"Was a man." He was dead after all. Now he is just one nightmare away when the war comes and she was his to turn on the faucet of Hell that will sing in the dreams of humanity for generations to come.

Rising up from his chair, tipping his hat. "Good night, my Master."

Then a pause and there's a beat.

But behind the monster, there is a man.

Is there or is there not? He searched his heart.

Maybe there is a man within him after all. That man who is gasping, struggling, reaching up towards to the surface of the light. Pitifully. Weak. Fingers clutching on a fragile bird that slips away from his fingers called Hope.

Looking at her, deliberately, the Count finally asked, "Tomorrow night, shall we go to the tea shop together?"