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Another dark lonely night held up in the west wing. Damp with sweat, body sore and aching, never ending pain. A new sensation, near the end of his wrist startled the sickly Count.
“What now?” He glanced down to his wrist, lazily flipping his hand over to get a look at what was paining him so. His soulmate mark, fading from view. He didn’t much believe in soulmates, to hell with it, Lucio would have who he wanted, just like his current wife Nadia, though she always seemed to avoid him; even more so now that he was withering away as the plague ravaged his once brilliant body. His thoughts wandered back to whoever his “soulmate” was, he was always curious if he’d find them attractive. When you find your soulmate, the writing printed on the skin at birth turns red. He wasn’t sure what fading meant; he’ll note to ask the next servant that dared to wonder into his room what it means.
As if on cue, his favorite little doctor knocked upon his door, always clearing his throat nervously before opening the door and speaking. “Count Lucio, how are you fairing this evening?” The auburn-haired doctor asked, voice trembling slightly.
“How the hell do you think Jules!” The count spat, violently coughing due to the energy he just expelled by raising his voice. He grunted in frustration, throwing his head back against his plush pillows, even if they were drenched with his cold sweat.
“Never mind that you clueless bastard, what does this mean?” He raised his wrist and the doctor rushed to his side, eager to please, or rather, fearful if he didn’t.
“I, I’m not quite sure Lucio. What am I looking for?” He turned his hand this way and that, looking for any sign of the Red Plague stretching its crimson tendrils any further up the Count’s finger tips.
“Not--- not that! My soulmate’s dumb name was here but it just faded? What does THAT mean?!” He snatched his hand back and tried his best to stifle the bloody cough that was fighting its way up his dry throat. He turned back to see more of the color had drained from Julian’s skin.
He swallowed dryly and the Count watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down with the action, he also noticed sweat beading at his this brows. His eyes, darted around the room, looking anywhere that back to the Count. Hoping he’d maybe just drop it and forget it happened, his hope died as the Count struggled to snap his fingers to grab the doctor’s attention.
“Hello? Answer my question before I die waiting on it!” Lucio’s trademark pout was plastered on his sickly face. The deep dark bags under his reddened eyes utterly disturbed Julian, but he had to tell the truth.
“When the soulmate mark fades away, it.. It uh... It...” He played with the gloves that covered his shaky thin fingers, trying to find the words to tell him. Lucio sat up fully and rolled his eyes dramatically. “Spit it out Jules!”
“It.. It means they died! The uh, the plague must have got to them.” Julian quickly stepped back from the bed, far away from Lucio’s reach. The silence pressed on, almost too long, Julian opened his mouth to speak again but was quickly cut off by the Count chuckling.
The dark laugh was deep and guttural, a thin drip of blood spilled from his mouth and Lucio neglected to wipe it away. “Of course, they did. Of course! Whatever, I never cared about this stuff anyway.” He laid himself back down suddenly, turning his back to the only other person in the room. Not hearing him shuffle out of the room, Lucio spoke again.
“You can leave! I’m feeling the same as always, like shit! Get out!” He waved his golden arm in the air in the direction of the large doors. Julian all but ran from the room, but made sure not the let the heavy doors slam as he left. He sped walked out of the West Wing and back to the cluttered desk in the library to continue his research and allow his heart to quit hammering against his ribcage. He was sure the Count could hear it, as loud as it was beating in his own ears.
Lucio didn’t know how to feel, yet he found that he couldn’t get the idea of them out of his mind for one reason or another. In the end he decided on one thing.
“Well, I’m not dying like them...” he spoke to himself and he drifted off to a dreamless sleep.
Months passed; the ritual was complete. He was going to be reborn into a new healthy, gorgeous body just in time for his birthday celebration and make a grand entrance. The ritual seemed to go as planned for all he cared. Sure, maybe the Fool’s seat was empty but one missing rat wasn’t going to stop him from living his best new life. His patron friend seemed a little annoyed but that’s usual enough for the likes of him. He didn’t care, so long as he came back normal when the clock struck twelve, he planned to drop that bastard and ignore paying him back. He never counted on doing that anyway.
He eyed the dusty grandfather clock, watching the pendulum sway left to right as the seconds dragged on for what felt like an eternity. 11:59, in one more minute he’d be beautiful again. He wasn’t sure how it worked, but he was promised a glorious new body and he couldn’t wait a second longer for it to happen.
12:00.
Just then, his wrist stung, looking down at it he noticed your name etching its way back onto his pale skin in black letters. “What?” The only word that slipped past his lips before it started. Red hot flames engulfed him immediately. It was painful, he was afraid, he was confused. Is this how it works? Even though he was confused, he knew something wasn’t right, it had gone wrong. He was dying for real this time. Filled with rage he screamed, not in pain or fear, but blood thirsty rage. “Why. Why me?” He thought. “Why the hell was my soulmates name back on my arm, they were supposed to be... dead?”
That was when he knew. But just as the thought occurred in his mind everything went blank. Was this it? No. He wasn’t dead but he wasn’t alive either. He was hideous, that’s all he knew. A ghastly white goat, red eyes, twisted horns of onyx, missing arm, hooves, claws. Why. That damned soulmate mark was still on his wrist, barely visible through the fur, still black. It was then that he decided he hated that little thief. He’d get his revenge.
Time passed on; he didn’t know how long it had been but he listened to what was happening around him. Nadia finally awoke, we have a new head servant, a magician was going to be coming as a guest at the palace, Julian was to be hung before the next masquerade.
Lucio snorted, “Ha! Serves Jules right not finding me my cure quick enough. How’d he live but not me!” He snarled but was quickly distracted at the sound of his darling dogs dragging someone up the stairs. He sensed the magic before he saw who the poor soul was. Strong magic, this must be the new guest, he mused.
“Bring them to me, my sweets.” His voice echoed through the darkness. A chill ran up your spine at the sound of the voice, you were informed of a ghost rumor mere minutes before.
“H-hello?” You called out, voice hushed, but unknown to you, laced with warm magic that made Lucio’s ghostly fur stand on end. Then he finally saw you, and felt a strange pain on his wrist, but not a pain he hadn’t experienced before. Quickly clawing away the damned fur that obscured his soulmates name, he watched it turn red. Damnit. This is them?
He sighed to himself, but, this hardly complicated things. You were nothing but a filthy little thief that stole his body and made it your own, to hell with soulmates. You seemed to be a capable magician; he’ll use this to his advantage.