text: [Themes: grimdark fantasy, fantasy]
  
  The Story of Count Osmond Jorgensen
  
  [Author's Note: The Story of Count Osmond Jorgensen]
  
  > Begin
  Memories
  Things weren't supposed to be like this, you think through the rattling of plates and low chatter. Talia was the only woman you ever loved. Things were good, at first, as good as good can get. You met her at a party your father put on for the lords and ladies beholden to him, and although you only spoke for a moment, you knew she was the one to be your wife. Beautiful and graceful, with an infections smile and a laugh that commanded the attention of the entire gathering, there was no circumstance in which you would give up on winning her.
  
  However, as magnificent as she was, she was of lower birth than you and ten years your junior, and your father forbade any courting or propositioning to her father. Still, he was sickly, and less than a year later he died, making you the Count of Djuprskogr. Wasting no time, you petitioned the prince and her father immediately for permission to marry her. The prince, looking to gain an ally in political debates, granted you the marriage, and her father, knowing her daughter would be marrying into a higher station, was overjoyed. And so the plans were made, and within a month you and Talia were wed.
  
  The wedding was a joyous occasion, for while you had few acquaintances who wished to attend, Talia brought hundreds of her friends, all of whom were as young and vibrant as she. If there was a downside to the wedding, it was that your new wife spent more time with her friends than you would like. This became a theme early in your marriage, but wanting to please her at any cost, you allowed her this one indulgence. Aside from not seeing her as much as you would like, you had never been as happy as after you married Talia.
  
  Your reminiscing is interrupted by a servant: "My lord," he whispers near you ear. "Lord Andruxius has requested to speak with you in your wife's chambers."
  
  You stand, telling him to continue to serve the guests. "Remember, of all the guests, Lord Vicor is most important for the coming negotiations. See to all his needs." The servant nods and leaves, and you give your apologies to those nearest you before beginning the march to the vacant tower where your wife rests. As you walk the lonely steps, you find yourself slipping into memories again.
  
  > From Then Until Now
  From Then Until Now
  
  You're not sure how you didn't see it, but the signs were always there. Early on, she spent almost all of her time with her friends, especially the handsome troubadour. At first you indulged her, wanting to keep her happy, but two months after the wedding you began to despair over her time spent away from you. After a bitter argument, you sent her friends home. She refused to speak to you for more than two weeks, and your heart began to die. Eventually, perhaps because she finally came to accept that her life was with you now, she came out of her shell again. For a time, your joy returned; you'd meet her in the garden, where she spent most of her time then, and her smile would always lift your spirits. But over time, those wind-stealing smiles came less and less frequently.
  
  You were again falling into melancholy, until you heard the news that she was with child. If there was anything that could restore joy to your marriage, it was a baby. Talia came out of her depression, and you were so overjoyed that she was spending time with you again that you allowed her to visit her friends again. As she came closer to giving birth, you even allowed her friends to visit your castle once more. Even the pesky troubadour roaming your halls could not dampen your spirits. But on the day of your son's birth, everything changed.
  
  Perhaps the storm was an omen, but the birth was exceedingly difficult, and your wife soon took a turn for the worse. Moreover, due to the weather, a doctor could not arrive in time to help. Fortunately, Andruxius arrived that very night. Scholar, sorcerer, necromancer, you did not care. He offered to help your wife deliver the baby in exchange for extended room and board. You accepted without hesitation, as your wife was deathly pale, and the midwife had said she thought your sweet Talia would die that night.
  
  Andruxius was able to deliver the babe, but he confirmed your worst fears: Talia would die that very evening. However, as pained as you were, nothing hurt more than when you first laid eyes on the child. You remember screaming in rage as you looked upon the newborn and saw the face of the troubadour your wife was so friendly with.
  
  Perhaps you would have killed the infant anyway, but Andruxius spared you the decision with words you still hear in your mind every night when you lay in your bed: "My lord, your wife's life is forfeit. However, there is a spell that I can fashion that would detach her from the timeline of this world, buying us months or perhaps even years to seek a way to cure her. Unfortunately," he said in a lowered voice, "it will require the life of your son." Your son. Without hesitation you agreed, for as angry as you were, you could not fathom living without Talia. Andruxius then performed what can only be called an evil ritual; the baby was killed, and your wife's death was delayed.
  
  Now, as you stand in front of the door to your wife's chambers fifteen years later, you wonder if that evil act, and the hanging of the troubadour the very next day, were some sort of punishment for your sins. Shaking your head to clear out those thoughts, you enter the room.
  
  > Choice
  Choice
  
  "My lord," says Andruxius as you enter. The room is dimly lit by a circle of candles that surround Talia's bed. Her chest doesn't move, but you've been assured by the sorcerer that time for her is moving more slowly than it is for everyone else. The man is odd by any measure, even requesting the bodies of any dead rodents discovered in the castle to perform his experiments on, but over the years you've come to trust him. You're convinced time really is moving slowly for her. Besides, the candle on the table next to her bed has been burning for fifteen years, and if Talia wasn't actually breathing, she'd have rotted away by now. Yes, at this point you fully trust Andruxius.
  
  The same cannot be said of your household, however, for roughly half of your servants and freemen left in the days following the baby's murder. But that is no priority to you, nor has it ever been. Only Talia matters. You clear your throat.
  
  "I was told you needed to speak with me," you say to the darkly robbed man.
  
  Andruxius sighs. "Yes, my lord," he says in a tone not dissimilar from a minister at a funeral. "Unfortunately, your wife is nearing the end of her time."
  
  "But you said she was detached from the timeline of this world!"
  
  With the patience of a grandfather teaching a toddler to read, Andruxius says, "Yes, my lord, but detached from the timeline of this world does not mean she has no timeline at all. Her body has been dying all these years, and now I fear she will not last more than a few days." Your vision blurs as you consider those words. You desperately need to speak to her again, if only to confront her about the troubadour. In truth, however, you simply miss her and want to see her smile again.
  
  "Is there something that can be done," you say through tearing eyes.
  
  "Yes, my lord, but it will require a great sacrifice, one which I do not think you will be willing to make again." He looks directly into your eyes, his expression saying that you know exactly what he is talking about.
  
  "You already took the troubadour's bastard fifteen years ago, Andruxius. What more can I give you?"
  
  He places his hand on his chin. "It's true that you have no more children to give me yourself, my lord, but have you not servants? I believe I saw a young girl running through the courtyard not two days ago. The Hunstman's daughter?" You cannot believe what you are hearing, but at the same time, you know what this man is. You've always known, but you do not care. The only thing you care about is Talia. "She appears to be the right age for what I need," says the sorcerer. "If I had her, I could fashion a ritual that would not only prolong your wife's life further, it would allow you to come into her circle of protection once a month. Perhaps to even speak to her eventually.
  
  You've already sacrificed an innocent for Talia before. Doing so again, however, may be something you cannot stomach. "If I allow you to take Huntsman Willaimson's daughter," you ask, "can you guarantee me that my wife will live?"
  
  "For another extended period of time, yes." He smiles at you. "In fact, I can guarantee that you can finally penetrate the circle of candles. You will be able to touch your wife again, my lord." Your breath catches in your throat. To be able to touch her soft hands again, to be able to kiss her cheek, to smell her hair. This is something you've dreamed of for more than a decade.
  
  "However," continues the sorcerer, "I cannot promise you that she will completely regain consciousness. This is a temporary measure, my lord. A simple extension of her life."
  
  How much is your love worth, you wonder. It is certainly unfair that a child should be taken by this sorcerer. But it is equally unfair that your wife should die. The girl is nothing to you. Weighing your love in one hand, and what little of your morality and integrity remains in the other, you make your choice.
  
  > allow the sorcerer to take the huntsman's daughter
  Allow the Sorcerer to Take the Girl
  
  "You may take the child, Andruxius. I fear that I've been selling my soul to a demon all these years, but whatever piece of my soul remains, it's tied to that woman."
  
  Andruxius smiles. "No demon, my lord. I am merely a humble conjurer. However," he asks, "will I have assistance in taking the girl from your guards, should her father resist? And what of the child's mother? Surely she would try to interfere. In any event, I will not perform the ritual here, of course. There is no need, and I do not wish to start a riot in your castle. You can say that the girl is merely needed to assist me on a diplomatic mission. Whatever you think is best. But I suspect I will need help procuring her."
  
  "That will not be a problem," you say. "The mother of the girl died whilst giving birth to her, so no need to worry on that. As for the father, I can arrest the huntsman on charges of poaching, and then his daughter will become ward of the state. After he leaves his cell in a few weeks, I assume you'll have already completed the sacrifice, and you'll be back here to help with my wife and this ritual."
  
  Andruxius hesitates a moment, then says, "Well, my lord, you'll have to perform part of the ritual here at midnight, in two days, which is a full moon, so that both of our rituals are done simultaneously. I will show you immediately, but we'll need a dead wolf. Perhaps the huntsman can help us with that," he adds with a cruel smile.
  
  You agree, and at once the huntsman is set to capture a wolf. Fortunately, traps had already been set, and he returned with one before the sun set. Of course, it was then that you accused him of poaching, and your guards arrested him. Then, as you waited alone in your room, you heard the shouting of the little girl as Andruxius took her to his chambers, where she would be secretly chained until he left the following morning.
  
  > The Ritual
  The Ritual
  
  Your people were not pleased with the events of that evening, but you cared little. Even as most of them walked out of your castle the next week, your mind was simply too preoccupied with Talia to do much more than notice their hasty exits.
  
  Andruxius returned after sunset that evening to demonstrate what you must do inside the candles at midnight on the full moon. You were to cut the wolf, say a mantra, and then drink it's blood. Then, after stepping into the circle, you had to cut your wrist enough that your blood could drip into your wife's mouth. When the moon was full a day later, you took the wolf you'd taken from Williamson and performed the ritual exactly as instructed. When you first stepped into the circle, you nearly cried, but you took pains to keep your noise to a minimum, as Andruxius instructed.
  
  After feeding your wife your own blood, her color seemed to immediately improve, and then you leaned in to kiss her. Strangely, you felt as much nausea as joy at the touch, remembering that the troubadour kissed her on those lips as well. Your anger rising, you stormed out of the circle of candles, leaving your wife alone again.
  
  Months went by with you performing this routine, but Andruxius never returned. You had Williamson released a month or two later, and while he was furious, he was far too emaciated to do anything to you, and you banished him from your lands. Eventually, however, almost all of your household deserted you, and you were forced to hunt the wolves for the ritual yourself.
  
  Months turned to years, and Andruxius never returned. Nor did any of your household remain. You were a lone man in your castle - just you and the ghost of your wife. She was able to sip your blood during the monthly ritual, but it seemed to be a reflexive action rather than a deliberate one. Each time you entered the magical circle of candles, you could smell her blood. Her wound had not healed, even if her breathing had seemed to improve slightly. Wherever Andruxius went, you had to admit that in the very least he did not lie about extending your wife's life. However, now you were stuck in an agonizing limbo, unable to fully restore her.
  
  Unfortunately, as the years progressed, catching the wolves became more and more difficult. Perhaps someone else was killing them, but the full moon was approaching, and you had yet to see one. Falling into despair, you headed out three days before the full moon, knowing that if you failed, Talia would die.
  
  > The Lone Stranger
  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?"
  
  > agree to the terms
  Agree to the Terms
  
  Without hesitation you take off your ring and hand it to the man. "Sir, I agree wholeheartedly. Take the ring, and you have my word that your children will live long and healthy lives so long as I am the count."
  
  The man looks at you skeptically at that, but he nods and hands you the wolf. "I will do as I promised, and take this ring to the nymph. But you must remember to perform your ritual as you always have, at midnight as the full moon rises."
  
  "I will, and thank you again sir. Should my wife live, I will make you a noblemen." You hesitate a moment, then say, "The people back home will want to know your name, sir. What shall I call you, the hero who will save the countess?"
  
  He thinks a moment. "Hero, you say? It gets fairly lonely here in these woods, but to be called hero? That's a fine enough name as it is, don't you think?"
  
  You laugh. "Lone Hero it is, then. But I'm afraid I must fly. I have only two days to get back to my castle, and my wife is in need." He nods and resumes his journey, and you begin yours home, carrying the dead wolf. As the sound of his footsteps gets softer and softer, for a moment you experience a feeling of déjà vu. Have you seen this man before? He certainly knows who you are. Perhaps his family was one of the ones that fled your city when you began to neglect your duties as count?
  
  It doesn't matter, though. Only one thing matters: getting this wolf to your wife so you can perform the ritual. And hopefully, the man and his nymph will come through, and this time your wife will open her eyes.
  
  > The Final Ritual
  The Final Ritual
  
  Gently holding your wife's face in your hands, you kiss her, then lay her back down. Grabbing the knife, you slice your wrist ever so slightly, as you have done so many times before, then you set the knife down and prop open your wife's mouth. Holding your arm inches above her, you squeeze with your free hand and watch as a few drops of blood drip in. Wanting to be sure she gets enough, you hold your arm there for several seconds, and then relax when she finally swallows the blood.
  
  For a long moment, nothing happens. Then, just as the twelfth hour bell rings, your wife begins to shake. Gently holding her shoulders, you begin to make soothing noises, and then soon the shaking subsides. Overcome with a mix of anxiety, fear, and elation, you marvel at the fact that Talia moved for the first time in more than twenty years.
  
  But whatever shock you feel at that is immediately eclipsed when she opens her eyes. Your jaw drops, and you can barely understand what you hear as she says, "Osmond? Osmond is that you? Gods, what happened to your hair?" You suddenly realize that she believes it's only been days since she gave birth; your hair is grey now. What a shock it must be! Still, you are too dumbfounded with amazement and joy to answer her.
  
  Suddenly Talia sits up. "Where, where is my baby?" she asks. "Give me my baby! Midwife! Midwife, bring me my child!" Her voice begins to get hysterical, and your own joy turns to anguish as she mentions the baby. How will you tell her? How will you confront her about the troubadour she cheated on you with? You close your eyes a moment. Those things can wait. All that matters now is Talia.
  
  "Beloved," you say, "you must rest for now. In the morning we will talk of the babe."
  
  "No, I want my baby."
  
  "Shhhh," you say, then you take her in your arms, offering comfort. To your surprise, she holds you back, and together you lie in the bed. As her breathing steadies, you realize you've never been happier in your life than this moment.
  
  The midnight bell rings one more time, and the soft moonlight bathes the room.
  
  > The End of the Midnight Bell
  The End of the Midnight Bell
  
  Your dreams are torturous and violent. Dark red is the dominant color, and you constantly hear the screams of infants as they are tossed into a bottomless pit. During a moment of lucidity, you glance to the horizon. A giant cloud as black as soot approaches. It is heavy and thick, and you realize what it is: your guilt. You see the face of the troubadour's bastard in the cloud at first, then it shifts to the huntsman's daughter. Then finally, it turns into your wife's face. When it finally gets overhead, blood rather than water rains down, and as the thick, sticky substance hits the ground, you fall to your knees and weep.
  
  You open your eyes. For a moment, you are confused, thinking you are still in the dream, feeling the sticky wetness of the blood rain. But then you glance down. The entire bed and most of the bedroom floor is covered in blood. Bits and pieces of human anatomy litter the floor, and you leap backwards in terror. What has happened here? "Talia!" you shout. "Talia, where are you! We've been attacked by an animal!"
  
  As you stand up to run to the door, you see her head, still attached to the spinal chord, but removed from her body. As you involuntarily raise your hands to your face, you see the blood and gore underneath your nails, and then you realize you can taste the metallic flavor in your mouth as well. Immediately you vomit, and out comes half-digested pieces of human flesh. You did this, you realize, and you fall to the floor and scream in anguish, rolling around in your own wife's blood and gore.
  
  What seems like hours pass, and then a voice says, "It's fitting, really. You've been taking the lives of innocents for so long, and now you've taken the life of the only innocent you truly cared about." Completely numb with grief and horror, you glance at the man, but can say nothing. It's the man from the woods. He pulls back his hood, and you finally realize who he is.
  
  "When you took my daughter from me, I screamed much like that," he says. "Truthfully, you should have killed me. Revenge took hold deeply inside me when I was in your prison, and it never left my heart all these years in the woods. And now? Now I've finally put my daughter to rest."
  
  A wordless scream escapes your mouth, and then after a moment, you finally are able to say, "You! You lied to me! You said you would cure her! She didn't hurt you. How can you do this to her?"
  
  "Me? You're the one who killed her. But no, this wasn't my intention. Everything I told you was the truth: I met the nymph when I tried to hang myself in her glade. She captured me and forced me to eat and drink, and soon she fell in love with me, strange as it sounds. And I must admit, I, too, came to love her. But I never forgot what you did to my daughter, and I begged her to help me avenge her." He laughs. "A nymph, falling in love with a man? And actually agreeing to do his bidding? It's unheard of.
  
  "But," he continues, "the plan was to cure your wife, not kill her. I begged her to spare lady Talia, since she was not responsible for your evil. The nymph agreed to that as well, albeit reluctantly. But I suppose she knew that you would kill her. This part she didn't tell me. I knew you'd become cursed, but I didn't think it would this." He points to the gore scattered about the room.
  
  "And now," he says, "you've been 'gifted' with immortality, and every month you will turn into the monster that you truly are, every night of the full moon at midnight. You will kill those near you, just like you have tonight, and you will lament the day you were born. You shouldn't even bother with suicide. It won't work, and you don't deserve it. Live your life as the monster you are; carry your crushing guilt and grief with you, as I carry my grief, and perhaps some day the gods will grant you the mercy of death." He turns to leave, and in an instant you are on your feet, running after the man.
  
  Without breaking stride, he turns and puts you on the ground, the punches you in the chest, breaking ribs. You cry aloud as he stands up again. "I cannot kill you, but I am a seasoned hunter, and you are an old count who has had everything handed to you on a silver platter your entire life. A count, I might add," he says as he looks around, "without a single servant or retainer or soldier to help you." He shakes his head. "Take your punishment with grace, Count Jorgensen. For that is the only way the gods will ever have pity upon you.
  
  "One last thing," he says, pulling out a parchment. "I've used your ring to seal a letter declaring me the rightful heir to your estate. No more will the people suffer at the hands of a neglectful ruler." You simply stare in horror as the man tells how he's taken everything you hold dear. "The people will be free. They will come back to work the fields, but not because they are commanded, but because they are protected by a good and selfless ruler. But as for you," he glances at the body of you wife, "I can only hope that this will teach you what selfishness and ruthlessness bring."
  
  Pulling his hood over his head, he says, "Well, I must be off to the prince's city to deliver this letter. In the event that we meet again, remember this: everything that's happened to you has happened to you because of what you chose to do; because of the people you hurt, because of the province you neglected. If you cannot change your heart, there is no doubt in my mind that you will be cursed forever."
  
  As he turns to leave, you put your fist to your mouth and weep.
  
  > Epilogue
  Epilogue
  
  For months you roamed the forest, looking for the Huntmaster and his nymph, seeking vengence. But each full moon, you found yourself losing control of your thought and your body, turning into the vicious monster that murdered your wife. As time passed, driven by the madness of both your new affliction and your grief, you slowly began to forget why you were roaming the forest or who you were searching for. By the end of the year, you were simply a mad hermit living in the woods for most of the month, and a man-eating monster for thirteen days out of the year.
  
  As the years continued, you came to learn many things about yourself. Other people came to call you "werewolf," and rumors began to circulate that other werewolves had been created. At first you thought it was the nymph and the huntmaster again, but after an especially vivid dream of you cutting open your fur covered arm and forcing a human victim to drink it, you began to suspect it was you creating the new werewolves.
  
  One other realization came to you several decades later: the sorcerer you invited into your home, Andruxius, that smiling, patient voiced charlatan, was likely the author of all of your pain. Why was there storm on the day of your wife's childbirth that kept all doctors and priests away? Why would a perfectly healthy woman being to die during childbirth? And why would a sorcerer of the darkest arts, including necromancy that you knew was done under your own roof, just so happen to be there at the same time?
  
  It became clear to you that it was Andruxius who staged the entire thing, in order to gain access to your library, your castle, and the freedom to perform his ghastly experiments. He used weather magic to create the storm, you realize, to keep those away who would foil his plans, and he used the illness to your wife to ingratiate himself to you and take advantage of your largesse.
  
  And so you began a new hunt, to find the traitor Andruxius, and each night of the full moon, you howl your murderous rage to him as you stare at the moon his storm hid from you all those years ago. And as you race through the forest seeking his blood each full moon, your come to appreciate and even love the freedom your new body provides. Free like the wolf, independent like the moon. Never again will you be chained by love, by duty, or grief. The only chain you will wear is the chain you choose: the chain of vengeance.