The man kept up his swift pace the best he could. It was a dark and cold night, and he was growing weary. He had been travelling for so long now, with hardly any rest.

 He was not even sure how long it had been since he first fled France; he had lost track of time as he travelled. He travelled eastward, uncertain where he was going. He couldn't go too far east, not towards Persia. He certainly couldn't go back there, after what happened all those years ago. He would have to stay in Europe, or perhaps go back west.

 If this man knew someone, anyone, had somewhere to go where he knew he could be safe, he would have been much better off. But that was just it: there wasn't anyone, not a soul. There had been someone once, a friend, but he was gone. And so the man was alone.

 He marched on bravely through these forests and mountains, unsure where he was or where this would take him to. All he knew was that he couldn't look back. He didn't want to.

 Soon he saw something up ahead. It was a dark, looming figure, soaring further up than any of the trees. As he got closer, he saw it was a castle. It looked unloved and deserted, but that did not mean anything. What mattered was that someone could be living there. He was tired, he was hungry and thirsty. Looking at the castle, he saw a place he could rest, if the owner would take some pity on him.

~~~~~~

 Within the castle walls, a father and son were deep in conversation.

 The dining hall was dark save a lit candle which stood upon the table. The son sat leaning back in his chair, his feet resting upon the table, while the father slowly paced the floor.

 "Are you sure the boy has no interest in you?" the father asked.

 "Unfortunately, it would seem so," the son answered with a sigh. "Alfred shows very little interest in me. Everything with him is Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. I cannot understand it. And to think, I was happy to have a new friend."

 "There must be some way you can charm him, Herbert. Have you tried?"

 "Um, well, yes," Herbert replied. "I mean to say, I did try wooing him once. I think I frightened him, though. Yes, he looked very frightened. Well, I don't see what it has to do with you," he said when the look of exasperation on his father's face. "I would think that the great Count von Krolock would able to woo a woman without having her lover being stolen away by his son beforehand."

 The Count sighed. "Herbert, I took you in-"

 "You took me in all those years ago because you took pity on me," Herbert finished, "And 'don't make me regret it' and all that. I have heard that one from you many times before. Perhaps you should simply tell the Sarah girl you admire her. That is what I did with Alfred."

 "And look at how that worked for you," von Krolock retorted dryly. "If I killed the boy-"

 "Absolutely not!" Herbert leapt up from his chair. "I refuse to let you murder Alfred!"

 "It was a passing thought, Herbert. I will not kill young Alfred. Come now, son, don't be angry with me." The Count began to walk towards the doorway. "In the end, it may not truly matter if we manage to woo them."

 "What?" Herbert hurried after his father. "You'll have to explain that one."

 "You remember the night of the ball, son. When I brought dear Sarah here, and there were those who meant to stop me, to kill us."

 "I don't see what that has to do with romance."

 "I suppose it does not, then," von Krolock said. "There was a plan to stop us, and it did not work, did it? Sarah and Alfred are both vampires now. We won, Herbert, and we celebrated that night."

 Father and son looked across at each other as they descended the staircase, and they both smiled.

 It was then that they heard the creaking of the great front doors.

 "A visitor?" Herbert said.

 "No," his father replied. "An intruder."

 They both hurried to the entrance hall, where a man was standing in the open doorway. They could see not his face well with his hat covering part of it, but they both caught a flash of ghostly white as the man collapsed to the floor.