"Why is this monster still alive!" The booming voice of the village leader caused me to jump nearly out of my skin. I was afraid of the rumors that had been circulating the taverns and stables, around stalls and barns- everywhere. My father tried to ease my tension, continually reminding me that everything was just that, rumor.

The feeling of dread that twisted my insides up into sickening knots told me otherwise; something was very wrong.

"We've tried to kill him Mi'lord b-"

"It!" Corrected the village leader, his face changing a new shade of crimson, "That thing killed my daughter!"

"We don't know if she's dead," my father's voice rose above the din, and my brown eyes shot up to his profile. I knew what he was going to suggest but believe he wouldn't be so reckless.

I began to shake my head slowly, praying, no, hoping that I was wrong.

"Let me go and confirm the status of your child- it is the least our family can do to return your generosity." Hot tears stung the backs of my eyes at the thought of what I knew would happen. Men, who had believed themselves, great hunters, had offered the very same boon, but none had returned.

My father would not return either if Mr. Quartz agreed.

"The others have not returned, what makes you think that you will be any different?" For a moment, I breathed a sigh of relief as my father did not respond right away. Instead, he dropped his chin to his chest, his brows knitted and his lips pursed.

Then he spoke.

"I have experience with these types of creatures." Everyone assembled began to whisper in hushed tones at this new information- not many alive, besides the Belmonts, had been able to withstand the night creatures.

"I was there, in Gresit when Dracula's hoard came. I was shown by the last descendant of the Belmont's how to kill those bastards. I know, with your permission, that I can return with your daughter."

All of the air in the room suddenly felt like it had been sucked out. I couldn't breathe. My chest ached, and the world around me spun in a twisting kaleidoscope of melting colors- all of this had to have been a nightmare.

"Very well, Vincent, leave the village tomorrow by first light; do not return until you find out the truth about my child."

I wanted to vomit. This couldn't be real!

Bile, thick and syrupy rose in my throat and threatened to choke me. I had to remember to breathe, to force the sick that coated my tongue back down into my stomach. I had to! I couldn't lose my composure: it was expected of me.

The remainder of the meeting seemed to fade into background noise. Nothing else mattered; my father was willingly committing suicide for… what? One foolish girl?

As we left the meeting hall, neither of us spoke. What could honestly be said? Anything I asked would have seemed trivial, but what if this was the last time we talked? I couldn't leave things like this- I had to hear his voice once more. "Father?" I finally broke the silence, the ringing in my ears becoming unbearable.

He did not speak.

Peeking up from beneath long ebony lashes, I spied the side of his face. He was pensive again. "Father?" I called again. This time he turned his gaze towards me. However, the face that looked back at me was that of a stranger. Where my father before had been rugged, fearsome, and untouched by age- all of that was stripped away. In its stead stood the shell of a man.

The haggard, broken man that looked back, froze me mid-step. He was afraid. He knew he was going to die, and he had accepted this fate without question, without a fight!

"Why?" My voice sounded small, foreign- I didn't like it. "Why are you doing this?"

"Not now Dragonfly- I have not the strength or will to explain myself."

Heat burned in my blood and filled every inch of me until I thought I'd explode. "Then how will you explain this to the twins? To Timothy? Do you expect me to carry this burden alone? To tell them what has happened when you do not return? Tell me!"

"Please."

It was the only word that issued from between my father's cracked lips, even as he shook his head.

I wanted to be like an errant child; I wanted to throw myself onto the ground, to throw a fit because I didn't get my way, but I didn't- I was too old for temper tantrums.

That's when I started to cry. I didn't care who watched- I was losing my father, and there was nothing that I could do.

I stood frozen on the side of the cobblestone path for a small eternity- grappling with my inner turmoil. My blood was still fiery, but I shivered violently, despite the warm night air and my heavy shawl. My insides twisted and churned like an angry sea, and the desire to wretch was back. I hated these feelings, hated the uncertainty; I just wanted it all to stop.

Finally, when the ache in my stomach and the thundering of my heart quieted, I returned home. Everything was the same: father sat by the hearth, the twins played on the floor, and Timothy sat beside father's leg, fidgeting with his knife.

I said nothing as I came in and removed my wrap- I had to pretend that everything was fine.

As the night wore on and the others went to sleep, I was left again with my father- the only light, the smoldering embers of the fire.

"I know you're angry with me, Dragonfly, but please, understand why I must do this."

I gnawed at the inside of my cheek, trying to resist my desire to speak, wincing when the taste of copper filled my mouth.

"The town leader has been good to our family, far better than some. If not for him, we would all be on the street or dead. We are indebted to-"

"It was her fault!" I finally exploded, unable to take the pressure that had been steadily building up inside of me. "That imbecilic twat walked into her death! She chose to go! No one made her! Why do you have to sacrifice your life for someone who left, despite the behest of her betters? Why?!"

My father, who had not moved, leaned his head back, casting his gaze towards the ceiling.

"It isn't-" I spat, my voice quivering as tears ran down my cheeks, "isn't fair!" I lifted my hands to my face and sobbed unabated again.

Father never moved from his spot, perhaps because he didn't have the strength to comfort me or maybe because he didn't care? I didn't know, and at that moment, I didn't care. Or, I thought I didn't. Everything hurt- my head throbbed, my chest felt tight, and my limbs felt like they were going to drop off. What was a little more pain?

When I finally gathered up enough strength to quell my sobbing, I stood alone. I suppose, I sniffled weakly as I trudged over to the hearth to sit beside it, he didn't care.

I sat beside the dying light of the hearth for- God, I don't rightly know. I do know that I thought about a great many things like what the coming winter would be like or whether all of us would die without Father's care.

The twins were too young to fend for themselves and Timothy was thirteen winters. They needed him; the twins and Timothy, they all needed him far more than they needed me. What was I good for? Cooking? Cleaning? Mending holes in breeches and skirts? In my nineteen winters, I had learned nothing that would keep all of us alive.

At that moment, when I contemplated all of this, a thought filled my head. It wasn't brilliant, and it was dangerous. It filled me with horror and hope, the likes of which I can't recall I've ever felt. I wanted to rebel against the invading idea, but somewhere deep down in my core, I knew I had to obey. It was the only way to ensure that everyone remained safe.

Quiet as a mouse, I sprang to my feet and began collecting things from the pantry, from drawers and my room. I had swapped my clothes for something a bit warmer- opting to borrow a pair of Timothy's breeches, undershirt, and a woolen tunic. Nothing I wore was comfortable- the tunic was far tighter around my torso than I would have liked, and the breeches were much too tight around my backside. What I would have given to have my younger brother's lean, slender build. With a huff, I reminded myself I wasn't dressing to impress anyone or to even be comfortable, instead, to withstand the colder nights and unforgiving wilds.

When I finished, now dressed as a boy, my long ebony hair pulled back into a loose braid that started at the nape of my neck and my pinched items in one of father's leather bags, I stood motionless by the front door. Longingly I looked around- I knew I'd never see this place again, and if I did, things would never be the same.

I wanted to stay longer, to admire everything that I had taken for granted but forced myself to secure my father's thick black cloak around my shoulders and tuck my brother's knife into the waistband of my trousers.

And just as silently as I had collected all my things, I departed my sleepy village, daring not to look back at all that I knew I would never return to.