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He was a cursed man. Cursed to lose his family. Cursed to live a life of a devil. Cursed to live in darkness. Cursed with a soul so he may regret everything. Cursed to lose the love of his life over and over again.

Angel was undeniably a rather queer vampire. He felt more than cruelty and spite. He was more than his kin who were slaves to their own desires and whims.

Several hundred years ago he had been a faithful servant of the even older Master. Angel, or as he was known then, Angelus, was the cruelest of the cruel and as twisted as you could imagine, and then some. He was everything in the dark that you had to fear. Yet even before he had a soul, he had been unusual. He was lonely.

The first lover he took was Darla. Darla had had a hard life. She was sold at the tender age of fourteen to a whore house. When Angelus found her dying on the street during the seventeen hundreds, he was still young for a vampire, barely a hundred. To the Master, he claimed it was a whim, for she was indeed a very beautiful woman, but a part of him knew it was because the Scourge of Europe wanted to be loved.

It didn't take him long to become bored with her and leave him aching for someone else. Drusilla was his next victim. She was different from Darla in every possible way. She had dark hair and a willowy frame that made Darla's blonde hair and voluptuous figure less appealing to Angelus.

His attention drove Darla jealous as well as her dream life. Drusilla had everyone Darla had not: a loving family, servants, and a huge house. Darla convinced Angelus to kill Drusilla's entire family before her to prove that she had no choice, but be with them for eternity.

The tragedy destroyed Drusilla's mind and her insanity remained with her during her transformation.

Angelus grew bored with her even quicker. He felt he needed a friend more than a lover at that point. He discovered William the Bloody. A man who was all to eager to please since the chance to wreak havoc for eternity had presented itself. For Angelus though, he wasn't enough. He wanted a friend, not a faithful servant although for a hundred years it did well enough as they became Europe's nightmare.

One night he learned of Drusilla and Spike, as William dubbed himself, deciding to become mates. Although he treated her as nothing more than a toy, he became jealous; his loyal little Spike had taken what was his. In disgust, he left the trio to travel on his own.

A decade later, Angelus came across camping gypsies. A gleeful smirk graced his lips as he crept into one of the caravans, graceful as ever. A woman with a long, white dress and waist-length hair slept peacefully. Angelus could tell with his superb night vision how beautiful she was and how earthy and floral she smelled. The thought of draining her pleased him as he crawled beside her. She shifted in her sleep and threw an arm around his waist. He quirked an eyebrow and promptly assumed she shared this caravan with her lover. A distraught man popped into his mind and the idea made him even hungrier. The havoc that would ensue played in Angelus's mind, painting a beautiful picture of gore. His lips brushed her collarbone and his nose buried itself into her shoulder, enjoying her soft flesh and mouth watering scent. It was almost frightening how animal like he behaved. His face morphed and his fangs burrowed into her neck. She struggled weakly, gasping.

Her body fell limp, her scream died between her plump lips and her hazel eyes were wide in fear. Satisfied, Angelus licked his lips and strolled out of the caravan, ready to kill more although he was admittedly full.

If he had left then, he would have had a very different future, but he stalked towards another caravan. The smoke from the fire was heavy in the air along with laughter and music. The smell of food was pleasant even if food had ceased to satisfy Angelus's hunger. He paused in reminisce of the taverns he used to drink him self silly in and then everything went black.

He lost track of time when he awoke hours later. He was tied up in another caravan. The fire could be seen outside through the crack between the curtains and it was burning high and warm. Angelus sneered at the thought of being burned like a low life, easily caught and staked.

A male gypsy and three elderly women, witches by the vibe of them, entered, standing tall, pridefully and with cold anger in their eyes. People who have a been magic users are always drenched in this kind of stifling aura that exuded grace and power. The gypsy spoke in his native tongue, practically spitting at Angelus, much to his disdain, "Vermin, demon, scum, tonight you have drank your last victim. For the murder of my lover, we shall curse you to watch your own soulmate die over and over again until she kills you by her own desire."

Angelus morphed his face, being the monster they see him as and grinned. He struggled against the enchanted rope that made him weak and inched near them, a rough laughter coloring his words, "I do not fear your silly spells for I have no soul. I am God's forsaken child and I do not have a need for love, but the love of havoc and despair. I shall wreck havoc on your people and I shall enjoy your cries. Oh, you should have seen the light disappear from your lover's eyes. Those gasps of desperation were the last things on her lips. I do not fear you or any mortal man. I will have my revenge on you if it is the last thing I do!"

"If it is a soul you should need, then a soul you shall have." The man growled at the manic looking leech as he writhed on the floor, roaring with laughter. They exited the caravan.

Angelus returned to a sneer as his laughter faded and snorted. No magic could bring back a vampire's soul, no way, no how. He returned to the window, watching the three witches as they chanted and mixed. He rolled his eyes and tried to focus on escaping. The various items in the caravan were useless to unbind him, but he found a broken chair leg that could chip his way through the wall and be used as a weapon. Angelus remembered with a strange sort of fondness the fights he used to get himself into, wielding only a barstool. He whistled a bar song as he chipped away.

Three days and two nights passed and Angelus was almost free. He could see light shining through the hole he had made and began to kick to weaken the wood. If he hadn't slept during the day time then he probably would have gotten out sooner, but then again if he had his power back then he would have taken an hour tops. He shrugged, time was something that vampires had spades of.

He crawled through the hole and began running. Thoughts of who could free him for a fair price ran through his head before he felt a ringing in his ears. He screamed out as his chest compressed and his brain felt like it was going to implode. Slowly, he turned around and fell to his knees, the man from before was staring at him, righteously judging him as he gasped out in desperation. Angelus felt a rush of feelings flow into him. The guilt and the shame washed over him and he realized that they had succeeded and he was now a vampire with a soul. His loneliness could no longer be suppressed and he now understood how effective the gypsies' threats were. The man untied him and Angelus fled, every moment of havoc playing through his perfect vampire memory.

AN: Please review. Thank you