The day dawned bright and early.  For the Abbey René du Chanton, the light was a welcome respite after the fearful darkness of the night.  The day brought a new promise for a better life and   showed the Abbey that life really would prevail.   He blinked his clear blue eyes, perfect as the spring skies and stretched, running his fingers through hair dark and short, but just long enough to have a little curl to it.  He thought about all the things that must be done today, harvesting the fields, confession.   He looked forward to the challenge.                Slowly, outraged and taunting cries began to register in his mind.  An uproar was building    outside.  For what? he wondered.  He quickly rose, changed, and made his way outside.                +++++               The air was crisp with morning dew as the Abbey made his way toward the entrance of the chateau.  The church had confiscated the chateau after a vampire had terrorized the place over a hundred years ago.  A hunter had killed the creature, God rest its soul, and the church moved in, cleansing the place and making it livable again.  As a result, the king gave the chateau to the church.                Abbey Chanton was on the upper walkway that ran around the interior wall.  He swiftly made his way towards the entrance to see what the uproar was about.  He pushed his way past a few screaming people and came up beside the Bishop de Lac who stood watching the activities in the main courtyard with a serious expression on his face.  The Bishop was staying at the chateau while he, the new abbey, settled in.  Abbey Chanton looked down in the courtyard and saw a horse drawn cart.                  There were several of the church's guard gathered around the cart.  Inside was what seemed to be a beautiful noblewoman.  Her long brown hair was falling about her in a wavy mess and her rich gown was in tatters.  Beside her in the cart lay one wooden coffin covered in silver chains and a cross.  She sat beside the coffin, taking the screams and thrown vegetables in stride.  Only her desperate clutching of the coffin belied her nervousness.                Abbey Chanton glanced at the Bishop.  “Who is she?”                “We are not sure of her name, exactly, or her rank.”                The Abbey frowned.  “Then why is she here?”                The Bishop motioned toward the cart with his staff.  “Do you see that coffin?  Inside is a man, a vampire, whose beauty is incomparable.”                The Abbey eyed the coffin nervously.  “A vampire?  Why bring him here?”                The Bishop glanced at him.  “Never mind that now,” he replied.  “The Arch-Bishop is calling to us.”                Abbey Chanton looked across the courtyard to see that, indeed, Cardinal Bushon was beckoning them. +++++                Abbey Chanton followed the Bishop into the Arch-Bishop's chambers.  The Arch- Bishop had arrived a few days ago in a surprise visit.  Indeed, the Abbey and the Bishop had been very surprised.  He was an older man, with dark hair graying slightly around the temples and deep, dark eyes.  Something about the Arch-Bishop always made the Abbey nervous.  He was presently seated in an elegant chair on the far side of the room.                “Bishop de Lac, Abbey du Chanton.”                Both the Bishop and the Abbey knelt and kissed the hand of the Arch-Bishop.  Then they rose.                “I see that you have already witnessed the arrival of our new… guests.  We have a golden opportunity before us.  We have within our custody a vampire and his lady.”                “I don't mean to question your wisdom, Arch-Bishop, but do you think it safe to have that devil in the chateau?” the Abbey asked.                “The beast will be safely locked up within a room we have built expressly for this reason.   My plan, Abbey, is to try and cure this poor creature of the witch's influence.”                Abbey Chanton glanced at the Bishop, then looked back at the Arch-Bishop.  “I apologize, but I don't think I understand you.  You think that the woman is a witch and that she has cast a spell on the man, making him a vampire and now you want to cure him?”                “Precisely.”                “Brilliant idea, Arch-Bishop Bushon,” Bishop de Lac replied as the Abbey floundered for a reply.  “How do you plan to go about it?”                The Arch-Bishop relaxed into his chair.  “First, we need to save the witch's soul.  Maybe then she will release him.  Abbey Chanton, after morning mass I want you to speak with the woman and see if she is willing to repent.”                The Abbey frowned, unable to keep his concern from his face.  “And if she doesn't repent?”                The Arch-Bishop eyed him for a moment.  “Then she burns.”  Surprise and dread registered across the Abbey's face.  “After all, Abbey, you do want to save her soul, don't you?” +++++                Abbey Chanton walked through the halls of the chateau, deep in thought.  He had been unable to concentrate during mass as he should.  His mind kept wandering.  He did not mind trying to save a person's soul.  After all, it was his job.  But usually when one tries to save another's soul, one has more time than a simple conversation.  And the other's life is not in such imminent danger.                The Abbey reached the door to the dungeon where the woman was being held.  He nodded to the guards and they unlocked and opened the door, allowing him inside.  He hesitated only a moment before stepping in.                In the far corner of the room was the woman.  She had been changed into a white shift.   Her hair still fell in tangles around her face with dirt and pieces of vegetables from the mob earlier strung through it.  She was sitting in a pile of straw and was chained to the wall behind her, covered in dirt.  Even through all of it, she was still lovely.  Her skin, where it was clean, was as milky as fine cream, untouched by the sun.  And when she looked up at him, her brilliant, green-gold eyes shone at him with fiery defiance.                “So, are you here to gawk at me as well?”  she said, her voice as clear and perfect as a songbird's.                The Abbey frowned.  “No.  Have people done so?”                She shrugged.  “Well, the novelty of a witch seems to create an uproar amongst the people.”                He walked closer to her.  “My name is Abbey René du Chanton - “                “And you're here to save my soul, correct?” she finished for him, lifting her face to gaze at him.  “Sit with me, Abbey.”  The Abbey hesitated, uncertainty playing across his face.  She continued to look at him.  “Please, Abbey, sit with me.  I promise I won't curse you,” she said, cocking her head to one side and smiling like a playful kitten.                He sat down in front of her, her eyes still following his face.  “You have such lovely eyes, Abbey,” she said.  “Deep and blue and full of promise, like a warm spring sky.  And your hair is as dark and full as midnight.”                “Uh,” the Abbey stumbled and looked down, nervous under her scrutiny, “it is actually brown, not black.  It is just really dark.”                She ignored his comment, leaning towards him as her eyes roaming over his jaw and neck.  “Strong jaw line, long, lovely neck, skin pale and fresh, and very firm, kissable lips,” she said, her face so close to his he could feel her breath on his lips.                He looked at her face only inches away and whispered, “Mademoiselle, this is not appropriate.”  She began to lean into him.  He pulled away.  Anger and helplessness flashed in her eyes and she turned away.  “Now,” he continued, “why do you feel-“                “Have you ever been in love, Abbey?” she asked, her face still turned from him.                He paused, looking at her.  “I love many.  They are all-“                “No, I mean in love,” she said softly, turning back to him.  “As a man loves a woman.”                “No, mademoiselle, I have not.”                “It is the most beautiful thing, Abbey.  It is as if you whole world is falling apart, yet it is more perfect than it has ever been before.  Everything is fresh, new, and yet nothing without the one you love.”                The Abbey cleared his throat.  “The… gentleman, the…”                “Vampire?” she offered.                “Yes, the vampire.  Is… he… the one you love?”                “Yes.  Him... and another.”  Surprise flew through his face.  She laughed.  “Oh, Abbey, you are so young.  Every thought that you have fills your face like an exquisite wine.”                “I'm glad I could amuse you, mademoiselle.”                “One day, my darling.”                He looked at her quizzically.  “Mademoiselle?”                “One day you will love as I have loved.  Then you will see that the only spell that has been cast is his over my heart.  I did not make him, he made me, and I have no regrets.”                She turned her face from him.  He watched her sadly.  “Does this mean you do not wish to repent?”                “I have nothing to repent for.”                 He frowned, feeling a growing distress.  “Mademoiselle, if you don't repent-“                “They will burn me for a witch at sunset.  Yes, I know.  But I will never turn my back on my Master's love.”                “Your master…”                “Is not who you think he is.”                He paused. “Why did you try to kiss me?” he asked softly.                She looked at him, smiling softly at him.  “Because I could.”  He opened his mouth to question her further but she closed her eyes as if in pain and shook her head, turning her face from his.  “Go.  Take your beautiful, young eyes and get them out of my sight,” she said, the first touch of bitterness spilling into her voice.                The Abbey paused, unsure, and then rose, turning to the door, and calmly walked down the corridor, fighting the tears of frustration he was helpless to control. +++++                Abbey Chanton wandered the halls, aimless and unsure of himself.  He had given his report to the Arch-Bishop hours ago.  The Arch-Bishop's reply had been, “If she does not repent, then at least we can save her soul from damnation through purification.”  Which meant the fire, he thought bitterly.                Lost in thought, he didn't notice as two of the Arch-Bishop's guards approached him until they were upon him.  The Abbey looked into the sky to see the dying colors of the day.  “The Arch-Bishop requests you presence in the courtyard this evening,” one of the guards said.                Meaning, the Abbey thought, that the Arch-Bishop wanted him to watch.  He supposed he thought it would toughen the Abbey to the cruelty and evil of the world.  The Abbey wilted momentarily as he turned and walked to the courtyard.                The walkways lining the courtyard were full of people who wanted to watch the witch burn.  Rumors were circulating that the vampire had woken a few hours ago and, sensing his mistress' call, began struggling for release.  In the very center of the courtyard was the mentioned mistress, soldiers carefully piling faggots around the stake she had been tied to.                The guards escorted the Abbey to the side of the Arch-Bishop, who sat in his chair, watching the proceedings.  The Bishop was below, reading in Latin from the Bible, attempting to save her soul.  The woman stood calmly through it all, not bothered by the screams of the people or the snickers of the soldiers.  But the Abbey noticed a fine tension along her shoulders.  Did she fear for her beloved?                The soldiers and the Bishop backed away from her as a single guard stepped forward with a flaming torch in his hand.  He circled her, lighting the wood at her feet on fire.  The dry wood caught quickly, spreading its inky smoke around her, framing her in its brilliant light.  Her face, so serene, became stretched with the first signs of panic as she looked between the flames and into the audience around her.  She whispered something, but the roar of the fire stole her words from the Abbey's ear.                  Finally, as she searched the crowd, she found the Abbey.  Golden-green eyes meet blue as she searched his face for help.  All she found was deep sadness and pity.  Her eyes were torn from the Abbey's face as she tossed her head back and screamed, the flames licking at her feet.   The smell of burning flesh filled the Abbey's nostrils, but he refused to turn away, panic and horror at the woman's plight filling his senses with charred flesh and endless screams until one cry broke through the chaos…           “Jean!”