You were young, fresh out of youth. You met him in a little hollow, where he thought you were too good for that town. He wooed you and swept you up, and promised you great things, charmed you with his slick tongue. He was ambitious and full of inspiration. His Charisma lured you and amused you. He thought you were the most perfect thing. You were in love, both of you.

And as he promised, he'd taken you out for a ride. He didn't tell you where, or why, but he figured you needed some time out alone together. You were pulling your weight with him, Hosea, and young Arthur. He stopped The Count next to a tree, and helped you off.

You both found yourself under the tree, in the brush. Your back to the ground, and he laid on his stomach with his leg over yours. his hand in your hair. He'd whisper things. Dreams, ideas, his plans, sweet nothings. "We'll get our fortune, and it'll bring its many problems, but I wouldn't never let a thing happen to you." He whispered.