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I reached through time to find someone like you, I begged the forces to buy me enough time to let me touch you, even for an evening – to give me the strength to feel the purity, adoration and worship of your love.
How was I to know, that the simple desire to be desired would incur such nightmare? That it would wait until you were born, until you whispered to me and called me to come to you, and that my very soul would be put on pause until such moment? I hoped I would remain young, strong, the wealthy Count which once was who would make you the happiest of brides. I started thinking that maybe you were too far, and some circumstance, a travelling merchant would bring you over, a ship from a distant land, and I would have you.
But I grew older and older, I noticed the callouses on my hand form and my skin decay slowly, and I thought to myself, maybe that is what you liked better. Fate would have me grow older, more in control until it would deliver you to me. The price of magick had already been paid – so I remained patient. With every howl the wolves took to the moon, they renewed my vow to you and reminded her of the pact forged under her gaze. I knew she hadn’t forgotten.
All the same, suitors came and offered, peasants came and petitioned, Counts and Lords begged for me but I could not hear them a moment longer. All my thoughts took to you: to your purity, your love, your good heart and soul. My fingers took to touching every brick of the castle that was to be yours, was yours already, searching for you, on the off chance you were stuck somewhere between the walls, in a room I had not yet visited and would find you shackled there so I could save you. I left no nail straightened and pantry unopened, no door shut and no spike left in our home, out of fear you’d come and prick your finger against the hurt.
I promise you, beloved, soul-fated dear, you would not feel hurt. Not a moment of fear or indignation as I would be your servant, in a way I had not been to any. You would dream of a wish and it would already be done. I swear to you I would learn to anticipate desires before you even manifest the idea of wanting something, so I would never leave you yearning as I now do. I bear the burden so you do not have to.
Every evening in candlelight, I looked down at my palms and feared that it was too late. I had overseen you somehow and you would not love me as my hands became dry, filled with bruises and signs of age. I had sworn I would keep strong for you, not come forth after so long looking sunburned and rugged. So, I focused better on the night. The moon reminded me of the promise made, that I would get to hold and love the one destined, that I would worship her and adore and she would welcome me willingly against her bosom. The hounds and wolves, cut of the same cloth, howled their worship and I wanted to join them in their agony as I sat in the cold. In the dark, and waited for you, preserving my soul, my flesh and whole being so you would have a man worthy.
My eyes closed one day, and I hardly realised. It felt like the longest of blinks, as I tried to keep myself awake to not miss your entrance upon my castle, and found myself colder and alone. At first annoyed by the servants, I glanced to the fire and found it but ash. I glanced to the walls, and found them cold, and moulded. It all remained dark, as if it had tired of waiting for your spark to light up the halls and grew distant. All that remained was me. I would wait.
With slow, dragged steps I walked around the ruins of my home and pondered, looking at the moon who continued to obey her promise. It casted long shadows over the once-was and heaved my breath, oppressing me from going any further than the iron gate once built to keep revolting peasants and invaders out. I fell to my knees and begged, begged from the bottom of my heart to let me go find you. Maybe that was where I wronged – I expected you to come to me, while I sat on my throne. Maybe my fate was that of a searcher, not just a waiter. To go out there to look for you, in the mystical Arabia and all the way to the new land if needed. Anywhere, to find your pure, beautiful, gentle soul.
The moon did not open the gates however. She hid below the trees and told me to wait a while longer. The hounds slept as they sang their worship, and rats… Rats, the only companions left, the mousey little souls which lived on so little and lived to make more of themselves, guided me back to the room I fell asleep in. The sorrow, the yearning and the longing ached my heart so terribly, left my throat dry in search for you and desperation caused me to heave and pant. I wanted a bride, and now I sat humbled by love on my knees and palms, kissing my ancestral ground to beg for the strength to be just a little more patient for you.
Part of my thoughts lead to hatred, they wanted to hate something, but you could not be it. I could never hate you, beloved. But them? All those who kept you from me, who delayed you, who told me promises of your beauty and showed you to me in the dark mirror painted black? Where were they now? The moon. She told me they had not lied, but now they became one with her glow. A distant melancholy of the skies.
I howled, like the most lonely, suffering dog in the woods, screaming in hopes of the solace of companionship so it would find its own. I joined their echoing voices into the night as my fingers clutched the dirt who kept the magick alive. The magick promised by my birthright of yearning, of a single wish spoken and granted by those who’s protection we promised within our lands. Where were the cowards now? The masters of dark studying in mountains, summoning storms and suffering from lack of light? They left, and died by the hands of the peasants who impaled their corpses with forks and kept braided garlic by windows to keep them out when they were to rise anew. Foolish, silly folk who clung on to traditions in any semblance of the hope towards safety.
Could you be amongst them, beloved? No. Never. You are pure, and not tainted by silly notions, your mind is clear and of the same cloth as mine. Half of my soul and mind. You are beautiful in spirit, soul and body, and of the same melancholy which plagued me all throughout my youth. I will have you underneath me as I stroke your hair away from your face, and you would smile and understand every thought I would not even have to voice aloud as you’d understand it all. Just through touch, and even when away, you will know my moods and heart, as I have gifted it to you. I sometimes mourn you would not get to hear it beat for you, but every day as I hold your hands and kiss them (for you would never have them busy with anything else that is not me), I would make you understand that as it beat, it beat for you, my beloved.
I closed my eyes, and I dreamed again. The longest of dream, not suffering of darkness, but rather a vision. The cold in my castle paused, the rats crowded around my sleeping coffin and the dogs paused by the gate to listen to you draw your first breath. I finally, for the first time in centuries, existed.