Salvatore Moreau was born from a long line of physicians, which technically could not be called doctors, having never left the village for any type of proper medical training. Regardless, they were the only source of healing knowledge the village had known. Salvatore was no exception.

Sal was, by far, the most popular Moreau of the family. In his youth, he was favored by his educators and peers and eventually amongst the community as his father's apprentice. Kind, patient and always looking to help others, it was obvious that he would be a perfect replacement for his predecessor when the time came.

And as expected, he was smart, if not a bit shy. His intelligence surpassed even his looks; though not by much. With his dark eyes, olive skin and glossy brown hair; Salvatore was the mirror image of his mother, the beauty that she was. From her could be traced all his dark, delicate features...high cheekbones and smooth, olive skin. From his father he inherited a slightly crooked nose and a tall, muscular stature – refined by his ritualistic daily exercise of swimming laps. He had an affinity for it, the water. Just like his mother. Though created in mostly her image; the image was all he had of her. She had died in childbirth, leaving Sal motherless and his father, Luca, a widower who could never quite forgive himself as a doctor or husband for letting her die. He adored her even still, having never met her. He promised each day that he would make her proud, and so he clung to his studies as he wished he could cling to her.

Even as a young child, Salvatore loved to spend his afternoons in his father's study reading. He would pour through anything he could get his hands on - old versions of medical college text books, Greys Anatomy, history books...but he didn't stop there. So devoted was Sal that he even asked the Duke to procure anatomically correct models. Once, he was even able to get his hands on a slab of suture skin; a way for him to practice sutures and wound closing techniques.

For all the time he spent between the back room of his father's clinic and in the waters of the reservoir lit by either the first or last rays of the daylight – he had little time for personal relationships. Of course, he was familiar with many in their community, the village was a small place after all. But of that community there was none he could claim as a true friend. Until he met her. Gabriela.

Gabriela was raised in the village, though she was not a native. Her parent's moved her there from Germany, to help take care of her aunt who had fallen ill. When she died, her family stayed, and made a home there by the reservoir.

One evening at the clinic, as he was getting ready to head out to the reservoir for his daily swim, Salvatore heard a crash by the front door. Salvatore's father, Luca, was out tending to his rounds.

He can't be back so soon. Had an animal gotten in again? Perhaps the neighbors' chickens. He went out to survey the situation when he saw streaks of blood running across the floor. By the front desk, she stood. A blond girl, bleeding from the hand. He recognized her from seeing her around the village, but did not know her name.

"Hello Miss, my father is – "

She interrupted him, her voice shaky; disoriented. "I was cutting fish...I don't...I didn't..."

He looked down at her hand to study it...and so did she, having finally taken notice of her surroundings. At once, she paled. He saw her eyes glaze. Knowingly, he jumped into action, grabbing her from behind before she could hit the hard wooden planks of the floor. Pulling her into his arms, he hurried her to the back where he laid her down on the table.

He didn't need her to tell him what was wrong. He could see the slice in her hand, blood percolating from a gash just above her left thumb. Though not life threatening, it was quite deep, exposing tendon and grey-white bone.

"I'll get you all fixed up, Miss. Don't you worry!" She didn't respond.

Sal worked quickly, quietly - cleaning and preparing the area to be sutured. He numbed her with an anesthetic before starting the first stitch. She only stared at him, lip trembling, not speaking a word.

"This is quite the gash! It must have been some fish!" He joked, hoping for her to respond. But she stayed quiet, breathing softly and staring past him to the corner of the wall and the ceiling.

She must be in a state of shock. He thought to himself.

To calm her, he hummed, like he imagined his mother would have if she had survived to raise him. Finishing the last of them, he stood back to take in the job he had done. The edges of the slice were quite clean, so he had no trouble making his work neat.

Father would approve.

Finally, she cleared her throat. It sounded hoarse.

"Miss, you're all done. I can help you back to your home if you'd like. I also have a bit of medicine to help with the pain when that anesthetic wears off." He turned to pour her a glass of water.

She was starting to stir now, pulling herself up to sit on the edge of the table, her skirts swaying to the floor.

"I've caused such a mess. Thank you, Salvatore." She knew his name.

He felt embarrassed. She knew him, but he had only the faintest idea of who she was. "What's your name?" He held out her hand to her.

"Gabriela." She took it with her uninjured one.

Holding onto her delicate skin, the skin he was lacing a needle through only a few moments ago, he felt stricken. Dumb. Like he forgot how to respond to someone introducing themselves. She was a very pretty girl, he realized. In all the time she had been there, he had not stopped to take a good look at her. Her hair was as golden as Mother Miranda's, spilling around her shoulders and framing her face like an angel. She had the most beautiful features. Her lips had stopped trembling; upturned now in a small smile as she held his gaze. Hand still in his, he looked into her watery eyes...and fell in. They stayed like that, hand in hand until the darkness fell on them amidst the syringes and dirtied gauze and blood.

xx

It was a fine time for Salvatore Moreau.

He had begun helping his father more at the clinic, even taking a lead on some of the calls. He was becoming more familiar with the families who they called on, too. Only 6 months after that moment in the back of their clinic, he proposed to Gabriela by the reservoir, the water as clear and bright as her pale blue eyes. As they sat on the hill watching the sun line the mountains, he spoke. "I'm very worried about father. He's stopped eating. He seems so depressed recently. He's even stopped coming with me on the daily rounds."

"Maybe he's just come down with something."

"Perhaps. There has been an illness in the village. I've tried treating it to the extent of my knowledge...perhaps father has contracted it."

"He will be fine, Sal. Be positive. Your father is a smart man. A strong man. He will overcome it."

"Hm." His eyes stayed on the dark outline of the windmills.

"Salvatore, my dear, you seem distracted. Are you thinking about another woman?" She was joking, of course – which is why she was surprised when he turned to her and grabbed her hands.

"Gabriela. Mother Miranda has chosen me for a special task. Of what it is she will not say. I'm not sure how long I will be away...but.."

"But what, Sal?"

He looked out at the dusky horizon, the sun finally setting. "But I do believe that this is my destiny." He turned and grabbed her hands in his, smiling.

"Silly!" Gabriela wrenched her hands away and pushed him playfully. "I thought you said I was your destiny!"

At that, he grabbed her up in his arms and lifted her to him. He twirled, and her skirt caught the air and trailed behind her dramatically. "You are my destiny. I will make us the most beautiful life. You will see. You will want for nothing, my love." He pushed his lips to hers, and she returned the kiss.

"I want only for you."

She playfully pushed him away. "Ever the romantic Salvatore Moreau!" Wiping off her skirts from the grass that clung to them, she asked "When do you need to go to her?"

"Tomorrow night. She told me not to tell another soul; but of course I decided just now I had to tell you." He could see she looked apprehensive. He leaned letting his nose graze hers as he snuck another kiss. "Our souls are the same, after all." His whisper seemed to set her aflame, but there was no time for dallying. He knew she was expected back shortly.

Giggling, she kissed him once more before breaking away and running back down the path towards her parents' home.

"Until then, my darling!" she called back.

The sun sat on Salvatore Moreau, as he imagined how proud his mother would be of him.

xx

Miranda was tired of waiting. She needed to see how he was progressing, and she couldn't leave this task to Alcina. Not after what happened last time. She had to do it herself.

Though she did not see him as an appropriate vessel for Eva, (he was male, after all) he was necessary for her plans. If he survived. It would be a terrible shame if he were to perish like the others – or worse – turn into another Lycan. Salvatore didn't have any other siblings so it would...complicate things for her. Slipping the key into the lock, she swallowed those thoughts. He would be fine, she told herself, and at the very least with his intelligence could assist her with her research.

It was almost completely dark in the room as she made her way to him. Approaching his sleeping form in the bed, she could see the wetness of the blankets. They were completely soaked through. As she peeled the crepe like sheet from his body, her breathe caught. He was changed. Shirtless from the waist up, Miranda could see his skin had, even if only slightly, taken on a silvery, slick appearance. It wasn't unattractive. In fact, against his lean, muscular form it gave him a striking appearance.

He stirred, and she leaned in to see what she had created. Finally awake!

His eyes opened, and she could see they had taken on a stunning shimmer of aquamarine. Miranda was overwhelmed at their beauty. "Mother..." Sal gulped, blinking as he tried to focus on her, his tears only enhancing the lovely new color. "Mother. What is happening to me?"

She stared at him, intrigued. Not only was he alive, he had adapted to the cadou beautifully. What would he become? Would he develop superhuman strength? The ability to breathe underwater or manipulate moisture in the air? She was thrilled by the prospect.

"My darling boy, you are chosen. You need only rest. Mother is here." Miranda slid her hand to the top of his head, stroking his thick hair as his eyes slipped closed.

"Gabriela. Where is Gabriela."

Miranda glared hard into the dark. "Salvatore, darling. You are with me now. Rest, I'll watch over you."

"Momma. Sal is a good boy." His voice was low and thick, very different from his natural one.

Odd. She considered his speech pattern as well. I'm sure it's temporary.

xx

Gabriela would wait for him. She waited for two days. Then four. A week passed. Then three. Sal did not return to her. After praying for 5 days and 5 nights at the church, she finally saw her. Mother Miranda had returned.

Instead of speaking with her in front of the others, she followed her through the cemetery and into the forest. Despite her quick, light steps, Miranda stopped in the snow.

"Child. What do you want." Her voice was as cold as the air surrounding them.

Gabriela froze, terrified. "I'm...looking for someone. He was...he was supposed to be with you."

The woman turned, glaring at Gabriela. "Who, my child." Her voice was not inquisitive...it was sharp, angry.

"Salvatore. Salvatore Moreau." She said confidently, bravely.

"I'm afraid I don't know." Miranda continued along the snowy path.

"No!" She cried, surprising even herself. But in her heart, she knew something was wrong. Sal would not be kept from her for this long, with no word, if it wasn't.

She steeled herself and asked, as loudly as she dared, "Where is he?"

After what seemed like an eternity of silence, Miranda spoke to her. "You must be Gabriela. I suggest you forget about him, little girl. Go back to your parents." At this, Miranda turned and began walking off the path towards the woods.

"No." Gabriela couldn't believe the words that were coming out of her mouth. She was frightened, panicked. Why would Mother Miranda lie to her? Was she hiding something? Was Sal OK?

"Do you love him?" Mirandas question seemed to echo behind her as she moved deeper into the woods, straying beyond the path into a thicket of trees.

"Yes." Gabriela quickened her pace to keep up with her, wincing as her shoes took on more snow and slush with each step.

Miranda seemed to consider this response, her voice taking on a sugary tone. "There is nothing more beautiful than young love. Come child, let me take you to him." She stopped moving and turned to face her.

Gabriela apprehensively approached her Prophet, watching the lantern light flicker off Mother Miranda's gold mask.

It happened quickly. Miranda's fist flew faster than Gabriela's eyes could follow. The hollow crunch of chest plate crushing quicker than she could feel. Gabriela looked into Mother's eyes; and gasped only once as Miranda's fingers laced around her heart and, jerking her arm backwards, pulled with her the quivering, bloody organ. The last thing her failing eyes saw were the fluttering, black wings of an angel and the sharp, brutal face of a demon.

Miranda considered the thing in her hand as she would have a clump of dirt. With a sigh, she tossed the dirty thing to the ground and struck back for the path leading to back to her work; leaving the body obscured by the trees for the Lycans and the crows and the night.