At one point in my life, I was a count. Someone respected and loved, also feared and hated. It is because of experiencing both that I can honestly say I am the way I am. Unfortunately, being a count is not one of those memories that comforts you through hard and trying times. For me, it is in fact the opposite. A horrible memory of failure. It seems like a lifetime of letting one down.
But what was that? A dream, a memory? A life, in which, I can't remember. The only clear thing that shines through that darkness are her silver eyes. They haunt me now.