Work Text:
If the ice melts, a warmer song would have come out
But why is the ice so cold? Why is it so cold?
Once upon a time, in a very snowy winterland, there was an eccentric man only known by his title as The Count of Monte Cristo. He held a myriad of parties at his very enormous and rich estate, but was rumored to not be like those who were among the living. After all, he had blue-colored skin, heterochromatic eyes, and fangs which made him the talk of town as being a possible ‘vampire’. But besides that, the man didn’t seem to truly get too close to anyone outside of business relations, even though he had quite the charismatic personality that could win most people over.
Despite this, there were times that people had known not to visit. After all, it was said whomever visited the mansion during a raging blizzard would wind up never returning and having the lifeblood sucked right from them. Not like anyone would want to visit during that time, in any case, and most people did on the outside treat it as a fanatical rumor. But as with most, held fear that such a thing could happen to themselves, regardless of the weather.
On one particular night, a new visitor arrived to the mansion when The Count was holding a ball, and though he did not draw the attention of many, he drew the eye of the host. Something about the brunette made the elder male become drawn to his presence, and so like with all who had at first come, he made his introduction. From there-on, each were drawn into each other’s presence like no other.
The Count soon learned that the younger male was of the curious sort and held such innocence in his eyes that it at first made him feel disgusted, thinking it was purposeful ignorance. However, as he came to curiously wondering if the brown-haired boy was truly such a thing and then later coming to an easy conclusion it was simply innocuous naivete. It was almost pitiful to see him interact with the others, as if unaware of what beasts truly lay behind the eyes of the privileged-- his own father included he might imagine.
Albert was his name, he found out, and he also found that the boy seemed to be a bit touchy feely with him in return. He was not against it and even welcomed it. To a certain point he even found that his usual interactions with the others of his class were not preferable. It had become even more of a farce than it had been before.
Once he had seen Albert’s candor, many had become more like pale-black mismatches of the already faded and deranged yellows and viridian amongst the other sick colors that could truly define the real nature of nobility. He had once been a dead man, that much was true, but even though he certainly would not admit that he would consider such a young man to be his friend or even someone close to him, he felt himself more alive than he has been in ages.
On one occasion, he invited Albert and his friends to his summer villa. They were all amusing to have around, but of course the most prized possession being the boy himself. All of their laughs and yet the one that brought joy to his bitter and frozen heart was solely the one he had invited over, all of it a farce...
At the thought he finds himself so amused. He has always prized himself within being an enigma wrapped within an enigma, and yet he still has to go out of his way in order to see interactions as well as events play out as he so wishes it. The Count also had himself quite the sadistic and cruel streak, taking it upon himself to make subtle pushes here or there even among Albert’s friends. Perhaps of course to solidify that in the end it was all just one huge game to him, and even in the end Albert was a new variable in something that could amuse him.
Thinking of it as growing affection, or the fact that his lips twitched up into an unconscious easy smile of his own when no one was looking as Albert happily spoke amongst his friends and The Count’s gaze turning into a quiet longing.
Regardless, both of these two, ever fond of each other, yet unaware of how far such fondness truly reached, continued to celebrate each other’s presence.
Then, word of Albert’s untimely death reached the Count’s presence. When he heard of such a thing at first he thought it a joke that he said to his messenger, “Surely you jest, and if you do, I do not find it a rather good one. What is the true news you wish to impart, my friend?”
He was informed that it was no joke and indeed the Count had rushed his carriage to see the brunette as if asleep and for good. He asked for the cause of death at his crying mother, who had informed him that a god full of envy had stolen away his soul. The same cause of death for her husband.
The Count did not understand but his heart cried out, “But why? How could this be! That misfortune befell such a fool of a boy after it had the fool of his father? Such rubbish! I will not allow events to stand as they are.”
The man then called forth the god, not knowing their name, but the sheer force of his will was enough to call forth the being. The Count ordered the god to return the boy as he was, and he was asked in return if he loved the boy.
Love? Preposterous! He merely kept Albert around for his entertainment, that is all. He cannot love, for such an emotion is no longer within him. He proclaims such a question is not important in such a matter and briefly considers going toe-to-toe with the god.
However, the god was capable of reading minds and sensed the Count had a presence that could rival his own. Thus the being decided thus:
If the Count could not accept the truth and declare his love for the boy, then his life was forfeit.
Following that the Count immediately answered thus, his mind racing quickly and his voice falling like uneven gravel,“*Bien. J'avoue avoir des sentiments pour lui.”
The god smiled ruefully and produced life in Albert again. For a moment, there was joy that raced in the elder man, which he felt embarrassed for. Thereafter, the god decided to play with them both, the being snapping his fingers and a flash of intense pain crossed into Albert’s eyes. It was like a sword had stabbed him in the most painful of ways without killing him.
Perhaps the god had meant to make some sort of heart wrenching conclusion to this pain, or to make the Count beg for him to stop. Perhaps the being had hoped that the Count would concede to him and confess again with all of his heart.
He could not be even further from the truth. For when the god had approached the Count, the man had simply turned his head, before his whole body, to unleash vengeance upon the god who had become so full of himself. And when the Count was finished, there was nothing left.
As was the fate of all who the Count had managed to unleash his vengeance upon.
One moment Albert had been awake and in vicious pain, but in another, he found himself in the realm of the unconscious. Then, soon enough, he awoke in the sheets of his beloved elder friend, and of whom was looking outward through the window. Except his appearance had changed -- his skin color a dark brown and his hair a darker brown than that. But it was still the Count.
The shorter brunette approached the man and questioned why this was, only to receive an answer from the Count that amounted to him admitting that he has been the only one to reach his heart in many, many years. Therefore, he could see the real man in front of him now, and to that, Albert asked who he was.
The Count then questioned right after, if he knew who he was, would he still be as intrigued and wish to stay by his side, which had caused confusion in Albert. Then the brunette decided to reach over to lay his hand over the Count’s and so that was enough of an answer for the older man.
Do not forget. My name is Edmond Dantes.
Edmond then intertwined their fingers, and for now the two were content to just look out quietly beyond the glass square pieces of the window, into the raging blizzard beyond, which at that time seemed so serene.