Emperor himself. Owing to the region's longstanding transfer between the Ottoman and Holy Roman Empires, some lingering remnants of local law persisted from both governing bodies. One of which granted the chief clerk of Târgu Mureș the legal right to oversee a civil ceremony that would bind two people together in the sight of the Holy Roman Empire, if not heaven.

Timofey had overseen the use of every single form of documentation in his office the public might need. It was a point of personal pride that this be so. He had used them all. Except the marriage certificate. That alone lay untouched for twenty years. To his mild disaffection. But now, after all this time, when he had given up any hope of it ever really happening…!

"Does the document meet to your approval?"

Both agreed that it did.

"Sign here, please. And you, my lady."

They proceeded to do so. Thrice, at his insistence, which they accepted without complaint. Timofey was thrilled. With utmost reverence, he accepted back the clean carefully inked vellum and proceeded to affix his own signature where indicated. Then, feeling like a priest performing his order's holiest of rites, he took a beautiful red candle, lit its tip enough for soft red wax to drip upon the pages, and proceeded to reverentially affix his seal as an officer of the Empire to each.

"By the grace of His Majesty, protector of the realms of God's Faithful, and acting as his sworn representative and loyal subject, I do hereby decree you both to be joined in earthly wedlock. May you bask in his munificence and… be happy all your days!"

That last bit was thrown in on the spur of the moment, but he doubted it mattered legally. The newlyweds, now husband and wife, thanked him for his services and bid him good night. They looked so young as they left his offices with their copy of the marriage certificate, sparkling and fresh. Timofey allowed himself to feel a touch of pride. I did this. And it feels grand.

Sonnen returned to his desk where he indulged himself by admiring the freshly signed documents. The names of the applicants caught his eye. He had been too excited to notice at first. 'Suzan?' Strange spelling, but she was clearly of foreign stock, if of noble stock by his count. Still, not that it mattered. The man's name also held a note of royalty.

'Radu von Totholtz.'

Smiling, he rummaged about and sought out two red leather envelopes which were usually reserved only for an official Imperial edict. Timofey had always admired their superb craftsmanship, and it was here he deposited both the local copy of the marriage certificate along with the one destined for the Biblioteca.

Six years passed. Tension between the two empires grew during that time. War loomed, and the Church exhorted all its people to brace themselves for yet another conflict with the infidel hordes.

During that time, Timofey Sonnen went about his work as usual, certain that all would be well. He enjoyed his status as an important man about town, although it sometimes irked him that people did not treat him with quite the level of deference owed a sanctioned officer of His Imperial Majesty. They behaved far more humbly to the local priests, especially the Bishop, whom Timofey considered a pompous and venal figure. It grated on him when folks in the street went out of their way to praise and flatter even the lowest rank of the priesthood while hardly bothering to notice when he walked by.

Whenever he felt himself becoming too worked up over these trivial social injustices, however, Timofey knew where to look for comfort. He would retire to his private office, and there, away from prying eyes, he removed the red leather envelope from its place of safekeeping and lovingly look over every word. It always lifted his spirits, knowing that two people in this world could trace a bit of their happiness to him. He never bothered to wonder why they had been unable to seek a priest to perform their union. It didn't matter. He, Timofey Sonnen, had performed his duties well and faithfully. Never again did he lay eyes on them, and probably wouldn't recognize them if he did. That young couple had earned his eternal gratitude whether they knew it or not.

It was well after sunset one day in spring, when the town lay under cover of darkness and even the diligent councilor had put down his pen and hied off to bed, when he was awoken by a disturbance outdoors. Lighting a candle, Timofey went out into the hall and peered out a window. Despite the time of night he had no trouble seeing what was taking place.

A mob was gathered in the street outside. They bore torches and crude weapons which they brandished while shouting and baying. There was a struggle in the midst of the rioting villagers, and over the cacophony, a woman's frightened screams rang out clear to his ears. Frightened at this display of barbarity, Timofey hid out of sight at the eaves of the window but continued to peer out, fascinated in spite of himself.

"HEATHEN!" someone cried. "HERETIC!" came another. "BURN HER! BURN THE PERSIAN WHORE!" A hole appeared in the middle of the press of flesh, and even as a laughing rioter ripped the sleeve of her dress, a woman fell to her knees. Ringed around by fire and fear, she nonetheless looked up to heaven, face bloody and tear-stained.

Timofey recognized the face of the newlywed bride.

What came over him then was inexplicable. Before he knew it he was tearing down the stairs, afire with a fury so intense it burned away any trace of fear or self-preservation. The raging man made it to ground level and wrenched open the front door of his office to rush outside. "STOP!"

His roar tore through the tumult. All noise subsided, and every heard turned in astonishment to see the source of this cry. The sight of the unimpressive man in his nightgown clutching a guttering candle would have done nothing to dissuade them were it not for the look of wild-eyed frenzy he wore, enough to send those nearest him pressing back in haste.

"I AM A REPRESENTATIVE OF HIS HOLY MAJESTY THE EMPEROR!" Timofey screamed at the top of his lungs, transported by outrage and explosive wrath. "IN HIS EXALTED NAME, I COMMAND YOU TO CEASE THIS MADNESS AT ONCE! LEAVE THAT WOMAN BE!"

Without waiting for a response he strode forward. The crowd parted before him, struck dumb, or perhaps returned to sanity. They looked to one another in confusion and chagrin. Yet no one spoke out. He made his way through the mob unmolested until he reached the girl. Crumpled to the cobblestones, she looked up disbelieving at his approach.

"Hamsar-am?" she gasped through bloodied lips, blinking and sobbing.

Timofey bent and lifted her to her feet. He escorted the abused woman back the way he came. Both barefoot, dressed only in torn scraps in her case, nonetheless they projected an air of moral fortitude and authority that no living person watching could begin to challenge.

They were nearly to the door, and heaven only knows what would have happened had they made it inside, when a brick sailed through the air and smashed into the side of Timofey's head.

He staggered, collapsed, and with that the spell was broken. Venting a howl, the maddened villagers came surging forward. They attacked Timofey where he lay, pulling the girl away as they did. Fists and feet rained down upon him mercilessly accompanied by curses. Pain erupted suddenly in his spine with such savage force he couldn't even scream. But when they rolled him on his back and brought the burning brand against his face, he did so, long and loud, until darkness claimed him with its empty mercy.

The girl perished. They burned her at the stake, then vanished back to their homes as though nothing had happened. Assured that they were in the right and had nothing to fear. Not one of them who had been there ever spoke of it to another. The event passed from their memory in due time.

Timofey Sonnen did not forget. He could not. His reflection in a basin of water was all the reminder he needed. One side of his face was burnt into a horrific visage that held no resemblance to humanity. The injuries he suffered left him unable to walk, forced to rely on a servant to support him everywhere he might wish to go, even to and from the privy. The humiliation of it all went beyond words. A letter to the imperial capital demanding justice met with no response. The Church made sure of that. They were behind the foreign woman's death, he learned. A blow to the heathen, they called it. After this Timofey no longer left his offices for anything. The thought of being out among the rabble who had defamed him was more than he could bear.

In spite of this, he did not give up his position as councilor for Târgu Mureș, though he no longer worked with the public directly. From his bedroom turned office he commanded the clerks who worked under him to uphold the laws of the principality in which they lived. Though obedient to his wishes, Timofey could see the loathing they all tried to hide at being forced to work under a disfigured freak such as himself. He heard them muttering in the corridors as they passed, and knew it was about him. No doubt they all fervently prayed that he would die soon and allow one of them to take the reins. Had any of them been in the crowd when he was attacked? Timofey would have given anything to know. Vile creatures, the lot of them. Murderous scum. How he hated them! Yet he held his tongue, and never let on that he knew about their ill intentions. He would defy them all, and live.

They stole from him. He was certain of it. Silverware and items of value gone missing. But one thing Timofey made certain they would not take. One night, when he was alone, he dragging himself inch by agonizing inch down the stairs until he reached the hiding place of his greatest treasure. The red velvet envelope, which contained his greatest accomplishment. Nothing could take that away from him, be it born of Heaven or Hell. Councilor Sonnen made his way back to his sick chamber, where he feverishly pried up a floorboard and hid his precious gift beneath it.

Sometimes, when the pain became too great to sleep, he would take it out and gaze upon the beautiful lettering, done in the hand of three people, only one of which he knew to still be alive.

Exactly one year after the night that ruined his life, Sonnen lay in bed attempting in vain to sleep, when once more he heard a commotion from the street without.

A rumbling at first. Like a storm approaching. Then great bursts of sound that reminded him of cannonfire, only much greater. Had the Ottoman Empire launched an attack? Well and good. Let this pestilential city burn. I welcome it! They should all die, and roast in the hottest depths of Hell forever! Come! Bring the fires of retribution down upon us all!

He had thought nothing could be louder than those explosions from before. But when the screaming started, it drowned out even that.

Timofey sat up in bed as best he was able. Sweating and in pain, he listened carefully. It sounded as though every voice in Târgu Mureș was raised in terror. As though Hell itself had opened up so the voices of the damned could be heard. It made him think of that poor girl screaming for mercy in the street. His eyes burned at the memory.

A scratching noise came from out in the hall. Timofey stiffened, feeling dizzy and feverish. Someone was creeping towards his room! The servants! Damnation, they must intend to take advantage of the attack by stealing his only remaining wealth! They shan't have it! No one will take it from me!

He collapsed to the floor and reached under the bed to pry loose the floorboard. Behind him there came the slow creak of a door opening even as he grasped the leather sleeve and a dagger he had hidden there as well.

Firelight filled the reeking chamber, and three huge hairy shapes padded silently inside as Timofey lurched around and brought up his dagger while clutching the envelope possessively to his chest.

"You won't… have it!" he spit, and brandished the blade.

In response the first beast gave a growl and sprang forward. Sonnen's eyes were completely mad as he stabbed forward directly into its eye. The slavering monster jerked back with a howl, dragging Sonnen across the floor with it. One of its fellows slipped around and sank its sharp teeth into his arm, only to give a shocked squeal when the man twisted his head around and bit into its muzzle, tearing its nose off with a snap of the neck. The third beast joined in, making a lunge for his throat that wound up ripping into the maddened clerk's shoulder due to all the thrashing.

In doing so, the envelope went flying. The realization of its loss caused Timofey to scream in fury, and he attacked the intruders with every bit of strength and fury he possessed even as they ripped into him.

Another four-legged shape emerged at the door and looked inside, as though questioning what might be taking so long. This one's fur was dark red, and while it wrinkled its nose at the smell of the sick chamber, at the same time, its ears twitched. Noting the red leather case, the beast drew closer and gave it a curious sniff.

It then reared back, uttering a startled bark, and at this all three of the werewolves let go of their prey and returned to their pack leader's side. Timofey lay where they left him, bloodied and dying. The wounds he had inflicted upon them closed or regrew, and all three werewolves waited as the premier among them continued to inspect the contents of the red rectangle.

The werewolf leader threw back its head and emitted a bone-rattling howl. All four proceeded to sit back on their haunches and wait. Light from the fires outside created shadow plays upon the wall. They flickered and swam, melting into forms that teased the mind with their similarity to reality, until one of the shadows became a man wrapped in a black cloak who stepped into the room to glance briefly around.

An interrogative look at the red werewolf brought a whine in answer. It carefully picked up the leather envelope and held it out for its master's inspection. He withdrew the contents to inspect them. Dark eyes drifted over the words contained therein without a flicker of emotion passing over his face.

"Gi… back… t'me!"

The lord of shadows turned his attention to the man on the floor. Despite bleeding profusely, Timofey Sonnen clung to life. He glared at that towering figure in reproach. "S'mine!" the wretched figure gasped. "MINE! I… made… it. Damn… thieves… won't… take it… from me!"

Timofey reached out a quivering arm only to collapse immediately and lie panting. He shuddered in agony, weeping at his own disgrace. They take even this from me! The greatest thing I did with my life, and now that too is stolen away! Monsters! FIENDS! I hate you all! All of you, I hate you FOREVER!

Of a sudden a strong hand seized hold of his throat and lifted him to hang helplessly in midair. The looming figure locked eyes with Timofey, who found himself paralyzed by what lay in their depths. He could neither move nor speak as that cold, abysmal gaze pealed back his face and raked over his mind and soul, examining him with a cold detachment. Only when they found the night which left him broken did a semblance of feeling pass over those statuesque features only to subside soon after.

After a time, the dark lord spoke. "So… this is what they did… to you."

Timofey could only gurgle incomprehensibly. His hands twitched, while his useless legs simply waved back and forth. His eyes rolled up in their sockets as he fought to breathe. Death crept up his spine with painstaking slowness.

"Do you hate them?"

His heart, on the brink of stopping, began to pound at these words.

"Yes," he whispered, licking his gory lips.

"Had you the power," the ghostly voice continued, "would you kill them all?"

Timofey's jaws clamped shut, and a snarl of wickedest hatred emerged from between them. "YES!"

"The hatred you feel for all mankind… let it burn bright within your heart… let it consume your memory, your humanity, your past and future all naught but kindling for the fires of vengeance." The words were more than sound. They were a spell, a contract. A deed of ownership that formed between them, and upon realizing this, Timofey Sonnen wasted no time in signing his name to it. The words caught fire, burning away even as he finished. His heart roared a crackling bonfire of unending wrath against every soul in Creation.

Through the streets of Târgu Mureș, townsfolk fled from the stygian horde of demons and damned souls which descended upon them. A woman clutching her two children's hands pulled them into an alleyway as a winged nightmare bore past their position with a cage full of struggling victims clutched in its talons. About to venture out once more, she cringed back as four gigantic wolves came bursting out of the building opposite and went tearing down the street, throwing panicked looks over their shoulders.

Moments later, a figure stepped through the same door. It resembled a man, but burnt black from head to foot. There were no eyes, and its mouth was an empty hole. But all the same, that horrible head looked towards the family hiding in the shadows across the street as though sensing their presence.

Without warning, it burst into flame. One fiery arm swept out, and the mother and her two innocent children were engulfed in a conflagration that incinerated flesh and bone to leave only ash dwindling through the smoky air.

The Burning Man turned without a word and began to make his way up the street. The people of Târgu Mureș were incinerated at his approach. At his master's command, a wall of flame one hundred feet high encircled the whole doomed town, preventing anyone from escaping whether by land or water. When dawn arrived, not a living soul could be found in that once bustling burg. Târgu Mureș and its entire population had been erased.

Rania came back to herself with a start. She looked all around at Inglebert, Ulric, and Xiomara crouched around watching her closely. The little scholar-urchin Bernadette had wrested the marriage certificate copy out of her hands and now held it to her chest, as though she suspected Rania of having done something unseemly to the ancient missive.

"Did you see something?" Xiomara asked.

Rania shuddered with cold, touching the crimson scarf around her throat. The two wounds beneath it throbbed horribly. "I saw… Totholtz… as he was, briefly… until all this happened. And the one who… wrote this… him too. Before he became…"

She lifted her head, dark eyes shining with purpose. "I know how to stop the Burning Man."

The small dome of flame now encased her completely. Rania gazed forward in desperation. Before her, the Burning Man watched the Romany's every move. The glowing lamps that served as his eyes did not flicker. The building they found themselves in was now transformed into a fiery labyrinth, and somewhere even now her friends might be dying!

Rania began to feel light-headed from wrath. She felt the curse responding in kind, and in desperation strove to suppress it. But the memory of what this foul creature had done just to reach them caused her canines to lengthen into spikes, eyes glowing a wild scarlet. Her heart pounded at the thought of leaping across the way and sinking her fangs into that charred neck!

Oddly enough, the dizziness began to get worse. All of a sudden she found it hard to breathe. Rania's vision swam. She stumbled and fell to her knees, panting in and out in what she recognized was an unnatural effort. Her eyes roamed around the flaming prison. There's… no air in here! Is this… his doing…? What…?

Before a solution could present itself she had already passed out, crumpling spent to the dirt floor.

The Burning Man considered her lying there. He created an opening at the top of the dome, and air rushed back in with a whoosh. Unconscious, Rania began to breathe freely once more. Having satisfied his master's primary order, he allowed the flaming walls to rise, forming a column of destruction through which no mortal could safely pass.

Once this was accomplished, that disfigured soul stepped beyond the perimeter of the cage and turned his attention to the remaining humans.

Xiomara sprang back at his reappearance. "RANIA!" she screamed. "CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

No response. She cursed wildly. The gigantic guild hall was in flames around them. If they didn't get out soon, there would be no escape. Even as she thought this the Burning Man sought her out with his merciless orbs of searing judgment.

A silver flash shot across the room. The moment it touched the aura of immolation surrounding the Graff's minion, however, Ulric's desperate shot melted, spattering in beautiful but harmless drops of liquid metal against him. Their enemy gave no sign he had even felt anything as he turned to focus on the archer in his position on the upper balcony.

Then the Burning Man noticed Bernadette on her knees digging frantically through collapsed debris.

"BASTARD!" Xiomara screamed as the beast started towards the girl. In an instant she had transformed into a stag with huge antlers and dove at the flaming fiend's back, hoping her enchanted horns were capable of penetrating his armor of fire. Before she could even reach him, however, floorboards weakened by the blaze gave way with a snap, sending Xiomara tumbling helplessly into the basement.

The Burning Man came on without even noticing her plight. More of Ulric's desperate shots aimed at his back only to be rendered useless. In a panic the burnt archer began to hobble down the curving staircase. "RUN, BERNIE!" he howled.

Down on her knees, the little redhead struggled mightily to heave a blackened beam off to one side. As she did, a shout of triumph burst from her lips as she saw the red leather envelope unharmed. Bernie snatched it up and spun around.

In doing so, she found the Burning Man standing right behind her.

"Oh," the girl whispered, red-rimmed green eyes growing huge. She saw one flickering orange hand rise in preparation to reduce her to ashes. Only one thing stood a chance at saving her now. Transfixed, Bernie dipped a hand into the protective case and drew out the copy of the Graff's marriage certificate.

The moment she did, the Burning Man grew still. Those shining eye-pits shrank down to embers. For the first time ever, a sound came from the area of his mouth. A moan, high and needy. The sight of that paper had halted what no force of man or God had been able to stop in a hundred years.

Bernie scarcely dared to breathe as the monster stood harmlessly in front of her. They were right! Holy shit, it really IS him! The Trinity! The man whose name was signed at the bottom of this very document! Timofey Sonnen, another one of the Biblioteca's orphans, just like me!

Flaming hands suddenly reached for the certificate, and with a start of comprehension she jerked it back. "NO! You'll burn it!" For a moment she feared he might kill her anyway, and in desperation she shouted one of the library pages' strictest rules: "NO OPEN FLAMES!"

The Burning Man hesitated. He looked down at his hands enveloped in cursed fire. Then before their eyes, the blaze around his fingers began to shrink. In mere moments scarred black skin beneath was laid bare. He flexed those ruined hands, now capable of doing no harm, and held them out again with an imploring whine.

Awestruck, Bernie proffered the precious parchment, and he took it.

With palpable reverence the Burning Man gazed at the words written there one by one. The guild hall was collapsing around their ears, but neither he nor Bernadette seemed to notice. A shudder went through his flaming frame. The twin burning suns of eyes began to dwindle. At the same time, his suit of flames shrank as well, until at last there crouched before the library orphan a burnt wreck of a human being. Bernie had never seen anything more ghastly. She nearly threw up at the sight.

"M…"

The glow in his eyes was gone. Tears dripped down the burn-slick flesh of his face. In that moment, Timofey Sonnen looked over the top of the page straight at Bernadette, and said…

"Mine."

Before she could respond, blood spattered Bernie's cheeks. She blinked in surprise as the Burning Man emitted a croak, the point of a silver arrow sticking from his mouth. Blood dripped down it and more sprayed from his lips, gushing all over the marriage certificate.

Bernadette gave a scream of pained outrage, just as another arrow exploded through the fire-scarred chest, and the Burning Man toppled forward.

She dove to catch him. Crying herself without being sure why, the girl helped that sad creature come to rest on the floor. He was still alive, his fingers wiping vainly at the surface of the paper, trying to clean off the blood. But it was too late. The page was ruined, its contents besmirched beyond repair. Any competent librarian could see that.

When this became apparent, the Burning Man uttered a horribly human sob, and died.

Bernie leapt up and threw herself at Ulric as he finally managed to reach them. "YOU DAMN LIAR!" she screamed, flailing wild punches at the shocked archer. "YOU SAID YOU'D PROTECT THE LIBRARY'S PROPERTY! NOW IT'S RUINED, AND HE'S GONE! HE WASN'T GONNA HURT ME, HE WAS COMING BACK! I COULD SEE IT, HE WAS ALMOST THERE, HE WAS ONE OF US LIBRARY KIDS, AND YOU KILLED HIM!"

The outraged girl was then lifted off her feet and tucked under a strong arm. Xiomara, having recovered from the fall, now looked around the burning building. Several fires which had been sustained largely by the Burning Man's power were dying down, but they were still at the center of a holocaust. One which by now had no doubt spread to the surrounding neighborhood.

"Go," she ordered the archer. "Before the roof comes down."

"What about…?"

"I'll get Rania." The shapeshifter watched him start to limp towards the great doors leading outside. When Bernie started to wriggle, she laid a charm on the girl that put her to sleep. Xiomara took note that the gigantic tower of fire in which the Burning Man had sealed Rania was almost completely gone now. It might be possible to jump over the top, but the possibility of taking another dive through weakened floorboards made that tactic undesirable. Just wait. In a few seconds it'll be safe to retrieve her.

She stood before the flickering cage, estimating how much time she had before the building collapsed under its own weight. Come on, die down, will you?

At last the column disappeared entirely. Relieved, Xiomara stepped forward, only to halt in disbelief.

The floor before her lay empty. Rania was gone.

Xiomara struggled to breathe. She could feel the fire coursing up her mother's (and her) skin, mindless and hungry, ignoring her screams as she fought to break free of the ropes that held her to the stake. Not now, she begged. Please, not yet, it's too important! I can't afford to be out of commission now! Please!

Her eyes squeezed shut, tears of pain and grief refusing to fall. And right then, she felt a hand caress her cheek.

When she opened her eyes, there was nothing but soft white light all around, filled with a heaven-sent noise that made her hell-marked soul rejoice. Her mother Suzan was there, cupping her cherished child's face tenderly. Bliss filled every inch of the shapeshifter's being. She reached up to place warm brown fingers over that loving touch, not felt since before Father's fall to damnation. Is this Heaven?

"Xiomara!"

The hand she held was real, and it belonged to… Rania. The Gypsy girl's fangs were sunk deep in her arm, drawing Xiomara's blood into her as well in an attempt to avert or dilute the curse from–

Lohengrin spun round and around his scythe planted in the dirt, one arm flung out and laughing uproariously. "Wassa matter, hmm? Don'tcha get the joke? It's hilarious!" He came to a sudden unnatural halt, grinning at Inglebert as he covered the unconscious Xiomara with claymore sword drawn. "Totholtz served the Church his whole life, led their armies into battle and prayed to God every single day! But when his wife got torched…"

He drew a thumb sharply across his throat with a strangled sound. "Poof! All gone! No more good and decent man fightin' to protect Holy Mother Church!" Lohengrin dipped his hood in mock sorrow. "The very people he fought for took away his main reason for livin', and the Church sure didn't wanna raise no stink over an Ottoman wench. So they just closed their eyes, said their prayers…"

The seductress Semele floated languidly down, sliding into the crook of the pale demon's arm as though she belonged there. "… and sent him straight into the arms of Hell," she crooned sweetly.

With every last drop of strength left in her shattered body, Xiomara lunged at her opponent with shattered spear poised for a killing blow. He batted her attack negligently aside. Grabbing her by the hair, the demon forced the warrior woman to her knees, yanking Xiomara's head back with a grin.

"Look at you," he purred. "Dead on yer feet and still tryin' ta kill me. What'd I ever do to you, hmmm?"

One eye was swollen shut, but still she spat through bloodied lips, "You know."

"Hrrrm." His hooded head tilted to one side. "Welp… guess there's no point denyin' it!" And he chuckled.

Tears and blood dripped down her face. As she hung helpless in his grip, there came flashes of the scene showed briefly through her contact with her parents' bloodied marriage certificate; the shrieking mob whipped to a frenzy as they brutalized her mother through the streets of Targu Mures. The bureaucrat Timofey Sonnen rushing bravely into the street to protect her, almost getting Suzan back to the safety of his home before a hurled stone brought him to his knees and sent the crowd once more howling for their blood. A brick, flung from the shadows of a nearby alley, where Lohengrin crouched gleefully enjoying his sport.

"Of course, 'tis not the first time we have conversed on this topic, child."

As he spoke, the monster's form began to change. Though his grip on her never wavered, the façade of humanity fell away to reveal something utterly grotesque. Gigantic crystalline wings with red, green and white feathers spread out in a rattling rustle.

"Thou once didst learn the truth ere this occasion, only to have it burnt away when the curse took thy life yet again."

His mouth elongated, huge eyes bulging from between the lashes to reveal the composite glittering orbs of a fly.

"For we cannot have ye speak of this to Radu, eh? After all, t'was I who answered his call when he didst offer his soul to the Abyss in exchange for vengeance!"

The body shriveled away until there was only the great white head resembling that of a giant mosquito. From beneath it grew two long arms encased in a pearly carapace, the monstrous taloned hands now winding through her inky tresses as its wings flapped slowly.

"And oh, how I didst profit from that unsought bargain! To think that I, a mere hanger-on of the Infernal Demesne, should be elevated to the rank of Count for my success! A Captain of the Hosts of Hell, where once I was naught but a lowly fallen cherub of no great worth. Spat upon by heaven for daring to demand more than was my due, and shunned by hell for my infirmity. But now… oh, such power and glory is mine! For as long as the curse doth last!"

Lohengrin hauled her off the ground to dangle in midair. Xiomara could do nothing but hang helplessly before him. Whatever Rahnia did was wearing off; she could feel the flames of her father's vile curse rising to burn her to ash just like her mother. Only to return for another seventeen years, in which she must strive to piece together her memory while battling to end the Graff's unholy lineage. Another failure. More friends and innocents lost while she languished in Limbo.

"I do look forward to our next exchange, child. 'Tis but the matter of a moment. And fear not; thine Gypsy friend shall patiently await thy return, as Totholtz's immortal bride! As for the rest…" His faceted eyes swiveled to where Inglebert lay unconscious. "Perchance they shall watch over ye from heaven, alongside your blessed mother."

From deep in her crushed throat she rasped, "Mother…"

Compelled past any injury to body or spirit, one shaky hand rose to touch the demon's loathsome flesh, gripping with sudden strength.

Lohengrin's attention rotated back to her. "Oh? Not yet weary of hopeless struggle? Poor thing; hast thou not yet realized though canst not slay a demon, no matter how often we do battle?"

"Yes…" Xiomara whispered.

Her back suddenly arched to wrap long legs around the unnatural limb, and she fixed her fading vision on the startled horror's face. As the flames burst free to consume her she swore…

"But I know somewhere that CAN!"

With her dying breath, Xiomara then teleported them both.

To a place she had never been, only glimpsed briefly; the frightening and awesome world perceived in that single moment when she felt her mother's touch for the first time in a century.

All was light here, filled with a great carillon as though thousands upon thousands of enormous bells rang joyously all at once in proclamations of all-consuming majesty. Xiomara cried out from the agonized impression this rapture left upon her hell-stamped soul.

But it was nothing compared to what the demon was experiencing, if she were to judge by Lohengrin's screams.

A moment later she flinched as a shaft of white light tore through the fallen angel's body swift and strong as a thunderbolt, leaving him suspended struggling along its length. Xiomara could only stare dumbfounded as Lohengrin wailed, helpless as she had been in his grip only moments before.

Then another blazing spear drove through him from a different direction with such force he was rocked sideways. More beams of light impaled Lohengrin again and again from every angle, piercing his wings and arms, until their brilliance was so intense she could no longer look at them. Eyes shut, she heard the creature pleading for mercy in a language that sounded like a corrupted version of this realm's song.

In response the voices of his attackers shouted their condemnation. Lohengrin's form blazed with celestial power. A final despairing cry tore through her ears as the host of heaven pronounced judgement upon their ex-cohort. And with a note of regret, the bells rang out all at once, at which point her nemesis erupted like a dying star only to dwindle away faster than a snuffed candle, annihilated from the very face of Creation.

Thus did Lohengrin perish at long last.

The wielders of those lances turned their attention on her. Xiomara was just preparing to suffer the same fate, when a hand touched her cheek, and she turned to find her mother Suzan smiling by her side. It was the exact same scene she remembered from before. Then that martyred spirit spoke out in her defense. Heaven consented.

There came a last longing touch upon which they were parted once more. With that Xiomara found herself back on the battlefield, sobbing in anguish as she fought to keep the curse from destroying her once more.

Around them the war continued unabated. Hell on earth, the forces of damnation waging an unimaginable frenzy of slaughter, as though aware they would soon lose their connection to this plane.

Graff Totholtz sank to his knees clutching the silver arrow protruding from his chest. Fangs bared, he strove to pull it free unsuccessfully. A snarl emerged from his throat as the holy weapon remained lodged deep in his heart. Its power coursed through him, obliterating the vampire lord from the inside out. His true demonic visage flashed through, failing to manifest after this mortal blow. Once again the gates of Hell opened wide, yearning for his black soul.

The young Romany lay where she had fallen, encircled in Ulric's arms. His broken bow was cast to one side. All his attention focused on her pale, beautiful face. At last, to his utter relief, her eyes opened, only to instantly focus on the dying Graf. Red eyes focused on Rania in turn. They burned with a hunger unmatched.

And to Ulric's dismay, she held out her hand to him. "Radu," she whispered. "Help…"

Awash in his own ruin, hell-born and holy power burning him with their internal conflict, for a moment Totholtz felt only bafflement. Did she honestly expect his aid at a time like this?

"Help…" Rania gasped, "… her!"

Only then did he understand. His gaze traveled past her, to where his daughter burned just like him. The human boy Inglebert held tight to Xiomara, screaming in pain yet unwilling to let her go. The curse would destroy his daughter's body once more until he was resurrected, just as it had decades past upon his first death and every seventeen years since.

Rania's last words came back to him. 'You can. Just as you chose to be damned, you can choose to be redeemed! The curse is not unbreakable. Redemption does exist… if you can only find it in your heart… to admit it…'

There in her hand lay the promise of redemption. And death. If he accepted Rania's offer, he would die for good. No more would his vampiric powers enable revival at a later date. Within her palm rested the ultimate sacrifice. To give his life for the sake of another.

Her hypocrisy and self-interest were blatant. All she wanted was to end his hold over her for good. Which Radu would never allow. His hatred must endure. The world would be made to pay for what it cost him! Even should he die here, one day his followers would restore him to existence, and his campaign to plunge the world into Hell would begin anew!

Totholtz was just about to spit his rejection of her offer. But in that moment, Inglebert lifted his head and let loose a soul-shattering scream.

The sound shocked him. For in it Radu von Totholtz recognized the same devastating lament he himself had uttered upon losing his Suzan. Grief. Agony. Helplessness. All this and more he knew. History repeating itself, the same thing happening again, as grief begat grief.

His body blazed, skin burning to ash, bones melting and snapping like heat-bathed twigs. The vampire lord felt none of this. He only continued to stare spell-bound at the sight of his dying daughter. A torture he himself had subjected her to for over seventy years.

'Please,' her golden eyes seemed to beg him. 'Let it END!'

His child was in pain. Only he could put an end to it. In that moment Radu remembered a hundred moments when he and Suzan had cared for their infant babe, nursing her through sickness, abandoning sleep so as to never leave her side, awash with dread at the thought they might lose her, and rejoicing when she pulled through and they could be a family once again.

My… family! My DAUGHTER!

And he reached for Rania.

Even as he did, Totholtz knew it was too late. Holy fire consumed him, obliterating his presence from this world. No force of Earth or Hell could possibly stand against the judgement of Heaven. His chance had slipped away.

Despite knowing this, Graff Totholtz of Wallachia once again defied the Lord as he surged forward and seized hold of the Romany girl's offered hand.

Immediately a joyous carillon of bells rang out, so loud it brought the war to a halt. Both sides were stunned, whether human or demon. A great light flared at the hillock where the leaders of these armies fought, and all those who looked upon it could only tremble as they felt the power of the Almighty descend from on high.

Rania kept her fingers tightly wound around Totholtz's. She refused to let go, even as the infernal flames that destroyed his mortal body made her want to scream. Without regret, without hesitation, she poured out all that had been imbued into her. She was the conduit for something so profound mere words could not do it justice. Mercy. Forgiveness. Reconciliation. Joy. Acceptance. Just as she had when lifting her own vampiric essence, Rania felt engulfed by the enormity of it all, cherished beyond belief, and all this she unselfishly offered to Totholtz so that he too might experience it.

Another soul passed through her then, and she felt the earnest gratitude as Suzan leapt to be with her husband, come what may. It was only right. That much she knew, though it grieved her somewhat.

The light of providence blazed, a divine lamp lighting the entire cosmos. Greater than the sun, no shadow could exist in that conflagration. Only truth. For one brief moment, the entire human race forgot to hate and fear one another. Held in the embrace of the divine, doubt was impossible, and for decades hence they would try to explain to those who came after them how it had felt.

Soft as a candle flickering out, the heavenly presence departed.

Inglebert held his breath. The entire time that had taken place he had not taken his eyes off Xiomara. Whatever prayers he offered in his heart seemed to have been answered, for the woman he loved lay whole and well before him. The redheaded hero could find nothing to say, even as her golden eyes flickered open and she looked all around. Upon catching sight of him, she smiled with such relief that he knew this was not a dream.

Then Xiomara appeared to notice she was naked. A frustrated sigh escaped her throat. "Dammit," she muttered sullenly. "Not again."

At this Inglebert swept her into a tearful embrace, and she had no choice but to hold onto him just as tightly. The tears that fell then were only from relief.

After a time, though, both remembered the reason for this miracle. Rising together, the hopeful lovers stumbled weakly over to join their fellows. There they stood looking down, Inglebert cradling Xiomara's head against his chest as she stared sadly at her life's work come to a close.

Radu von Totholtz was dead. Yet unlike both times before, his body remained in this world. The Graff lay stretched out upon the sward, eyes closed as though he were only in peaceful slumber. That unearthly face no longer held a trace of pride or malice. Only the dignity of a man who had accepted death without fear. Rania still held onto his hand, examining that noble visage which remained hauntingly beautiful. Even knowing that this was the only way it could be, a small part of her still yearned to hear his voice once again, gaze into his bewitching gray eyes and marvel at the force of this singular personality.

Only one man could have tempted her to eternal damnation. The young Romany knew then that a part of her would long for the Graff until her dying day.

But as Ulric whispered her name, she remembered a gentle man's love, and what it meant to have a home.

Together, the four of them helped to bury Totholtz on that hillside, marking the grave with his sword and a garland of wild roses. They stole away before anyone could seek to question them.

FIN.