He knew he had done something wrong. Something he should never have done, ever.

But he could not help it. He was curious. He had spent his entire childhood and now adulthood in the castle, cast away, forgotten, and pushed aside.

He had gone out of the scarlet fence a few times.

He just wanted to see how "ordinary" human beings live.

He stood among the massive trees and shrubs in the forest and just watched, in silence, human beings who walked on the winding hilly paths. Families. Friends. Lovers. Strangers.

How does it feel to have a family—a family who loves me? he wondered.

How does it feel to love and be loved by someone else, and that person stays with you through all storms of life, maybe have a child? Build a life together?

Arran knew Sylve would be furious, she might even finally hate him enough to execute him, if she knew he had been sneaking out of the scarlet fence when she and her followers took a deep rest because of their weakened condition.

But he saw nothing wrong, nothing dangerous in what he had been doing. He would make sure to always stay out of sight of anyone, he would make sure he did not leave any traceable tracks. He always had his silver necklace around his neck and before sunset he would always come back to the castle of Sylve. So when Sylve awoke from her slumber, she would find him in the back garden, tending to their plants.

He was a cursed, abhorred being. He knew that, he knew it all too well.

He looked like a human being, but he was not, nor would he ever be, just an ordinary human being. His blood was tainted. He ranked below human beings.

His archery and sword and hand-to-hand combat skills were extraordinary, he had so many years to practice. All that so he would be ready to lay down his life to protect Sylve, her followers, and those human beings outside the scarlet fence when the time called for it.

Arran was fine with it—with the fact that his life was disposable, he should suffer, he should be kept in the castle, in the prison of scarlet fence and bracelet. He should serve human beings and guard their safety.

Though today his steadfast though sad heart fluttered, like the last tree leaf of summer that finally was ready to give up and fall to earth by the strength of the autumn wind.

He saw her.

That moment was the exact moment he learned what sunlight meant to a barren soul like his.

She was light to his darkness, and he basked in the warmth of it. He caught a glimpse of her as she walked through the forest with two other people—he would guess they were her parents.

Charlotte.

That was the name he heard the older man, he assumed he was her father, calling her.

Charlotte. He repeated the name to himself, he did not want to forget it. He engraved the name in his heart. Deep and protected.

When he saw that she knew she was being watched, he realized he had to keep a farther distance from her, so he did. He did not want to scare her, she should never know that he existed. Never. He would just fade away in the background among the trees and let her have her space.

She went with the two other to the site where the human beings were doing some digging. Arran did not like that—digging so close to the chasm. But Sylve had said they would not interfere for now. Thus Arran decided not to do anything about the human beings' digging activities. It did seem to him that they were trying to learn something. Learning was good.

Then he saw Charlotte playing with the little girl, and she wore the strangest thing on her nose. A red ball, and she sang and danced so happily.

What is that thing she puts on her nose? Why would she wear it to dance and sing? Arran tilted his head and wondered. Unplanned to him, a faint smile just appeared on his face. He stood and realized that he quite enjoyed the singing and dancing with that-that red ball on the nose performed by Charlotte.

But Arran snapped back to reality and he knew his place. He slowly backed away, back into the shadow of the trees, and turned around to go home to the castle.

It was like a little piece of his heart got chipped away with every step he took. He fought hard with himself to not look back. He balled his fists, stared straight ahead, walked faster, and took a relieved sigh when he was far enough from Charlotte. Now his right hand twirled his necklace. His lifeline to the human world, the one that tilted the balance in his life toward light.

Charlotte. I hope you will have a happy life. You do not know me, and it will stay that way. Goodbye. My name is Arran, I am an abomination, I am a taboo. I am the untouchable.

Arran went back to the enchanted castle of Sylve, entered the scarlet fence, and walked to the back garden where a couple acres of land existed with plants that he meticulously grew and took care.

He knew of course that Sylve's powerful sorcery had kept this castle and all the land around it invisible to human beings for centuries. Time did not work here. It had stopped long ago. This castle stood atop a chasm that led to the demonic abyss where Rogh the demon lived. This castle, Sylve and her followers, and him, they were guardians of the abyss. They guarded it with their entire life, for all eternity, to prevent Rogh from ever coming up here from his hell down there.

Arran felt a gnawing hatred when he thought about Rogh. Hatred that turned to a silent rage that for a moment made his silver necklace lost its shine and grew darker.

His towering muscular body shook as he closed his eyes, trying hard to chase Rogh away from his mind. His breathing became faster, sweats covered his face. The thick black jagged line tattoo that ran from his left temple to his left jaw seemed to pulsate when his fingers scratched it as if he was trying to remove it.

"Rogh ..." he whispered in between his struggle to contain his rage, then he fell, kneeling down on the ground, grabbing a handful of soil and grounding himself to earth. His place was here. Rogh had no power over him. He was in the company of spring, of sun and blossoming flowers and ripening fruits, of drizzles, and of gentle breeze of the wind.

And Charlotte, her strange red ball nose, her singing and dancing. They all entered his mind, like a powerful battalion of warriors, they chased away Rogh from Arran's mind.

The tender glow of his silver necklace was back when his breath became slower and calmer.

Arran closed his eyes, let Charlotte linger in it for a moment, and realized just the thought of her, a strange lady he just saw, someone who would never know he existed, made him feel lighter.

He walked among rows of plants: Vegetables and fruits of all sorts—spring had brought out the best in them. All kinds of berries that had shown ripe fruits grabbed his attention.

Then he stood still in front of a row of ripe strawberries. Beautiful, bright red, plump sun-ripened strawberries. His hands started plucking some berries, then put these on a large wooden bowl.

With the bowl on his hand, he walked to the side of the field where the scarlet fence was, and whistled.

Busy flapping of wings was heard and a group of different birds came flying.

"Here are some for you, my friends! Thank you for not plucking my plants! As promised, I will give you a bit of my berries everyday!" Arran lifted the bowl filled with berries. The birds were chirping and flying around the bowl.

He set the bowl on the ground, and the birds chirped around it, looked at him, and started eating the berries with Arran looking at them with satisfaction in his eyes.

Then something else crossed his mind; an idea, an idea so new, so wild for him that he found his breath become faster. An idea that he never thought he could think of!

He toyed with the idea for some time—shaking his head, cancelling the idea, then pausing to watch the berries again, then nodding. He would do it. Why not? It would not endanger anyone.

From a gardener cottage that he had built himself entirely out of oak wood, he took a small jute bag.

He went to the berries, and started plucking a mix of strawberries, blueberries, blackberries. He chose the best ones, the most ripened ones.

The jute bag was filled, and he carefully tied it with a red jute rope.

It was for Charlotte.

Wild and crazy idea, he knew that. But he could just drop it off by the edge of the forest where she was with the people who were busy digging, and hope she would get it. Maybe he would even put her name on the jute bag, though he decided against it soon. He did not want to scare her.

No, Sylve would not know this.

He would go tomorrow, hopefully he could see Charlotte again, though he promised himself he would not be disappointed if she was not there.

After the jute bag was tied, Arran just sat on the ground next to his berries. He saw the birds had finished eating his berries. The small birds started flying around, chirping and finally taking flight higher and higher, and disappearing.

But there was one bird that remained. A large golden eagle. It looked regal as it perched itself on a branch of an oak tree close to where the berries were. It had not eaten the berries, but Arran knew it had been watching the smaller birds having a feast like it was their guard, making sure its little friends were alright.

"Good day, Sir!" Arran waved his hand at the eagle.

The large bird of prey tilted its head, and flew down to Arran. It set itself next to Arran, and from that distance, Arran could see the bird had a tuft of reddish feather right on top of its head. Unique eagle, Arran said in his mind.

"You have been watching over your little friends. The robins, the sparrows, the wrens. Do not worry. I will cause them no harm," Arran spoke in a serious tone.

The majestic eagle stared at him with its blackish-brownish eyes like it wanted to make sure Arran meant his words.

Then its attention turned to the jute bag filled with berries that laid next to Arran. It gently pecked the bag.

"The berries in the bag is not for you, Sir. That one is for—" Arran paused. For whom? The intelligent eagle looked at him, waiting for the end of his sentence. "For ... someone I just saw today. This young woman. Charlotte. I think she is-is sweet. She will never know me though." Arran sighed, the eagle tilted its head as if it understood every word, and it flapped its massive wings and took flight.

Arran got up, grasping the small jute bag. He would hide it in the gardener cottage until tomorrow.

Sylve would be awakened soon.