text: [Themes: grimdark fantasy, fantasy]
  
  The Lone Stranger
  
  Walking through the forest, you had no hope of finding a wolf. You had spent most of the month searching for one, to no avail. Now, three days into your latest trip, and the full moon a mere two days away, you give up hope. Falling to the ground, you scream at the moon, as if it were to blame for your heartache.
  
  "Is everything alright, sir?" You look up and see a hooded man dressed in well worn leather, a quiver of arrows attached to his belt, and several rabbits dangling from a cord. Across his back, however, is a freshly killed wolf! You rush over to the man and fall to your knees before him.
  
  "Please sir, I am in desperate need of that wolf. I will pay you anything you want. Look, here," you gesture toward your hand, then hold it up, showcasing the official ring of your office. The man seems unimpressed, and tears begin to flow from your eyes. "Do you know who I am, sir? Please, I can make you wealthy!"
  
  He nods for a moment, then says, "Yes, I know who you are. You're the Wolf Count." The confusion on your face is apparently evident, so the man adds, "You're the count whose wife has been ill all these years? The one who hunts wolves and drinks their blood?"
  
  You slowly rise to your feet. "How do you know about that?"
  
  "Everyone knows about that, my lord. Everyone also knows that you've been so single-minded in your attentions to your wife that you've neglected your civic duties, allowing the province to fall into poverty." Taking a moment to spit at the ground, he adds, "I respect your desperation, sir, but I doubt you could make me rich even if you wanted to." Just before you begin to argue, he holds up his hand. "But," he says, "I know what it's like to lose a wife. I lost my own during childbirth. So, while I doubt you can get me rich off of your treasury, I think there may be other ways." He glances at your ring.
  
  You pull your hand back in anger. "For a single wolf? This ring is one of a kind, given to my ancestor by the king. I cannot simply trade it for this animal. I'd soon as continue my search."
  
  That man laughs, a kind, gentle sound. "No, my friend. I do not mean to trade merely a wolf for your priceless ring. I offer a cure."
  
  For a moment you stare at the hooded man, wondering exactly what he meant. "Do you mean a cure for my wife? How could you do that? Are you a sorcerer? I have known a sorcerer, and I am not keen on dealing with one again."
  
  "No," he says, "I am no sorcerer. But some years ago I came across a nymph in these woods." He holds up his hands, "Yes, it's true, do not bother doubting and laughing. She is a powerful magic user, and I have grown close to her over the years living off the land. It was she, in fact, who sent me on this path. She said I would meet someone in need, and that I could choose to offer him a trade, as is the custom of the forest.
  
  "To petition the nymph for a cure for your wife, here are my demands: one, you must give me your ancestral ring. This is non-negotiable, as a nymph will always require something with blood history before performing her spell. Two, you must promise me that, as the count of this region, you will no longer neglect your duties, and will do what is necessary to keep my children safe. Do you agree to these terms?"
  
  > Decline
  Decline
  
  As desperate as you are, you cannot stomach the idea of dealing with another magic user. Magic has cursed your life, and caused the death of two innocent children. Never again will you participate in that evil.
  
  "Though I long to speak to my wife again, good sir, I cannot accept your trade."
  
  He seems disappointed for just a moment before reforming his stoic mask. "May I ask why?"
  
  You sigh. "I've treated with a sorcerer before, and it cost the lives of two innocent children." A single remorseful tear slips down your cheek. "He left me after performing his second sacrifice, and from that day until now my soul has been haunted, even if I fail to acknowledge it. I will find a wolf myself. Thank you for your offer, sir."
  
  The man pulls his hood back, revealing a face that echos at the edge of your memory, but before you can place him, he says, "Then I truly wish you luck, my lord." With that, he walks off, and you continue the hunt.
  
  > return home empty handed
  Return Home Empty Handed
  
  Try as you might, you could not find a wolf. It is clear that someone had poached most of them, and the few that remained fled your lands. With only one day until the full moon, you raced home to be with your wife.
  
  Unfortunately, without the wolf's blood, the ritual failed. Now, as you look at your beloved wife, her breathing has become shallow, and you know that she will die this night. You walk to the window. What have I done? What did it matter, the blood I spilled? You know now that everything you did was in vain.
  
  Taking a moment to reflect on the evil you have done, you realize that letting the troubadour's bastard be murdered was not your first sin. You should have known from the beginning that Talia had no interest in you. Her smile all those years ago at your father's party was merely a courtesy to the son of her father's lord. You became the count and used your influence to force a girl of sixteen to marry you, a man of twenty six, whom she had no affection for. It's no wonder she fought depression and sought the arms of another man.
  
  Now gazing at your wife, it feels strange not to see her chest rise and fall. Her skin, paler than it ever was when she was well, is still as beautiful to you as the setting sun. You take one more moment to watch her, and then you head to the desk. After pushing it below the chandelier, you walk to the window.
  
  The curtains are thick and strong, as you hoped. You carefully take one of them down, and then tightly roll it into a long rope. You know the chandelier mounting is sturdy; you set it yourself. You climb on top of the desk and toss one end around the chandelier. Tying it carefully, you strengthen the knot on one end, and then make a noose on the other.
  
  As you stand on the desk looking at your wife one last time, the noose around your neck, a single thought creeps into your mind: the man you saw in the forest was Huntsmaster Williamson! At once you wonder if you could chase him down and agree to the trade, thereby saving your wife, but almost immediately you realize it was probably some sort of trick, a means to get revenge. Sobbing, you now understand that you were doomed from the beginning. Preparing to jump, you stand guilty before the gods, and before yourself. This is the ending you deserve. You take one final glance at your wife, then you leap.