Widow's Peak

Prologue:
Lincoln Roux had a decision to make. Generally, he despised decisions. He found them strangely stressful. But, the decision he was about to make held the future of his legacy. He could feel the darkness tugging at the edges of his mind. He did not have much time left, and yet, he could not bring himself to say the words. He stood in his office, at the large window, overlooking the waves crashing against the shore below. He'd stood over this window for years, many years. He never thought he would ever feel this particular darkness. This was not the simple urgings of the sleep he had to undergo every day. No, this was much stronger. The pull was almost irresistible. It meant his obsession had finally failed him; his years of life were coming to an end. The strangest part was that in these final moments he was thinking of one thing: the woman he left in Oregon years earlier. Surely, she was a woman now. He had seen her when she was still securely wrapped in his lover's belly. He was sure his lover had left the girl, as it was in her nature to do so. Women like her did not stay long; they did not get attached. He closed his eyes briefly the stinging pain of a headache forming behind his temples. He silently called out for his assistant. The man, of course, got the message sharing in Lincoln's telepathy. Irvin Remington was a tall, skinny man. He was pale as they all were. He had blue eyes that often appeared icy, and too big. They were scary for those who did not know him. He had fair hair that hung over his face covering a good portion of it. "Get the girl," Lincoln ordered without turning to look at him. Irvin stilled, icy eyes going over his distant friend "are you confident? She knows not what she is." Lincoln growled "do not doubt my decisions, Irvin. Bring the girl here. Directly after I descend into the cemetery, bring her here." The taller, infinitely more attractive man turned, and stalked from the room. He knew that would be the last time he saw Irvin. The darkness was stronger now. Quickly, he fled his castle. The cemetery was right next door, a few feet from the left side of the castle. Lincoln made at there as the first drops of rain began to fall. The island would know now. Lincoln was fading. The grave had already been dug, the headstone already placed. With a flick of his wrist he was inside the coffin, and dirt falling on top. He breathed his final breath. The darkness loomed ever closer. He counted to ten before closing his eyes, and letting the darkness take over.