The concept of fate is a fickle one. From the very moment a life comes into existence, its path is spontaneous, erratic, and unpredictable. Mortality has few absolutes; a life is created, a life exists, and eventually, a life ends. This is the burden mortality bears upon its shoulders. The very foundation of existence lacks a fundamental purpose. A life which is incapable of deciphering the chaotic inferno that is reality barely exists at all. With a sentient mind, a life can manipulate its existence. Conscience allows one to grasp the fragments of reality, and sculp them into one’s own individual identity. Thus, fate is fluidic in nature. There is no predetermined destiny for any individual life; the only absolutes are its genesis, and its eventual destruction. Thus is the beauty of sentience; ‘Tis the key which opens the mortal mind to possibility.

		However, it is only in death that a sentient mind can truly achieve enlightenment.

	Before… He had lived his life without purpose. A surf in the fields, plowing away at the stony, unforgiving soil of life. There was a family, a dream—--A hope for a better future. However, his goal was not his own. In death, he was given the opportunity to truly experience the life which he rightly deserved; the life promised to all whom thirst for the truth. In death, he found power. That power became his identity. Where once he was a marionette, dancing upon the strings of fate, he was now the puppeteer. The strings which formerly bound him were now clutched firmly between his fingertips. No more would he bend the knee to the absolutes of mortality. His destiny was his own. 

	Maximillian Parkes was born without the ability to choose. His father, a farmer by trade, was a member of the lowest class in civilized society. A mere peasant by blood, the young boy’s life was predestined. His father, grandfather, and great-grandfather had all lived by the horse and plow, and had done so from the moment their ancestors claimed the land in which their meager home was built upon. As the eldest of six, he was expected to take up the plantation upon his father’s passing, take a wife, father a large family of his own, and pass the trade on to future generations. In spite of the reality which he had been born into, Max was the quiet, intellectual and studious sort; much to his father’s disappointment, his eldest was not the master of sickle and hoe that his younger brothers were. Thus, the boy’s days were filled with back-breaking labor, and the miserable dreams of what his life could have been without his father’s influence.

	With every swing of his scythe in the wheat fields, his resentment steadily grew. Every insult, curse, and proclamation of uselessness shouted at his back fueled the churning fire of anger that dwelled within his core. He could not stand to slave away in the fields in this manner any longer. He could not form a livelihood for a family by digging around in grime and stone. For as long as he was forced to beat himself bloody upon his father’s fields, the man would never see him take a wife. Maximillian would have rather seen the barn set ablaze before enslaving a woman to an existence of servitude. Knowing full well he was powerless against the opposition of his father, he resigned himself to his misery; forcing himself to trudge Along in the muck and mire so they could scrape together enough to survive the next winter. It was only upon the harvest season of his nineteenth year when an event occurred which took his life down an unexpected path.

	The day was much like any other. The September sun shone with a brilliant shimmering gold, and the harvest season was in full swing. Maximillian’s farm was a flurry of harvesting, storing, and preparing crops for transport to the local markets, and a thick layer of sweat dripped off of his brow as he drove his pitchfork into the massive pile of hay before his weary gaze. The activity, as it usually was, became monotonous and boring rather quickly, and he began to day dream about building his own library before he was shocked back into reality. Sudden, explosive pain jettisoned itself through the young man’s skull as he felt something heavy impact the back of his head, and before he could so much as groan or gasp in surprise, he was being lifted back onto his feet by his disgruntled looking father.

	“The wagon’s ready boy, make yourself useful for once in your life. Bring it to Elijah down at the old market. Be sure you don’t come back without every damned penny that old fool has to offer. If you aren’t back by sundown, you can be sure that I’ll skin you alive before I drag you back to your mother for an apology.”

	Max knew better than to respond to the man’s provocations. Without wasting a moment of time, he hastily climbed to his feet, dusted himself off, and took off in a dead-man’s sprint toward the barn. As he ran, he didn’t dare spare his father a glance backward, lest another strike from the man’s cudgel be something he looked forward to in his future. His younger brothers had already readied the horses, and Maximillian took full advantage of the fact by hopping aboard the wagon full of crops without breaking his stride. A soft whinney met his ears as he took up the reigns, and with a snap of their leather and a softly spoken command, he was off toward town. It was nary an hour or two’s ride from his homestead, and the young man never hesitated to get out from under his father’s tyrannical rule, even for just a moment. Little did he realize just how unpredictable his journey would prove to be.

	The ride along the well-travelled road went without issue. Before the young Max had time to so much as blink, he hastily stabled the horses, shoveled two armfuls of crops out of the wagon, and started to make his rapid trips from the wagon, to Elijah’s storehouse, and back again. After several hours work, he’d finally managed to empty out the whole of the wagon’s contents, and he was free to ready the horses and make his way back toward his home. The sun had began to sink low in the sky, and Maximillian paled slightly as he gave his team a quick snap of the reigns; If he didn’t hurry, he would surely face his father’s wrath upon his arrival. God forbid the man discover that he had somehow torn the canvas on the wagon’s covering whilst he unloaded the goods. He could feel the man’s hunk of oak slamming into his cheek at the mere thought of the nearly invisible gash upon the damned thing. Though before he had time to consider his father’s corporal punishment further, something strange happened.

	The horses suddenly reared upward, throwing their hooves toward an invisible assailant in the tree line. They began to cry and scream in abject terror as Maximillian frantically attempted to calm the agitated animals, but they didn’t obey a single of his commands, and outright refused to cooperate whatsoever. The young farmhand noted that this sort of behavior was distinctly unlike the old steeds he’d come to know and love, but deep in his thoughts he knew he hadn’t the time to dwell upon such nonsense. The more the horses kicked and bucked in their harnesses, the more the wagon, and by proxy, Maximillian jolted about the side of the road. Before he could gather his thoughts enough to jump off of the rickety wooden cart, the young man found himself thrown off of his perch and into the tree line. His body came to rest after he slammed head-first into a sturdy looking oak, and he felt bile bubbling in the back of his throat as he attempted to crack his eyelids open. His vision was a haze of stars and light, and the more he attempted to discern any details of his would-be assailant, the more nautious he felt. As suddenly as he was thrown off of the cart, he felt a set of small, cold hands wrap themselves about his collar and yank him back to his feet. Though his vision was starting to clear, the only distinguishing feature Maximillian could lay his eyes upon was the sight of a woman’s long, luxurious brown mane blowing gently in the evening wind. He attempted to blink the stars out of his vision once further, but it was to no avail. He struggled against his unusually strong attacker with all of his strength, but as he began to slip himself out of his captor’s vice-like grasp
, he felt a sharp, burning pain resonate through the length of his body.

	Then, there was darkness.

	“Boy…”

	Consciousness suddenly returned to Maximillian as he heard a man’s voice echoing through the forest. The sun had long since set, and there wasn’t a trace of the brown-haired vixen whom had knocked him around. But he felt… Strange. He heard the man continue to call out in search of someone, but the sound didn’t quite register in his brain as speech; where the strong, deep voice would’ve once inflicted fear in him, Maximillian was consumed by the strangest sense of urgency. Every ounce of his body was screaming out in lustful desire; though for what, the farmhand was not certain. As if in a trance, he felt himself rise to a standing position, and forced his gaze toward the distant man’s voice. Mindlessly, as if by his body’s own desire, he began to stalk slowly through the trees back toward the scene of his accident. As he approached, an incredibly pungent metallic aroma coated the interior of Maximilian’s nostrils; as the scent registered in his mind, the young man felt the edges of his consciousness begin to darken. His thoughts were sluggish and his emotions started to run rampant—it was as if he couldn’t control his thoughts. He suddenly became distinctly aware of the throbbing ache of hunger within his core as he reached the road, and he froze mid-step as he spotted a man in thick wool trousers searching through the remains of his wagon. The stranger began to angle his head in Max’s direction to speak, but the young farmhand’s body and mind began to act of their own accord as the man’s voice boomed out toward him.

	“What do you think yo-“

	Before he could finish his angry outburst, Max was upon him like a starved animal. With super-human strength and speed, the farmhand crossed the gap between them in a single bound, leaping directly into the unsuspecting interloper’s chest, hands forward and jaws agape. Driven by the emotionless desire to consume, Maximillian pinned his prey against the bottom of the up-turned wagon and drove one of his knees directly into the man’s stomach. Bones crackled under the ferocious impact of the strike, and before the man could so much as scream in terror, the starved man clamped his jaws around the interloper’s throat and bit down with as much strength as he could muster. Maximillian groaned in exaltation as the man’s sweet, sweet life nectar began to fill him like a balloon, but it seemed that only an instant had passed before the corpse had been sucked completely dry. The farmhand basked in the afterglow if his meal for a brief moment, trying his hardest to milk every last drop out of the man’s corpse; It was then when it occurred to him just what he had done. Sickened and absolutely horrified by his actions, Maximillian stumbled backward slightly, dropping the stranger’s corpse as he back peddled toward the trees on the other side of the road. What… Had he done? He was a damned monster. His back peddling finally brought him against the gnarled surface of an ancient willow tree, and in that moment, the clouds overhead parted to reveal a full moon, red as the blood which he had gorged himself upon. Now scared, shaken, and alone, Maximillian tore his gaze away from the moon and allowed it to return to his fallen prey, only to immediately feel the contents of his stomach churning at the sight he beheld.

	Bloodless and decrepit upon the ground lay his father, broken and beaten with the gaze of sheer, unfiltered terror plastered upon his visage.

	As Maximillian realized the man’s eyes were squarely fixed upon his own, he couldn’t help but notice an odd feeling of warmth travelling along the length of his spine. Before he knew it, a smile lightly tugged at the corners of his crimson stained cheeks, and his breaths began to become shallow and quick. Finally, a light chuckle began to leak out of his grinning visage, which quickly morphed into a loud, hearty laugh which caused the birds to leap out of their homes in the nearby foliage.

	He was free.


#


	“Sir?” 

	It was at that moment that Maximillian realized that he’d been staring out of the nearest window upon the visage of the full moon for an unusually long moment. It was a pleasant memory, to be sure; though not in the way most individuals find a situation pleasant. It wasn’t the events that transpired in which he found so satisfying, but the meaning he was able to derive from the circumstance all these centuries later. It was his transformation that truly allowed him to blossom into the man he was today. If not for that mysterious mop of chocolate colored hair distracting his horses, he would have died centuries earlier. 

	“Sir, are you feeling well?” The lilting feminine voice queried once further. Maximillian took a moment to finish off his scotch, then ran a hand down the crimson fabric of his tie, smoothing it out against his chest

	“My apologies, m’lady. If you could kindly excuse me for a moment, I feel the urge to find another beverage. I’ll return to you before you have time to admire me from afar.” With that being said, Maximillian turned his attention toward the myriad of couples dancing along the floors without giving his feminine company so much as a passing glance. Not wishing to stain his pristine white Armani, he clung to the edges of the room until he managed to find his way to the bar. He tapped his white cane against the floor idly as he approached, and ordered himself three fingers of single malt scotch to enjoy at his leisure. It seemed as though he had a taste for the finer things on this eve, and he would be sure to indulge his desires to the fullest extent possible within this ignorant mass of masked imbeciles. Not a moment after he put his request forward, Maximillian’s emerald eyes twinkled with mirth at the appetizing sight of the caramel-colored spirit. Giving his drink a thoughtful sip, he adjusted his mask into a more comfortable position whilst simultaneously shifting the personally tailored jacket upon his broad shoulders. . Black lace was simple, yet held some sort of deceptive elegance that the tall gentleman couldn’t help but enjoy. Though the concept of the masquerade itself was a bit tacky, he couldn’t help but allow the smallest hint of a smile to stretch across his face. He had the distinct feeling that it was going to be an incredibly interesting night.

	After sparing himself another moment to watch the crowd of dancers from the safety of the bar, Maximillian took it upon himself to locate his first round of entertainment for the night. He began to tap his cane lightly along the surface of the floor as he deftly dodged the incoming crowd of party goers. For the first few moments, nothing appeared to catch his eye. There were the usual giggling women of class, the boastful, selfish lot of businessmen, and of course, the attendees whom were already far too deep into their cups for one night. But as he made another tour of the room’s edge on his way back toward the bar, a single woman in particular caught his eye. Her dark, curly hair was styled up in quite the elaborate fashion, and the emerald silks of her dress did much to accentuate the green of her eyes. Though he only was able to glance in her direction from the corner of his vision, it wasn’t her outfit or hair that caught his eye; At least, it wasn’t her dress. It was the unusual nature of the necklace she wore. To him, it seemed familiar, but he couldn’t quite place its origins upon first inspection. Had he spent time in this woman’s company before? Had he seen a similar type of necklace upon another woman in his past? Rather than keep himself locked within his own thoughts for the night, the cane-wielding gentleman took it upon himself to take action. What could one dance possibly hurt? Besides… Curiosity couldn’t kill this cat. After a quick check of the red rose upon his lapel, he continued his casuals tried toward the bar.

	Rather than approach her directly with no specific motives, the wealthy entrepreneur within Maximillian’s psyche urged him not to walk in her direction without good reason. He noticed that she had been nursing a drink to herself for quite a while, and concluded that she must have been running low by this point in the night. Regardless, he knew that it would most likely be the best strategy he could come up with on short notice; Other than the direct approach, of course. He paid another short visit to the bar to retrieve a glass of their finest dry red, and then topped off his scotch once further before swallowing his pride and striding across the room toward the woman whom had so curiously captured his attention. As he reached her, he allowed himself a quick bow in her direction before giving her a relaxed smile.

	“Good evening, Madame. This one was curious as to whether you would be available for the next dance. In exchange for the finest red at the house’s disposal, of course.” As he spoke, he placed his scotch upon a nearby table before running his fingers through his short, thick black locks. His recent change into a shorter, more utilitarian hair style had been well appreciated by many 			among the crowd so far. He could only hope that this one wasn’t a fan of men with longer hair.