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Dracula

Summary:

When the ancient vampire Dracula travels from Transylvania to London and declares war on humanity, his plans are complicated by the unexpected encounter with Lucy Westenra, the reincarnation of his long-dead wife. Now, in a race against time to save her sister's soul from the King of Vampires, Mina Murray, along with her closest friends and the legendary vampire hunter Van Helsing, must find a way to end Dracula's tyranny and prevent Lucy from becoming one of the undead.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Chapter 1: Prolgue

Chapter Text

Dark Universe

Image

Written by Andrew Downs and Thomas Lapeyrouse III


   Deep in the rugged Carpathian Mountains of Transylvania, Romania, in May 1897, the sun began to set as a lone carriage wound its way through the mist-shrouded roads. Among the few passengers on board was Jonathan Harker, a fresh-faced solicitor, filled with a potent mix of excitement and trepidation as he embarked on his first professional assignment. His destination? The foreboding castle of Count Dracula, a reclusive Transylvanian nobleman with whom Harker’s agency sought to secure a real estate transaction for the sale of Carfax Abbey in London. Eager to recount his adventure to his beloved fiancée, Wilhelmina ‘Mina’ Murray, Jonathan had thus far documented every detail of his journey meticulously over the past two weeks. [Dracula the Musical – Prologue]

   As the carriage made its way to the modest village of Bistritz, Jonathan wrote in his journal, recounting his adventures thus far: vivid descriptions of the enchanting landscapes of Eastern Europe, the exotic cuisines he savored at the wayside inns (which he’d acquired recipes for and planned to give to Mina upon his return), and an eerie account of how he’d once strayed from the carriage into the woods only to be guided back by an enigmatic white wolf with red streaks in its fur. Jonathan mused that the trip had taken him two weeks to travel from London to Bistritz and that whatever adventures lay ahead were more than a lawyer’s clerk usually experienced.

   As Jonathan approached the end of his ride, he placed his journal back into his carry-on and pulled out the letter that’d beckoned him on this unsettling journey. As he did so, however, a photo accidentally fell out. Picking it up, Jonathan smiled as it showed his beloved Mina and her adoptive sister, Lucy Westenra. Carefully placing the photo back in his journal and stowing them away, he reopened the letter and reread it once again to ensure he’d gone over every detail. The invitation was from the Count himself, informing him that one of his servants would meet Jonathan in Bistritz and accompany him the rest of the way to the castle via a coach through the Borgo Pass.

   At last, the carriage finally came to a halt in Bistritz, a remote village a few miles from the Bargo Pass. Nestled amidst dark, foreboding forests and rugged terrain, the village held an air of isolation. The landscape was both beautiful and intimidating, with a lingering mist that hung close to the ground. The village’s buildings, crafted from a mix of sturdy stone and weathered timber, were of unmistakably Eastern European design, their facades weathered by time and the elements. At the heart of the village stood the central square, locally referred to as the Court of Miracles, dominated by a large, ancient fountain, its surface cracked and worn.

   As the other passengers disembarked from the carriage, Jonathan entered the local inn, the Golden Krone, and asked the innkeeper, Michael Visaroff, if he knew when the next carriage would be arriving. Visaroff either appeared to not understand Jonathan’s English or didn’t know of any other scheduled carriages coming that night. Deciding to wait for his escort, Jonathan took one of the tables in the inn’s little dining area. A few hours later, Jonathan looked outside again as the sun began to set, and yet still saw no carriage had arrived. Knowing the importance of his arrival, Jonathan thought it strange that no one had yet come to escort him, or even look for him.

   Seeing his distress, the innkeeper’s wife, Barbara Bozoky-Visaroff, brought a small plate of food to his table. As Jonathan thanked her, he inquired to her if she knew anything of the man he’d been sent to meet. Upon saying the name Dracula, however, the woman dropped her tray and stared at him in abject horror. As Jonathan went to help her pick up the tray, he noticed that the entire room, which had been a bustle of joy, singing, and merriment mere moments ago, had suddenly become as quiet as the grave, with all of the villagers staring at him, frozen in place in pale-faced fear. As the sun began to slip away behind the mountains, the innkeepers and villagers rushed to Jonathan, begging and pleading with him not to go in a mix of English and an unfamiliar language he barely understood. They warned Jonathan about something of the “Night of Evil” and that “Nosferatu” inhabited the castle.

   As the sun finally vanished into the night, the door to the inn suddenly burst open and the crowd quickly moved away from Jonathan. Watching with waited breath, the villager’s fear filling him with a sense of dread, Jonathan watched as a striking woman entered the inn, who’d seemingly materialized from the mist itself. She had pale brown skin and an athletic look, with red hair tied in two long braids. Looking at her attire, Jonathan assumed she was a servant of some kind, with an intricate red collar around her neck. But most striking of all to Jonathan was that she had red eyes and slightly pointed ears – both of which he just chalked up to exotic foreign traits and possibly albinism. Jonathan rationalized that her strange appearance must have been why the villagers were so scared, for as she smiled and spoke kindly to them, they either ignored her or backed away. How unfortunate, Jonathan thought, that some places in the world still were fueled by prejudices towards others and the superstition of the unknown.

   When the woman finally spotted Jonathan sitting at his table, she smiled brightly and hurried to him. She introduced herself as Aleera Popofsky, a servant of Count Dracula, and apologized for her lateness, having been unfortunately delayed (she had to wait until the sun was down). Unlike the monster the villagers were making her out to be, Jonathan saw her as a kind person. As Aleera offered to carry his luggage (which she did effortlessly despite his own struggle to carry them), she escorted him to a waiting immaculate black carriage.

   Jonathan immediately recognized that the carriage belonged to nobility who had a deep appreciation for gothic aesthetics. The carriage was meticulously crafted from weathered, ebony mahogany, boasting multiple windows that allowed the moonlight to filter through. The mounted lanterns at the four corners cast a ghostly light upon the dark exterior. Delicate silver filigree adorned the edges, and intricate carvings of bats, wolves, and other creatures of the night seemed to come to life, their forms emerging from the wood with an almost haunting realism. The wheels were of exquisite design, forged from iron and embellished with silver, while their spokes were fashioned to resemble elongated fangs. The hubs proudly displayed the Count’s regal crest of a red dragon, adding an unmistakable air of aristocracy to the carriage.

   Perched atop the carriage’s driver’s seat was the mysterious coachman. The man was shrouded in a long, flowing dark coat that billowed in the chilling night wind. His face remained hidden behind a raised high collar and the wide brim of his hat, creating shadows that concealed his identity. Every now and then, his piercing red eyes would briefly come into view, exuding a keen and perceptive gaze. In his hands, he held reins connected to a team of emaciated midnight-black stallions, their eyes glowing with an unnatural intelligence.

   As Aleera loaded his luggage and Jonathan prepared to board the carriage, he failed to notice how all the villagers had suddenly gone back to their business, avoiding looking at Jonathan or Aleera, or vanished to the inn’s rooms – all except the innkeeper’s wife. Just as he was about to step inside, Mrs. Bozoky-Visaroff dashed to grab his arm and delivered an ominous warning, pleading with him to reconsider for the sake of his safety. She told Jonathan that it was the eve of St. George’s Day, when “all the evil things in the world will have full sway.”

   When he politely refused, Mrs. Bozoky then put a crucifix around his neck, saying, “For your mother’s sake, then.” As Jonathan looked at the crucifix, he failed to see as Aleera, who was already sitting in the carriage, dropped her cheery smile and shoot the innkeeper’s wife an evil glare – her eyes briefly shifting to resemble wolf eyes; glowing, angry, and hungry. As Jonathan looked up to thank Mrs. Bozoky, he saw she’d vanished back inside the inn. Turning back to enter the carriage, Jonathan saw Aleera with the same bright smile and kind eyes.

   As Jonathan stepped into the carriage, it was as if he’d been transported to a world of lavishness and comfort. The soft glow of candelabras affixed to the walls bathed the interior in a warm, ambient light; their flickering flames casting dancing shadows that played across the carriage’s interior. The seats, adorned with plush crimson velvet, provided a striking contrast to the carriage’s dark exterior. Adding to the mystique, black curtains with intricate blood-red patterns of roses and thorns were pulled open, tied by elaborate red cord.

   As the carriage departed, Jonathan watched as Aleera opened a window to wave at the people as if she were royalty or a celebrity, while many of the villagers ran back into their homes. From a window, he saw Mrs. Bozoky shielding her child behind her and making the sign of the cross in his direction. As they left, Jonathan asked why the villagers seemed so frightened of her. Aleera apologized for the villagers’ strange behavior, explaining that many of them were simply superstitious and had always been apprehensive towards her master’s reclusive family. She assured him that it was nothing to worry of and that he’d understand when he met her master.

   As they made their way through the Borgo Pass, Jonathan, in an attempt to calm his nerves, found himself writing in his journal. While engrossed in writing, he noticed Aleera’s gaze fixated on the photograph of Mina and Lucy he'd set aside. Though he chalked it up to his nervousness, he could’ve sworn he’d seen a flicker of shock briefly cross Aleera’s face as she stared at the photo – as if she were seeing a ghost; but when he blinked, she looked as cheerful as she’d been the entire ride. When Aleera inquired about the women in the picture, Jonathan explained that they were his fiancée and future sister-in-law, eagerly awaiting his return at Whitby Bay in Yorkshire, the place where he and Mina had first met. He explained that he and Mina planned to finally be married once his business transaction with Dracula was finished and he returned to her.

   Later, as the night fully enveloped the sky, Aleera informed Harker that they’d finally arrived. [Dracula Untold – Prologue] Jonathan peered out of the carriage window and saw a colossal gothic structure perched on a jagged cliff overlooking a deep chasm. The structure, in a notable state of ruin, featured towering spires and turrets that extended at impossible angles, defying gravity and piercing the dark sky like jagged teeth. Overhead, the stormy sky swirled with dark clouds and occasional flashes of lightning, illuminating the castle and hundreds of bats circling above. As they got closer, Jonathan heard from the thick, dark forests surrounding the castle the howls of wild packs of wolves; announcing their arrival like trumpeters, which Aleera seemed to smile at the sound of.

   As they passed the worn iron gates of the estate, Jonathan saw waiting for them at the entrance was an elegant, snow-white-skinned woman – appearing almost ethereal and spectral. With an intelligent air about her, she tucked an out-of-place strand of ebony hair behind her slightly pointed ears into her low-cropped bun, reaffixed her black lensless glasses, and adjusted the same red collar around her neck that Aleera wore. As Jonathan and Aleera stepped out of the carriage, the woman introduced herself as Verona Vilisevic, the Steward of the Castle. Before Aleera could utter a word, Verona swiftly instructed her to take Jonathan’s luggage to his room and escorted Jonathan inside herself, informing Aleera that they would have a conversation later about her delayed arrival. As the last of the luggage was removed from the carriage, the coachman wiped at the horses which let out a scream as they departed into the night.

   As they approached the castle, Jonathan couldn’t help but be awed by the massive, weathered stone walls of the ancient structure. The dark, aged stone gave the castle an eerie, timeless appearance, hinting at untold centuries of history and concealed mysteries. Monstrous gargoyles perched on ledges and corners added to the sense of foreboding; their twisted forms and menacing expressions sent shivers down Jonathan’s spine. The once-grand doors, now decayed with the passage of time, parted with a loud, rusted squeaking.

   Upon entering the castle, Jonathan was immediately struck by the grandeur and decay that coexisted within its walls. The entrance hall was vast and imposing, with high ceilings and stone walls that echoed with their footsteps. The dim lighting, provided by flickering candles and torches, cast long shadows that danced across the cold stone floor, creating an atmosphere of unease. As they entered the foyer, Verona instructed Jonathan to wait there while she announced his arrival to her master.

   As Jonathan waited, he took in the opulent yet faded grandeur of the foyer and main hall – rich tapestries that were now mouth-eaten, ornate chandeliers missing dozens of crystals, and luxurious furniture either torn or worn out all hinted at Dracula’s once immense wealth and lofty status. The walls were adorned with tapestries and faded portraits, remnants of a bygone era that hinted at the castle’s storied past. The twin stairs leading on either side to higher floors were adorned with ornate carvings depicting twisted vines and grotesque figures that seemed to come alive in the flickering candlelight.

   Despite the resemblance to the fantasy novels that Mina loved to read to him, the dim lighting, shadowy corners, and palpable sense of unease in the air created a deeply unsettling atmosphere. If the castle was any reflection of its master, then Jonathan felt an urgent desire to conclude their business deal as quickly as possible.

   After what seemed like an eternity – with Jonathan swearing he saw eerie creatures darting around the darkened castle out of the corner of his eyes – he turned his attention to the weathered stained-glass window. The windows were tall and narrow, allowing only slivers of moonlight to penetrate the darkness within. Gazing through the small slits, Jonathan looked out at the desolate, gloomy countryside surrounding the castle. The distant howls of wolves, accompanied by other unidentifiable, terrifying sounds, echoed through the air, sending a chill down his spine.

   Suddenly, a voice broke the silence, commenting on the haunting beauty of the sounds. Startled, Jonathan spun around to see a mysterious, unnaturally pale elderly figure clad in black standing behind him. The elderly man’s tall, imposing presence and deep, sorrowful red eyes gazing out at the forest left Jonathan with a feeling of inexplicable unease.

   “Um, excuse me?” Jonathan asked.

   The man, still gazing out the window, responded, “Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!”

   Breaking his gaze from the window, the man offered his apologies and extended a warm welcome to Jonathan, introducing himself as the master of the castle, Count Vladislaus Dracula Ţepeş III. Relieved to finally meet the man he was sent to see, Jonathan stuck out his hand to greet Dracula. As the two shook hands, Jonathan noted the ornate bat-symbol ring adorning Dracula's hand, the wolf headed cane the count leaned against, the impressive strength of Dracula’s grip, and how the ice-cold hand was more like that of a dead man’s than a living one. As the two conversed, Jonathan noticed the same exotic foreign marks that Aleera and Verona bore: pointed ears, exceptionally pale skin, and extremely sharp teeth. Still, the Count’s greeting was so warm that the Englishman’s fears vanished.

   As Jonathan prepared to present the deeds to Dracula’s new estate in order to conclude their business quickly, a young woman in her late 30's entered the room and informed them that dinner was ready. Though he couldn’t be certain, Jonathan guessed that she might’ve been the Count’s daughter, as she bore a striking resemblance to him: pale skin, soft red eyes, and slightly pointed ears. She was dressed in black Victorian gothic clothes, apparently already trying to become accustomed to the fashion of the country they’d be moving shortly to. Jonathan also noticed that she wore the same intricate red collar around her neck that Aleera and Verona wore. Strange, he’d assumed that was some sort of foreign mark of a servant. Perhaps it was just a bit of fashion for people of high social standing in Transylvania?

   Jonathan’s thoughts were broken as Dracula thanked his daughter, Marya, for informing them and suggested that they continue their discussion over dinner. As they walked down a series of corridors that wound through the castle like veins, Jonathan was startled as the Count and his daughter seemingly passed through a large spider’s web that’d spread from wall to wall without disturbing it. The corridors were lined with suits of armor with bat-like emblems and ancient relics, their presence adding to the sense of history and mystery that permeated the castle.

   When they reached the Great Hall, Jonathan was amazed by the long, wooden dining table, decorated with ornate carvings and bearing a lavish supper. It was surrounded by high-backed chairs, with the largest at the head of the table, seeming to watch over the room like silent sentinels. A massive fireplace with a roaring fire loomed at one end of the hall, its mantel adorned with cobwebs and dust. Standing at the ready by the dining table were Aleera, Verona, and another woman, seemingly the last of Dracula’s servants – a pale beauty named Marishka Karelova, who had spiraling blonde curls and blue eyes. She was adorned in a similar attire to Aleera and Verona, conveying her servant status – albeit hers emphasized her sex appeal more so.

   After sitting, with Dracula at the head of the table and Marya and Jonathan on either side of him, Dracula bid Jonathan to enjoy the feast prepared in his honor. As Jonathan began eating from the sumptuous spread laid before them, he noticed that Dracula and his daughter abstained from eating, to which the Count apologized and told him they’d had a bite before he arrived. What Jonathan didn’t notice, however, were Dracula’s servants watching him as he ate, especially Marishka who stared at him like a piece of meat. With a stern look, Dracula silently bid them to leave without Jonathan’s notice.

   As the meal progressed, Jonathan discussed Dracula’s plans to relocate to London. He expressed concern about the potential expenses involved in moving Dracula, his daughter, and his servants across the sea, along with all his possessions, and how expensive such a venture would be. Dracula assured him that money was not an issue, and once the papers were signed, a crew would be dispatched to initiate the relocation.

   Jonathan, still curious, asked if Dracula had any acquaintances in England awaiting his arrival. Dracula responded that he knew Jonathan and that other contacts had been informed in advance to ensure his arrival was well-received.

   Jonathan commented that London was a big change from where Dracula was currently living. Still, Dracula admitted that, while he, his daughter, and his three servants were accustomed to solitude, he needed to experience new ways and meet new people Jonathan found this curious, as he was sure that there were at least four servants with the Couchman included, but kept this to himself.

   Dracula further explained his desire to begin a new life in this new country to aid his daughter. She’d spent her entire life in the weathered castle, facing the prejudices of the locals. He wished to relocate to London to leave behind this life so that his daughter had a safer place to establish herself.

   After the meal, Dracula offered to let Jonathan rest for the night in one of his guest rooms and get ready for his journey back home after they signed the paperwork the following morning. As Dracula escorted Jonathan down a long corridor to his room, the Count warned Jonathan that while he remained his guest, he could enter any room within the castle that was unlocked, and that all rooms barred from him were ones he would not wish to enter anyway. After the Count took his leave, Jonathan composed a letter to Mina, expressing his desire to conclude his business soon so he could return to her and finally make her his wife.

Chapter 2: Nightmares in Whitby

Chapter Text

Dark Universe

Image

Written by Andrew Downs and Thomas Lapeyrouse III


 

   On a tranquil August 6 morning in Whitby Bay, England, the air was filled with scent of the sea on the winds and the sounds of sailors bustling about at harbor, preparing their vessels for the open seas. Meanwhile, Mina Murray leaned on the balcony railing of her hotel room, her gaze fixed on the horizon. A profound sense of hope and longing weighed heavily on her heart. Hope that her beloved Jonathan would return to her that day. That she would see a ship entering the harbor, bearing him back from his long journey. Like Odysseus returning from his epic odyssey, she dreamed of the moment when she would run into his arms, his embrace ending the nightmare of his absence. Mina’s eyes scanned the waters of the bay which stretched out to the vast sea before her, shimmering under the gentle rays of the rising sun. Yet, despite her fervent anticipation, no ships appeared on the horizon, and her heart sank with each passing moment.

   The rhythmic ebb and flow of the waves seemed to mirror the ebb and flow of her emotions. Over time, the silence that followed Jonathan’s letter from a month ago, promising his swift return, had grown into a palpable, gnawing concern. What could have befallen him on his return journey? Was he beset by peril on the way home, or had illness left him unable to reach her? The most distressing possibility loomed in her mind: had he, in her absence, found solace in the company of another? Mina dashed such thought as soon as it flickered through her mind, faithful in her belief in Jonathan’s commitment and loyalty. That she was his only and her his. However, the longer he remained lost in silence, their dream of marrying upon his return seemed to drift further and further away, sustained only by Mina’s unwavering hope for his safe return.

   Hearing movement from inside the room as her companion stirred awake, Mina reluctantly stepped away from the balcony and closed the balcony doors, enveloping herself in the soft light spilling in through the windows. Before turning away, she offered a silent prayer to the winds, carrying her most fervent wish for Jonathan’s swift and safe return.

   As she re-entered the room, Mina was greeted by her sister Lucy, her mass of blonde bedhead obscuring her face as she let out a long yawn. As Lucy rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, Mina untied the soft straps that’d secured her to the bedding, a precaution against her habitual sleepwalking – a trait inherited from their beloved late father. Although technically Lucy’s father, he’d always shown equal love and affection toward both of his daughters. Mina’s parents had been dear friends with the Westenras, and when they tragically fell victim to the madman Jack the Ripper ten years ago, leaving young Mina orphaned, the Westenras had opened their home and hearts to her, ultimately bringing her into their family as one of their own.

   After stretching her limbs to alleviate the stiffness from a fitful night’s sleep, Lucy reached for the worn leather-bound journal that lay resting on the nightstand beside her bed. The journal had been a gift from her grandmother and held a special place in her heart. Flipping through the pages until she found one of the few remaining blank pages, Lucy began to write details of the recurring dream that’d haunted her nights for as long as she could remember. She tried to recall all the information she could remember to capture every detail, hoping to one day uncover the cause or meaning of this dream. As she wrote, she paused to look over her previous entries. Sketched within were repeated drawings of a pair of hauntingly familiar red eyes belonging to the mysterious figure she’d seen only in her dreams. The eyes seemed to follow her, evoking a sense of both comfort and impending danger.

   Looking over her sister’s shoulder, Mina asked why she kept only drawing the man’s eyes and not his face. With a solemn expression, Lucy explained she could never remember the man’s face; it was as if it would always shift and change, eluding her grasp. Mina, with a gentle and understanding demeanor, attempted to rationalize the dreams, suggesting they may have been a result of the various suitors Lucy had throughout the years – from Quincy Morris, the rugged American cowboy, to Dr. Jack Seward, the enigmatic psychiatrist, and now Arthur Holmwood, the wealthy son of Lord Godalming.

   Lucy chuckled at the idea, even playfully suggesting it might be Jonathan, but when she looked up and saw the hurt on Mina’s face, she instantly regretted her words. Lucy apologized, saying she was tired and didn’t sleep well that night. Mina, ever supportive, offered a comforting touch, patting her hand in a forgiving gesture before telling her to get ready for the day. As Mina went to prepare breakfast, Lucy, sitting by the dressing table and combing her hair from the rat’s nest it’d become, asked her if it was normal that she only ever had the same dream; that didn’t most people have different dreams? Concern painted across Mina’s face as she tried to provide reassurance, unable to offer a clear answer to Lucy’s predicament.

   Later, the sisters enjoyed a delightful breakfast that Mina had prepared from unique recipes Jonathan had gifted to her. As they enjoyed their food, Lucy sipped on her tea while diligently taking her tuberculosis medicine, following the prescription provided by Dr. Seward. Amidst the meal, they discussed their plans for the day and how they should prepare for their return home, as their stay in Whitby was drawing to a close. Despite Mina’s yearning to wait for Jonathan for as long as possible, she knew she’d have to leave him and the peaceful tranquility of Whitby behind to return to the bustling city life of London. Her responsibilities as an assistant schoolmistress of etiquette and decorum at University College London, demanded her attention, and she knew she had to return to her duties… no matter how dull her classes were. Plus, staying any longer would cause their mother who’d stayed in London to worry, which with her ailing heart they couldn’t have.

   Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, interrupting Mina’s thoughts. Opening the door, Mina was greeted by one of the hotel staff, who handed her letters sent to the sisters from London. Lucy’s eagerness was palpable as she snatched the letters from Mina’s hands, her eyes sparkling with anticipation as she scanned the envelopes. Amidst the correspondence, Lucy found a letter from Arthur.

   Mina, ever the playful sister, teased Lucy by snatching the letter and holding it just out of reach. As she read its contents, Lucy attempted to retrieve the letter, anxious to learn what it contained. With a feigned somber expression, Mina at first pretended to be saddened by its contents, only to smile and happily reveal it was Arthur’s marriage proposal to Lucy. Overwhelmed with joy, Lucy eagerly took the letter back, immersing herself in its contents, her heart brimming with happiness.

   As Lucy delighted in Arthur’s proposal, Mina couldn’t shake off a peculiar worry: Why did Arthur choose to propose through a letter rather than in person? She’d only met the man on a few occasions, and though he seemed an upstanding gentleman that made Lucy brim with happiness, Mina thought he was… well, she thought he was a tad bland and boring. So, for him to have done something as peculiar as to send his marriage proposal over letters rather than to do it himself in person troubled her. However, Lucy’s infectious happiness overshadowed any lingering doubts in Mina’s mind. Lost in the excitement, the sisters began to dream of a double wedding – Lucy to Arthur and Mina to Jonathan, once he returned.

   Lucy rushed to her desk to write a reply to Arthur and confirm that her answer was a resounding yes. Seeing as Lucy seemed bright and healthy that day, Mina decided that after they dropped off her letter at the post office, they would take one last day out on the town. As they left after Lucy had finished her letter, the bell attached to the door, which would alert Mina if Lucy attempted to leave the room, chimed.

🦇

   After dropping off Lucy’s return letter to Arthur at the post office, they strolled through the charming town. The Westenras had been coming to Whitby Bay for years, finding solace in the quieter moments by the bay which held hundreds of fond memories, including how Mina and Jonathan had first met. And just as always, the aroma of freshly baked bread from the local bakery wafted through the air, blending with the scent of the salty sea breeze. The cobblestone streets were lined with charming shops and lively markets, each one beckoning for exploration. Lucy eagerly inspected the diverse offerings of the various stores, perusing everything from elegant dresses and exquisite jewelry to an array of captivating trinkets.

   However, it was a small, unassuming shop nestled in a secluded alleyway that truly captured Lucy’s attention. This hidden gem was a treasure trove of curiosities, boasting a captivating assortment of unique and enigmatic items. While Mina enjoyed finding a good book filled with fantastical adventures to lose herself in on a leisurely day or experimenting with exotic recipes from Jonathan, Lucy… Lucy’s interests were distinctly unconventional. Her fascination oscillated from admiring a stunning gown, typical of a young London lady, to being utterly captivated by an assortment of peculiar and macabre knickknacks with equal fervor.

   As she tried to not make eye contact with the elderly shop lady, Mina watched as Lucy’s eyes lit up with unbridled delight while she examined the intriguing contents of the store. The shelves were adorned with ornate amulets, mysterious talismans, gothic sculptures, and intricate tarot cards, each exuding an air of mystique. While Mina found the items to be a bit unsettling, she couldn’t help but appreciate the sheer joy they brought to Lucy… just so long as Lucy didn’t share that joy by shoving a taxidermy bat in her face to look at.

   After leaving the store, Lucy, now adorned with a bat-shaped necklace, and Mina continued their stroll through Whitby. Their path soon led them to a familiar and friendly face – Mr. Swales, the kind elderly resident who had been a close friend of the two girls for many years. The three of them found a comfortable spot on a bench overlooking the bay, where they could enjoy the view and each other’s company. Lucy, ever eager for a good story, asked Mr. Swales to share some tales about the town. Mr. Swales obliged, recounting little-known stories and local legends that captivated the young ladies. His voice, rich with the cadence of years, wove tales of Whitby’s past, each story a thread in the tapestry of the town's history. One of the tales that particularly intrigued Lucy was about the haunted abbey on the cliffside by the shore. Despite Mr. Swales dismissing the stories as superstitious nonsense, Lucy was enthralled by the ghost stories and folk tales, her imagination taking flight with each word.

   As the sun began to set, dark clouds loomed in the distance, signaling an impending storm. The wind picked up, carrying with it the scent of rain and the promise of a harsh tempest. Wanting to avoid getting caught in the rain, Mina and Lucy bid a fond farewell to Mr. Swales. With the storm approaching, Mina and Lucy hurried back towards the safety of the hotel. The streets of Whitby, once bustling with activity, began to empty as the townsfolk sought shelter from the coming rain.

   Later, after returning to the inn, Mina assisted Lucy in getting ready for bed, preparing a soothing tonic made of valerian root and chamomile, aiming to ease Lucy’s mind and minimize the likelihood of her experiencing another sleepwalking episode. As Lucy began to drift into sleep and had been strapped in, Mina settled into a chair near the balcony door, reading one of the many fantasy novels she’d brought with her and occasionally gazing out over the bay as the rain commenced its steady downpour. Her thoughts slowly turned to her beloved Jonathan, whose absence weighed heavily on her mind. Then, as the sun dipped below the horizon while the rain clouds encroached to overtake the sky, memories of her endearing first encounter with Jonathan came flooding back to her. [Dracula the Musical – Over Whitby Bay]

   She remembered a warm summer evening many years ago. She was dressed in a flowing gown and had eagerly anticipated attending a captivating musical performance. As she stood on the cobblestone street, she waved for a passing carriage, hoping to catch a ride to the venue. To her surprise, a kind gentleman named Jonathan offered her a seat in his own carriage, having been headed for the same venue. As the two of them made their way they chatted and exchanged stories as the carriage rattled along the winding road that overlooked the picturesque Whitby Bay.

   As the carriage jostled over the uneven terrain, Mina and Jonathan found themselves drawn to each other’s company, their laughter filling the afternoon air. Their journey took an unexpected turn when the carriage suddenly lost a wheel, forcing them to continue their adventure on foot. They ventured through the quaint old bowling green, the setting sun shining like heavenly light as they made their way toward the enchanting location where the orchestra was set to perform.

   Upon arriving at the venue, they were serenaded by a mesmerizing performance that seemed to encapsulate the essence of youth, innocence, and the elation of first love. The enchanting melodies and harmonious notes wove a magical spell around them, deepening the budding romantic connection between Mina and Jonathan.

   After the orchestra concluded their performance, Mina and Jonathan strolled along the tranquil beach, the gentle lull of the ocean waves providing the perfect backdrop. Under the shimmering moonlight, they shared a meaningful glance before their hearts urged them to steal a tender, heartfelt kiss – a cherished memory that Mina held dear as she looked out over the Bay where her and Jonathan’s lives forever became intwined.

🦇

   Hours later, Mina found herself trapped in the clutches of a nightmare so vivid and haunting that it blurred the lines between reality and the subconscious. [Van Helsing - Burn it Down] In her dream, Mina found herself standing in the ramparts of an ancient and foreboding castle, its towering spires piercing the night sky like jagged teeth. The once imposing fortress was engulfed in flames, casting a fiery glow that illuminated the surrounding darkness. Even in a dream the heat was palpable, and the air was thick with smoke, making it hard for Mina to both breathe and see. What she could make out from the smoke was that along the rampart on either side of her were dozens of grotesque and monstrous gargoyle statues, peering over the side like dark sentinels.

   Hearing shouting over the edge, Mina peered over to see what was going on. From down below, she saw an angry mob, driven by fear and vengeance, their torches flickering like fireflies in the night as they sought to set the castle ablaze. Their shouts echoed through the air, a cacophony of voices speaking in a language Mina couldn’t understand. Towards the gate Mina could hear loud thudding, figuring some of the angry villagers were using a ram to force their way into the castle.

   As Mina attempted to peer over the edge of the ramparts, she nearly lost her footing, forced to grasp one of the castle’s gargoyle statues for support. As she pulled herself back to her feet, she saw the stone creature, once a silent guardian, suddenly come to life. Its eyes flashed a glowing blood red, and its claws dug into the stonework with a menacing grip. The gargoyle turned its gaze upon Mina, its expression one of malevolent intent. With a sudden and powerful motion, the gargoyle unfurled its wings, knocking Mina back onto the rampart and launching itself into the night sky. It was not alone; dozens of other gargoyle statues, once dormant, also sprung to life, taking flight to join their brethren.

   Suddenly, the crowd below became fearful and began to flee, but not from the gargoyles. No, as Mina turned around to see what’d frightened the mob, she witnessed a massive cauldron[flock] of bats swarming into the night sky, blocking the light from the moon. The bats, a dark and swirling mass, then flew off towards the coast, picking up members of the mob who vanished in its darkness as the bats passed them by.

   Amidst the chaos, Mina heard a door slam open at the end of the rampart. Rushing from the tower, clad in torn clothes and his face etched with terror and resolve, emerged Jonathan. Mina rushed to her beloved, but as she tried to reach him, he passed through her as if she were made of mist. As Jonathna ran Mina followed after, trying to call out to Jonathan, but he appeared unable to hear her. She watched as he navigated the treacherous terrain, the heat of the flames licking at his heels.

   As Jonathan fled, Mina heard a monstrous growl coming from the doorway he’d just run out of. Like a flash of lighting, a dark figure leapt from the doorway and landed in Jonathan’s path, sending him falling as he tried to stop himself. As Jonathan backed away, Mina saw illuminated in the castle’s blazing inferno the creature that was hunting him – a massive white wolf, with red streaks in its fur, eyes that glowed like embers, its head a mix of bat and wolf features. The monstrous wolf’s howls echoed through the night, a chilling symphony of dread. As the beast closed the distance towards them, its form shifted and morphed in the flames – sometimes appearing as a pale, brown-skinned woman in servant’s attire with fiery red hair, her face hidden behind a skull-like demonic mask.

   As a section of the burning keep crumbled and plummeted towards the rampart amidst a hail of sparks and embers, the monstrous beast, its eyes blazing with fury, launched itself at Jonathan, ready to sink its dagger-like fangs into him.

   Mina screamed to warn Jonathan, only to be jolted awake by the crash of thunder, her chest heaving with the rapid beat of her heart as sweat drenched her face. As the vivid images of her nightmare still played in her vision, Mina turned to check on Lucy. However, she was horrified to find her sister was gone; her sleepwalking straps had somehow been undone and the balcony door was wide open, the doorbell lying on the floor. With the fear from her dream still etched into her mind, Mina rushed out into the stormy night searching for her sister. She soon bumped into Mr. Swales and after informing him that Lucy was missing, the two headed off in search for her.

🦇

   Meanwhile, Lucy continued to wander in her sleep, drawn to the eerie abandoned abbey that Mr. Swales had mentioned that evening. Despite the raging storm, Lucy and the abbey seemed untouched, almost as if an invisible force was shielding them from the storm’s fury. Upon entering, a dense mist began to swirl around Lucy, filling the interior of the abbey with an otherworldly atmosphere. Lost in the ruins, Lucy swayed gently on the spot and found herself humming a haunting melody that seemed to echo from the depths of her subconscious. [Anastasia – Once Upon a December] In her trance-like state, she saw the mist coalescing and transforming the decrepit abbey into a mesmerizing palace with walls of shimmering black obsidian with suits of bat-themed armor materializing to line the walls.

   From the billowing mist emerged spectral figures, their features obscured, yet unmistakably inviting. They reached out to Lucy, beckoning her to join them in what seemed to be a grand ball. As she stepped forward, the mist cloaked her in an exquisite gothic gown with spider web and bat-like accents, and the mysterious melody grew louder, enveloping her in its enchanting embrace. Amidst the swirling mist, Lucy danced with the ethereal apparitions, her feet seemingly lifting off the ground as if defying gravity. In the reflections of the abbey’s shattered windows, only Lucy was shown, as if the apparitions didn’t exist.

   The haunting song reached a crescendo, and from the midst of the spectral throng, a figure materialized before her, extending a hand in invitation. As she reached out to accept, she caught a glimpse of his sorrowful red eyes hidden in the swirling mist. Eyes that she’d seen in her dreams, tugging at memories that at the same time she’d never experienced and yet longed to remember. Before she could take his hand, the man and the mist vanished as Mina rushed into the building.

   Seeing her sister standing in the middle of the ruins, drenched in the rain and shivering, Mina hurried over to her and caught Lucy as she collapsed. As she coaxed Lucy awake, her sister gasping for breath, Mina apologized and swore to take better care of her. Hearing Mr. Swales’ calls, Mina called out to tell him she’d found Lucy. As Lucy woke, she asked where the man in her dream had gone. Thinking her sister was becoming delirious from the rain and sleepwalking, Mina wrapped Lucy in her shawl and, with Mr. Swales’ help, began to lead her back to the hotel and out of the storm.

   As they prepared to leave, they heard the nearby lighthouse sound an alarm. [Last Voyage of the Demeter – Where the Devil Sleeps] Looking through the broken windows of the abbey, they saw, through the storm, a merchant’s ship crashing into the bay. Exiting the abbey and seeing the crashed ship, its silhouette illuminated by flashes of lightning, Mina asked Mr. Swales to look after her sister as she rushed to see if any of the ship’s crew members needed help. As Mina carefully descended the rugged cliff, her heart pounded with a mix of fear and curiosity, but she kept going, needing to ensure that the sailors were safe – if Jonathan had been on that ship and was safe.

   As she reached the base of the cliff, she found herself facing the looming vessel. As she approached the ship’s name was illuminated on its hull by the lighthouse’s powerful beam: the Demeter. As she moved closer, the sound of crashing waves gave way to a low growl that sent shivers down her spine. In a flash of lightning, Mina saw four figures on the ship’s deck: a man, a girl, and two women. Just as quickly as they appeared, they vanished with the next flash, leaving Mina questioning her senses.

   Suddenly, a massive black wolf leaped from the depths of the ship’s hold before Mina, its eyes glinting in the dim light. Overcome with fear as the beast, as creature from her nightmare had materialized in real life, Mina fell to the ground, watching as the beast approached. As it did, a swarm of bats emerged from the ship’s bowels, their dark silhouettes dancing against raging storm above. The wolf advanced towards Mina, the rain seemingly passing through it as it bared its blood-soaked fangs at her, causing her pulse to quicken with terror.

   However, before the wolf could reach her, its ears perked up at the sound of distant shouts of men echo through the night. Hearing the approaching bay watchmen who’d been called by the lighthouses’ alarm, the beast bolted away. With swift agility, it climbed the cliffside like a spider, disappearing into the countryside, followed closely by the swirling mass of bats.

   As Mina regained her footing, she cautiously made her way toward the Demeter, her voice desperately calling out for any sign of life. Calling for Jonathan, though she now hoped he hadn’t been on this vessel. The storm raged around her, the wind howling as it whipped at what remained of the ship’s tattered sail. Each step she took was filled with trepidation, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination. Stepping onto the ship, Mina was met with a wave of shock as she surveyed the scene before her. The once-proud vessel bore the scars of a violent struggle, with gunshots peppering its weathered hull and claws marks slashed through wood and iron. A large breach in the cargo floor, as if something had burst through it from the inside, sent a chill down her spine.

   As Mina continued her search, she found no trace of the crew – until she reached the helm. There, she was confronted with a sight that made her scream in horror: the captain, tied to the wheel, decapitated, with a crucifix driven into his chest. The gruesome scene left Mina reeling, her mind struggling to comprehend the brutality before her. In her terror, Mina noticed a logbook at the captain’s feet. Picking it up, she read the page it had been opened to, which contained the captain’s haunting final message:

Untitled

   Hearing the watchmen getting closer to the cliff, Mina headed back to Lucy and Mr. Swales. When she returned, Mina found Lucy all alone and scared to death. As Mina rushed to comfort and check if Lucy was unharmed, she asked where Mr. Swales had gone off to. All that Lucy could do was point a shaking finger at what was a few feet from them: Mr. Swales, lying dead with a broken neck and a look of horror frozen on his face.

🦇

   The following morning, Mina had swiftly gathered all of her and Lucy’s belongings for their hurried return to London. Before their carriage departed, Mina left a message with the hotel manager, instructing him to deliver it to Jonathan in the event that he came looking for her. As they left, Mina gave one final look back at the town that’d once held such happy memories, now defiled by a horrific nightmare.

Chapter 3: The Gala

Chapter Text

Dark Universe

Image

Written by Andrew Downs and Thomas Lapeyrouse III


 

   When the sisters finally arrived in London days later, Mina felt a sense of relief mixed with lingering concern. Despite returning home, the familiar sights and sounds of offering comfort, the haunting events of Whitby remained a shadow on her mind. As they wound the roads that would take them home, Mina once again asked Lucy to keep the events of Whitby a secret, particularly from their mother, Minerva, who was not in the best of health. With Lucy reassuring her with a solemn promise that she would remain silent about Whitby, Mina let the matter go, trusting her sister. even her which she’d noticed had been unnerving her sister ever since that fateful night.

   As Lucy fidgeted with her bat necklace, she couldn’t help but notice Mina’s uneasy gaze fixed upon it. Wanting to put her sister’s mind at ease, Lucy tucked the necklace away. Yet, the question lingered in her thoughts: why had the sight of a bat suddenly unsettle Mina so deeply? Mina had remained tight-lipped about what she had seen aboard the crashed ship, leaving Lucy to wonder with her own unanswered questions. Whatever could have frightened Mina so much that they had to pack up so suddenly, not even being able to attend Mr. Swales’ funeral? Lucy still couldn’t remember what’d happened to their dear friend. She could only recall waking from her sleepwalking episode to find him lying lifeless before her, a scene that haunted her thoughts.

   Arriving the Westenra estate, the sisters were greeted with warmth and affection by their mother, Minerva, and their dedicated lady’s maid, Joan Briggs. As Joan and the other maids began bringing in the sisters’ belongings, the familiar bustle of the household enveloped Mina and Lucy, grounding them after their time away. Despite the warm welcome, Mina remained concerned about Lucy’s well-being, particularly after the unsettling sleepwalking incident in Whitby. Determined to ensure her sister’s health and safety, Mina instructed Joan to use their personal candlestick telephone to call Dr. Seward, wanting him to evaluate Lucy’s condition as soon as possible.

   Hours later, as the sisters settled back into the comfort of their home and Minerva had retired for the evening, a gentle knock echoed through the quiet halls. Startled, they exchanged curious glances before Joan announced the unexpected visitor – Arthur Himlwood, standing at their doorstep. The mere mention of his name sent Lucy into a whirlwind of excitement, causing her to nearly knock Mina off her feet as she rushed downstairs and into Arthur’s awaiting embrace. Overwhelmed with joy, Lucy shared with him that she had received his letter and told him that if he’d yet to receive her return letter, then her answer was yes. Arthur, filled with regret, explained that he had wanted to ask her in person. Unfortunately, his ailing father, Lord Godalming, had demanded his immediate attention, leaving him with no choice but to convey his desire to marry her through a letter. Now reunited, he was determined to rectify the situation and make a proper proposal.

   However, just as Arthur reached for the box containing the ring in his pocket, a sudden knock at the door disrupted the scene as Dr. Jack Seward entered – Lucy rushed to greet him, nearly causing Arthur to drop the box as she bumped into him. Lucy, overjoyed, greeted Jack with a warm embrace, while Mina expressed her gratitude for his timely visit. Jack reassured Mina that it was no trouble at all; in fact, he’d been rather bored at work in his asylum, having spent the last few hours writing reports on a peculiar patient with an unusual appetite for flies and spiders. Upon receiving Joan’s call about Lucy’s condition, he had wanted to check on her well-being as soon as possible.

   Though Lucy was intrigued by Jack’s mention of his peculiar patient, she chose to remain silent, mindful of the presence of Arthur and her mother. In her youth, Lucy had worked hard to shed the stigma of being considered strange or abnormal, as her mother had insisted that she portray herself only as a proper lady, forbidding her from displaying any interest in unconventional matters. It was, after all, Lucy’s interest in the unconventional, particularly in Jack’s profession, that had led her mother to quash their budding romance. The only reason Minerva still permitted Jack’s presence was his medical expertise remained invaluable in treating Lucy’s ailments.

   As Jack carefully arranged his medical tools on the coffee table, preparing to tend to Lucy, a sudden, sharp knock echoed through the room. Startled, the other occupants cast curious glances at each other, wondering who could be at the door. Moments later, Joan led in Quincy P. Morris, a dear friend to the group. Lucy’s heart skipped a beat as she saw Quincy, whom she hadn’t seen in quite some time as she hadn’t seen him for a long time. In her excitement, Lucy nearly kneed Jack in the head as she rushed to embrace Quincy. Mina and Arthur deftly sidestepped the joyful young lady to avoid her colliding with them as well. As Quincy wrapped Lucy in a tight bearhug, he explained that he’d just returned from a visit to his family in West USA. Upon hearing that the sisters had returned, he couldn’t resist visiting them and swapping stories of both of their adventures.

   As Lucy excitedly took Quincy’s hand and led him into the living room, Mina shared in her sister’s excitement, eager to hear the captivating tales from his recent journey to what he called the wild west. Mina had always liked Quincy, seeing him as a strong and dependable figure who could protect her sister when she herself could not. His adventurous spirit and steadfast nature were qualities she admired deeply. Yet, she was left a little devastated when she heard he and Lucy had ended their relationship. Though she couldn’t prove it, Mina was sure Minerva had something to do with it, probably being against her daughter falling in love with a “settler” who came from “new money.” Regardless, he was too much a dear friend for Minerva to prevent her daughters from seeing.

   As she returned to her spot so that Jack could continue her medical check-up, Lucy realized she was leaving Arthur awkwardly standing in the foyer. Apologizing, Lucy swiftly returned to him, urging him to join the gathering in the living room. With anticipation and a hint of nervousness, she announced that they had a special announcement to make. Seizing the perfect moment before any further distractions arose, Arthur knelt before Lucy, unveiling a ring as he began to express his heartfelt feelings. Before he could complete his proposal, Lucy joyfully threw herself into his arms, exclaiming a resounding “Yes!” Her exuberance was evident, and both Jack and Quincy, although initially taken aback by the sight of the woman they’d each once courted embracing another man, set aside any reservations to wholeheartedly congratulate the couple on their engagement.

   For a long while, the group gathered in the living room, engrossed in discussions about the upcoming wedding arrangements and regaling each other with captivating tales of their recent adventures and daily life. As they talked, one of the maids offered to bring in wine for the group to share. While the others requested red wine, Lucy asked for water, knowing red wine would upset her stomach.

   As the maid returned with their drinks, an abrupt, firm knock on the door caught them group off guard. Anticipating Lucy’s impulsive reaction, Mina, Arthur, and Jack to swiftly move out of the way to avoid another collision with their cheerful friend. However, Quincy and Lucy just stared at them before shrugging to each other and continuing their conversation, not understanding why the others moved away so fast.

   Moments later, Joan entered the living room, bearing exciting news. She revealed that both Mina and Lucy had been extended invitations to a lavish Welcoming Gala at the newly refurbished Carfax Abbey, hosted by a mysterious foreign nobleman that’d recently arrived in London. Arthur revealed he’d received a similar invitation the other day. Despite the absence of the host’s name on the invitations, the event promised to be a highlight of the social season, with all of London High Society expected to attend, fueling much speculation and anticipation. Excited to share this experience, the sisters decided to extend invitations to Jack and Quincy, giving them the opportunity to accompany them to this highly anticipated event.

🦇

   As the days went by, the excitement among the sisters and their friends continued to build in anticipation of the upcoming gala. Minerva, known for her love of social events, was thrilled at the idea of her daughters attending such a prestigious occasion. She eagerly took charge of the preparations, instructing the maids to ensure that Lucy and Mina would be dressed in the most exquisite attire for the event. However, though it was never discussed, it was noticeable that Minerva devoted more attention to Lucy than to Mina.

   This, however, Mina just chalked up to Minerva’s desire to ensure that Lucy presented herself with ‘grace and poise’, as she often said, and didn’t embarrass her or the Westenra name at the gala. While she held great affection for her adoptive mother, Mina found Minerva’s insistence on presenting the Westernas as paragons of etiquette and decorum at all times of the day to be somewhat tiresome. She already had enough to deal with at the college and as an assistant to Ms. Ulga, her teacher; she really didn’t need that at home either.

   Speaking of, one day as Mina was at University College London making the final preparations for the next semester, since Ms. Ulga couldn’t be bothered to do it herself, she noticed the headmaster heading to a meeting with the school’s board members. Summoning her courage, Mina approached the headmaster and inquired about the status of her application papers for a new science teaching position. However, to her surprise, the headmaster revealed that he had not received any such papers, despite Mina personally handing them to him before she departed for Whitby.

   Before he left for the meeting, Mina once again attempted to persuade him of her qualifications, citing her medical expertise acquired under Jack’s tutelage and her own knowledge of astronomy. However, the headmaster rejected her proposal, insisting that her talents were better suited for the role of assistant schoolmistress of etiquette and decorum. When Mina argued that she was more qualified than half the men at the college and that the students there deserved the chance to learn more than how to be good nurses or housewives one day, the headmaster revealed that her position was only granted as a final favor to her adoptive father. He also warned her that any further objections would lead to the favor being revoked.

🦇

   Back at the Westenra estate, Lucy sat in the cozy reading nook, the scent of Earl Grey tea wafting through the air as she perused the local newspaper idly playing with her bat necklace. She was determined to find some interesting local news to impress Arthur during his next visit, hoping to appear more knowledgeable and sociable. At least then they would have something to talk about. Though she would never admit it to anyone, she often found her fiancé to be a bit… boring. Handsome, yes. A great conversationalist, no. But perhaps something in the news could spark some interest in him.

   As she scanned the pages, her eyes caught an article discussing the Demeter. The mysterious ship was found by police to have arrived in Whitby with no one on board. The only things accounted for were a cargo shipment of large wooden boxes, which had been swiftly delivered to a local solicitor.

   Flipping through the pages to avoid thinking about that dreadful night, Lucy turned the page, only to be met with a headline that made her heart sink. The article detailed a devastating fire that had ravaged a nearby orphanage, leaving none of the children accounted for and feared to have perished in the flames. As tears welled up in her eyes, Lucy couldn’t help but but feel sorrow from the tragic news, her tender heart aching for the innocent souls lost in the tragic blaze. As someone who had always held a deep affection for children and harbored dreams of motherhood, the heartbreaking report was too much for her. She wished that renowned detective from Baker Street was still around, perhaps he could’ve found the missing children.

   Hearing the front door open, Lucy swiftly folded the newspaper and brushed away the tears that had welled up in her eyes. Soon after, Mina wearily made her way into the living room, exhausted from work and her frustration evident from the meeting with the headmaster. Seeing the defeated expression on Mina’s face, Lucy tenderly urged her sister to share what had happened. As Mina recounted the events of her day, Lucy enveloped her in a warm embrace, offering solace and understanding. She knew that teaching was Mina’s true passion, second only to her love for Jonathan. It pained Lucy to see her sister’s dreams repeatedly thwarted. If it were up to her, she said, she’d march up to the college and give that headmaster a piece of her mind. Mina laughed at her sister’s antics, thanking her for lifting her spirit. Seeing her sister smile, Lucy suggested that Mina settle her work items in her study while she prepared a fresh pot of tea for them.

   As she entered the study, Mina set down her belongings from work on her desk. As she did, her eyes were immediately drawn to the Captain’s Log, which rested on her desk, slightly damp as if it’d been touched by wet hands. Strange. She distinctly remembered putting it in a secret compartment behind the desk cabinet. Only she knew about the compartment, so it was impossible for Lucy, Minerva or any of the maids to have moved it. As she pondered this, she caught a glimpse of movement in the hallway – a fleeting image of blue sea mist. But when she turned to look, there was nothing there. Shaking off the strange sensation, Mina returned her focus to the journal, her curiosity piqued by the thought of unraveling the secrets of the Demeter.

   With a mix of apprehension and intrigue, she cautiously opened the logbook and began to read its contents: [The Last Voyage of the Demeter – The Demeter Embarks]

  • July 6th (a week after Jonathan’s last letter): The Demeter made port in Varna, Bulgaria to pick up cargo for transportation to London. The crew, a tight-knit group of eight seasoned seafarers, was led by the capable and resolute Captain Eliot R. (Robert) Walton. Assisting him were the first mate and quartermaster Wojchek, the spirited cabin boy Toby, who also happened to be Captain Eliot’s beloved grandson, the superstitious but skilled cook Joseph, and diligent deckhands Olgaren, Petrofsky, Larsen, and Abrams. The shipment, consisting of multiple large wooden crates, was transported by locals from Romania. However, the locals refused to load the cargo onto the ship, insisting that they must leave the area before sundown. One of them handed Wojcheck and Larsen a large sum of money and wished the Demeter a safe voyage before departing with the others.

  • All was calm aboard the ship for several days as they sailed through the Aegean Sea.

  • July 16th: In the morning, all the animals aboard the ship were found killed, including the ship’s dog, Huckleberry. The crew, fearing a rabies outbreak, threw them all overboard.

  • July 17th: On a nightly watch, Petrofsky reported to Captain Eliot that he saw in the fog on deck a “tall, thin man, who was not like any of the crew, come up the companionway, and go along the deck forward and disappear.” Yet no one, upon inspection of the ship, was to be found.

  • July 18th: Larsen and Abrams were stationed on the nightly watch. After midnight Abrams ran to report to the captain that he saw ghostly female specters beckoning him and Larsen below decks. It took all the man’s strength to turn away and resist, and when he looked back Larsen was missing. The crew searched below decks but could find no trace of the missing sailor. They believed he’d jumped ship.

  • July 22nd: The ship passed Gibraltar and sailed out through the Straits with apparently no further problems.

  • July 24th: Two men were attacked that night: one, Olgaren was found with a black oil-like substance on his lips, and the other, Petrofsky was reported lost. The remaining men grew panicky and frightened. Olgaren was taken to the medical cabin.

  • July 25th: In the morning, Olgaren began acting erratic and the crew was forced to restrain him to the doctor’s table. Amidst Olgaren’s endless screams and inane babble, the men discerned two words: “Master!” and “Feed!”

  • July 29th: Olgaren broke free from his restraints. As the crew searched for Olgaren, they heard Toby’s screams. Rushing to the boy’s screams, the crew found Olgaren had been hunting him and trapped Toby in the captain’s quarters… along with two nightmarish creatures. The crew restrained Olgaren and attempted to save Toby; however, by the time they broke down the barricaded door to the captain’s quarters, they found Toby had been killed, drained of all his blood and bearing two pin-prick marks on his neck. There was no trace of the monsters they’d seen in there with him.

  • July 30th: In the morning, Olgaren, who had been tied to the mast by the crew, burst into flames as the sun rises. Only the captain, his mate, the cook, and one deckhand were left. Toby was wrapped in parts of the sailcloth for his sea-burial. During the funeral, the captain believed he saw Toby moving; he unwrapped him, only for Toby to suddenly attack. As the boy attacked his grandfather like a rabid animal, his skin caught fire in the sunlight (also severely burning his grandfather) before the crew threw Toby into the ocean.

  • August 2nd: The ship’s cook attempted to flee in a rowboat. Hours later, his body dropped from the sky in a deceased, bloody mass onto the deck. From up in the crow’s nest could be heard cackling from two female voices. None of the crew dared to investigate.

  • August 3rd: Captain Eliot reported that Wojcheck was haggard and close to madness, repeating that “They are here.” Wojcheck thought that “they” were in the hold, perhaps “in the boxes.”

  • August 6th: As the Demeter finally reached Whitby, a great fog settled over the ship, preventing the crew from reaching harbor. At midnight, Abrams, the last remaining deck hand, disappeared. Captain Eliot and first mate Wojcheck were the only remaining men aboard. Wojcheck, ax in hand, descended into the hold to destroy the ship and drown whatever monsters were aboard to prevent them from causing chaos once they reached England; only to come flying from the hold moments later, covered in bleeding scars and screaming in terror, telling Captain Eliot, “They are down there! I know the secret now. The Devil is real!” In despair, Wojcheck threw himself overboard, preferring drowning to a confrontation with “the things.” However, Captain Eliot never heard the sound of Wojcheck hitting the water. Believing it was his duty to remain with the ship, Captain Eliot vowed to tie his hands to the wheel and take the ship to port.

   At this point, the log ended on the warning Mina had read when she’d found it. As she finished, Mina nearly dropped the logbook in her trembling hands. Terror-stricken by the journal’s contents, she nearly missed the sound of footsteps approaching and Lucy bringing a tray of tea for them to share. Wanting to spare her sister from the contents of the journal, Mina quickly hid it in the secret compartment. When Lucy entered, she saw the distressed look Mina was trying to hide, she quickly sat down the tray and rushed to her sister, asking what the matter was. Mina didn’t have the heart to tell her and brushed it off as a mix of emotions from the college and Jonathan.

   As Mina and Lucy headed back to the living room to enjoy the rest of their afternoon, neither saw the lingering ghost of Captain Elliot watching them before vanishing.

🦇

   Days later, the eagerly anticipated night of the Gala had finally arrived. Mina and Lucy, adorned in their most exquisite gowns, bid their mother farewell as they left the Westenra estate and stepped into Arthur’s awaiting carriage. As their carriage made its way through the bustling streets of London, the setting sun slowly vanished behind the cityscape, casting a warm glow behind them. As they arrived at Carfax Abbey, Mina and Lucy saw that practically the entire elite of London society had arrived to attend the welcoming gala. Dressed in their finest attire, Lords and Ladies, bankers, business tycoons, even Members of Parliament had turned out for the event, each attendee with motivation to increase their social standing and curiosity about their mysterious host. As they exited their carriage, Mina and Lucy were met by Jack, dressed in his finest more middleclass attire, and Quincey, dressed in his fanciest American west clothes.

   As the five of them approached the Abbey, they were astounded by just how much it’d been refurbished. While Lucy had a fondness for the old, abandoned estate, Mina had grown up rather fearful of the place. However, the transformation of the formerly dark and foreboding estate was nothing short of spectacular: The overgrown vegetation and untamed grounds had been attended to by what could only be described as a master artist; the broken stained-glass windows and been restored depicting beautiful images; and the decaying blackened exterior walls now gleamed like gold and white marble.

   Entering the Abbey, Mina and Lucy were astounded by how the once dust and cobwebs filled interior was adorned with glittering chandeliers, sumptuous draperies, and an array of exquisite decorations that spoke to the wealth and power this mysterious host must possess. From around her, Mina could almost hear the hunger in the London elite’s eyes, desiring to establish strong alliances with this nobleman to take a piece of the wealth before them that they jealously vied after. It was always like this, Mina thought; the wealthy would smile to your face while plotting to stab you in the back and steal everything you had for themselves. There was only one small problem though: the host of the Gala seemed to have yet arrived. Odd, she thought, perhaps he was planning a grand entrance?

   While the guests mingled and engaged in conversation, waiting for their host’s arrival or marveling at the splendor of the gala, Mina couldn’t shake the unsettling sense that something was amiss. Whether it was her being on edge from being around so many people or still lingers fear from Whitby, she noticed minute details that’d escaped the other attendees – details that struck her as abnormal. The air within the venue felt unusually cold, a draft cutting through the party in a way that seemed out of place. Reflective surfaces, such as mirrors, were remarkably absent, even in the bathrooms; strange, most hosts would provide for their guests a means to check their appearances or admire themselves. Heavy drapes, elegant though they were, shrouded the windows, veiling the natural light and enveloping the space in an almost suffocating enclosure from the outside world.

   Something strange was unfolding about.

   As a server passed by, Mina’s thoughts on the strangeness of the party were interrupted as Arthur ordered a glass of champagne. However, the server apologized, explaining that they were only serving red wine. With a slight lament, Arthur adjusted his order, requesting red wine for both himself and Lucy. Hearing this, Mina felt a pang of concern. Though his choice seemed casual to everyone else around, Mina was sure he knew that red wine upset Lucy’s stomach. Yet here he was, ordering it for her without a second thought. She couldn’t tell whether Arthur had deliberately ignored Lucy’s preferences or had simply forgotten. Either way, Mina wasn’t about to let her sister’s needs being ignored.

   However, as Mina attempted to intervene, intending to inform the server that her sister would prefer water if they had nothing else to offer, Lucy quickly interjected. With a dismissive wave, she reassured Mina and thanked Arthur, expressing her willingness to try new things with him. In a subtle, silent exchange, Lucy signaled to Mina to overlook Arthur’s forgetfulness for the evening. Her demeanor was composed, yet Mina sensed an underlying tension. Though she trusted her sister’s judgment, Mina couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss between Lucy and Arthur.  Though she lamented, Mina quietly asked Lucy to confide in her if anything was wrong.

   When the server returned with their drinks, Mina was struck by the unusual choice of drinkware. The customary gleaming champagne glasses she’d grown accustomed to at such social gatherings had been replaced with non-reflective glasses adorned with intricate yet surreal and otherworldly frosted designs. As she turned to express her bewilderment to the server, Mina noticed that he wore a vacant expression with clouded-over eyes, lacking the warmth and spontaneity normally associated with human interaction. When he spoke, Mina was shocked to hear his voice was bereft of emotion, cadence, intonation or expressiveness; it was cold and lifeless, only answering in short phrases as if rehearsed. As he left them, she noticed how he moved with an almost mechanical precision, as if he were a silent puppet on invisible strings awaiting instruction.

   Glancing at the rest of the staff, Mina was shocked to see that they all shared the same rigid posture and distant gazes. Each waiter and waitress moved with eerie synchronization, their movements precise and calculated, devoid of any hint of personality or individuality. It was as if they were following an invisible choreography, their actions perfectly coordinated and devoid of human touch. Around her she saw that none of the other guests seemed to notice or pay any attention to the unnerving behavior of the staff. They were far too engrossed in meaningless conversations and whispered anticipated gossip over their mysterious host to notice the staff blend into the background like marionettes awaiting their puppeteer to give them orders. It was an unsettling sight, and Mina’s concerns only continued to grow.

   Something was definitely wrong here.

   Mina’s train of thought was abruptly interrupted by Lucy’s pained clutching at her stomach. Just as Mina had expected, Lucy hurried off to the bathroom as the effects of the red wine began to take their toll. Meanwhile, her sister’s fiancé was nowhere to be found, too engrossed in conversation with a group of seemingly uptight individuals, perhaps bankers or business tycoons. Jack and Quincy, who had wandered off to catch up with friends or colleagues, approached Mina to inquire about Lucy’s well-being. As Mina told them of Lucy’s stomach becoming upset by the red wine, she could quell the frustration she had towards Arthur. That night, she made a solemn pact to her sister: if Arthur ever broke her sister’s heart, she would be there for her and would give him a piece of her mind.

   Suddenly, the murmuring guests were hushed by one of the servants, indicating an impending announcement. Peering over the heads of the other attendees, Mina caught sight of a striking woman addressing the room. This woman exuded an otherworldly beauty, with snow-white skin and raven black hair elegantly secured in a bun. Introducing herself as Verona, the new stewardess of the abbey, she declared the imminent arrival of her master, the esteemed host of the gathering. With an air of poise and authority, she directed the assembled guests to the expansive back lawn, where the highly anticipated arrival was set to unfold.

   With Mina assuring Quincy and Jack that Lucy would be alright and meet them as soon as she was out of the restroom, the three followed the crowd outside. As they exited the abbey, Mina watched as the sun finally dipped below the horizon, enveloping the night sky in the ethereal glow of the moon and stars. Stepping out onto the back lawn, Mina’s gaze was immediately drawn to an elegant landing pad where Verona stood.

   “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention,” Verona announced in a clear, commanding voice. “It is with great honor and reverence that I introduce to you tonight’s distinguished host of honor.”

   As her words hung in the air, a collective gasp rippled through the crowd as fingers pointed skyward. It took her a moment for her to follow their gaze, but Mina eventually spotted what they were pointing at: a magnificent hot air balloon descending from the night sky, the full moon set as its backdrop. The envelope of the balloon was a deep crimson, echoing the color of the night sky as the last touches of sunlight faded from dusk. Stitched in its fabric was a large noble crest of a red dragon. The basket, was constructed from dark, polished wood, reinforced with wrought iron accents that lent it an air of strength and elegance. As the balloon drew closer, Mina saw embellished in the basket’s wood ornate carvings depicting scenes of a far-off land – lush forests, formidable castles, and towering mountains, each highlighted by subtle touches of silver, reflecting the moon’s ethereal light as the balloon descended toward the awaiting crowd.

   As the balloon made its descent towards Carfax Abbey, it moved with an eerie, otherworldly grace, as if being guided by unseen hands. The air was filled with a sense of anticipation, the guests below craning their necks to catch a glimpse of their mysterious host’s dramatic arrival. The gentle hiss of the burner and the rustle of the balloon’s fabric were the only sounds, adding to the night’s mystique.

   Though it was a breathtakingly beautiful scene to behold, Mina couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that gripped her. A strange sense of haunting. A warning. From everything she’d seen thus far in the gala, all the strange signs that something was wrong, something deep within her told her that a terrible dread was approaching. Every fiber of her being seemed to cry out at her to run. To scream, to hide, to take her sister and escape. That whatever came out of that balloon was a dark omen heralding only ruin and death. Yet still she stood with frozen feet.

   As the hot air balloon descended towards the landing pad, Verona continued, her voice carrying a sense of momentous occasion. “Please welcome the Voivode of Wallachia, Transylvania, Lord of the Carpathian Mountains, Patron of the Vistani, and Son of the Dragon.” As the balloon gracefully touched down on the landing pad and servants secured its ropes, the crowd erupted into an applause of mixed awe, curiosity, and excitement. Verona moved to open the balloon door. “Without further ado, I present to you, Count Vladislaus Drăculea Ţepeş III, and his daughter Doamna [trans: Lady] Marya Drăcoaia Ţepeş!”

   Emerging from the billowing hot air balloon was a commanding figure, exuding an air of regality and confidence. Roughly in his mid-thirties, Count Dracula possessed a tall, athletic build and was adorned in exquisite, dark attire befitting his noble status. The fabric was intricately detailed with ornate blood-red embroidery and metallic accents, adding to his commanding presence. As he descended the landing steps, he leaned heavily on a walking cane to help with his apparent limp: the cane bore an intricate silver wolf head handle and an iron ferrule. As the wind swirled around the venue, his flowing cape flapped in the air, sounding like the flapping of [bat] wings, and he brushed loose strands of his tousled, shoulder-length dark brown hair behind his slightly pointed ears. The Count’s arrival caused a stir, captivating the attention of nearly every woman, and some of the men, with many momentarily forgetting their companions or spouses.

   Accompanying him was his daughter, Lady Marya, who exuded poise and grace as she descended the steps behind her father. Her eyes scanned the crowd with a blend of curiosity and composure. Despite her young age – which Mina mused was around 14-16 years old – she possessed a striking beauty, with an almost ethereal glow under the moonlit sky. Like her father, she had a ghostly pale complexion and elegant, slightly pointed ears peeking through her meticulously styled dark hair, which cascaded down her back in silky waves. She was dressed in a stunning black ensemble, mirroring her father’s elegance and adding to the air of mystery surrounding the pair.

   With that, the gala began in earnest and a wave of applause filled the air as the Count and his daughter gracefully descended the landing pad and greeted the crowd. As many of the guests eagerly flocked to greet the Count as he proceeded into the Abbey, Lucy returned and found herself frozen still. While everyone else was captivated by his charming beauty, imposing grandeur, or vast wealth, her gaze was locked solely on Dracula’s eyes – his red eyes. The same red eyes she’d seen in her misty vision back in Whitby. The same red eyes that’d haunted every dream she’d ever had. [Count of Monte Cristo – I Know Those Eyes/This Man is Dead]

   As time seemed to slow down, Lucy’s heart beat faster and her mind raced with a mix of anticipation and confusion. The lively atmosphere of the gala faded into the background as her attention fixated solely on the man before her. Was she dreaming? Had the red wine done something to throw off her senses? No. She was awake and what she saw was real. Surely that couldn’t be true though, could it?

   As Dracula made his way into the abbey, conversing with his guests while Marya walked by his side and Verona was close behind, for but a brief moment his eyes locked onto hers. In his eyes she saw a whole gambit of emotions flash in an instant – shock, sadness, anger, regret, frustration, and finally, denial. As he passed her by, not breaking a moment of his conversation with his guests, she knew then in heart that somehow, someway, some impossible manner, not only had the man from her dreams come to life, but he knew her as well.

   She tried to ignore it at first, catching up with Mina and the others as they reentered the Abbey to try and distract herself, even trying to talk with Arthur. But she couldn’t deny it, catching glimpses of the Count’s eyes occasionally following her. The gaze of his red eyes captivated and tormented her, echoing the haunting dreams that’d plagued her entire life. It wasn’t just his eyes either. His face, his voice, the way he talked, the way he laughed, even his smell – every trace of the man created an undeniable feeling of familiarity to her. It was as if she’d known him her whole life. No, further back than that. It was as if every trace of him had suddenly been etched into the recesses of her memory and were now being brought to the forefront of her mind from a thick and hazy fog.

   It was undeniable; she knew him once. Had she seen his likeness somewhere before, perhaps in a forgotten painting? Could it be that they’d once crossed paths in London during their youth? Oh, how could he stand there, a whisper from her yet so far away at the same time? To torment her with so many unanswered questions that now flooded her mind. Overwhelmed by the desire for answers, she knew she had to speak to him in private. Just once to calm her mind.

   As Lucy’s mind was racing, so to was Dracula’s thoughts in disarray. Though on the outside he gave no falter as he conversed with the elite of London, internally he was at war within himself. It wasn’t possible. Inconceivable. And yet, there she was. The woman who had captured his attention looked just like her – just like his Lisa. Was he being tormented by some mere specter? Had a spell been cast over him that he was unaware of? Anything that could explain away what he was seeing flashed through his mind, and yet all of them yielded the same answer: somehow, someway, some impossible manner, his beloved had returned to him from beyond the grave.

   Yet, as he was filled with unbridled happiness to see her once again, it tormented him inside. For no matter how much it pained him, no matter how much he wished only to rush to embrace the return of his beloved, he knew he couldn’t afford for his emotions to sway him from his ambitions in London.

   As he tussled with what to do, he noticed Verona and Marya’s curious and concerned looks his way. When they followed his gaze to Lucy, both of them froze in shock, the same realization dawning on them as well. He couldn’t let this continue. He had to but an end to this before it got out of hand. If his most trusted allies discovered the resemblance, so too would his enemies. A possible weakness he refused to have exploited against him. Speaking directly into their minds, Dracula ordered them to ignore Lucy and continue acting casually. Dracula politely excused his guests and requested a moment alone on the balcony for some fresh air, making sure that Lucy saw him and knowing she would follow.

   Having followed the Count out to the balcony, Lucy struggled to find the right words to ask Dracula about their connection. She knew that revealing that she’d dreamed of him her whole life might make him flee without providing any answers. But just as she was finding the words to say or even gather the courage to speak, Dracula spoke to her instead, his voice cold. He told her that he knew what she was wanting to ask him, and that she was mistaken. That her mind was playing tricks on her. That the man she saw in him was long gone; dead and cold. While externally he coldly told her to give up any thoughts that they shared a connection and to move on, inside his heart ached as if a stake was being driven through it.

   As Lucy stood there, shocked and unable to find any words to say, they heard the sounds of the gala band beginning to play a captivating melody. Moving past Lucy, Dracula reentered the party as if nothing had happened, his eyes locking onto a beautiful lady with whom he intended to dance with. However, though his words were cold and crass, Lucy was unwilling to let the matter go. No matter what he said she knew there was something between them, and she was determined to get her answers. Marching back into the gala, Lucy grabbed some poor sob who’d failed to acquire a partner and joined the swirling dance floor.

   As the music swelled, the world seemed to fade away from Lucy and Dracula, both communicating to one another through their gazes and unspoken thoughts. From the sideline Arthur watched as Lucy followed the Count, his jealousy brewing as his fiancée was more preoccupied by the foreign nobleman than him. Mina also caught sight of Lucy and Dracula dancing, and the warning bells in her mind screamed at her to rescue her sister. As they both attempted to make their way to Lucy, both were blocked off by the dancers.

   As the dance picked up speed and Lucy and Dracula were passed from partner to partner, she silently asked him how she could recognize every aspect of him – his voice, his eyes, his face – as if she had known him before in some long-forgotten past. In response, Dracula’s gaze rebuffed her, stating that he was but a ghost, a mere illusion of the man she sought. Despite his unspoken words, Lucy could see now that rejecting her was torturous for him. Suddenly, they found themselves being passed to each other, their eyes pleading for answers to the unspoken questions that hung heavily between them.

   Despite how much he wished he could tell her everything, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. No matter how much she begged, pleaded, or was filled with sorrow in her eyes as he turned her away, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring himself to hope, to let go of the pain that’d hurt him for so long. To accept that his Lisa had returned.

   As the dance came to an end and the guests erupted into applause, Dracula politely kissed Lucy's hand before pulling her close and whispering in her ear, his voice barely audible above the noise; “There are no words left to say.” With a heavy heart, he silently departed, leaving Lucy standing there, feeling an overwhelming sense of loss and a torrent of unanswered questions swirling in her mind. Overcome with emotion, Lucy fled the gala, her eyes welling up with tears. Seeing Lucy fleeing, Mina hurriedly followed in pursuit, deeply concerned.

   As the guests applauded the band, Dracula graciously expressed his thanks to his esteemed guests but regretfully announced his need to retire due to fatigue from his long journey. He urged his guests to continue reveling in the gala party in his absence.

🦇

   As Dracula left, Marya and Verona trailed behind. They wanted to ask him about what they’d seen, but the cold air seeping off their master silenced any lingering questions. The serpentine corridors of Carfax Abbey lay dimly lit as the trio wordlessly navigated their way to the cellar doors. After ensuring that they weren’t being followed, Dracula produced an eerie skeleton key, crafted from human bones, and unlocked the cellar. They swiftly entered and locked the door behind them.

   Upon reaching the rear of the cellar, they came upon a concealed door. Passing through, they were met by Marishka who’d been awaiting them, holding a flickering torch that cast ghostly light and standing before a staircase spiraling down into the inky abyss. Catching the still lingering smell of the humans from the party upstairs off her master and the others, Marishka savored the tantalizing aroma. Still resentful of being barred from mortal affairs to keep up their façade, Marishka struggled to contain her insatiable thirst. It wasn’t her fault that she found the scent of mortal blood irresistible. Nevertheless, her master had insisted on maintaining an unassuming presence at the gala to ensure that their true intentions in London remained concealed from prying eyes and meddling interruptions. And anything her master wanted, Marishka did unwaveringly.

   As Marishka guided her master and the others down the dimly lit staircase by her torch light, Marya, unable to contain her curiosity, finally mustered the courage to ask her father why Lucy bore such a striking resemblance to her late mother. If it’d been anyone else after being ordered not to utter a word of the matter, they’d have been deprived on their head before their question fully escaped their lips. But for his daughter, Dracula could only let out a grieved sigh.

   Marishka, though, was left startled by the question and quickly dismissed Marya’s claims, believing that she was simply wishing to see things that weren’t there. However, when Verona corroborated Marya’s claim that Lucy did indeed resemble Lisa, Marishka’s initial denial turned into fiery rage. She adamantly insisted that it was impossible for Lisa to have returned, her voice filled with intensity.

   Tensions escalated as the three of them engaged in a heated argument, their fangs bared and hissing filling the air like the sound of demons. Just as the situation seemed to spiral out of control, Dracula slammed the iron ferrule of his cane against the stone steps, causing sparks to flare. His authoritative voice cut through the chaos, commanding their immediate silence. The three of them, now cowed by his dominance, retreated into the shadows, their argument quelled in an instant.

   With the conflict diffused, Dracula sternly reminded them of their mission’s importance and forbade any further discussion about Lucy Westenra. He emphasized that whether or not she was indeed a reincarnation of Lisa was irrelevant at that moment. Their ambitions for London took precedence, and they needed to focus on fulfilling it instead of chasing past ghosts and dreams. Realizing their mistake, the three swiftly apologized for their disruptive dispute, acknowledging the gravity of their mission. With that out of the way Dracula continued his descension down the staircase, quickly followed by the others.

   The air grew heavier with anticipation as they finally reached the bottom, with Dracula handing Marya his cane to hide away. Passing through a concealed entrance, Marishka’s torch light revealed before them a breathtaking sight – a labyrinthine network of ancient underground catacombs. The eerie tunnels exuded a haunting atmosphere, their dimly lit passages contrasting starkly with the lively gala unfolding upstairs. For within the heart of these catacombs lied a grand council table surrounded by the distinguished representatives of the vampiric empire Sanguis Regnum [trans: Blood Kingdom]. Members from all over the world had heeded their king’s summons; each feared and respected vampire nobles commanding their own vampiric clans.

   The savage hunter Chief Asanbosam from the city Opar hidden deep within the jungles of Africa, accompanied by his vampiric jaguar familiar, Sabor. The formidable Empress Chō of Northern Japan, flanked by her elite Jiāngshī bodyguards. Boyar Dragoslav, known for ruling his court in Russia with an iron fist, both literally and figuratively. Even the extremely thin and very tall Count Orlok of Germany had made his attendance, his lidless eyes and creepy smile unnerving even his fellow vampire lords and ladies. Queen Sekmet, Count Hoenheim, Countess Elizabeth Báthory, the twins Raman and Sharma - almost every influential leader of Dracula’s nation had been assembled. Almost. Though the assembly before him was to be expected, one attendant, the most important one, was absent.

   As the guests of his true welcoming gala caught sight of their master approaching (trying to conceal his limp), Verona took a step forward. “Esteemed Lords and Ladies,” she announced with a reverent tone, her voice echoing through the ancient catacombs. “It is with profound reverence that I present to you the emperor of our dark lineage. The King of Vampires, the Prince of Darkness, Sovereign of Shadows, Master of the Night, Lord of the Undying, and Our Benevolent Creator. I give to you, Dracula!”

   As the leaders either applauded out of reverence, awed in astonishment, or remained silent out of fear, Dracula’s icy gaze swept over the assembled council, and his disappointment was palpable. As the applause faded, the leaders took their seats, awaiting the words of their long absent master with bated breath. Once everyone was seated, Dracula took his seat at the head of the table. In a voice of unchallenged authority and command, he admonished the coven leaders.

   During his absence to recover from a grave injury, they’d governed Sanguis Regnum in his stead, and he found their rule lacking. The once formidable reputation of vampires had dwindled to mere myths and legends, and the fear they had instilled in the world had all but vanished. The vampire covens, who once dominated the world and ruled nations from the shadows, had become complacent, indolent, and feeble, retreating to their enclaves and resorting to trading with humans for scrapes rather than exerting control over humanity.

   Well, he proclaimed, the age of man was about to meet its demise. Dracula proudly announced his return from retirement, declaring claim of London as his new domain. Soon, he would amass an army of fledgling vampires, ready to seize control over the greatest city in the world. The birthplace of the Industrial Revolution would be theirs for the taking, giving them the tools needed to conquer the world. The next century would belong to them, and from the ashes of London, Sanguis Regnum would reign once more; returning to its former glory and ensuring the dominance of vampires over the world, reducing humans to nothing more than mere livestock for their vampiric overlords.

   As the assembled coven leaders cheered for Dracula’s bold resurgence and his promise of a world ruled by vampires, one countess interjected Dracula’s declaration: Countess Carmilla of Styria. While she acknowledged Dracula’s admirable ambitions, she reminded him that the reason the vampire nation had lasted for so long in his absence was due to the laws he himself established, specifically the Law of Challenge: that no coven leader could claim another’s territory without the current ruler’s consent or winning in a trial by combat to the death. Complicating matters further, the current count of London, Sir Francis Varney, was conspicuously absent from the meeting and had been missing for some time. The mere mention of Varney’s name and his refusal to heed the summons filled Dracula with seething rage, though he kept his outward composure checked.

   Carmilla, speaking for the other vampire lords, argued that until Varney was located and either yielded control of London by consent or was defeated, Dracula would be regarded as an esteemed guest. Seeing that he could not break his own laws or else create cracks in his unchallenged domain, Dracula relented and agreed to Carmilla’s terms, commanding Verona and Marishka to track down that sewer rat Varney and drag him on his feet before him as soon as possible.

   But in the meantime, Dracula wished to reunite with his generals and share in their exploits. Signaling to Marishka, Dracula announced that their feast was ready – as Marishka brought in the children from the burned down orphanage. As the coven leaders moved to enjoy the midnight snacks, Dracula spotted Marya turning away in avoidance – cold shivers running through her spine as she heard their innocent screams. She would need to remove such weaknesses, Dracula thought, if she were to rule the covens as Queen one day after his passing.

   Their screams reminded him of one of the last nights they’d had in Transylvania: when Jonathan Harker had stumbled upon the brides’ chamber. [Dracula, The Musical – Fresh Blood] They would’ve torn him apart if Dracula had not stopped them, ordering the women to leave Jonathan alone. He’d commanded them before Jonathan had arrived that until he was done with him, they were forbidden to touch him. Afterward, they could get their “kisses” from him at their will. To appease the disappointed trio, Dracula offered them a bag containing a small, “half-smothered” child.

   Oh, how he missed home. Back in the dark, misty lands of Transylvania, Dracula reigned as the lord of darkness, orchestrating haunting melodies with his children of the night. Though the villagers cowered in fear of him and his kin, that fear had led to them fortifying their defenses and shunning any proximity to his domain. As such, Dracula was forced to prey on lone wanderers and unsuspecting travelers, as the villagers remained beyond his reach. He’d even resorted to feeding on animals, behaving more like a feral beast than a noble creature of the night. The thirst for fresh blood and new pastures drove him to seek out new hunting grounds.

   Now though, in the gaslit streets of London, Dracula, accompanied by his brides and daughter, prowled the night with eerie grace, seamlessly blending into the bustling crowds as they preyed on unsuspecting city dwellers. To the oblivious majority of Londoners, they were simply just another group of pale faces in the crowd. Even the elite of London, should they encounter Dracula, dismissed him as one of their own, completely oblivious to the true nature of the heinous acts being committed right under their noses.

   For those astute members of high society who could see through his façade, Dracula had his ways of dealing with them. Whether it was leveraging the information gleaned from them during his lavish gala to blackmail them or resorting to more drastic measures, such as his brides dispatching them quietly and him later absorbing their wealth and connections through nefarious means, Dracula always found a way to maintain his grip on the city’s elite.

   Long after the meeting with the coven leaders, Dracula and his coven celebrated with a wild night on Tower Bridge. With but a wave of his hand, a thick fog had mysteriously rolled in from the Thames, providing the perfect cover as they quietly preyed upon nearly a dozen unsuspecting citizens. After sating his thirst, Dracula perched atop one of the bridge’s towers, surveying the city with a predatory gaze. Below him, Verona, Marishka, and Marya stood poised, ready to follow their master’s lead. Looking out over the city, Dracula could sense all the blood coursing through London’s streets. He would fill London with countless requiems as he and his coven bled the city dry. The blood of his victims would not only sustain and renew him from his grievous wounds, but also serve as the foundation for his new empire. When he was ready, he would raise those he deemed worthy as his new children of the night, expanding his coven and solidifying his dominion over the city. Soon, his empire would rise again, and he would never die!

Chapter 4: Kindling Love and Loss in the Night

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Dark Universe

Image

Written by Andrew Downs and Thomas Lapeyrouse III


   Several nights later, the glow of the moonlit sky filtered through an open window in a room at Queen’s College, providing Mina a calming presence in an otherwise weary-filled day. Sitting at the smaller of the two desks in her classroom, Mina diligently prepared for the upcoming first day of class, going over the final notes and lessons... though she knew more than half of what she’d written over the summer would be disregarded and thrown out the next day. As an assistant teacher, Mina found joy in many aspects of her role, yet there were three things she disliked the most.

   Firstly, the endless paperwork. Mina hated being bogged down doing all the paperwork by hand for her class, finding it tedious and time-consuming. She wished she could bring her typewriter to work, a cherished gift from Jonathan. That’d not only make work run much faster but she could also be swept away by her memories. At home, Mina delighted in using the typewriter to jot down her thoughts, from crafting better daily class schedules and yearly agendas to penning fantastical stories she dreamed of publishing one day. One memorable evening, Mina and Jonathan had spent time together transcribing his notes from work – the man was very detailed, but his penmanship was atrocious. However, the class teacher found the noise of the clicking keys annoying, so Mina was barred from ever bringing it back to class again.

   Second, the course she’d been stuck with helping to teach. “Proper etiquette and decorum?” Mina mused, often questioning the relevance of such topics. Who truly cared about how to talk fancy in high society or how to properly eat a fancy meal? Well, aside from her mother that is. To Mina, these lessons felt like relics of a bygone era, reinforcing roles that limited the potential of the young women she was charged with shaping the futures of. Mina wished she could’ve convinced that stubborn headmaster to let her teach subjects that were truly useful – science, medicine, astronomy, history. Those were the fields that could inspire the girls to become more, not just good housewives for their husbands one day. She longed to give them the tools to make a name for themselves, to break the cycle of becoming mere ornaments in society. Mina let out a sigh. Unfortunately, the world, it seemed, still wasn’t ready for women to achieve things on their own.

   Last, but certainly not least, was working under the class’ teacher: Ms. Ulga. A plump of a woman with an air of authority, who’d obtained this job from her husband, one of the board members, not with the intent of bettering her students’ lives, but rather to torment them… and by extension, Mina herself. Every day last year she’d given her students endless impossibly difficult and inane tasks: balancing books on their heads, an exercise that seemed more suited to a circus act; memorizing the proper use of every utensil, scolding one girl for hours when she mistook a salad fork for a dessert fork; and most frustrating of all, the constant drilling of the notion that the girls should be seen but not heard, a lesson that Mina found particularly stifling. Mina often wondered if Ms. Ulga had been given the job solely to break the girls’ spirits, to mold them into staying in their place. Because she didn’t do much else. She didn’t prepare her own assignments ahead of the school day, didn’t handle any of her own paperwork, she even seemed to know less than half of the girls’ names.

   Those three elements made working as an assistant teacher a constant test of Mina’s patience and resolve. However, despite this, she remained committed to her students. She was determined to provide them with the support and encouragement they needed to thrive, in hopes they’d one day be able to pursue their own interests.

   As the clock chimed, Ms. Ulga told Mina she was heading home early and to finish up the paperwork before leaving, no matter how long it took. As she was heading out, she ‘accidentally’ bumped into Mina’s tea and spilled it across her desk and the floor. Standing in the doorway, she told Mina to clean that up as well before slamming the door shut, causing Mina to fail to stop some of her stacks of paper from falling about. As Mina wiped the tea from her uniform and went to pick up her papers, she muttered under her breath her disdain for that woman. Oh, how she wished something would get her to change her ways.

🦇

   As Ms. Ulga made her way home, the carriage she rode in suddenly stopped. Peering out to shout at the driver, he told her something had spooked the horses and caused the wheel to break. Frustrated and wanting to return home and to that lark pie her servant had made, Ms. Ulga decided she’d walk the rest of the way, using the district of Whitechapel as a shortcut.

   As she walked the dim streets quickly, Ms. Ulga was disgusted. The streets were littered with garbage and refuse. Drunken men roared from open bars, and women stood on the streets seeking work. Seeing those girls especially disgusted Ms. Ulga, reminding her of the brats she had to teach back at the college. If any of those girls didn’t meet her standards for high society, she’d make sure they’d end up on these streets, or worse. The thought made her smile. Lost in her thoughts of how she would instill enough fear in her students this year to ensure that they’d behave in polite society to avoid living in the gutters, no matter how much they deserved it, she suddenly realized that she had taken a wrong turn somewhere and was now completely lost. As she pondered to herself which way to go, Ms. Ulga saw in the corner of her eye a shadow move. [Bram Stoker’s Dracula – The Hunt Builds]

   Seeking refuge from whatever or whoever it might be, she ventured further into an alleyway, only to find herself becoming even more entangled in this labyrinth of refuse and filth. Alone, as those she’d just scorned and looked down upon were nowhere in sight. Just as she turned a corner, she caught sight of another shadow darting behind her. Whirling around, she found nothing but emptiness. Her heart pounded in her chest as she sprinted down the narrow passage, coming to the terrifying realization that she was being stalked.

   Her heart raced with fear as she desperately tried to escape her pursuer. Memories of the chilling stories from ten years ago flooded her mind – the madman who had terrorized this very district, preying on innocent street girls. What was his name again? It started with a J; she was sure of it. Jock? But surely, he had been apprehended by the police or that famous detective from Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes, or maybe he had met his end nearly a decade ago. Surely, he couldn’t possibly still be-

   Abruptly, a shadowy figure emerged from the ground at the end of the street where Ms. Ulga was running. She stumbled and fell, frozen in horror as she gazed at the figure. His head was concealed by a black top hat, all she could see were glowing red eyes. She couldn’t be certain, but it seemed as though dozens, if not hundreds, of rats were either trailing behind him or scurrying out from within his thick black cloak. In his hand, he brandished a gleaming knife. Ms. Ulga’s screams pierced the air as she scrambled to her feet and fled, desperately calling for help. Her heart pounded in her chest as she raced through the alley in a frantic attempt to evade her pursuer, only to find herself trapped at a dead end.

   Her desperate cries for help pierced through the night. Sadly, the only one to answer her call was her pursuer. Coming around the corner, the figure scrapped his knife along the brick walls, humming a chilling tune. From all around her, rats scurried out of drainage or cracks in the walls, encircling her like a pack of predators. She begged to be sparred, offering the man anything he wanted – money, jewels, power. The man simply bore his perfectly white fanged teeth and told her in a broken cockney accent that he desired only one thing: to send a message, that the infamous Jack the Ripper was back to reclaim London as his own and sow terror once again.

   As the man lunged to sink his fangs into her neck and the rats swarmed her, Ms. Ulga’s final, bone-chilling scream slowly faded away into the engulfing darkness.

🦇

   Days later, Marya made her way across the rooftops of London, the glow of the city’s lights casting eerie shadows; her pace quickened as she slipped under the notice of late-night pedestrians. To her, the city seemed lifeless, devoid of color and excitement. The people around her engaged in mundane conversations about trivial matters like prices and the unusual weather (storm clouds hanging over the sky, blocking the sun day and night, yet never letting out a drop of rain), adding to her sense of ennui.

   She loved it.

   Marya would’ve loved to have the luxury of such boredom, a respite from the relentless demands that weighed on her. Instead, her days were fraught with restless dreams, and her nights were filled with nightmares while hunting. Marya was a proficient hunter, efficient, and calculated in her pursuits. Unlike Marishka and Aleera, who toyed with their prey, she approached her hunts with the same determination and precision as her father and Verona. She never was caught, and unlike her family, her victims never died, merely waking up hours later with a mysterious mark on their necks and a bad headache. That is unless she was caught, oftentimes by Marishka. Then her conscience and hands would be stained by the blood of the innocent.

   Of all her father’s 'Brides', she hated Marishka. Verona was a great mentor and Aleera was a fun companion to run through the wilds of the Carpathian Mountains and Transylvanian forests with. But Marishka’s boisterous and sultry demeanor around Dracula, utter disdain and contempt for humans, and constant demeaning towards her were more than Marya could bear. And seeing her seduce and then torturously devour that couple nearly caused her to lose her stomach.

   She understood her father’s deep-seated hatred for humans because of his past and that they’d killed her mother. She understood Verona’s contempt for humans, as she viewed them as inferior beings and was wholly consumed by her devotion to her master. She even could understand Aleera’s façade of sweetness when interacting with the villagers of Gresit or the wandering Vistani, treating them like pets one moment and prey the next if so ordered to take them out by Dracula. But Marishka? Marishka was different. Marishka’s disdain for humans went beyond mere hatred, or a perception of inferiority, or even a necessity for survival. No, that woman thrived on her twisted enjoyment from tormenting them, as if she regarded humans as nothing more than playthings – puppets to be manipulated for her own sick amusement. To torment to her delights. To Marya, it was nothing short of repulsive.

   Now sure, Marya fed on humans; the blood of animals did little to sate her hunger after all. But unlike the rest of her family, Marya saw humans more compassionately – remembering what is was like once to be one of them. Remembering the feeling of warmth on her skin. Remembering what it was like to see the sun. Remembering how scared she was of monsters lurking in the night – though now she was one of them. Sometimes, she even tried to warn humans to flee before her father or the brides could feed on them, such as helping Jonathan Harker flee the castle or hiding that boy on the ship.

   Memories came rushing back of when she had desperately tried to shield the young cabin boy from harm, helping him hide beneath the captain’s desk in the cramped cabin while her father’s newly turned thrall had relentlessly pursued him. He had been so young and terrified, his pleading eyes begging her to keep him safe. In those harrowing moments, she had clung to the hope that he would survive until they reached land, where she could possibly arrange for his escape and ensure that he could start a new life far away from the clutches of her family.

   Unfortunately, Marya had only just led him to more danger.

   As the thrall bashed his head into the door to try and reach the boy, Marya heard a disapproval tisking from the ceiling. Hanging in one of the corners was Marishka, scolding Marya for protecting a human and asking what her father would think. At that moment, Marya was filled with so much fear – not by Marishka; she knew she could take her out easily. She was merely a third-generation vampire, after all, while Marya was turned by Dracula himself. No. What she feared was Marishka gleefully rushing off to rat her out to Dracula; that was what she dreaded.

   Ever since she could remember, she’d followed his orders obediently out of a mix of both love and fear. She’d seen firsthand what happened to those who disobeyed him, and the screams they’d echo in the castle’s halls chilled her to the bone to this day. It was that fear that’d kept her in line, kept her loyal, kept her from rebelling or even questioning him once. It was that fear that’d compelled her to turn on the boy. And it was that fear that had her running now.

   Moments ago, Marya had spotted Marishka on a rooftop targeting a family – a mother, father, and young daughter. They were a young, happy family with the world to look forward to, and while Marya would’ve left the family alone, not wanting to deprive the girl of even one of her parents, Marishka – Marishka had already dropped to the street alley, deciding to end their futures that night. As they passed the alley, Marishka approached and spoke charmingly to them, her eyes glowing dimly red. As the couple’s eyes clouded over, Marishka led them into the alley while their daughter was left afraid and asking why her parents were ignoring her. As the girl was about to follow her parents down the alley, Marya leaped from the roof to stop her, begging her to turn around and flee before it was too late. To shut out the screams that echoed out around the corner. To not look at the scene down the alley and see her parents’ lifeless bodies.

   Just as Marya was about to grab the girl and flee, she heard Marishka approach from behind, questioning why Marya was interfering with her hunt. When she saw the girl, Marishka laughed, telling Marya that she’d had her fill and that the girl could leave. Marya demanded that Marishka swear not to harm the girl, which she did. After Marya finally got the girl to calm down, she used her hypnotic gaze to force the girl to turn around and run away. To find whatever family she had left and to run to them. Unfortunately, she only got a few feet before Marishka spooked a horse drawn carriage going down the road into running her over.

   Having failed to save another life, Marya turned to face Marishka only to see she’d vanished, her lingering laughter filling the air. As more people arrived, Marya turned and ran, not caring where she went. She needed to put distance between herself and the scene. It was one thing for her to try and save humans. It was another thing entirely for her to be caught in or near the scene of a hunt. Her father had made his instructions very clear that their hunts were to remain untraceable back to them and the punishments that awaited if his rules were broken.

   She hated Marishka. She hated her life. She hated it all! She just wanted to get away.

   Minutes after running, Marya stopped. She’d not been paying attention to where she’d run off to, only being guided by her instincts, which had told her to find a place to hide away from prying eyes. Taking in her surroundings properly, she found herself on the rooftop of a building where a few girls in school uniforms were exiting or entering down below. Spotting a plaque on the gate, Marya read from a window’s reflection Queen’s College. She’d seen it as she’d scouted out London upon arrival but hadn’t thought much of the all-girls school till now. As she surveyed her surroundings, she was struck by the unfairness of this place. The girls here had bright futures ahead of them. They were forging their own paths. What path lay before her? More of the same that lay behind her. Or worse.

   Shuddering at the thought, Marya’s ears flicked forward. Voices? Crawling down the side of the building like a spider, Marya pressed herself into the shadows. From inside one of the classrooms, she could see girls were exiting, probably leaving for their final classes before heading off for home or their boarding rooms. Two girls in particular were lagging behind as they talked. One was wearing a cast on her leg and using a crutch and was complaining about the next class on etiquette they were heading to. As Marya watched them go, her insides clutched suddenly. Marishka had ruined her own hunt, and fleeing the scene had left Marya hungry. While she didn’t want to kill the girls, a simple bite and few drops of blood would sate her enough, and they’d be none the wiser; just a bit dizzy after the hypnosis wore off. The complaining girl’s leg would make her easy prey if Marya could catch her alone.

   Once the girls had left the room, Marya cautiously checked to ensure that it was empty before she made her way to the window. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she slid the window open and gracefully slipped through, landing inside the room. After a quick change in her shadowy attire to match the school uniforms and adopting one of her personas in case any of these girls’ parents had attended her father’s welcoming gala, Marya emerged from the room and stealthily followed the other girls. She adopted a slinking pace of something hiding in plain sight and seamlessly merged into the crowd, walking along as if she had every right to be among all the shifting, warm, juicy bodies – No, she couldn’t think like that! Couldn’t think like them! Her stomach growled, and she resisted the urge to punch it.

   As she walked, one of the girls beside her commented on her growling stomach, asking if Marya had missed dinner as well. Startled, Marya turned to face the speaker, and her heart skipped a beat – if it beat at all that is. The girl beside her was strikingly beautiful; her curls, like the golden light of the sun, bouncing with each step, framing her soft features; her blue eyes sparkling like the first rays of sunrise across the Black Sea; her smile warmer and kinder than any gentle fire. Without hesitation, the girl delved into her book satchel and retrieved a portion of bread, offering it to Marya.

   Gratefully accepting the offering, Marya realized with a sinking feeling that she was the only one in the crowd not carrying books. The girl’s puzzled expression revealed her confusion, assuming that Marya must have been in such a rush that she had forgotten not only to eat but also to bring her books. Without hesitation, she reached into her bag and pulled out a spare notepad and pen, offering it to Marya with a warm smile. Marya was completely taken aback by this unexpected act of kindness from a mere human. The genuine generosity, devoid of any ulterior motives, left Marya feeling a sense of warmth and bewilderment. She had never experienced such selflessness before.

   Marya managed to stammer her thanks, and the girl, introducing herself as Lilian Gray, reassured Marya that it was no trouble at all. In return, Marya introduced herself as Mary Dracon – a persona she had created on their way to London in case she ever needed an alias. Still reeling from the emotional impact of Lilian’s kindness, Marya allowed herself to be led into a small room filled with seats arranged in front of a chalkboard bearing the name ‘Miss Ulga’. As everyone settled into their seats, Lilian offered Marya a seat next to her – it seemed that there was no specific assigned seating order. The girls shuffled around, whispering to each other as the teacher entered the room. Marya spotted the girls from earlier a few rows ahead, but her attention was quickly drawn to the front of the room as the teacher began to speak.

   However, instead of Mrs. Ulga, the woman before them introduced herself as Ms. Mina Murray. She apologized for the last-minute change and explained that due to Mrs. Ulga’s unfortunate recent passing, the headmaster had assigned her as the substitute teacher till a replacement could be found. As Ms. Murray addressed the class, she informed them that while she would continue teaching social etiquette and decorum, she also had an interesting idea to change up their school year.

   The first half of their class would focus on the assigned material, while the second half would explore a wider range of subjects that had been previously off-limits for the girls. Ms. Murray aimed to delve into topics such as world history, geography, astronomy, and chemistry to broaden her students’ understanding of the world around them. She emphasized, though, that this change would need to be kept secret from the headmaster. By the end of the year, Ms. Murray hoped that her lessons would help her students go beyond what society and others wanted them to be and pursue their own aspirations and ambitions.

   As she sat in the classroom, immersed in the first of Ms. Murray’s more expansive lessons of the year, Marya listened, enrapt, as the lecture unfolded. She began hastily scrawling down as much as she could as Ms. Murray explained several scientific theories. While her father had taught her many secrets of the world already, Marya found that many of his teachings were outdated or that new information had been discovered. Around her, other students also made notes, but none of them tried to transcribe every word out of their teacher’s mouth. When Ms. Murray set down her chalk, Marya was shocked to find she’d nearly filled half of her borrowed notebook’s pages, deciding she’d need to buy some more if she attended more of Mina’s classes.

   No. Not if. When.

   Later, after everyone had left for home or their boarding room, Marya had sated her thirst with the girl from earlier. The girl was alive when she left and would, Marya hoped, put her dizziness from losing some blood to mere exhaustion. As Marya sat perched on the rooftop alone, lost in thought of the lessons Ms. Murray taught them while sitting beside Lilian, she came to a realization: Sitting in that classroom, surrounded by boring everyday human students, learning things she already knew but in a new light… for the first time in a very long time, she was doing something that she liked.

   Not what someone else had told her to like or to do. But what she wanted. For as long as she could remember, Marya had dutifully followed her father’s orders obediently. Ever since he and her mother, Lisa had rescued her from her life of squalor, desperate for help and on the verge of death, many centuries ago. While she loved her parents dearly, even with her father’s disdain for human life, this normal, boring, mundane life…

   Marya realized that this seemingly ordinary human life was something she wished to cherish every moment of.

🦇

   Elsewhere, as a carriage came to a gentle halt, Lucy leaned forward, her eyes widening with anticipation as she peered out of the window. Before her, the magnificent London theatre stood proudly amidst the mist-covered streets, its grand entrance exuding an air of timeless sophistication. Every intricate architectural detail seemed to come alive in the soft, inviting glow of the gas lamps that lined the entrance. As her gaze moved upward, she noticed the ornate marquee, proudly announcing the evening’s prestigious entertainment – a captivating performance by the esteemed London Symphony Orchestra.

   It’d taken Lucy quite some effort to persuade Arthur to accompany her to the theatre. Despite her deep affection for him, she couldn’t help but feel disheartened by his apparent indifference to music, plays, and even the exciting new motion pictures. As he’d said once while at dinner, the theater was a place for simple-minded fools who needed fictional stories to entertain themselves rather than focusing on the real world around them. In reality though, Arthur just couldn’t appreciate good art even if it stared him in the face. The only reason why he’d agreed to Lucy’s request to spend an evening at the theatre together was when the prospect of mingling with other high society members arose. Well, so long as all she had to do was dangle talking with bankers and socialites to get her fiancé to go out with her, she’d gladly do so.

   Nevertheless, as the carriage door swung open and Arthur offered his hand to assist her, Lucy’s heart fluttered with uncontainable excitement as she stepped out, eager to immerse herself in the enchanting world of the theatre. As they, along with her lady’s maid, Joan Briggs, approached, a sense of anticipation hung in the air. [Luigi Boccherini - Minuet - String Quintet] Upon stepping inside, they were enveloped by a hive of activity, with the buzz of conversation and the clinking of glasses creating a symphony of its own. All around, elegantly attired patrons milled about, their presence nearly suffocating Lucy in the world her mother had drilled into her. It was a world of appearances and expectations, one she was forced to smile through.

   Amongst the esteemed patrons in the theater’s lobby, Arthur eagerly spotted familiar faces and pulled Lucy along to join their conversation. Lucy, no stranger to the city’s social scene, recognized these influential figures from her numerous social engagements over the years. They included Sir Hawthorne, owner of the city’s foremost automotive enterprise; Lady Beatrice, whose influence extended across London’s expansive transport network, encompassing railways and shipping routes; Mr. Barrow, head of Barings Bank, one of the largest banks in London; and the iron and steel tycoon Mr. Cromwell.

   As he introduced them to Lucy and showed off their engagement ring, Lucy felt trapped as she was put on display. Oh, how she wished she could simply enjoy the theater without having to put on an act of her own for Arthur’s sake. Behaving prim and proper from sunup to sundown, pretending to be the perfect little daughter for her mother or doll for Arthur to show off to others, was rather tedious. All she wanted was to hear beautiful music with her good friend Joan and the man she loved, without social expectations bearing down on her. Though she was happy Mina was finally getting the chance to teach her own class, she wished her sister could’ve come to be a comfort against the pressures of social performance. Lucy longed for her sister’s strength, knowing that Mina would have helped her navigate the evening with ease.

   As Arthur engaged in trivial conversations with other members of London’s high society, finally ignoring her enough that she could slip away from the conversation, Lucy’s attention was suddenly drawn to a commotion outside. Temporarily excusing herself from Arthur’s company – though if he heard her, she wasn’t sure – Lucy, followed closely by Joan, made her way to the entrance to see the source of the disturbance. A police officer hurried past the theater entrance, blowing his whistle, and her gaze followed him to a small crowd gathered at the street corner. Peering over the heads of the theater patrons who were entering the building, Lucy saw that a young girl who’d been selling flowers had collapsed.

   Concerned for the girl’s well-being, she watched as a sudden chill passed through her. For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw two shadowy figures dressed in black with red eyes pass by her and enter the theater. Startled, Lucy felt a hand grasp her shoulder, causing her to let out a loud gasp. When she spun around, she was relieved to see that it was just Arthur inquiring about her sudden departure. Apologizing for causing him to worry, Lucy allowed Arthur to guide her back inside.

   Upon reentering the theater, amidst the lively chatter and laughter, Lucy was taken aback to see an addition among the elite guests: Lord Ashcroft, who held a near-total monopoly over telegraph communication within the city; The Earl of Cardigan, a highly respected member of the British aristocracy and a key figure in the government; Dr. Septimus Pretorius, a pioneer in the field of mechanics, chemistry, mental health, biology and human anatomy at the asylum where Jack Seward worked at; and most surprisingly of all, Count Dracula.

   The Count looked remarkably different from the last time she had seen him at the gala. Dressed in a refined London formal suit, he exuded an air of understated elegance. By his side stood his assistant, Verona, who was also gussied up for the occasion, dressed similarly to Joan; however, while Joan wore a kind smile, Verona seemed to radiate an aura of cold detachment. Despite his seamless integration into the elite crowd, Lucy couldn’t shake off the feeling that something about him was intriguingly different.

   As the ushers announced that seating was to start, the gathering entered the auditorium. Merging with the crowd, Lucy and the Count exchanged a brief, wordless exchange, the weight of their unspoken conversation hanging heavy in the air. Lucy’s mind was abuzz with questions about the Count, having never been able to put to rest the thoughts that’d raced through her mind during the gala. However, the memory of his cold, crass treatment towards her still gnawed at her. Maybe she’d just come off wrong when they last met? Had he actually not intended for her to follow him and lash out at her, disturbing his time alone? Or perhaps Dracula was just as dark and cold as Mina had said when she’d rushed to comfort Lucy when she’d run out of the gala with tears in her eyes. Despite her sister’s warnings that something about the Count disturbed her, Lucy’s thoughts had yet to stop lingering on him.

   Putting thoughts of the man aside for now, as Lucy climbed the staircase to the balcony seats, she was offered a moment of respite. Taking her mind off the Count for now, Lucy took in the opulence of the theater and momentarily forgot about Dracula. The night wasn’t about him; it was for her. Soon she’d be swept away by the awe-inspiring music of the orchestra, and she felt a surge of anticipation for the performance about to unfold. As they settled into their seats, the theater’s magnificence enveloped her. The anticipation of the music and the stories it would tell filled her with a sense of wonder. The conductor’s baton rose, and as the first notes of the orchestra filled the auditorium, Lucy was captivated. [Beethoven - Moonlight Sonata] Each note wove a tale, pulling her into an unspoken narrative that unfolded with every melody and movement.

   As the music washed over the audience, Dracula’s mind was instead consumed by thoughts of Lucy. Since the gala, he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling of regret for how he’d treated her. He couldn’t help but think of Lisa and the pain of realizing that he might have rejected her reincarnation in such a cruel manner. Why now? After all this time, why had she returned to him? To haunt him. Even after all these centuries, he could still smell the embers of that fateful night she was taken from him. Feel the blaze against his skin. Hear her screams.

   Despite his personal turmoil, Dracula knew that at the time of the gala, he had to set aside his emotions and focus on his plans to establish dominance over London and assert his authority over the coven leaders. Any sign of weakness would’ve easily been exploited by his enemies. However, now, in this theater where he could sense none of his kind aside from himself and Verona, perhaps… perhaps now he could find out if Lucy truly was his lost love returning to him or if she was just a stranger who wore her face.

   As the performance resonated through the grand hall of the theatre, Dracula telepathically shared with Verona his intentions to visit Lucy during the intermission and see if she possibly was the reincarnation of his beloved wife, Lisa Țepeș. Of all his brides and his servants across the ages, Verona had served him faithfully as his closest confidante for centuries. While Aleera looked after the land and villages within his domain and was a loyal attack dog, and Marishka was a skillful spymaster and distraction on lonely nights, Verona was his greatest lieutenant, with whom he had immense respect. Verona was utterly loyal towards him, viewing him as a mentor, and was willing to carry out any task without question.

   If Dracula commanded her to raze an entire town to the ground, she would execute his wishes with ruthless efficiency within the hour, leaving nothing but ashes in her wake. If he desired to acquire an estate in another country so he and his clan could find a new home, she would immerse herself in the intricacies of foreign business practices, setting up such an intricate web of contracts and legal maneuvers that would leave no trace of their involvement. If he was tasked with securing alliances, gathering blackmail material, or acquiring the expertise necessary to dominate London's vital industries and sectors - including automotive, transportation, metalworks, finance, communication, scientific fields, and political influence - she would orchestrate the disposal of those currently in control, ensuring her master’s rise to power.

   And when he tasked her with aiding him in determining if Lucy Westenra was the reincarnation of her Queen, Verona devised a flawless plan to facilitate a private and uninterrupted meeting between the two not just for that night but for many nights to come.

   As the musicians took a brief intermission, Lucy found herself left waiting for their performance to resume, eager to be captivated once again by the unspoken stories conveyed through their music… and to drown out Arthur’s snores. Glancing over at her fiancé, Lucy felt a twinge of irritation. It hadn’t even been five minutes into the performance before he had dozed off. Despite her love for Arthur, she couldn’t help but feel frustrated by his lack of appreciation for the arts and his tendency to dismiss the things she enjoyed. As she absently twisted the engagement ring on her finger, she couldn’t help but wonder if, as her mother kept insisting, she would eventually learn to overlook these traits once they were married. Taking out her bat necklace, Lucy found comfort in knowing that at least he’d yet to discover her fondness for things more macabre.

   On the bright side, Lucy took solace in the fact that she could share the performance with Joan, who appreciated the music just as much as she did. Abruptly, there was a knock behind the curtain. As Joan stepped through the black curtains to see who was there, she was unexpectedly greeted by Count Dracula. As she asked if she could help him, the eerie and compelling gaze of his red eyes ensnared her, and the world seemed to fade away as her mind was enveloped in a heavy mist. All she could hear was the Count’s voice, soothing and compelling, as he gave her commands that she felt compelled to accomplish at all costs. At that moment, all that mattered was completing her master’s wishes. After giving her his orders, Dracula told her that after she’d delivered the message, she would remember nothing he said.

   As Arthur awoke, he groggily asked if the performance had come to an end so they could go home. As Lucy bemoaned Arthur’s disdain for the theater, Joan reentered their private balcony and delivered in an eerie, emotionless voice that there was an urgent phone call for Arthur in the lobby. Lucy, seeing that Joan’s eyes seemed distant, as if shrouded in a fog, couldn’t help but express her concern. However, as soon as Lucy asked if she was alright, a flicker of light returned to Joan’s eyes, and she returned to her usual self, completely oblivious to her previous actions.

   As Arthur excused himself to take the call, he passed by Dracula, who apologized as he overheard Joan saying Arthur’s name and inquired if he was indeed Arthur Holmwood, son of Lord Godalming. After Arthur confirmed his identity, Dracula introduced himself and expressed genuine concern for Arthur’s ailing father, wishing him a swift recovery. Arthur, appreciative of the well wishes, introduced himself and Lucy, though she dismissed him – attempting to show the same coldness he’d shown her at the gala. Apologizing for his fiancé, Arthur shook Dracula’s hand; he couldn’t help but notice the unnaturally cold touch of the Count’s hand, sending a shiver down his spine.

   Despite this, Arthur graciously commended the Count for the remarkable transformation of Carfax Abbey, acknowledging the beauty of the estate’s refurbishments while subtly suggesting that it still required extensive repairs. In a somewhat backhanded manner, he insinuated that Dracula had been deceived into purchasing such a dilapidated home. In response, Dracula cryptically mentioned that the superficial repairs were intended to appeal to his guests during the welcoming gala. He had no intentions of making more extensive renovations, as he had purchased the abbey because it reminded him so much of the broken battlements of his own castle in Transylvania.

   As Arthur excused himself to take the call downstairs, he extended a courteous invitation to Count Dracula to join them in watching the rest of the performance. Before Lucy could voice any objection, the Count had already gratefully accepted, and Arthur hurried off, leaving Lucy and Dracula alone. Together, they sat in awkward silence, neither knowing what to say, and the weight of unspoken words hung heavy in the air.

   How vexing, Dracula mused to himself. After centuries of charming women and men alike with ease – often without even needing to resort to his hypnotic gaze – he now found himself at a loss for words. The one person who mattered the most to him, Lucy, who could very well be his beloved returned, sat beside him, and yet he could not break the silence. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Dracula was confronted with emotions he had long thought buried. His usual confidence, his ability to manipulate and charm, seemed to falter in Lucy’s presence. She was different – her innocence and beauty stirred something within him that went beyond mere conquest.

   At last, the grand music of the orchestra filled the room once again. [Mussorgsky – A Night on Bald Mountain] “Ah,” Dracula mused, recognizing the music. “Mussorgsky, 1867. A Night on Bald Mountain.”

   Intrigued, Lucy turned to the Count. “I’ve not heard of this one.”

   “It tells a story of a night atop Mt. Triglav in Slovenia,” Dracula explained, his fondness for the music evident. “There, many creatures of the night gathered at the command of their master, to make such sweet music. To revel before the morning light.”

   Feeling the tension easing away, Lucy let herself be swept up by the music. It was beautiful, reminding her of moonlit strolls near Carfax Abbey when she was younger, where swirling mists and dancing shadows created an enchanting atmosphere. Lucy quickly apologized, saying that she shouldn’t have said such dark things. However, instead of agreeing to change the subject, Dracula expressed fondness for the dark mists as well, how they reminded him of his homeland, where the mists would come down from the mountains to blanket the land, causing the moonlight to shimmer.

   Hearing this reminded Lucy of lines from a poignant old poem, reciting, “Above, lofty timbers, The walls around are bare, Echoing to our laughter, As though the dead were there!”

   Dracula, with a knowing smile, continued where Lucy left off, “Quaff a cup to the dead already.”

   Together, they recited the final verse, “Hurrah for the next to die!” and shared a moment of laughter. As their laughter ended, Dracula said with a contemplative air, “To die… to be really dead… that must be glorious.”

   Lucy found herself intrigued by this side of Dracula. He was far from the normal noblemen she’d come to expect. Most men would shy away or show discomfort when confronted with her darker thoughts and interests. But Dracula? He was the first person who seemed to genuinely find her fondness for the macabre just as appealing. Dracula then commented on her bat necklace, expressing how beautiful it looked around her.

   After thanking him there was a long pause before Lucy gathered her courage. “Count Dracula-”

   “Please, Ms. Lucy, call me Vlad.” The Count, Vlad, said warmly.

   “Vlad, I have to ask, and you can say nothing if you have to, though not saying anything would...” Vlad softly held her chin to pull her to look at him. Taking a deep breath, Lucy asked the question that had been plaguing her mind. “Why did you turn me away back at the gala?”

   Vlad fell silent for a moment before expressing his regret, “I apologize for how I behaved then. It was callous of me for how I treated you. But when I saw your face, I saw hers. Just as I reminded you of someone from your past, so too do you remind me of one from my own. It is... it is painful to speak of-”

   He was stopped as Lucy took hold of his hand, not shying away from its cold touch. “Then let no more words be spoken; just let the music overtake our troubles.” With that, the two of them sat in each other’s company, silently enjoying the performance together. Just the two of them, enraptured by the music, as Arthur never returned from the phone call. It was nice, Lucy thought, to finally have someone to appreciate the performance with.

   Unbeknownst to either of them, however, from across the theater, sitting in her own private balcony booth was Countess Carmilla. As the music swelled over the auditorium, Carmilla spied a truly intriguing sight through her lorgnette spectacles: Count Dracula consorting with a human woman as if they were young, shy lovers. And not just any woman. A woman that bore an uncanny resemblance to the late queen Lisa Țepeș? “Oh, now this will be interesting.” Carmilla smiled coldly, plans already brewing in her mind.

   When the performance finally came to an end, Arthur made his way back to where he had left Dracula and Lucy, who were engrossed in conversation about the eerie and the unusual. Arthur politely interrupted and apologized for his absence, explaining that he had been waylaid by a conversation with Mr. Barrow (another one of Dracula’s mesmerized pawns planted to distract him) on his way to the telephone. The two had unfortunately talked away until the performance concluded.

   As they left the theater, Vlad gallantly kissed Lucy’s hand as she boarded Arthur’s carriage. The Count expressed his desire to meet again, proposing a potential rendezvous with Arthur at one of the exclusive gentlemen’s clubs. Despite feeling unsettled by Dracula’s evident interest in his fiancée, Arthur agreed, hoping to foster a positive relationship with the Count. As the carriage made its way down the road, Lucy stole a final glimpse through the window as Vlad disappeared around the bend.

   As Verona followed closely behind Dracula, she caught sight of something she’d thought had been lost and forgotten for all eternity: a genuine smile on her master’s face. She couldn’t be certain if this Lucy was truly the reincarnation of her late queen, as they shared a remarkable resemblance and the same passions and interests, but it was too early to decide. It was of little importance, however, for what truly mattered was that her master appeared genuinely happy. And if this Lucy was the reason behind his smile, then Verona was determined to do everything within her power to ensure that it remained that way.

   When Lucy returned home after the theater, she told Mina (who was exhausted but happy from work) how she’d met with Count Dracula during the performance. Warry of the Count, Mina told her sister that she felt something was off about Dracula and warned her to not get too close to him. Though Lucy agreed, she couldn’t help but feel genuinely happy, wishing that her next encounter with Vlad would be soon.

🦇

   Later that night, Verona and Marishka were tracking down the current coven leader of England, Sir. Francis Varney. It’d not been an easy pursuit; the vermin had fled London nearly ten years ago, and any leads to where he’d been hiding were impossible to find. Then, recently they heard rumors that he’d returned to London and had resumed his theatrics in his old hunting grounds.

   As she and Marishka scanned the streets of Whitechapel, perched atop one of the district’s roofs, Verona was repulsed by the refuse below her. Only a sewer rat like Varney would choose to claim such filth as his lair. And the humans that lived there, just thinking of how diluted their blood was from all their debauchery and decadence, caused her stomach to turn. Give her a pure-hearted nun, an innocent child, or a fair maiden any day, Verona thought. Even the blood of livestock or wild animals was better than the lowest of humans. Still, orders were orders, and she and Marishka needed to accomplish their goal of finding Varney so he could relinquish London to their master.

   However, when she turned to ask her sister if she saw any traces of the vermin, she saw that Marishka had vanished. As she looked around to see where she’d gone off to, Verona heard her voice and looked down to see that Marishka was currently wooing one of the street girls. Typical, Verona thought. Marishka was always one for losing sight of the mission and getting herself into trouble. She didn’t have the level of self-control that Verona, or even Aleera’s for that matter, had when it came to dealing with humans. Whereas Verona could stand to act cordial when in their presence, if Marishka wasn’t playing with or tormenting them, then she was gorging herself on their blood. Hence why she was always relegated to staying away from humans within the castle or at the master’s side. However, with Aleera still out on her hunt for their little runaway, drastic measures had needed to be taken with their resident bloodhound away.

   Yet, it appeared that Marishka was onto something. After leaving the woman, uncharacteristically unharmed Verona noticed, Marishka returned to Verona’s side. Her sadistic sister informed her that a madman shrouded in shadows and wearing a tall black hat had been sighted nearby. Following the lead, the sisters finally found their target. Down one of the more decrepit alleys of Whitechapel was a shadowy figure matching the description, currently in the act of killing a female street worker.

   Dropping from the rooftop with the grace of a predator, Verona addressed the man before her with as much respect as she could stomach. “Demon of London, Whitechapel Murderer, Leather Apron, Scourge of the Battle of Austerlitz, Jack the Ripper.” Her words were laced with a mixture of disdain and formality. “Sir Francis Varney. A… pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

   Varney, unfazed by Verona’s presence, responded with a smirk. “Ah, yer’re one o’ them broads the ole king brought wiv ‘im, then, eh?” His tone was dismissive, mocking. Such undignified arrogance for a coven leader. “Took yer long enough? ‘ope yer found one o’ me callin’ cards.” He gestured casually to the dead woman at his feet. “Be a waste uvverwise.” Returning his gaze to Verona, he gave a mock bow. “So wot can ole Varney do for yer miss?”

   Despite Varney’s crude descriptors of herself and her master, Verona maintained her composure, her expression betraying only a hint of her irritation. “The Master has requested your summons for a private meeting,” Verona stated, her voice steady and authoritative.

   “Has he now? Well, as yer can spot, I’m in the middle o’ me midnight dinner. So, if yer kindly feck off and tell that geezer that I ‘ave declined to acquiesce ‘is request, I’ll be on me way!” Varney said, picking up the dead woman and throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

   Her patience worn thin, Verona silently signaled to Marishka, who’d been lurking in the shadows. “You are mistaken,” Verona said calmly. In an instant, Varney found himself pinned to the ground as Marishka, with supernatural speed and strength, tackled him to the ground, bending his arm back in a painful hold. No matter how much he struggled, he was no match for a vampire of Marishka’s age or superiority. “It was not a request,” Verona hissed, her voice cold and unyielding.

🦇

   Verona escorted Varney through the winding halls of Carfax Abbey with Marishka following behind, intent on not letting him slip away. As they walked, Varney was impressed by how dilapidated and in disrepair the inside of the Abbey appeared. When he questioned why it appeared as such when he’d heard the Count had thrown a lavish party for the humans a week ago, Verona told him that her master had wanted the place to feel like the old castle, to feel like home. Aside from the outside, which was to always remain in splendid condition to keep up the charade, tended to by thralls taken off the slums that none would miss, the Abbey was only to be tidied up when mortal guests were to arrive.

   Finally, they arrived at a pair of imposing, closed doors. Through the crack underneath, the warm glow of a crackling fire could be seen. Verona turned to Varney and asked him to wait for a moment before she entered the study. Inside, she informed her master that Varney had been brought as requested. After centuries of absence, hearing Dracula’s commanding voice echoed through the room, instructing Verona to bring Varney inside, filled Varney with fear. With a mix of trepidation and unease, Varney stepped into the room and beheld Dracula himself, seated by the fire, engrossed in the pages of Lorenzo Da Ponte by Tirso de Molina.

   Without even turning his gaze away from his book, Dracula spoke to Varney, his voice calm yet authoritative. He asked Varney if his invitation to the council meeting had been lost, to which Varney replied, No. Dracula then asked if he’d been held up by hunters or knights from the church. Once again, Varney replied, No. Finally, Dracula demanded to know why then he had been absent from the meeting.

   Varney, becoming fed up with the third-degree questioning, scoffed. Walking over to the fireplace, Varney poked at the fire. “Look ye majesty, I’ve been runnin’ London for centuries, per yor instructions, right.” Varney began, his voice tinged with frustration. “Sure, I might ‘ave stepped out for a few years ter stretch me legs a bit and avoid a ‘unter try’na shoot a hole in me head, but this city ‘as been fearin’ me ever since that wee bonfire yer caused in 1666,” He asserted, his voice tinged with defiance. Dracula’s eyes finally left the book to glare at Varney at the mention of that particular year.

   “And w ‘ave yer been, eh, o’ mighty master?” Varney gave a mocking bow. “No one’s seen yer for centuries and now yer come ‘ere, knockin’ on me front door like yer own th’ place. Thinkin’ yer can pick up back w yer left off as if the bloody bloomin’ rest o’ us ‘aven’t moved on? Demandin’ I pack me bags at the snap of yer fingers? Nah, I think I’ll stay. Right. I like this wee city, plenty o’ ‘umans just beggin’ ter be fed on. Yer can go on off back ter that shite wee castle o’ yors and take those munter dames and your twat daughter with y-”

   Closing his book with a snap that echoed like rolling thunder throughout the room, Dracula’s eyes narrowed and flashed a bright red as he rose from his seat, looming over Varney. As he approached, the cockney vampire was overcome by Dracula’s commanding presence. The lights in the room dimmed, flickering as though they might extinguish at any moment, leaving only the oppressive darkness that seemed to emanate from the Count himself. Dracula’s shadow stretched and twisted, overtaking the room, plunging it into pure darkness and bitter cold. From the depths of the darkness came a cacophony of unsettling sounds: the soft whispers of ancient, forgotten tongues, the chittering of a thousand bats, and the grotesque slurping noises of eldritch beasts lurking just beyond sight.

   Dracula’s voice, low and venomous, cut through the darkness like a blade. “I will not be questioned by you. I have told you how it will be. London is mine. You will relinquish it before the council. You will leave. Little Varney. Little vampire. Little parasite. Little sewer rat who delights in killing whores and making noise and pretending he is important and dangerous. Are you going to continue questioning me?”

   Dracula stepped closer, his red eyes burning with the intensity of hellfire. Varney, though trembling, summoned all his will to meet the Count’s gaze. It took every ounce of his strength to hold Dracula’s stare, but the effort was nearly unbearable. The weight of those glowing red eyes felt as though they were burning straight through his soul, exposing every fear, every weakness. “Are you going to fight me, Little Varney?”

   Varney hesitated, the weight of Dracula’s words pressing down on him. Sure, Dracula had been gone for centuries to heal the wound he received in 1666 that’d greatly weakened him, but he was still like a god to vampires of Varney’s meager caliber. No, he was their god. The only reason why Varney wasn’t dead yet was the laws Dracula had established – otherwise, he’d been fed to his rats the moment he had spoken against him.

   Varney, despite his reputation for cruelty and violence, was reduced to nothing more than a quivering shadow in the presence of the ancient vampire lord. The first vampire. The room seemed to shrink around them, the darkness pressing in as if the very walls themselves were waiting for Varney’s answer. “No,” he finally lamented, his voice barely above a whisper.

   “Then why are you still here making your little noises?” Dracula’s voice was a low growl, his patience wearing thin. “Get out before I slit you up the middle and bite out your heart.”

   Varney stood there for a moment before leaving, kicking one of the hall tables and sending a vase crashing to the floor on his way out, with Marishka following behind to ensure he left.

   As Varney left, Verona entered the study and shut the doors. Seeing Dracula slump back into his chair, she quickly rushed to her master’s side. The appreciation he showed her was worth more to her than all the riches in the world. Dracula clutched his chest where the wound still festered. Even after all these centuries, it still burned. A constant reminder of the night he failed.

   Verona fetched some mystical herbs that had been collected to create an alchemical solution to ease his pain. He apologized for how weak he must seem to her, barely capable of dominating an arrogant pest like Varney into obeying his word. Soon, though, that would all be behind them. Varney would either leave willingly or as ashes, and they would officially start their new lives as he expanded his empire.

   He would need to do so soon, though; despite the alchemical potion slowing his wound, it was only a matter of time before it took him. Decades, maybe, but it would take him in the end. He wanted, while he still had time, to ensure he had established a good home for Marya and his brides before he left this world.

   But would it be a good world for Lucy? His thoughts lingered, his ambitions and heart feuding over the future.

Notes:

Notes:

Lilian Gray is based on the lady Marya Zaleska wanted to paint a portrait of in the movie Dracula's Daughter, 'Lili', and her actress, 'Nan Grey'. She is also a relative of Dorian Gray, who passed away under mysterious circumstances six years before this story.

The book Dracula is reading when he confronts Varney, Lorenzo Da Ponte by Tirso de Molina, is about a young, arrogant, and sexually promiscuous nobleman who abuses and outrages everyone else in the cast until he encounters something he cannot kill bargain with dodge, or outwit.

Chapter 5: A Perfect Life

Chapter Text

Dark Universe

Image

Written by Andrew Downs and Thomas Lapeyrouse III

WARNING: The following depicts scenes of domestic violence. Reader discretion is advised.


   The night enveloped Queen’s College in a blanket of serene silence, the stars twinkling like distant lanterns in the velvety sky. Marya found solace atop the roof, where the cool breeze whispered through her hair, carrying with it the scents of the evening. Over the past few days, she’d carved out a small sanctuary in this routine that offered her both respite and excitement. When she wasn’t at her father’s side as he made preparations to conquer London and begin his war on humanity, she delighted in sneaking away to attend Ms. Murray’s lectures, where mortal knowledge flowed like a hidden river waiting to be discovered.

   After class, she would settle into a secluded corner on the roof, engrossed in transcribing her notes from spidery to neat handwriting. As she reread her transcriptions, time and again her eyes would catch glimpses of a few familiar faces – other girls from Ms. Murray’s class. Evidently, a few of them were equally absorbed in their studies, their minds alight with the thrill of learning subjects once deemed inaccessible.

   The air crackled with their shared enthusiasm, a silent camaraderie among those who dared to seek knowledge in the shadows. Marya felt an incredible sense of fortuity; not only could she pass herself off as a regular student, slipping into the vibrant world of mortal academia undetected, but she had also managed to elude the watchful gaze of those who might question her presence. With the weight of secrecy lingering around her, she cherished every moment, reveling in the freedom to learn without boundaries, to be among humans without facing fear of what she truly was, all while perched atop the college’s roof – a hidden gem in a world where she no longer felt entirely out of place.

   When not at the college, Marya often found herself slipping into closed bookshops, where the scent of aged paper of studies and stories beckoned her. With a practiced ease, she would help herself to their intriguing selection of wares, savoring each new discovery as though it were a rare delicacy. The allure of the city’s nightlife also called to her, drawing her to a bar just a few blocks away that had proved a windfall for a lazy hunter – or one who would rather spend her evenings perched atop the college rooftop, lost in her readings and practicing lessons.

   The bar, known for its lively atmosphere, regularly teemed with patrons seeking merriment and escape. The constant revelry meant that many guests indulged to excess, losing themselves in the haze of drink and laughter. This made it easy for Marya to blend into the scene, unnoticed amidst the swirling chaos of inebriated company. As night fell, she could count on the steady stream of drunken revelers staggering out into the darkened streets, whom nobody questioned when they turned up unconscious during their trip home.

   With a careful approach, Marya could discreetly collect what she needed – a few pints of rich, warm blood from those who were too far gone to notice her presence. This method allowed her to sustain herself without resorting to lethal measures, maintaining her moral compass. While the taste of alcohol mingling with their blood left a dour taste, having no adverse effect of her vampire biology, it was a small price to pay for preservation.

   Having sated her thirst for now, Marya felt a pull of curiosity as laughter drifted to her from an open window. With a sense of intrigue, she crawled across the shadow-covered walls closer to the sound. Peering inside, she caught sight of her classmates gathered in the warm glow of the library, their joy palpable as they studied together, immersed in their own world. How she wished to be closer to them, to study with and just be a normal girl around ordinary humans. Amongst these girls was one who always stayed late to study in the library, the one who held a special place in Marya’s heart – a heart burdened yet elated by unspoken feelings. Lilian Gray.

   Ah, Lilian. Sometimes Marya would put her notetaking on hold just to stare at her beauty. With her golden hair cascading like sunlight around her delicate face, seemingly ethereal as she laughed, the sound soft and inviting like a gentle breeze. Her eyes sparkled with a vivacity that would’ve made Marya’s heart flutter – if it could beat at all. Her kindness and infectious happiness radiated naturally, like a lone candle shining brightly in Marya’s encompassing darkness. Countless pages in the sketchbook Marya had borrowed from a quaint little art store bore witness to her affection, filled with detailed depictions of the girl who had quietly stolen her heart.

   Marya found herself caught in a whirlwind of desire and despair as she watched Lilian interact with their friends, wishing desperately to be part of that joyful gathering, to be just a normal girl surrounded by those she admired. The thought of expressing her feelings to Lilian felt like a distant dream, overshadowed by the grim realities of their world. Here, in this part of the world, love between two girls was not only frowned upon but considered taboo, and fear gripped Marya’s heart at possible rejection. The thought sent a shiver down Marya’s spine.

   But worse yet, what if Lilian discovered her secret? Discovered that she was a vampire? Discovered that she was not in fact Mary Dracon – that she was Marya Dracul Țepeș, the daughter of the infamous Count Dracula and princess of Sanguis Regnum. Imagining the horror that would flicker across Lilian’s face if she learned the truth made Marya’s chest tighten. Perhaps… perhaps she’d understand if Marya revealed her secrets slowly, leaving out the more heinous acts of her past and the dark legacy that clung to her family name?

   No.

   No, for now, all Marya could do was look upon Lilian through the pane of glass that separated them. Through this barrier that beautifully showcased Lilian’s charm but cruelly withheld Marya’s own reflection. A reflection that Marya had not seen for centuries. She couldn’t even tell if the guise she’d chosen to sneak into the college appealed to Lilian.

   Sighing deeply, Marya leaned her back against the weathered stone wall, feeling the rough texture against her skin. The cool night air wrapped around her as her mind was filled with longing, fear, and unspoken love – a complex tapestry of emotions that she dared not reveal to anyone, even as her heart ached for connection. She gazed into the velvety darkness, lost in thought, when suddenly, a voice sliced through the stillness of the night.

   “What were you looking at, Princess?”

   Startled, Marya jumped upright, her pulse quickening as she recognized the silken voice of Marishka. Perched like a panther in the gnarled branches of a nearby tree by the College, Marishka’s dark silhouette blended seamlessly with the shadows. “Marishka?” Marya stammered, a wave of panic washing over her at the thought of being discovered. “What are you– I mean, I w-was just out on a hunt, and–”

   “Don’t play coy with me, Princess,” Marishka interrupted, a teasing glint in her eyes as she waved a finger dismissively at Marya. The sound of that finger slicing through the air seemed to silence any feeble excuses Marya might have conjured. “I know you’ve been sneaking away to this spot for some time now.” The gleeful look that spread across Marishka’s face upon seeing Marya’s features pale with dread brought an unexpected thrill to her heart.

   Laughter as sultry as moonlight spilled from Marishka’s lips, echoing softly against the quiet night. Overcome with a desperate urge to stop her from revealing too much or doing something reckless, Marya followed as Marishka gracefully ascended from the tree, her movements fluid and cat-like. As they reached the roof, Marya hurriedly scanned her surroundings but found the space eerily empty.

   “Where are you?” she called softly, her voice barely above a whisper, anxiety gripping her. Just as she felt the weight of solitude creeping in, Marishka’s voice drifted to her from behind the roof’s edge.

   “What would your father say if he knew his precious daughter had fallen astray?” Marishka’s tone was playful yet laced with a challenging edge. “That she had been consorting with… humans.” The last word dripped with disdain, like poison on her tongue, each syllable punctuated by a mocking sneer.

   Descending gracefully from the twilight sky, Marishka touched down near Marya with a soft rustle of leathery wings. The air was thick with tension as she regarded Marya with sharp, piercing eyes that shimmered like obsidian. “What I can’t understand,” she began, her voice laced with a biting disdain, “is why? Why would you make such a choice? You were chosen. Out of every soul – all the hundreds, thousands of plague-stricken children scattered across Romania – you were chosen to be the daughter of the Master and his Queen. To be given such an honor. So why? Why would you squander it to be among the livestock?”

   Marya stood frozen, her mind racing, the cool night air mixing with the warmth of her anxiety. She gripped her worn notebook and sketchbook tightly, their pages familiar beneath her fingers, betraying her trepidation.

   Marishka took a step closer, her annoyance palpable, “You should be thriving on their blood, reveling in their fear, not immersing yourself in their trivial lives like some lost child. Not pretending to be one of them. Has your father not imparted enough of his wisdom? The centuries of arcane and scientific knowledge housed in his grand castles – was that not a sufficient upbringing for the Scarlet Princess?”

   A faint tremor shook Marya’s hands as she listened, her throat tight with unshed emotions.

   “Or perhaps,” Marishka continued, a mocking lilt creeping into her tone, “the mighty Princess of Vampires has simply forgotten how to hunt.” She tsked softly, unmistakable disappointment clear in her gaze. “Children, typical. Allow me to provide a refresher, my dear princess. We’ll begin with that charming blonde you’ve been admiring from a distance.” With a predatory grace, Marishka glided toward the edge of the roof, her silhouette stark against the dimming horizon.

   Marya was filled with dread, fear coiling tightly in her chest as she watched Marishka’s unwavering determination. “She’d make a delightful gift to present to your father,” Marishka added, a sinister smile playing on her lips as she prepared to leap into the night.

   “NO!” Marya screamed, her voice echoing with a desperate urgency that sliced through the tension of the moment. In an instant, it was as if an invisible force had wrapped around Marishka, freezing her in place, her body rigid and unyielding. Marya could feel the strain coursing through her, blood already trickling from her nose; channeling her will to dominate the creatures of the night like her father was a monumental effort, one she had only attempted a handful of times during her unlife. It was a power that demanded everything she had.

   With sheer determination, she focused her energy, pouring her thoughts into Marishka, willing her to cease all motion. The air crackled with intensity, and for a fleeting second, time seemed to stand still. Just long enough, Marya thought, to cement a binding promise.

   Though the grip of her influence would only last for a moment, it was sufficient for what she needed to achieve. She knew that the imprint left on Marishka would endure beyond the immediate moment; the bride would forever be forbidden to harm Lilian or her family. Furthermore, Marya had sealed away any possibility of Marishka disclosing her secret nighttime escapades at the college to Dracula.

   “Why?” Marishka roared. Now unshackled from Marya’s control, she spun around with a ferocity that left Marya momentarily stunned, swiftly holding Marya aloft by the throat. Marya writhed in her grasp, desperation flickering in her eyes, but in the chaos, her sketchbook slipped from her fingers, tumbling to the roof with a soft thud. It opened to a page depicting Lillian.

   Seeing it, Marishka’s laughter erupted like a violent storm, filling the air with mockery. “Ah, I see now. You have feelings for this human, don’t you? How utterly pathetic,” she jeered, amusement dancing wickedly across her features as she released Marya, sending her sprawling to the cold, hard roof.

   In the blink of an eye, Marishka vanished from sight, only to reemerge behind Marya, her presence as chilling as the night air. She leaned closer, her breath a whisper against Marya’s ear, heavy with disdain. “You honestly believe she could reciprocate your love? That she might ever be capable of loving one of our kind? Imagine the sweet horror on her face when she learned the truth – when she found out how much your hands are stained red.” Each word dripped with a venomous bite, designed to pierce through Marya’s hopeful illusions.

   “You can fool yourself all you wish, sweet Princess,” Marishka continued, her tone rife with condescension, “but we both know the truth: you will never be a part of them. You will never be accepted by them. By her. You are one of us – our princess, heir to the Master’s throne – and that is all you shall ever be.”

   With that, Marishka slipped away into the shadows, leaving Marya isolated once more. The remnants of Marishka’s laughter echoed in the air, mingling with the silence that enveloped Marya. Her heart ached as she grappled with the deep-rooted longing that tugged at her soul, the yearning to be a part of the human world. To understand their joys, their laughter, to walk among them as if she truly belonged.

   But Marishka’s words lingered, cutting deeper than any blade. For they were the truth, an unwelcome reality that choked her dreams. She’d fooled herself into believing she could ever find a home among the humans. That she could belong to Lilian. She was bound to her own kind, a destiny that forever separated her from the world she so desperately craved.

   Tears streamed down Marya’s cheeks, glistening like tiny silver droplets in the dim moonlight as she sank to her knees on the rooftop. The night air was still, save for the soft, heart-wrenching sound of her sobs, which floated into the darkness, echoing softly in the night air.

   Inside the college, Mina Murray was diligently tidying up the classroom after a long, tiring day. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the moon to cast a gentle, muted glow throughout the room. Books and papers were strewn across the desks, remnants of another productive day of learning. Mina took a deep breath, marveling at the rhythm of her routine, as she organized the space for tomorrow’s lessons.

   As she moved towards the tall, old window framed in peeling paint to clean out the chalkboard erasers, a faint sound pierced her thoughts – a soft, muffled crying that tugged at her heartstrings. Concern flickered in her eyes, and she leaned closer, peering out into the night for the source with worry etched across her brow.

   Craning her neck upwards, Mina’s breath caught in her throat as she spotted Marya perched precariously on the edge of the roof, the moonlight illuminating her disheveled hair and trembling shoulders that shook with quiet sobs. Immediately, Mina felt a surge of worrying concern. “Mary? Are you alright?” she called out, her voice laced with urgency.

   Startled, Marya jolted upright, her wide eyes glistening with tears as she peered back over the edge to see her teacher looking up at her. Marya gave a tentative wave. “Ms. Murray, I-” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper, trembling with emotion.

   Mina frowned, “How did you get– no, why on earth are you up there?” Her mind raced with worry about the girl’s safety.

   “I-I was studying your lessons,” Marya meekly explained, her voice quaking as she felt the weight of her own absurdity at choice of words.

   A moment’s silence stretched between them, disbelief reigning over Mina’s thoughts. “... On the roof?” she finally managed, her brow furrowing deeper as she processed the situation. “Come inside, please. Before you catch your death in this cold, or worse, fall and break your neck.”

   Marya hesitated, her fingers brushing away the tears that had stained her cheeks, caught between embarrassment and the comfort of Mina’s invitation. After a fleeting moment of internal struggle, she took a deep breath and climbed through the window in a manner that seemed possible by human standards, stepping into the classroom.

   As she crossed the threshold, Mina quickly wrapped Marya in a cozy blanket, trying to warm her student up from the chilling night air that clung to her skin. “What on earth were you doing up there at this time?” Mina asked as she tried to rub the cold from her student’s bones. “If you needed somewhere to study you simply could’ve used the library, or even asked to spend more time in the classroom with me.”

   As Mina tried to warm Marya – finding it strangely difficult as the girl wouldn’t warm up no matter how hard she tried – Mina stopped and saw the sadness across her student’s face. Mina lifted Marya’s chin to look at her, her face etched with genuine concern and a softness that immediately lifted the weight upon Marya’s chest. “What’s wrong, dear?” she asked, her voice a gentle melody that cut through the heavy silence, as she placed a comforting hand on Marya’s shoulder, a gesture filled with warmth and understanding.

   Marya stood torn between the impulse to unburden her heart and the daunting fear of exposing her secrets. She longed to share the truth – about her father, the haunting world of vampires that loomed over her life, and the crushing expectations suffocating her spirit. Yet her heart raced at the thought of dragging Mina into the darkness that shadowed her existence. To involve her would be to place her in grave peril, and Marya couldn’t bear the thought of jeopardizing the safety of one of the four people I her existence who had shown her genuine kindness in a world that often felt cold and unforgiving.

   “It’s… it’s nothing,” Marya murmured, her voice barely a whisper, thick with unspoken fears. “Just… family troubles.” The words felt inadequate, thin as paper against the storm that raged within her.

   Mina nodded quietly, her eyes reflecting a deep understanding that transcended words. She recognized that some burdens were too heavy to share, and she didn’t press Marya for more. Instead, she drew her into a gentle embrace. The hug that enveloped Marya warmed her more than any soft blanket on a chilly night, offering her solace in the only way that felt appropriate. “It’s alright,” Mina said softly, her voice soothing like a calm breeze. “You don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready. But please know that I’m here for you, no matter what you need.”

   Even though Marya couldn’t physically feel the warmth radiating from Mina’s body, she sensed it in the sincerity of her words and the gentle pressure of the hug. It was a different kind of warmth – one imbued with trust and care, a feeling she’d not experienced in ages. Not since her mother, Lisa had been taken from her. It wasn’t merely the absence of loneliness; it was the profound realization that someone saw her, truly saw her, even if they didn’t fully grasp the shadows that haunted her. In that moment, as she stood enveloped in Mina’s embrace, Marya felt a flicker of hope ignite within her – a glimmer that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as alone in her struggles as she had believed.

   Only for that feeling to be momentarily shattered.

   “Even if you’re not actually one of my students.”

   Marya felt her heart fall out of her stomach at those words, a wave of fear washing over her.

   As they pulled away from the hug, Mina told Marya. “Yes, Mary. I’ve known for a while that you’re not actually enrolled at the college.” Mina began, her voice measured and calm, as if delicately treading on a thin line. “You’ve been sneaking into my classes, haven’t you?”

   Panic gripped her as Marya realized that her careful ruse had been unmasked. She had been so careful, trying to blend in as a regular student, to go unnoticed in the background of bustling hallways and vibrant classrooms. But here was Mina, piercing right through her facade with an insight that made her feel exposed. Once again, her dreams were being taken from her. Now she would be banned from the college, and even if she adopted a new persona, she’d be found out all over again, and she didn’t have it in her to replace one of the other girls. But worse, she wouldn’t be able to see Lilian – to sit by her in class, to hear her laughter, to even garner the courage to ask to spend time with her.

   Marya’s mind raced, trying to formulate a plausible lie that could explain her presence in the classroom without revealing too much of her true self. However, before she could muster any words, Mina calmly interjected. “But,” she continued, her tone shifting to one of warmth, “you’ve been taking notes, participating in discussions, and excelling in your studies. I can see how dedicated you are to learning, and that’s truly admirable.”

   Marya’s eyes widened in astonishment. She had anticipated a response filled with anger or, at the very least, disappointment. Yet, Mina’s voice was imbued with something entirely different – an understanding that reached far deeper than Marya had hoped for.

   “I don’t know what’s going on with your family,” Mina said, her voice soft but firm, “but if they’re keeping you from learning, I want to help. So, while I can’t officially enroll you in the college without your parent or guardian’s consent, I can for now offer you private tutoring,” Mina proposed gently, her smile growing wider. “We can meet outside the college this weekend to discuss the subjects you’re interested in, and I’ll gladly teach you everything you want to learn.”

   Marya felt a rush of gratitude swell inside her, filling her chest with warmth and disbelief. She could hardly grasp the kindness being offered to her. Mina, who knew only fragments of her story and had every reason to brush her off, was instead extending an olive branch, opening a door to an opportunity she had been yearning for – one that would allow her to learn, to evolve, and to be recognized as someone beyond just Dracula’s daughter.

   “Thank you,” Marya managed to whisper, her voice thick with emotion, nearly breaking under the weight of her feelings as she went back in for another hug. “Thank you so much.”

   Mina’s smile radiated genuine kindness, the light in her expression unwavering. “You’re welcome, Mary. We’ll figure this out together,” she said, a reassuring promise in her tone.

   Although Marya couldn’t unveil the full truth about her life, standing at the crossroads of two worlds – the realm of vampires and the world of humans – she felt a flicker of hope igniting within her. With Mina’s guidance, perhaps she could navigate this intricate dance and carve out a new identity for herself, one that embraced aspects of both worlds, while allowing her to step into the light as her own person. Into a life with Lilian.

🦇

   The following day, Mina found herself trudging home, a heavy box cradled in her arms, filled with the remnants of her life at college. Each step felt agonizingly slow, tears brimming in her eyes, blurring the world around her. The physical weight of the box was trivial compared to the oppressing load in her chest. Three words mercilessly played on repeat in her mind, each echo amplifying a sense of finality as if they were the final nails in the coffin of her hopes and aspirations.

   “You are fired.”

   Those words had struck her with a force akin to a sledgehammer, shattering the once peaceful sanctuary of her classroom into a million fragments. It had all unfolded so abruptly, so brutally. The headmaster had stormed into her lesson on basic astronomy with an expression that could have frozen fire. Mina had been mid-sentence, her enthusiasm for the cosmos spilling forth, when his presence darkened the doorframe. His face was taut, eyes narrow and piercing, and his voice rang out, cold and final. She barely had a moment to register the shock on the faces of her students before the headmaster's words landed like a death knell: “You are fired.” The finality of his statement reverberated around the room, leaving a suffocating silence in its wake.

   Taken a back by his words, Mina momentarily thought she’d misheard him. “W-what?”

   “You have overstepped your bounds, Ms. Murray!” he bellowed, his tone heavy with contempt, slicing through the air of academic curiosity she had worked so hard to cultivate. “These girls are not here to learn about science, or astrology, or… or whatever it is you’re teaching them!” His voice rose with each word, fueled by a righteous anger that felt misplaced to Mina. “You were given this temporary position due to Mrs. Ulga’s passing solely to teach them how to be proper young women. Several parents are filing complaints against the college demanding your immediate removal.”

   As his words hung in the air, a thick tension settled over the classroom, the shocked faces of her students reflecting her own disbelief. The dreams she had nurtured, her passion for teaching, felt like ashes in her mouth, the thrill of discovery snuffed out in an instant. Mina stood frozen, her mind racing as she processed the weight of the headmaster’s words. How had it come to this? She found herself grappling with a whirlwind of questions. Had one of her students inadvertently spilled the beans to their parents during a casual conversation? Or perhaps a fellow teacher had overheard her passionately engaging her girls in discussions about scientific principles and the wonders of the natural world? Regardless of how it had happened, it was dreadfully clear: she had been discovered, and now the consequences loomed over her like a dark cloud.

   Deep inside, Mina had always understood that her educational approach was far from conventional. She had chosen to venture beyond the narrow confines of etiquette and decorum that dictated the expected curriculum for young women of their standing. She had envisioned an environment where curiosity could flourish, where her students could dive into the vast sea of knowledge that lay beyond societal norms. “They deserve to be curious, to explore, to learn about the world,” she had often told herself, fueled by passion and a fervent belief in her mission.

   As she gathered her thoughts, Mina attempted to muster her courage to plead her case. Her voice quivered with a mix of determination and desperation as she spoke. “Sir, you can’t do this! My girls have grown remarkably from my lessons,” she implored, her heart racing as she recalled the joy on her students’ faces. “They’re more engaged, more curious, more eager to learn than ever before. I’ve seen their minds light up with excitement with our discussions, when we unravel the mysteries of the natural world. They deserve so much more than mere preparation for becoming wives and mothers - more than mere puppets to be paraded around-”

   “Enough!” the headmaster thundered with an abrupt and cutting interruption, his voice echoing off the cold, stark walls of the office. His face remained cold, a man whose mind was made up and whose heart showed no signs of empathy. “This is not your place, Ms. Murray. You were hired as a favor to your father, and I made it clear that favors could be revoked at any time. As it is now. You are to clear out your belongings and leave the college grounds immediately. Another teacher will assume your responsibilities – someone who understands the proper role of women in society.”

   The finality of his words struck her like a blow. Mina stood there, her throat constricted as a sense of disbelief washed over her. She had been dismissed, not for a lack of competence or any personal failing, but for daring to challenge the boundaries set by an outdated social order. She felt her heart sink, weighed down by the reality of the situation: she had been cast aside for believing in her students’ right to a broader education, for envisioning a world where they could aspire to be more than mere figments of traditional expectations. The dream she had fought for now felt like a distant echo, overshadowed by the harshness of her dismissal.

   Now, with the box nestled against her chest, a symbol of what she had lost, Mina continued her slow journey home of the Westenra estate, her mind was a whirlwind of emotions. Each step was a reminder of the bright future that had slipped through her fingers. She had always known that her position at Queen’s College was precarious, that the headmaster had only hired her as a favor to her late father. But she had never imagined it would end like this – so abruptly, so cruelly.

   She had given everything to her students, pouring her heart and soul into her lessons. She had watched them grow, watched their curiosity blossom as they learned about the world around them. And now, it was all gone. Mina’s heart ached as she thought about her students. What would happen to them now? Would they be forced back into the narrow confines of society expected from them, their curiosity stifled, their potential wasted? The thought was almost too much to bear. And then she thought of Mary, the mysterious girl who had been sneaking into her classes. Mina had seen something special in her – a hunger for knowledge, a desire to learn despite whatever obstacles her family might have placed in her path. Now, with her dismissal from the college, what would happen to her?

   As she reached the door of the estate, Mina paused, her grip tightening on the box in her arms. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes again, but she blinked them back. She couldn’t break down now. Not here. Not in front of Lucy. Not yet. Mina wiped away the last of her tears and took a deep breath before opening the doors to the estate.

   As Mina stepped through the grand entrance of the estate home, a chilling weight clung to her heart, remnants of the day’s devastating events swirling in her mind like dark storm clouds. The ornate decor around her, which once brought her comfort, felt distant and hollow. She was greeted by Joan Briggs, the attentive ladies’ maid, who stood there, her expression urgent, holding a telegram in her hands, its edges crisp and unyielding.

   Initially, Mina was too engulfed in her sorrow to acknowledge the unexpected presence of the telegram. The crushing blow of being dismissed from her cherished teaching position loomed over her like a shadow; the headmaster’s narrow-mindedness had obliterated her dreams, leaving her feeling lost and adrift. But as she made her way to ascend the stairs to drop the box containing her dashed dreams off onto her office’s desk, it was Joan’s voice – sharp and insistent – that pierced through Mina’s fog of despair.

   “Miss Mina,” Joan called out, her tone urgent and laced with an undercurrent of excitement. “The telegram… it concerns Jonathan.”

   Mina’s breath caught in her throat, and her heart skipping a beat, momentarily suspended between hope and fear. Jonathan, her fiancé, had been away on a business trip for what felt like an eternity, and the bitter silence of those months had gnawed at her spirit. No letters had arrived, no word of his well-being or whereabouts, leaving her tormented by a searing anxiety that refused to relent. Now, the possibility of news ignited a flicker of hope within her, brushing away the sadness that’d taken hold from her firing.

   In a flurry of movement, Mina’s fingers trembled as she lost her grip on the box that held her belongings from the college. Papers, documents, and cherished mementos tumbled to the polished floor like autumn leaves caught in a gust of wind. Ignoring the chaos she had just created, she rushed toward Joan, her heart pounding relentlessly in her chest as she extended her hand, eager to grasp the telegram.

   With shaky fingers, she received the delicate slip of paper, her eyes darting across the lines filled with words that held the promise of understanding. She could feel her pulse quickening, the noise of her surroundings fading as she concentrated on the message that might finally bridge the painful silence that had left her feeling so isolated.

 

Telegram from Sister Agatha, Convent of St. Joseph, Budapest, Hungary

To Miss Mina Murray, London, England

   To Miss Murray,

   I hope this message finds you in good health, though I must convey urgent news regarding your fiancé, Mr. Jonathan Harker. He has been under our care at the Convent of St. Joseph in Budapest for the past several weeks, and I feel it is imperative to inform you of his current condition.

   Mr. Harker arrived here in a state of considerable distress, exhibiting symptoms we believe to be indicative of brain fever; a serious ailment affecting both the mind and body. While his condition has stabilized, he remains in a fragile state – weak and disoriented, struggling to grasp the reality around him. His episodes often include speaking of bizarre and troubling scenes – of castles, wolves, bats and devils – the significance of which we are unable to decipher.

   It is evident that he is in desperate need of familiar faces and the comfort of loved ones to aid him on his path to recovery. We strongly urge you, or perhaps a member of his family, to make the journey to Budapest as soon as you are able. It is paramount that Mr. Harker be surrounded by those who care for him deeply, as this will significantly contribute to his healing process.

   Time is of the essence, and the sooner you can arrive, the better it will be for his well-being. Please hurry, for we are all deeply concerned for his welfare.

   Yours in Christ,

   Sister Agatha

   Convent of St. Joseph, Budapest

 

   Mina's breath caught in her throat as she read the hastily scrawled words on the faded parchment. The revelation struck her like a bolt of lightning: Jonathan was alive. He was in Budapest, but the news was grim – he was suffering from brain fever, disoriented, and in dire need of help. A surge of emotion coursed through her, a tidal wave of determination washing away her doubts. Without a moment’s hesitation, Mina’s resolve solidified into unwavering certainty. She would go to Budapest. She would bring Jonathan home, no matter the cost.

   Understanding that the journey ahead would be long and fraught with peril, Mina knew she couldn’t undertake it alone. She needed someone with experience traversing treacherous landscapes, someone who could shield her from whatever dangers might lurk along the way. There was only one person she could think of – Quincy P. Morris. Quincy was not just any man; he was a formidable figure of action, a seasoned traveler who had conquered the wilds of the American West. With countless trials behind him, Mina was confident he would make the ideal companion for a journey into the unknown.

   Without wasting another moment, she quickly rushed to the candlestick phone, hoping Quincy was home so she could ask for his assistance during her mission.

🦇

   The following morning, Mina, along with Lucy, Minerva, and Joan and several of the other maids and servants that carried her small luggage, arrived at Charing Cross Station. The station buzzed with frenetic energy; the air thrummed with the sounds of steam engines hissing and the rhythmic clatter of wheels on tracks. Vendors shouted their latest wares, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the aroma of baked goods, wafting through the air. It was a cacophony that seemed to drown out Mina's racing thoughts, but she focused on the task at hand. She was on the precipice of an incredible journey, spanning across Europe to reach the distant land where Jonathan awaited her.

   As they hurriedly raced through the bustling station to reach the designated meeting spot, Mina went over once again with Joan the list of tasks she needed her ladies’ maid to accomplish during her absence. First and foremost, Joan was to track down Mary at the college, a task that required navigating the busy campus. Mina wanted Joan to deliver an important message: she needed to inform Mary that Mina would be away for a little while but assured her that she would return soon. Upon her return, Mina planned to start her private tutoring sessions with Mary, which they had both been eagerly anticipating. As they dashed along, Mina hoped Joan would be able to convey her message clearly and ensure that Mary wasn’t worried about her unexpected departure.

   When they finally reached the train, Mina’s eyes lit up at the sight of Quincy. He stood tall, with a rugged charm in his American west attire, exuding an air of confidence that immediately put her at ease. His warm smile greeted her, and a reassuring nod further solidified Mina's trust in him. With his imposing physique and steely demeanor, she felt a surge of security wash over her. If anyone, or anything dared to cross their path, Quincy’s quick draw and trusty revolver were more than enough to send them running.

   The plan they devised was straightforward yet daunting. Mina and Quincy would catch an early morning train bound for Dover, located on the southeastern coast of England. Dover, known for its dramatic white cliffs rising majestically from the sea, would serve as their first waypoint. From there, they would board a steamship to cross the turbulent waters of the English Channel, the salty air whipping around them as they made their way to Calais, France.

   Once their feet touched French soil, they would continue their journey, hopping aboard a train headed for Paris – an illustrious hub of culture and international travel at the time. In Paris, they would swap trains, resuming their odyssey eastward towards Strasbourg, nestled near the French-German border. Their travels would then take them on to Munich, Germany, before making their way to Vienna, Austria.

   From Vienna, the final leg of their trip would take them to the heart of Hungary – Budapest, where Jonathan awaited them at the convent. The thought of seeing him again filled Mina with hope, and she steeled herself for the trials ahead, knowing that she was not alone in this venture. Together with Quincy and her enduring friendships, she felt ready to face whatever lay on the path before her.

   Before boarding the train, Mina and Lucy shared a heartfelt goodbye that seemed to stretch on forever. The two sisters had always been inseparable, woven together by the countless memories they had created and the challenges they had faced. Their bond felt unbreakable – a sisterhood fortified by shared laughter, whispered secrets, and a deep understanding of one another’s hearts. They had faced the world together, supporting each other through every trial and tribulation. And now, for the first time in their lives, they would be going on to two diverging paths, even if just for a little while.

   As Lucy’s gaze met Mina’s, her eyes brimmed with tears, glistening like dew on delicate petals. She stepped closer, enveloping Mina in a tight embrace, her warmth a comforting refuge amidst the uncertainty. “Promise me you’ll come back soon,” Lucy whispered, her voice quavering like a fragile note. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you.” The sincerity in her plea echoed through the chilly air, making the moment feel all the more poignant.

   Mina forced a smile, though her heart ached at the thought of leaving her sister behind. “I promise, Lucy,” Mina replied softly, her voice steady despite the tumult of emotions swirling within her. “I’ll bring Jonathan home with me, and when I do, we’ll finally have our double wedding. You and Arthur, and Jonathan and me. It’ll be perfect. The prefect life we’d always dreamed of having.” [Dracula, the Musical – A Perfect Life; albeit some of the verses in the first half where Mina say “I” or “Me” would be replaced by “We” and “Us”] A half-truth, as Mina had yet the heart to tell her sister that she’d been fired from the college. A secret she would keep for Lucy for as long as she could, wanting the dream of their shared future to fill her sister with a bittersweet warmth.

   Lucy hesitated for a moment at those words, a look of pain breaking through her demeanor. Mina knew her sister well; something was wrong. Something was lying heavy upon her sister’s chest, wishing to be let out. Yet, before Mina could ask her sister what troubled her, Lucy’s expression sealed whatever it was away.

   Instead, Lucy simply nodded, her fingers gently brushing against her cheek as she tried to wipe away the tears that threatened to spill. She knew Mina had to go, but it didn’t make the parting any easier. “Be careful out there,” Lucy urged, her voice quivering slightly. “Goodbye, Mina.”

   Mina let out a soft chuckle, a mixture of warmth and bittersweetness in her eyes as she pulled Lucy close for one last, lingering embrace. “Silly, Lucy,” she whispered, her breath warm against Lucy's ear. “This isn't goodbye. I promise I’ll be home before you know it.”

   Lucy managed a small smile, though it was laced with sadness. “Well then,” she replied, her voice steadier now, “I'll simply say, I’ll see you later.”

   With that, Mina stepped onto the train, the rhythmic chugging of the engine resonated in her chest, matching the frantic beat of her heart. Quincy stood beside her, a supportive presence amidst the swirling emotions. She inhaled deeply, the scent of polished wood and engine oil mingling with the sharp tang of impending adventure. With a heavy heart, Mina turned back to steal one last, lingering glance at Lucy. Her sister remained on the platform, a solitary figure against the backdrop of the bustling station, waving goodbye. Worry danced across her features, etched deeper by the uncertainty looming ahead.

   Mina lifted her hand, returning the wave, and in that brief moment, their eyes locked – a silent exchange laden with unspoken promises and love that transcended any distance. Yet, amid the warmth of that connection, a sense of dread seeped into her mind, a shadow of haunting doubt fell across her mind.

   The whistle of the train echoed through the air, drowning out the noise of the world around them, and with a lurch, they were off, speeding toward Dover, the first stop on their long journey to Budapest. As Mina and Quincy settled into their seats, she couldn’t shake these lingering feelings. As she watched the streets of London pass her by, Mina felt that she should hate herself for these irrational ideas that’d plagued her ever since Count Dracula’s welcoming gala. and cast away her fears. A part of her was saying that she would soon be where she belonged; with Jonathan, and the two of them would be a happy family living near her sister and her husband and own family. Yet, inside she felt that something was wrong. That she was sailing into endless night.

   The piercing whistle of the train sliced through the air, drowning out the tumult of the outside world. With a sudden jolt, they began to move, the familiar sights of London blurring into a patchwork of color as they sped toward Dover, their first stop on a journey that felt both thrilling and ominous. Mina had held onto the sight of her sister for as long as she could, a dark feeling deep within her mind that it might be the last time. As Mina settled into the plush seat, she glanced out the window, her thoughts turbulent.

   The streets of London whipped by in a rush, a blend of familiar and foreign, yet a weight pressed against her chest, whispering doubts that had taken root ever since Count Dracula’s lavish gala. She felt she should hate herself for these irrational fears – that she should get herself together, to cast away the shadows of her mind. A flicker of hope emerged; part of her was saying the soon she would be where she belonged – together with Jonathan, and they would create a blissful life near her sister and the families they would build.

   Yet, another part lurked beneath her optimism, a chilling suspicion screaming that something was wrong. The nagging thought that she was embarking on a journey into an endless night haunted her, and that a darkness would swallow her home in her absence.

   With each passing mile, she fought against the encroaching darkness, insisting to herself that soon they would have everything they had ever dreamed of – a home filled with love and laughter. A perfect life. And yet…

🦇

    Unfortunately, Joan never got the chance to give Marya the letter. She’d been prohibited from entering the college at the headmaster’s request to sever ties with Mina, whom he saw as a dangerous influence on the girls. Despite Joan’s efforts to search for Marya, even asking Lilian Grey, one of Mina’s students whom she knew had a close friendship with Marya, she could never find the mysterious pale-skinned girl Mina had described.

    As she’d never received the message, Marya’s mind was filled with anxiety and growing resentment. The private lessons offered by Ms. Murray had been a lifeline for her, a rare connection to the human world that she had longed to connect with. Mina had offered her kindness and knowledge, things that Marya had rarely experienced in her isolated life. But as the days passed and no message came, Marya’s mind began to race with feelings of abandonment, of being lied to. The absence of her teacher began to fill Marya with growing mix of sorrow and anger.

    But even as her anger grew, Marya wanted to ensure that her feelings were justified before she acted upon them. After all, Ms. Murray had been kind to her, and there could have been a reasonable explanation for her sudden absence. Perhaps Ms. Murray had fallen ill, or had been in an accident. Or worse still, something more sinister could have happened. Determined to find out the truth, Marya decided to take matters into her own hands.

    Late one night, Marya snuck into the college, her pale figure moving like a shadow through the darkened halls. She made her way to the conference lounge, where she knew the teachers often gathered to discuss school matters. Hiding in the shadows, she listened intently to their conversations, hoping to overhear any news about Mina.

    What she heard filled her with rage. The teachers talked about how the headmaster had fired Ms. Murray, simply because she was teaching science and things deemed inappropriate for girls to learn.

    Marya’s heart pounded in her chest as the truth became clear. Mina hadn’t abandoned her. She had been fired – dismissed simply because she had dared to teach her students things that were deemed inappropriate for girls. Things that had drawn Marya to her classes in the first place. The very knowledge that had made her feel, for the first time in her life, that she could share a connection with humanity.

    Marya’s mind raced with a mix of emotions – grief, anger, and betrayal. But one emotion rose above all the others: vengeance.

    That night, Marya perched herself on the roof of a building adjacent to the headmaster’s home, her piercing eyes watching as the man readied himself for bed. The moonlight cast an eerie glow over the scene, illuminating the cold determination in Marya’s eyes. She had always abhorred harming the innocent, but the headmaster was far from innocent. He had taken away one of the only two people who had made her feel human, who had shown her kindness. And for that, he would pay.

    As the headmaster drifted off to sleep, unaware of the danger lurking outside his window, Marya made her move. She slipped into the house like a wraith, her movements silent and swift. Within moments, she was standing over the headmaster’s bed, her eyes glowing with a cold, predatory light.

    The headmaster stirred in his sleep, his face contorting in a brief moment of discomfort, as if sensing the presence of something dark and malevolent. But before he could fully awaken, his bedroom was filled with the sound of his own screams – screams that were quickly silenced by the sharp, deadly claws of Marya Dracul, the Scarlet Princess.

🦇

   A few nights after Mina left London to find and bring Jonathan home, Lucy found herself feeling more alone than ever. She sat with her mother and Arthur at an upscale restaurant, a glittering venue cherished by London’s elite. The air was thick with the aroma of exquisite cuisine, while the lavish chandeliers cast a warm glow over elegantly set tables adorned with fine China and sparkling crystal. Yet, the opulence and the soft murmur of aristocratic chatter did nothing to soothe Lucy’s growing sense of isolation.

   With Mina’s absence, it felt as though an irreplaceable part of her soul had been torn away. Mina had always been more than just a sister; she was Lucy’s confidante, her strength, her steadfast anchor in a world that often seemed superficial and stifling. Now, without her sister’s comforting and reassuring presence by her side, Lucy felt adrift, lost in a swirling sea of expectations and societal pressures.

   Her Mother was a constrictive force, always passively condescending even the minimalist slight in Lucy’s presentation as a proper young lady. She was bound and determined to beat out of Lucy her sense of self and mold her into a mere duplication of her younger years. And Arthur– her fiancé was of no help at all. Too engrossed in animated discussions with his elite friends about politics, business ventures, and the impending wedding, he failed to notice the flicker of despair in Lucy’s eyes. The laughter of her mother, fiancé and their elitest friends and colleagues at the table rang out like hollow echoes in her ears.

   She felt like an ornamental, more valued for her appearance and social standing than as a woman with thoughts and feelings. Desires and interests that no one would reciprocate, admire, or even accept. Not like how her sister did; though Mina was not as fond of Lucy’s macabre interests, at least she was there to support her. She would always take time out to take Lucy to bizarre shops and would always stand up for her sister when their mother found out. Many a night Mina would even join Lucy to see plays with macabre and gothic themes – The Bells by Leopold Lewis, Macbeth by William Shakespeare, The Castle Spectre by Matthew Lewis – solely for Lucy’s enjoyment; Mina often had to look away, having a hard time at the sight of blood, even if fake. But here, she was merely an accessory in Arthur’s life, dressed impeccably yet feeling unseen, like a doll to be admired but never truly understood.

   As Arthur’s friends raised their glasses in congratulations of his impending marriage, Lucy’s spirit sank further. The wedding, which had once sparked butterflies of excitement within her, now loomed ominously on the horizon, casting a long shadow over her heart. While the others saw it as a momentous occasion, to her it was the date of her independence’s execution.

   The thought of spending her life with Arthur, a man seemingly more preoccupied with his social image than with understanding her as a person, filled her with a creeping sense of dread. She could see her whole life flashing before her life as if she’d already lived it. No more plays, no more shopping in web covered gothic shops, no more strolls though mist covered parks. Before her life would be nothing but an endless parade of parties and cotillions. Always the same narrow people, the same mindless chatter. She felt like an inescapable force was closing in around her like an invisible noose, one she was almost ready to tie the not on herself and let gravity take her away.

   But then, something – or rather, someone – changed the course of the evening and Lucy’s life forever. As she sat quietly at her table, lost in thought of what knot would be best used, the porter opened the heavy doors of the restaurant with a soft creak. Some strange curiosity compelled Lucy to turn her gaze at the entrance, and her heart skipped a beat – entering the restaurant was him. Count Dracula, accompanied by his enigmatic assistant, Verona, who flitted behind him like a shadow. The very sight of Dracula sent a thrill coursing through Lucy, her heart leaping in her chest as memories of their last encounter flooded her mind. That fateful night at the theater had ignited a spark within her, and ever since, she had been haunted by a longing for their paths to intertwine once more.

   Dracula, or Vlad as she had come to affectionately call him, was a figure shrouded in mystery and allure. Dressed in a tailored black coat that hinted at nobility, his dark hair framing his chiseled features, he exuded an irresistible magnetism. As he entered the room, conversations dwindled and eyes turned, captivated by his presence as if he were a long-lost star returning to the stage. One of the patrons at Lucy’s table, recognizing Dracula's noble status, rose graciously and gestured for him to join their table. Lucy felt a rush of hope and joy bloom within her as he accepted the invitation and went to sit at their table, a smile playing on his lips that sent a wave of warmth through her.

   The effect he had on her was profound; his mere presence seemed to envelop her in a calmness that washed away her worries and doubts like the tide retreating from the shore. With him nearby, everything felt brighter, more vivid, as if the colors of the evening had deepened.

   As Dracula sat at the table, Verona went to go stand by the other patron’s servants, including Joan. To the other servants, Verona’s expression remained as inscrutable as the shadows she seemed to drift from as she skimmed the minds of those her master was seated with. While he charmed them with his presence, she’d been instructed to find any and all weaknesses for her master to make his final play at absorbing their assets. Manufacturing factories and warehouses to build his war machines. Transportation networks and information streams to coerce and use to hide their movements. Political alliances to turn the British aristocracy and government against itself. Verona smiled; while these fools delighted in mediocre conversation, the seeds of their doom were being planted.

   While she scanned the minds of the elite seated next to her master, one member of that group was a distraction, though a welcome one. Lucy. Not one moment since that night at the theater had Verona’s master not thought of the woman that could very well be the Queen’s reincarnation. While he’d never admit it, the subtle changes in her master’s demeanor were unmistakable: the slight curls of a smile at the corner of his lips, the far-off gaze he would often have thinking of Lucy, the gentle humming of the songs they’d shared together. As she watched her master sit by Lucy, seeing the inscrutable glances the two gave each other, Verona was ecstatic to see life returning to her master and had already added to her itinerary plans for Lucy to become her master’s queen.

   However, not everyone in the restaurant shared this enthusiasm. Arthur and Minerva exchanged glances that quickly darkened with concern. They noticed how Lucy’s eyes sparkled with a light they had not seen before, how her demeanor shifted from pensive to radiant at the mere sight of Dracula. There was a softness, a vulnerability in Lucy that they had never seen before, and it made them wary.

   Arthur’s possessive instincts kicked in, a knot forming in his stomach as he began to view the foreign nobleman through a lens of suspicion. A potential threat to their planned wedding, to Arthur’s meticulously planned future. A threat to his ailing father’s fortunes, and he would not have it. Minerva, too, felt a prickle of anxiety. She could sense Dracula’s influence weaving itself around Lucy and felt an urgent need to sever this connection.

   Yet, for the time being, both kept their apprehensions to themselves, quietly observing the unfolding scene, their minds racing with unspoken fears and plans to quash the budding connection between Lucy and the Count.

🦇

   After that dinner, Lucy and Vlad began to meet under the shroud of night, their encounters cloaked in secrecy. [Bram Stoker’s Dracula – I Have Crossed Oceans of Time to Find You] Their nightly escapades were known only to Joan and Verona; the former who was lost in her clouded daze of mesmerism by the Count, and the latter of which protected them like a silent sentinel, ensuring none would see her master’s tenderness and exploit it as a weakness.

   For many evenings, they wandered the gas-lit streets of London, their footsteps echoing softly against the cobblestones. A thick mist often enveloped the city, swirling gracefully around them, creating an ethereal atmosphere that transformed their meetings into dreamlike reveries. Together, they strolled through the dimly lit parks, where gnarled trees cast long, twisted shadows under the silvery glow of the moon. Their conversations flowed like the nearby Thames, rich and full of depth, as they exchanged macabre tales and spine-tingling ghost stories that hung in the air like fog. Each narrative was woven with a dark, almost poetic beauty that left Lucy enchanted.

   Vlad, with a hint of nostalgia shimmering in his eyes, recounted vivid tales of his homeland, Transylvania – a land of towering mountains shrouded in legend, ancient castles steeped in history, and deep, foreboding forests where the whispers of the past could almost be heard. While to others it would be the stuff of nightmares to make them run screaming, Lucy was captivated by these tales hanging off the Count’s every word. But it was the stories of his ancestor, Alucard, that captivated Lucy’s imagination the most, drawing her in like a moth to a flame. With a voice filled with reverence tinged by profound sorrow, Vlad spoke of Alucard’s tragic narrative.

   How Alucard had risen from the depths of a slave of the Turkish Empire, forced to fight in their wars and become a monster to many in order to spare the lives of hundreds more. How Alucard finally escaped his chains and returned home to rule as a benevolent prince with his beautiful wife, Lisa. However, enemies from his past and within his own castle conspired against him, taking his world away from him. In a desperate act of vengeance and to save those he loved he sought dark power, whatever the cost may be. With this newfound strength, Alucard brought down low all who stood against him and avenged those that’d been taken from him. For what seemed like centuries he and his beloved Lisa lived in happiness in their castle, surrounded by those who loved them. Yet, fate required a toll for the powers he’d gained. Alucard’s world crumbled around him when remnants of his enemies snatched away Lisa, accusing her of witchcraft. She had met a gruesome fate, burned at the stake, leaving Alucard helpless and hollowed out as he was forced to witness her suffering.

   When Lucy asked what Alucard did after his wife's death, Vlad was silent for a moment as he gazed out at the city. He remembered that night in 1666, when he unleashed the forces of hell upon London. He could still see the burning embers of the homes that blazed like torches in the night. He could still smell the chocking smokes that'd covered the city. He could still hear the screams of those that'd stood by as his Lisa was taken from him, refused to even say what'd been done to her was wrong. Without even turning to Lucy, Vlad said, his tone cold, “He had his revenge.”

   As Vlad shared these heart-wrenching tales, his voice would soften, laced with an emotion Lucy could not fully comprehend – an ache that resonated deep within her soul. For what Lucy could never hope to know was that these tales were not mere stories from a bygone era; they were reflections of Dracula’s own heartache. He was carefully assessing her, trying to understand if by telling her stories of her past life, perhaps, she could remember the echoes of Lisa buried deep within her. Though the memories of her former existence had yet to stir within Lucy, Dracula found himself irresistibly drawn to her – her laughter, her kindness, her very essence breathing new life into a part of him he thought had perished long ago: his humanity.

   As the nights slipped by in a whisper of shadows, Lucy began to notice strange things. Deep within the recesses of her slumber, vivid and haunting dreams began to plague her nights. Each dream unfolded like a vivid painting, showcasing a woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to her own reflection, yet there was a profound difference – this woman was Lisa. Engulfed in a smoky haze, flames flickered around her, framing a face etched with sorrow and heartbreak that resonated with Lucy’s own unspoken fears.

   Initially, Lucy brushed these dreams aside, attributing them to nothing more than the whims of her imagination – perhaps spurred by the ghost stories that she and Dracula had entertained during their chilling evenings together. But as the nights wore on and the dreams became more frequent, more insistent, a nagging doubt crept into her mind. Were these visions merely products of her subconscious, or did they carry a deeper significance?

   She would never admit it to Vlad – she didn’t want to frighten him or make him think she was losing her mind – but she couldn’t shake the haunting possibility that these dreams were intimately tied to Vlad himself. She recalled his brooding tales of Alucard’s lost wife and how, in fleeting moments, his gaze would linger on her as if he were seeking something –some fragment of lost time or memory – within her eyes. This mere thought stirred a whirlwind of questions within her, leading Lucy to wonder if her bond with Vlad was far more intricate than she had ever dared to believe.

   One fateful night, as they strolled through one of London’s enchanting parks cloaked in a thick, ethereal veil of mist, the atmosphere resonated with a peculiar kind of magic. The moon hung heavily in the sky, its silvery glow cascading down like a shimmering waterfall upon the carpet of fallen Autumn leaves. Shadows danced playfully among the gnarled branches, creating a tapestry of light and dark that wrapped around them like a soft embrace. The air was thick with an unspoken tension, almost electric, as if the very night held its breath in anticipation of something extraordinary.

   In a moment that took Lucy completely by surprise, Vlad turned towards her, his features illuminated by the pale light. Gently, he took her hand, cold warmth radiating from his touch, and with an unexpected smile that softened the centuries of enigma surrounding him, he invited her to dance under the watchful gaze of the night sky, stars twinkling like distant diamonds. [Lana Del Rey - Once Upon A Dream]

   There was no music, no orchestra to serenade them, no melodic strains to accompany their movements. Yet, the night itself seemed alive with a symphony of sounds – the soft rustling of leaves, the gentle whisper of the wind, and the distant calling of night creatures [under Dracula’s command] combined to create a quiet melody only they could hear. Lucy’s heart raced, a wild flutter of excitement and nervousness as she placed her hand in his. Together, they began to sway, their steps slow and graceful, as if they had done this a thousand times before, in another time, in another life.

   The moment felt surreal, almost like a fragment taken from a dream. As they twirled under the luminous moon, it was as though time itself had paused, the world around them blurring into insignificance. The mist swirled around their feet like a delicate haze, wrapping them in its ghostly embrace. Lucy swore they were even lifted once by the mist, floating above the ground as they danced. In that enchanting space, Vlad’s touch was both electric and tender, the look in his red eyes so familiar a gleam. For Lucy, every second spent in his embrace allowed her to peel back layers she hadn’t even realized she possessed. She felt seen for the first time in ages, no longer a mere doll subject to the whims of others but a woman with her own thoughts, emotions, and desires pulsating within, all which she could share with Vlad.

   But as they danced, Vlad’s mind wandered through the corridors of his long, dark past, the ghost of Lisa haunting his every thought. Each fluid movement Lucy made, and the way her eyes caught his with a spark of understanding, mirrored the memories of another time, another dance with Lisa. Unbeknownst to Lucy, the bond between them was undeniable, growing stronger with each fleeting moment they shared in the moonlit haze. Dracula had spent centuries locked away in grief, his heart encased in a fortress built of loss, yet Lucy’s presence stirred something deep within him – a flicker of the man he had once been.

   Unfortunately, as she watched Lucy and Vlad dance the night away, Verona had let her guard down – two individuals spotted their romance under the stars. Carmila, who’s mind was crafting wicked schemes to exploit against Dracula, and Arthur, who burned with jealous rage at Lucy’s betrayal.

🦇

Once again, WARNING: The following scene depicts domestic violence. Readers' discretion is advised.

   The next morning, Lucy sat down to breakfast with Arthur. The air between them was thick with tension, an unease that she couldn’t ignore. Lucy could feel Arthur’s gaze on her, sharp and scrutinizing, and it made her skin crawl. His demeanor was different – darker, more possessive. As they ate in strained silence, Arthur’s voice suddenly broke through the quiet, his mind heavy with what he saw the previous evening. “Enjoy your nightly stroll with that foreigner?” His tone clipped and accusatory. “The way you looked at each other as you danced, almost made me believe you held feelings for him. Which will not be the case, Lucy.”

   Lucy’s heart sank at his words, but she wasn’t surprised. She had anticipated this confrontation, but that didn’t make it any easier to face. She had seen the way Arthur had watched her during that dinner nights ago, his eyes narrowing every time she glanced in Vlad’s direction, filled with suspicion and resentment. “I see you’ve been following me. How typical.” Her words were sharp, cutting through the tension like a knife.

   Arthur’s face twisted with anger at her defiance. His voice grew cold, his words laced with venom. “You will never behave like that again, Lucy. Do you understand? You are not to see that foreigner, Count Dracula, ever again.”

   Lucy’s heart pounded in her chest, but she refused to back down. She met Arthur’s gaze, her voice steady but filled with conviction. She wasn’t going to let him control her, not anymore. She had spent too long bending to the expectations of others – her mother, society, and now Arthur. But something had changed in her. The night with Dracula had awakened something within her, a sense of independence and desire that she could no longer suppress. Lucy was determined to assert her independence, to stand up for herself in a way she never had before. “I’m not a worker in one of your father’s factories that you can command.” She said, her voice steady but filled with conviction, “I’m your fiancée. I can speak to whomever I choose.”

   Arthur’s face twisted with anger at Lucy’s defiance. “My fian... my fiancée!” he spat, his voice rising with fury. “Yes, you are! And my wife!” In a sudden, violent outburst, Arthur’s hand swept across the table, knocking over dishes and cutlery, sending them clattering to the floor. The sound of breaking China echoed through the room, a violent punctuation to his rage. Lucy flinched at the noise, but before she could react, Arthur’s hand struck her across the face.

   The force of the blow sent Lucy reeling, her cheek stinging with pain. Her vision blurred as tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Not yet.

   Joan, who had been standing quietly in the corner, gasped in shock but remained frozen in place, her eyes wide with fear. She had never seen Arthur behave this way, and the sight of him striking Lucy left her paralyzed with disbelief.

   Arthur grabbed Lucy by the shoulders, his grip tight and unyielding. His face was inches from hers, his breath hot and furious. “We are soon to be married and you will be my wife, so you better start honoring me!” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “You will honor me the way a wife is required to honor a husband. Because I will not be made a fool, Lucy. Is this in any way unclear?”

   Lucy’s heart raced with fear. “No,” she whispered, her voice shaking. She had never seen this side of Arthur before, and it terrified her. But more than that, it made her realize just how trapped she was in this engagement. She had always known that Arthur was controlling and couldn’t care about her interests, but now she saw the full extent of his possessiveness and how little he actually cared for her, and it chilled her to the bone.

   Arthur released her shoulders and stepped back, his expression still dark with anger. “Good. Excuse me.” With that, he stormed out of the room, leaving Lucy sitting there on the floor in stunned silence, her cheek still throbbing from the blow. Her body trembled, her mind struggling to process what had just happened. She felt numb, her thoughts swirling in a chaotic storm of fear, anger, and helplessness. Slowly, she bent down to start picking up the broken dishes, her hands shaking as she tried to clean up the mess. Lucy’s hands trembled as she tried to pick up the shattered pieces of China, but her strength was failing her.

   But before she could do much, Joan rushed to her side, her face filled with concern. “Oh, Miss Lucy.” she said softly as she knelt beside her, gently placing a hand on Lucy’s shoulder. Her touch was soft, comforting, and it was enough to break the dam that had been holding back Lucy’s emotions. “Miss Lucy,” she whispered, her voice filled with compassion, “please, let me help you.”

   Lucy looked up at Joan, her vision blurred by tears. She tried to speak, to explain away what had just happened, but the words caught in her throat. “W-we had a l-little accident,” she stammered, her voice trembling as she tried to hold back the tears. The weight of everything – Arthur’s violence, the absence of Mina’s strength, her growing feelings for Vlad, the pressure from her mother and society – came crashing down on her all at once. She couldn’t hold it in any longer.

   Joan took her hands and Lucy broke down, collapsing into the maid’s arms, her body shaking as the tears finally came. She wept uncontrollably; her face buried in Joan’s chest as the maid held her close. Joan didn’t say anything, didn’t try to offer empty reassurances. She simply held Lucy, offering the comfort and support that Lucy so desperately needed.

   As she cried for the life she had lost, for the love she had never truly felt for Arthur, for the growing confusion and desire she felt for Vlad, and for the realization that she was trapped in a world that would never allow her to be free.

🦇

   Later that afternoon, Lucy stood in her bedroom, her reflection staring back at her from the ornate mirror. The maids worked diligently around her, pulling the laces of her corset tighter with each tug. The constriction of the garment mirrored the suffocating pressure Lucy felt in every aspect of her life. She could barely breathe, not just from the tightness of the corset, but from the weight of the expectations placed upon her.

   As the maids worked, the door creaked open, and Minerva entered the room. Her presence was as imposing as ever, her posture rigid, her expression cold and unreadable. Without a word, Minerva dismissed the maids with a flick of her wrist. They left quickly, their eyes downcast, leaving Lucy alone with her mother.

   Minerva took over where the maids had left off, her hands deftly tightening the corset even more than they had dared to. Lucy winced as the fabric constricted around her ribs, making it difficult to draw a full breath. But she said nothing, knowing that any protest would fall on deaf ears.

   As her mother worked, Lucy finally found the courage to speak, her voice barely above a whisper. “Mother, I wish to call off the wedding. I don’t love Arthur any longer and therefore cannot go through with the marriage.”

   Minerva didn’t pause, didn’t even look up from her task. Her hands continued to pull the laces tighter, her movements precise and unyielding. “I know.”

   Lucy’s heart skipped a beat. She had expected her mother to be shocked, to argue with her, to insist that she was mistaken. But Minerva’s calm, almost indifferent response was somehow even more unsettling. Lucy had always known that her mother was pragmatic, but this level of coldness was something new. “Then why-” she began, but Minerva cut her off.

   “Because this marriage is not about love, Lucy.” Minerva’s voice was sharp and matter-of-fact. “It’s about survival. Our family is on the brink of financial ruin. Your father’s death left us with debts that we cannot repay. Marrying Arthur will solve all of that. It will secure our future, our place in society.”

   The words hit Lucy like a punch to the gut. She had always suspected that her engagement to Arthur was more about convenience than affection, but hearing her mother say it so bluntly made it all the more real. Her life, her future, was being bartered away for the sake of the family’s survival.

   Lucy tried to protest, her voice trembling with emotion. “But I can’t marry a man I don’t love. I can’t live like this. It’s my choice.”

   Minerva finally looked up from her task, her eyes cold and unyielding as they met Lucy’s in the mirror. “We’re women, Lucy. Our choices are made for us.”

   The words struck Lucy harder than any physical blow could have. She had always known, deep down, that her life was not her own - that she was expected to follow the path laid out for her by society, by her family, by the expectations of her gender. But hearing her mother say it so plainly, so callously, made it all the more unbearable.

   Minerva’s hands continued to work, pulling the corset tighter still, as if to physically reinforce the constraints that society had placed on Lucy’s life. Lucy could feel the breath being squeezed from her lungs, the fabric digging into her skin, but she remained silent, her mind racing with thoughts of escape, of rebellion, of a life beyond the suffocating confines of her engagement to Arthur.

   As Minerva finished adjusting the corset, she shifted the conversation, her tone as cold and detached as ever. “Speaking of the wedding it has been moved up to this weekend.”

   “But that’s before Mina returns with Jonathan!” Lucy protested. “You can’t do that. We’ve been planning a double wedding since we were children.”

   “Don’t talk to me about that girl.” Minerva silenced her daughter. “Going off on her own, with some hooligan from the Americas, to rescue a man that would bring nothing to this family.” Her tone quitted back down to her usual polite demeanor. “No, when she returns, you’ll be happily married to Arthur and all ties to her will be cutoff. She’ll be married to that Jonathan Harker and out of our hair for good.”

   “What?” Lucy’s eyes widened in shock as she whirled to look her mother in the face. “Mother, you can’t be serious? Mina is family, she’s my sister!” Lucy protested, her voice trembling with emotion. “Mina had always been her closest confidante, the one person who truly understood her. The thought of losing her, of being cut off from her, was unbearable. “She’s always been there for me. Why would even say such a thing?”

   Minerva’s gaze remained cold, unyielding. “Family is a matter of blood, Lucy. And Mina is not. She is simply someone your father took in out of pity. A distraction. Once you’re married, you’ll have no need for distractions. Your duty will be to Arthur, to your household, to your future children. Mina would only get in the way of that.”

   Lucy felt as though the walls were closing in around her. The corset was too tight, but her mother’s words were more constrictive than anything she’d ever encountered. She had always known that her life was not her own, but now, faced with the prospect of losing Mina as well, it felt as though every last bit of freedom was being stripped away from her. Mina had been more than just a sister to her – she had been her rock, her anchor in a world that often felt overwhelming and oppressive. Mina had always encouraged Lucy to think for herself, to dream of a life beyond the narrow confines of society. And now, her mother was planning to take that away from her, too.

   The thought of losing her, of being cut off from Mina, was unbearable. But Minerva’s mind was made up, and Lucy knew there was no point in arguing.

   As Minerva finished tightening the corset, she stepped back, admiring her handiwork. “There,” Minerva said, her voice brisk and efficient. “You look perfect.”

   Lucy stood still, her breath shallow, her body rigid beneath the oppressive weight of the garment. The physical discomfort was nothing compared to the emotional turmoil raging inside her. She felt trapped, suffocated, like a bird in a gilded cage. The corset was a symbol of everything that was wrong with her life – every expectation, every demand, every sacrifice she was being forced to make for the sake of her family’s survival. “I don’t feel perfect,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

   Minerva’s expression softened slightly, but only for a moment. “You’ll get used to it,” she said, her tone dismissive. “We all do.”

   Lucy wanted to scream, to tear off the corset, to run away from the estate, from Arthur, from her mother, from the life that had been chosen for her. But she knew that wasn’t an option. She was trapped, just as her mother had been, just as every woman of her station was. The choices had already been made for her, and there was no escaping them.

   As Minerva left the room, Lucy stood alone before the mirror, her reflection staring back at her. She looked every bit the part of the perfect English lady – poised, elegant, and composed. But beneath the surface, she was breaking. The weight of her mother’s expectations, of society’s demands, of her impending marriage to a man she didn’t love, was too much to bear.

🦇

   That night, Lucy found herself at yet another lavish party, her arm linked with Arthur’s as they moved through the glittering crowd. The music, the laughter, the clinking of glasses – none of it reached her. She stood there, smiling politely at the guests surrounding her, but inside, she felt a profound disconnection – as if she were a ghost drifting through a scene from a distance. The weight of her impending marriage, the expectations of her family, the thought of losing her dear sister Mina, and the suffocating role she was being forced to play all pressed down on her, suffocating her with each passing second.

   She needed to get away, to escape this gilded cage. She needed to breathe, to think, to find herself amid the internal chaos.

   With a sudden rush of resolve, she slipped away from the party, her heart racing as she fled into the depths of the evening. The streets of London were shrouded in a thick, eerie fog that curled around her like a cloak, muffling the sounds of the party behind her. Her footsteps quickened against the cobblestones, each hurried step propelling her farther from the life she felt forced to lead – an exasperated sprint towards freedom, though she had no clear destination.

   When she finally paused to catch her breath, her chest heaving beneath her corset, she looked around and realized that her feet had taken her to the very place her heart had longed for in silence: Carfax Abbey. The ancient structure loomed before her, its weathered stone walls standing resolute against the nocturnal chill, illuminated by the soft, ethereal glow of the moonlight. Shadows danced along the ground, flickering like memories of a time gone by.

   As she stared at the abbey, thoughts swirling in her mind, a sense of finality enveloped her. Her mind was set: she would see Vlad one last time, to end things before they spiraled out of control. With determination igniting her spirit, Lucy steeled herself for whatever awaited her within those ancient walls.

   As she approached, Lucy hesitated for just a heartbeat before raising her hand to knock on the heavy, weathered wooden door that seemed to carry the weight of untold stories. The sound echoed through the silence, a sharp contrast to the stillness of the evening air.

   Moments later, the door creaked open, revealing Verona standing in the threshold. The dim light from within cast soft shadows across her face, highlighting her sharp features. Her eyes narrowed as they took in Lucy’s disheveled appearance – loose strands of hair whipped around her pale cheeks, and her breath came in quick, uneven gasps. Verona’s brow furrowed slightly, betraying a flicker of concern beneath her typically cold demeanor. “Miss Westenra,” she intoned, her voice crisp yet tinged with an effort to sound warm. “Is there something I can assist you with, ma’am?”

   “I need to speak with Vlad,” Lucy managed to say, her voice trembling with a potent mix of fear and undeniable longing. The urgency of her words hung in the air, laden with unspoken emotion.

   Verona hesitated, her gaze lingering on Lucy for a moment longer, trying to decipher the cause of her distress. Then her demeanor returned to the professional façade, nodding and asking Lucy to wait as she went to fetch her master. Lucy stood there, her heart racing wildly against her ribcage, as uncertainty churned within her. The anticipation of seeing Vlad filled her with a rush of conflicting emotions – fear of what she would say.

   As Verona made her way through the dimly lit corridors of the abbey, the heavy atmosphere pulsed around her, an echo of ancient secrets and whispered tales. Just a few steps behind, Marya materialized out of the shadows and followed closely, her curiosity piqued, concerned and anxious as to why Lucy, or more accurately Lisa, was there.

   Upon reaching the heavy wooden door of Dracula’s study, Verona hesitated, sensing the tension that lingered in the air. Inside, the dim glow of candles illuminated a rather unusual scene. Dracula stood at a grand oak desk, flanked by Marishka, whose expression was both sly and triumphant, and Sir Hawthorne, the former automotive mogul. His once-proud demeanor appeared utterly diminished, his eyes vacant and clouded over by Dracula’s hypnotic gaze as he mechanically signed away the rights to his vast empire. Once the final document was inked, Marishka, with an unsettlingly pleased smile, clasped Sir Hawthorne’s arm, leading him away like a prized trophy toward the upstairs bedrooms, where she could exert her whims at leisure.

   Dracula folded the parchment carefully and tucked it away in a concealed vault nestled behind a portrait that depicted an ancestral gathering long forgotten. He turned to Verona, his expression shifting to one of curiosity. “Who stands at the door?” he inquired, his voice smooth and commanding. When she told him it was Lucy, frantic and out of breath, he dropped everything, urgency replacing his earlier composure.

   A heartbeat later, from the shadows emerged Vlad, his presence almost ethereal as he stepped into the faint light. The moment his gaze met Lucy’s, a softening of his stern features washed over him. “Lucy,” he murmured, his voice intertwining with genuine concern, a stark departure from the formidable figure just moments ago. “What troubles you?”

   Lucy felt her heart clench at the sound of his voice, a melody of warmth and familiarity amidst the chaos surrounding them. She took a breath, gathering her courage, and requested that they speak privately, hoping to confide in him the storm of emotions and fears that had led her to this ancient and foreboding place.

   As they made their way through the winding path, enveloped by the dense foliage that bordered the secluded gazebo, a heavy weight settled in Lucy’s chest. The air was thick with the sweet scent of wildflowers, but her heart was anything but light. She had come here with the resolute intention of ending things, to deliver the heart-wrenching news that their time together was over. Yet now, as she stood before him, his deep, searching eyes locked onto hers, the words caught in her throat, tangled in a web of emotion.

   The façade of determination crumbled as she recalled all the moments they had shared – laughing under the stars, whispers in the dark, stolen kisses that ignited a fire within her. It was undeniable; she loved him. The realization washed over her like a wave, fierce and consuming. But despite that love, she understood that it wasn't sufficient to bridge the chasm that life had carved between them.

   “I… I can’t see you anymore,” she finally uttered, her voice trembling, barely breaking the silence that surrounded them. The words felt like shards of glass, cutting through the air with painful clarity.

   “Why?” His question was simple, yet it hung in the air like a suffocating fog.

   The sound of his voice – filled with confusion and hurt – made Lucy’s heartache anew. She had come here with a firm resolution, determined to uphold the choices she had made. “Because it’s not right,” she stammered, her breath hitching as she fought against the tumult within. “Because I am to marry Arthur, and seeing you…” She faltered, the truth stinging like a fresh wound. “Because I do not l-love you,” she lied, the last words escaping her lips in a fragile breath. “Perhaps in another life, under different circumstances, we could have been together. But not in this one.”

   With those final words, she turned to leave, her heart shattering with every slow step she took away from him, the weight of their shared history pressing down on her like an anchor. The chilling air wrapped around her, amplifying the emptiness gnawing at her chest. But just as she was about to cross the threshold, a deep voice, laden with centuries of longing, pierced the silence. “Why think separately of this life than the next?” Vlad recited, words he’d held close to his heart. A poem he had saved until he was certain Lucy was his Lisa returned to him. Now with her declaring she never wished to see him again, he figured it could very well be the last time he got the chance to say these words. The words of his and Lisa’s wedding vows centuries ago.

   Lucy froze, her breath catching in her throat. Something about those words stirred something deep within her, something she couldn’t explain. It was as though the final curtains of an impossibly dark veil had been lifted, revealing a truth she had always known but had forgotten. Without even thinking, she responded, the words flowing from her lips as if they had been etched into her soul long ago. “When one is born from the last?”

   Vlad stepped closer, his presence enveloping her, arms wrapping around her. The feeling of his embrace as he pulled her close made the world fade away, leaving her alone with Vlad. “Time is always too short for those who truly need it,” he murmured, his voice soft and filled with emotion.

   Held in his strong, supportive arms, Lucy instinctively turned her head to meet his gaze, her eyes wide with the dawning realization that swept over her like a tide. Memories surged within her – fragments that felt like ghosts of a life she had lived centuries ago, yet part of her felt they belonged to her. “But for those who love,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion, “it lasts forever.” Her gaze narrowed as she peered into his red eyes and her memories of a life as Lisa Tepes finally returned. “Vlad?” she whispered.

   “Lisa?” he replied, his heart racing as he saw the revelation dawning on her. The memories, long buried and shrouded in time, began to resurface for Lucy, wrapping around them like a cloak of unshed tears. In a moment that felt like eternity, their lips met in a passionate kiss, a collision of longing, loss, and rekindled love. It was as if they had crossed oceans of time and finally found one another. Tears streamed down Lucy’s cheeks as she surrendered to the depth of her feelings, knowing she loved him more fiercely than she had ever loved Arthur, more profoundly than she ever thought possible.

   In that brief moment, three things happened that would forever change the course of history.

  1. Lucy and Lisa’s soul became one. All her past life’s memories flooded back to Lucy; not overwhelmingly, but if she wished she could recall anything from her past self. And both of her selves knew one thing: they were deeply in love with Vlad.
  2. Vlad heard the beating of her heart and for the first time since meeting her thoughts of her fleeting mortality flashed through his mind. One day she would be taken from him by death’s cold embrace. Just a few drops of his blood and she would rise again as his Blood Queen, forever his. But in that moment, Vlad remembered the vow he’d made centuries ago and realized he could never do it. The pain at knowing what he had to do was unbearable, but he knew he couldn’t condemn her to a life of darkness, to curse her, to bring this sweet woman who couldn’t hurt a fly into a life of death, no matter how much he longed to be with her.
  3. Unbeknownst to either, someone was watching them. Hidden in the shadows, Marishka watched as her master embraced Lucy with seething envy. As her master showed Lucy more affection than he had ever shown her or her sisters. And for what? A mere mortal? A human woman who had done nothing to earn Dracula’s love, while she and her sisters had given him everything for centuries! They had been loyal, obedient, and, in her mind, far more satisfying than any human could ever be. Yet, here was Dracula, pining for a woman who, in Marishka’s eyes, was unworthy of his affection. As their kiss ended, Marishka quickly disappeared into the darkness, her mind racing with thoughts of this betrayal.

   As their lips parted, Vlad stepped away from Lucy/ Lisa, the weight of the moment pressing down on him like a heavy shroud. His heart, once thought to be long dead, now broke into a million pieces at the realization of what he had to do. The love that had rekindled between them, the centuries-old bond they shared, was now the very thing he had to sever. “You– you must go,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, each word a struggle as if it physically pained him to speak them.

   Lucy, taken aback, furrowed her brow in disbelief. Her heart, which had just begun to bloom with the hope of a life with Vlad, now felt as though it was being ripped apart. “What did you say?” Lucy whispered, her voice trembling with disbelief. She must’ve misheard him; he couldn’t possibly have said what she thought she heard. She searched his eyes, desperate for a glimmer of hope, for some sign that he didn’t mean what he was saying. She wanted to escape with him, to slip away into the night and leave behind all the suffocating expectations of her life. But as she searched his eyes, she found only sorrow mirrored back at her.

   “It’s as you said, Ms. Westenra; you are to marry Arthur Homlwood. What you and I had was a mistake.” Vlad’s gaze dropped, unable to meet hers. He had lived through centuries of loss, of heartache, but this – this was different. This was a love he had never expected to find again, and now he was losing it all over again. The turmoil of his thoughts swirled in his mind like the shadows that danced around them, dark and relentless.

   “No,” Lucy whispered, her voice barely rising above the gentle rustle of leaves in the night. Her heart was breaking, the sorrow threatening to overtake her completely. “Please, I– I love you.” Her words hung in the air between them, fragile and desperate, a plea for him to reconsider.

   But Vlad’s heart was already breaking, and he knew what had to be done. “What you love is a man who died centuries ago,” He turned away from her, his voice hollow and filled with despair. “All that stands before you is the ghost that remained.”

   Lucy’s breath caught in her throat. She had known, deep down, that Vlad was not like other men, that his past was filled with darkness and loss. But hearing him say it so plainly, so coldly, made it all the more real. She had fallen in love with the man before her, with the soul that still lingered within him, but now he was pushing her away, forcing her to return to the world she’d just run from.

   “Return to your life of love and daylight, Ms. Westenra.” His words were final, a command that left no room for argument. He couldn’t allow her to stay, couldn’t drag her into the darkness that consumed him.

   Fresh, cold tears spilled down Lucy’s cheeks, each drop a testament to the heartache that now consumed her. She reached out, her fingertips trembling as they gently touched his cheek, searching for a fleeting moment of warmth, of connection. “Please,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Don’t do this.” But Vlad pulled away from her touch, his heart too heavy with the knowledge that he couldn’t give her the life she deserved.

   With a heavy heart, Lucy turned to leave. Her footsteps were slow at first, hesitant, as if she were waiting for him to call her back, to tell her that he had changed his mind. But no words came. Vlad remained still, his gaze fixed on the ground, his body rigid with the weight of his decision. With one last, tearful glance at the man who had both rekindled and then shattered her heart, Lucy ran. Her footsteps reverberated through the quiet night, each echo a reminder of the love that would forever linger between them, now gone like the fleeting light of the sun at dusk.

   Dracula stood there, alone in the darkness, his heart heavy with the weight of the love he had lost once again. He had done what he thought was right, what he thought would save her from a life of darkness and despair. As her footsteps faded from earshot, Dracula’s form exploded into a dozen bats as dark as midnight and flew to the highest tower of Carfax Abbey where he reformed. As he stood there, the cold wind whipped through his hair as he gazed out over the city to watch Lisa leave. [Beauty and the Beast - Evermore; albeit replace tower with castle]

   Dracula watched her go, his heart aching with every step she took. He had found her again, his beloved Lisa, only to lose her once more to the darkness that he wished to spare her from. But this time it was bittersweet. He would watch her from afar, watch as she grew old surrounded by those she loved until one day she passed away.

   He had lived for centuries, alone in the shadows, seen so many sunsets in his life; he felt like he should know everything there was worth knowing. He believed that love was something he could never have again. But then Lucy had come into his life, and ever since he saw her face he no longer knew if he knew anything at all. For the first time in so long, he had felt hope. Hope that perhaps, even after all these years, he could find happiness once more.

   He had loved her once, centuries ago, when she had been Lisa, his wife, his heart, his sorrow. And now, he had found her again, only to lose her once more. The pain of that loss was unbearable, but he knew he couldn’t force her to stay. He couldn’t condemn her to a life of darkness, no matter how much he longed to be with her. The weight of his love for her, the knowledge that he had found her only to lose her again, was almost too much to bear. He had lived through centuries of pain, of loss, but this – this was different. This was a wound that would never heal.

   And yet, deep down Dracula knew that she would always be with him, that she would never truly leave him. Her memory, her love, would be etched into his soul for all eternity. She would haunt his dreams to calm him, hurt him, inspire him, to be a part of everything he did. He would carry her with him, through the endless nights, through the centuries to come. And though it was painful, it was a pain he would gladly endure, for it meant that she had been a part of his life, even if only for a brief moment.

   He would wait for her, as he had waited for centuries. He would stand at the edge of the abyss, hoping against hope that one day, she would return to him. And even if she never did, he would hold on to the memory of her, the love they had shared, for as long as he lived. As the wind howled around him, Dracula let out a final, raging roar of lament for the love he had lost.

🦇

   When Dracula returned to the shadowed halls of Carfax Abbey, he was met by Verona and Marya, both of whom had been waiting for him in anticipation. Their curiosity had grown over the past few days, as they, like Dracula, suspected that Lucy was indeed the reincarnation of Lisa. Now, they eagerly awaited confirmation of their suspicions. Dracula, his heart still heavy from his conversation with Lucy, informed them that their suspicions were correct. Lucy was, without a doubt, his beloved Lisa returned to him.

   “Very well, Master. I shall draw up the invitations for your guests to attend the Queen’s re-coronation.” Verona said. The idea of their queen returning to them filled her with hope and excitement. She had always revered Lisa, and the thought of her reincarnation joining them again as an immortal was almost too good to be true. “All I need is when you wish to perform the ritual for her transformation,” she asked eagerly.

   Marya, on the other hand, was more conflicted. Though she loved her father deeply and wanted him to be happy, and wanted to be reunited with her mother, the thought of turning Lucy into a vampire troubled her. She had seen firsthand the pain and suffering that came with immortality – the endless years of darkness, the loss of one’s humanity, and the constant battle against the thirst for blood. She did not want that for Lucy, or worse, for her to give in to the darkness like Marishka, even if she wished to be reunited with her mother and it meant denying her father the reunion he so desperately desired. Still, Marya kept her thoughts to herself, not wanting to provoke her father’s anger.

   However, much to their shock, Dracula dismissed the idea of turning Lucy into a vampire. “I let her go.” His voice was heavy with sorrow as he explained his reasoning. “Lisa has been granted a new life,” he said, his eyes distant, as though he were speaking more to himself than to them. “I-I cannot bring myself to do it.” His words hung in the air, filled with the weight of centuries of regret and heartache. Dracula feared the possibility of losing Lucy/Lisa again, but more than that, he feared the consequences of dragging her into the darkness that he and his Brides endured. He had lived through centuries of pain, and he could not bear the thought of subjecting her to the same fate.

   Verona, though disappointed, accepted Dracula’s decision. “As you wish, my master,” she said quietly, bowing her head in respect. She knew how much it pained him to do this for Lucy, and she respected his choice. Marya was happy to see a part of her father having returned – his humanity, his need to put others before himself.

   Dracula, Verona, and Marya found solace in the fact that they could at least spend time with Lucy, even if only for a short while before her mortality claimed her.

🦇

   While Dracula, Verona, and Marya came to terms with the situation, one member of Dracula’s coven was left seething with fury. Marishka was livid.

   “How could he fall in love with that woman?” she hissed to herself, pacing in the shadows of London rooftops. “With a human?”

   She and her sisters had given him everything for centuries. They had been loyal, obedient, and, not to brag, quite wild and satisfying in his chambers. And now, he was choosing that human over them? Over her?

   Sure, Lucy resembled the late queen Lisa Tepes in appearance, but that was all it was – appearance. It was not as if she, this Lucy, shared the queen’s voice, or that kind smile that had always made Marishka feel important, or that warmth in her eyes, or that laugh that had once filled the throne room with joy, even in the coldest of nights, or…

   But as Marishka thought more about it, she realized that all of those things were there. Lucy was the spitting image of Lisa, not just in appearance but in spirit as well. Lucy was Lisa returned to them. “No!” Marishka hissed to herself; her voice filled with denial. “It can’t be!”

   As Marishka brooded in the shadows, a voice broke through the stillness of the night. “My, quite an interesting turn of events this fine night.”

   Marishka whirled around, her heart racing, to find Carmilla, the infamous Countess of the Styria vampire coven, standing a mere few paces away. The moon’s silvery glow illuminated Carmilla, casting an ethereal light on her pale skin and accentuating her striking features. She held a champagne glass in one hand, filled with blood from her private frozen canisters that sparkled like starlight, as she gazed dreamily at the sky. A sly smile curled at the corners of her lips, the very picture of malice wrapped in elegance.

   “To think,” Carmilla began, her voice dripping with amusement and mockery, “after centuries shrouded, our queen would return to us as the master prepares for war against humanity. What a momentous occasion, wouldn’t you say?” Her words dripped with insincerity, each syllable a dagger aimed at Marishka's heart.

   Marishka felt a heat rise within her, her anger barely contained. She had never harbored any fondness for Carmilla, who seemed to thrive on chaos and the suffering of others. The Countess reveled in her role as a provocateur, and now, witnessing Marishka’s turmoil, brought her a twisted joy. “It can’t be!” Marishka spat, venom lacing her voice like poison. “She is not the Queen!”

   Carmilla merely raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her dark eyes. She took a languid sip from her drink, savoring the moment like a fine wine. “Oh, come now. Even a creature as astute as yourself must see the undeniable resemblance,” she purred, her voice smooth like silk. “But in the grand scheme of things, it scarcely matters what any of us believe. Soon enough, Dracula will transform her into a vampire, into his queen, and they will be united for all eternity, a dark love story reclaimed.”

   The weight of Carmilla’s words struck Marishka with the force of a storm, sending a cold shiver racing down her spine. Could it be true? The thought spiraled in her mind – was it possible that her master, her beloved Dracula, would indeed elevate this woman to eternal darkness alongside him? Dread settled in her chest like a stone, heavy and unyielding.

   Carmilla leaned closer, a wicked glint in her eyes that sent a fresh wave of unease through Marishka. “Which begs the question,” she continued, her voice a silky whisper filled with malice, “what will happen to you? Now that his cherished beloved has returned to him from beyond hades itself, what purpose could he possibly have for you?”

   With that, the Countess took another languorous sip, swirling the champagne in her glass as if savoring not just the drink, but the very notion that Marishka’s world might soon collapse around her.

   As Carmilla vanished in a swarm of white-feathered ravens, her words echoed in Marishka’s mind, filling her thoughts with fear and desperation. Could it be true? Would her master cast her and her sisters aside now that Lisa had returned? The thought filled her with fear and desperation. She had spent centuries at her master’s side, and she would not be so easily discarded. But what could she do? How could she prevent Lucy from reclaiming her place as her master’s queen?

   As these thoughts raced through her mind, a dark determination took hold of Marishka. She would not allow Lucy to take her place. She would do whatever it took to maintain her status, even if it meant getting rid of Lucy once and for all. But she knew she couldn’t do it alone. If she harmed Lucy, her master would surely find out, and his wrath would be swift and deadly. No, she needed someone else to do her dirty work for her. And she knew just the person.

🦇

   Later that night, the streets of London lay cloaked in a heavy fog, creating an atmosphere thick with mystery and danger. Marishka glided through the shadows, her quick steps beating in time with her urgent thoughts. She was on a relentless quest to locate a would-be assassin, someone lurking in the underbelly of the city – a cunning vampire whose motives could be swayed by promises of riches or the allure of blood. Yet, of all the notorious figures she could have chosen, only one held a deep-seated grudge against her master, enough to gamble on aiding her in her perilous scheme.

   After weaving through dimly lit alleyways and avoiding the prying eyes of the night watch, Marishka finally arrived at her destination: an old, abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the Whitechapel district. The building loomed like a skeletal titan, its rotting timbers and rusted metal structures standing decrepit against the pale moonlight. An unsettling silence enveloped the space, broken only by the distant sounds of the city echoing in the night.

   As she stepped inside, the air turned rancid, thick with the scent of decay and neglect, and the floorboards creaked ominously beneath her weight. All around her she heard the skittering of rats; dozens, hundreds, thousands of them. She knew she’d found her target’s lair. “Varney!” she called out, her voice slicing through the oppressive quiet, echoing off the cold, hard surfaces. “Show yourself!”

   From the depths of the shadows, Varney emerged, his presence both surprising and expected. Leaning casually against one of the ancient, rusted machines that had long ceased to function, he exuded an air of nonchalance, his posture relaxed yet predatory. A sly grin spread across his face, revealing elongated blood-stained canines that hinted that he’d just finished a hunt. He looked almost like a caricature of a villain – the quintessential rogue with his cheeky smile and derisive glint in his eye.

   He offered a mocking bow, the movement exaggerated and dripping with sarcasm. “Wot brings yer ‘ere, me dear?” Varney asked in his signature broken Cockney accent, his tone laced with mockery. “‘as Dracula sent yer ter check up on me, eh? Do tell ‘im I’m bein’ a right good boy, waitin’ ter relinquish London ter ‘im before the bloody Council in a few nights time. ‘e can choke on the city’s smoke stakes for all I care.”

   Marishka’s eyes narrowed, a cool fury radiating from her. “No,” she replied, her voice steady despite the tension crackling in the air. “The master has no idea I am here.”

   Varney’s interest flickered to life, a sharp glimmer igniting within his crimson gaze. He straightened, the playful demeanor momentarily replaced with an intensity that hinted at darker motives. “Oh, isit? And why, pray tell, ‘ave yer come then?” His voice dripped with curiosity, making it clear that he relished the prospect of secrets being unveiled.

   Marishka stepped closer, her movements deliberate and calculated, the dim light of the warehouse casting shadows across her sharp features. With a voice low and conspiratorial, she leaned in towards Varney, her breath barely above a whisper. “I have a proposition for you, Varney. I need you to dispatch one human for me. Discreetly. No one, not even the master can ever learn of this.”

   “Why, who’s the bloody dame and wot did she do ter yer? ‘mm? She prettier than yer?” Marishka rushed before him, bearing her fangs and snarling. Varney didn’t even flinch. “Wot will yer give us in exchange?”

   Marishka stepped back, resuming her posed stance. “Once confirmation of her death is delivered, I will persuade Dracula to leave London and return to Transylvania, allowing you to keep your claim over the city.”

   Varney’s eyes narrowed, curiosity piqued as he considered the implications of her offer. The prospect of ruling London without the overbearing presence of Dracula was a tantalizing fantasy. Now, here was a chance to force his rival to leave permanently. While he would’ve laughed off anyone else making such claims, one of Dracula’s brides, his spymaster and the one who held his ear – now that was someone who could make things happen. “And who, might I ask, is the target, then, luv?” he inquired, a wicked grin unfurling across his face, revealing a hint of his twisted delight and malice.

   Marishka’s lips curled into a sinister smirk, a glint of mischief sparking in her eyes as she revealed the name that could trigger their twisted game. “Lucy Westenra.”

   A low, dark chuckle escaped Varney, echoing ominously within the cavernous space of the warehouse. “Consider it done,” he replied, his voice dripping with a sinister promise. There was no hesitation, only the thrill of chaos entwined with ambition.

   As Marishka turned to leave the shadowy confines of the warehouse, a wave of satisfaction surged through her. Soon, Lucy would be removed from the equation, and she would reclaim the attention and affection of Dracula. She’d find a way to deal with Varney later, probably tip off a hunter to his location and let them kill the rat while she kept her hands clean.

🦇

   Later that night, as Lucy lay sleeping in her room, having cried herself to sleep from Vlad’s rejection hours ago, the air around the Westenra estate was thick with an eerie stillness. Lucy, who had been prone to dangerous sleepwalking episodes, was strapped to her bed, a precaution her family had taken to prevent her from wandering into the night. But no one could have anticipated the danger that was about to descend upon her from the shadows.

   Outside, a dark presence crept toward the estate. A swarm of rats, hundreds of them, scurried through the sewers beneath the city, their tiny feet pattering against the stone as they made their way into the mansion. The rats, guided by a sinister force, converged in the bathroom nearest Lucy’s room. There, in the darkness, the creatures began to meld together, their bodies twisting and writhing as they fused into a grotesque mass of flesh. Slowly, the mass began to take shape, reconstituting itself into the form of Varney.

   Varney, now fully formed, stood in the shadows, his eyes gleaming with malevolent intent. He had entered the estate undetected, and now he would carry out the task that would secure his claim over London. Moving silently, like a shadow himself, Varney made his way to Lucy’s room. The door creaked open just enough for him to slip inside, and there he found her—sleeping, vulnerable, and completely unaware of the danger that loomed over her.

   As Varney approached the bed, he gazed down at Lucy, the woman who had so plagued Marishka’s thoughts. He knew that by eliminating her, he would not only secure his place in London but also strike a blow against Dracula, who had grown far too attached to this mortal woman. Varney’s lips curled into a cruel smile as he leaned over Lucy, his canine teeth elongating into sharp fangs.

   Without hesitation, Varney sank his fangs into Lucy’s neck, delivering a venomous bite that sent a wave of dark energy coursing through her veins. Lucy stirred in her sleep, her body convulsing slightly as the venom took hold. Her skin grew pale, her breath shallow, and dark veins began to spread from the bite marks on her neck. Varney watched for a moment, satisfied with his work. Lucy was gravely ill, and it would only be a matter of time before her life slipped away.

   With his task complete, Varney slipped out of the room as quietly as he had entered, his body once again dissolving into a swarm of rats that scurried back into the sewers, leaving no trace of his presence behind.

🦇

   The following morning, the Westenra household was thrown into chaos. Minerva was the first to discover her daughter’s condition. When she entered Lucy’s room to wake her, she was horrified by what she found. Lucy lay in bed, deathly pale, her skin clammy and cold to the touch. She was sweating profusely, her body trembling with fever, and her once vibrant eyes were dull and unfocused. But what alarmed Minerva the most were the dark, black veins that stretched out from Lucy’s neck, radiating from two small puncture wounds.

   Minerva’s heart raced with fear and confusion. She had never seen anything like it before. Lucy had been perfectly healthy the day before, and now she looked as though she were on the brink of death. Desperate for help, Minerva immediately summoned Dr. Jack Seward, since he was her personal physician.

   When Jack arrived at the estate, he was greeted by a scene of panic and despair. Minerva was beside herself with worry, and the household staff whispered in hushed tones about the strange illness that had befallen their young mistress. Jack wasted no time in examining Lucy, but the more he observed, the more concerned he became. Her symptoms were unlike anything he had ever encountered in his medical career. The pallor of her skin, the fever, the black veins – it all pointed to something far beyond the realm of conventional medicine.

   As Jack worked tirelessly to stabilize Lucy’s condition, Arthur arrived at the estate. He had been summoned by Minerva, and though he appeared concerned for Lucy’s health, there was a deeper, more selfish worry gnawing at him. Arthur’s mind was not consumed with guilt over his violent outburst the previous day, nor was he truly remorseful for striking Lucy. Instead, he was concerned about what others might think if they discovered that he had hit his fiancée, especially now that she was gravely ill. The last thing Arthur wanted was for the blame to fall on him, and he feared that if Lucy did not recover, suspicions might arise.

   Jack, however, was already beginning to realize that Lucy’s illness was beyond his ability to cure. Despite his best efforts, her condition continued to deteriorate. Her pulse was weak, her breathing shallow, and the black veins continued to spread across her body. He had exhausted all of his medical expertise, and nothing he had done had made any difference. He knew that if he didn’t act quickly, Lucy’s life would be lost. In his desperation, Jack made a decision to reach out to his former mentor: Professor Abraham Van Helsing. [Van Helsing – Journey to Transylvania]

Chapter 6: Race Against Time

Chapter Text

Dark Universe

Image

Written by Andrew Downs and Thomas Lapeyrouse III

Convent, several days before …

   After an arduous and nerve-wracking journey from train to train across Europe, Mina and Quincy finally arrived in Budapest, Hungary. The thick trees loomed over them as they traveled via carriage to the Convent of St. Joseph, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch endlessly into the night. Mina couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching them from the darkness, but she pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the reunion that awaited her. Mina’s heart was burdened with a storm of emotions – hope tangled with dread. She prayed that her beloved Jonathan’s sickness had not consumed him entirely and that, with her by his side, he might recover and return to the man he once was. As they approached the imposing gates of the Convent, an unsettling aura enveloped her, raising her instincts as they entered the dimly lit corridors.

   The convent's interior was strikingly serene, its whitewashed walls and flickering candlelight imparting a sense of peace. After waiting for a few moments, they were greeted by Sister Imelda, one of the head nuns. At first, Sister Imelda seemed confused by their sudden appearance, until Mina introduced herself and explained that she had received an urgent telegram from Sister Agatha, informing her that Jonathan was being cared for at the convent and that he had requested her presence to help him return home. Hearing Jonathan’s name, Sister Imelda’s expression softened, and she led them through the convent’s halls to the chambers where Jonathan had been staying.

   As they followed Sister Imelda, she recounted how Jonathan came into their care. “He appeared on our doorstep several months ago, shivering from the cold and disoriented,” Sister Imelda explained, her voice steady yet tinged with sympathy. “He was in a dreadful state, utterly delirious, and raving about things that sent shivers down our spines – specters of the night, howling wolves with eyes that glowed like embers, and demons that seemed to chase him into the very depths of his dreams.” Mina’s heart ached at the thought of Jonathan’s suffering.

   Sister Imelda continued, her gaze distant as if recalling a nightmare, “His physical condition was grave; his body was frail and covered in bruises, his clothes torn and ragged with burn marks, as though he had fought an invisible foe in a dreadful fire. But the true horror lay in his mind. It was as if he had been shattered, haunted by the remnants of whatever terror had overtaken him. Night after night, he would cry out in fear, speaking of creatures that emerged from shadowy corners, creatures that seemed all too real to him. We did everything we could to provide comfort, but it was a plight that left us all unsettled.”

   Mina exchanged a worried glance with Quincy, her heart pounding as the weight of Sister Imelda’s words settled heavily upon her. What had Jonathan endured, and what dark forces had invaded his mind? Quincy was just as put off by the sister’s words. He’d known Jonathan for a long time, and hearing what his friend was going through pained him.

   As they passed a hallway lined with windows on one side that showed the forests surrounding the convent, Sister Imelda slowed her pace. “Forgive me, but,” she asked, her voice a mixture of concern and curiosity. “Could you tell me again who sent that telegram to you?”

   Mina, confused, reached into her well-worn satchel and extracted the telegram. “It was Sister Agatha. She urged us to come as soon as possible,” she explained, her eyes darting between Sister Imelda and Quincy. “She mentioned that Jonathan was here and that he needed me. Why is something wrong?”

   Sister Imelda took the telegram from Mina, her careful fingers smoothing the wrinkled paper. As she examined the message, lines of concern etched deeper into her brow. “This doesn’t make any sense,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

   Mina felt a chill run down her spine, a sense of foreboding washing over her. “What do you mean? Is my fiancé here or not?” Panic laced her words as she realized how important this information was.

   “Oh, no, yes, your fiancé is indeed here,” Sister Imelda replied, meeting Mina’s anxious gaze. “As I said, we’ve been looking after him since he arrived.”

   Quincy, feeling the palpable tension in the room, stepped forward, trying to maintain a sense of calm. “Then what’s the issue, Sister?”

   Sister Imelda hesitated, her expression darkening as she lowered her voice. “Well, you see… I’m afraid we have no Sister Agatha at this convent.”

   “What?” Mina blinked in disbelief, struggling to comprehend the implications of Sister Imelda’s statement.

   Quincy, ever pragmatic, frowned deeply. “There must be some mistake, ma’am. We received the telegram from this convent from a miss Agatha, you can see both written right there–”

   But Sister Imelda shook her head, cutting him off, her demeanor grave. “But that’s just it; we haven’t sent any telegrams or letters on Mr. Harker’s behalf. He’s been far too ill to even communicate who he would want us to contact. I recognized Ms. Mina’s name only because he would whisper it in his sleep, but not an address to send word to or even her last name.”

   The weight of the sister’s words settled heavily on Mina’s shoulders. If there was no Sister Agatha, then who would have sent the telegram? And for what purpose? “This makes no sense at all,” she whispered, the weight of uncertainty heavy upon her.

   “I agree,” Sister Imelda replied, her tone sympathetic yet stern.

   As Quincy and Sister Imelda continued their conversation, Mina’s mind began to drift, her thoughts swirling with confusion and fear. “Look, are you sure there isn’t someone here named Agatha?” Quincy pressed for clarity. “It’s a large convent, a beautiful one I might add, but one with a lot of nuns, maybe you just forgot one?”

   Sister Imelda’s face softened with a hint of empathy, but her voice remained resolute. “My dear son, I have been here for over twenty years, and in that time, there has never been a Sister Agatha stationed at this convent.” She paused, clearly troubled. “I wish I had better news for you both, but that’s the truth.”

   As Quincy and Sister Imelda continued to discuss this conundrum, Mina’s attention was suddenly drawn to something outside. Through one of the tall, arched windows, she caught a glimpse of movement in the forest that surrounded the convent. At first, it was nothing more than a shadow, but as she focused, the figure became clearer.

   Her breath caught in her throat. “No… it can’t be…”

   Cloaked by the forest’s shadows as it stalked through the trees was a frightening creature, resembling a wolf yet unlike any she had ever seen before. The creature was massive, if Mina had to guess standing at about 9 feet in length and 6-7 feet at shoulder height. Its fur gleamed like fresh snow under the remnants of daylight, with blood-red otherworldly stripes slashed down its back, echoing the very essence of a nightmare. One of its front paws was badly burned, the wound still sizzling. Its face was a strange mixture of bat and wolf features, accompanied by devilish horns. But it was its eyes that truly held her captive – glowing with an unnatural light, they pierced through the shadows and seemed to lock onto her own, burning with an intensity that sent a shiver cascading down Mina’s spine. Her mind flashed back to the nightmare she had had in Whitby – the nightmare where a similar beast had hunted Jonathan atop the crumbling remains of a burning castle. She could still hear its growls harmonizing with the echoing flames.

   Her heart pounded in her chest as she stared at the creature, and she let out a startled scream as Quincy, having noticed her distraction, grasped her shoulder. “What is it, Mina?” his voice laced with concern. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” But when she turned back to the window, it was gone. The forest stood still, offering no evidence of the beast she had just seen.

   Mina hesitated, unsure of what to say. Had she really seen the creature, or was her mind playing tricks on her? She forced a smile, brushing off the sight as a trick of the light; though Quincy could tell it felt fragile and unconvincing. “I’m sorry. It’s nothing. Just my eyes adjusting after the long journey from the city.”

   Sister Imelda, noticing Mina’s unease, offered a gentle smile. “Well, regardless, you are here now. Perhaps Sister Agatha was one of the Lord’s angels, looking down on you and sending this letter to inform you of your fiancé.” Quincy rolled his eyes, clearly not one to believe in such superstitious nonsense.

   But deep down, Mina couldn’t shake the feeling that something – or someone – was watching them. The creature she had seen in the forest wasn’t just a figment of her imagination. It was real. Something was stirring in the depths of the forest, and Mina could not shake the feeling that they were being watched. And though skeptical, she couldn’t help but wonder if there was some truth to Sister Imelda’s words. Could the telegram have been sent by some otherworldly force? Could it have been a warning – or a trap?

    When they finally entered Jonathan’s chambers, Mina’s heart broke at the sight before her. Jonathan, once strong and full of life, was now a mere shadow of his former self. His face was pale, his body gaunt, and his eyes – though closed in restless sleep – were sunken and dark, hinting at the torment hidden beneath the surface. He tossed and turned in his bed, clearly tormented by harrowing nightmares.

    Sister Agnes, the devoted nun who had been tending to Jonathan during his time of suffering, greeted them with a solemn expression. She explained that Jonathan had been in this state for months, ever since they had found him on the convent’s doorstep. His mind was fractured; most of the memories from his ordeal had slipped from his grasp, leaving him with only fleeting glimpses of horror.

    “He speaks of unspeakable horrors in his sleep, Ms. Murray.” Sister Agnes said. “Ranting and raving of things no mortal being should ever contemplate. He’s got the lot of us sisters here scared to death to even tend to him. I had to cross myself more times than I can count, I have, while listening to his nightmares, praying for his soul and mine.”

    Mina’s heart ached as she listened to Sister Agnes’s account. She had known that Jonathan had suffered greatly, but hearing the details of his torment filled her with dread. What had happened to him on his business trip? What horrors had he faced that had left him in such a state?

    As Quincy and the nuns quietly exited the room, granting Mina and Jonathan some privacy, she delicately settled beside him. With gentle fingers, she held his clammy hand as he tossed and turned in his sleep, hoping her touch might provide some semblance of comfort. Leaning closer, she whispered softly to him, telling him that everything would be alright, that she was there now and would never leave him.

🦇

London, present …

   The inside of the Westenra Estate felt cold as Dr. Jack Seward, Arthur Holmwood, and Minerva Westenra sat in the living room. The flickering flames of the fireplace barely warmed their moods as they sat with faces etched with worry. Each tick of the ornate clock echoed in the silence, a reminder of time slipping away as they awaited the arrival of a man they hoped would possess the knowledge and skill to save Lucy. For Jack, she was a friend he wished not to lose. For Arthur, she was a fiancé he couldn’t afford to lose. For Minerva, a daughter she’d forever regret if she lost now. Together the three of them waited, the clicking of the clock the only sound breaking the silence.

   Then suddenly, there was a firm knock reverberated through the stillness. As the knocking grew, Joan Briggs, the ladies’ maid, rose and approached the heavy oak door. The air grew thick with anticipation as the three remaining in the room exchanged anxious glances, their collective breath held. A few moments later, Joan returned, her expression revealing the arrival they had hoped for. “Professor Abraham Van Helsing has arrived,” she announced, her voice steady yet laced with urgency.

   As Van Helsing entered, he commanded the attention of the room with a presence that was both formidable and reassuring. He was an impressive figure, exuding a blend of calm authority and a rugged, battle-hardened disposition. A man in his late forties, the depths of Van Helsing’s sharp eyes portrayed the wisdom of someone who had braved life’s harshest realities. As his gaze swept the room, those piercing eyes took in every detail with an intensity that left no doubt he sensed the gravity of the situation before him.

   His dark hair, interlaced with silver streaks at the temples, framed a face adorned with a neatly trimmed beard. He was clad in a long, flowing coat that whirled slightly with each stride, and beneath it, a vest with various pockets that hinted at the strange tools and instruments he carried, suggesting a readiness for the unconventional cases he often engaged with. His hands, strong and callused, spoke of years dedicated to both rigorous medical practice and combat. In one hand he held an extraordinarily unique walking cane, carved with ancient runes along the shaft and bearing an intricate Egyptian cat head handle.

   Seeing his old student, Dr. Seward, rise to greet him, Van Helsing’s demeanor softened, revealing a sense of camaraderie. Seward’s relief was palpable as he grasped the Professor’s hand firmly, an expression radiating gratitude. “Thank you for coming on such short notice, Professor,” he said, a hint of a tremor in his voice.

   “It was no trouble at all, Jack,” Van Helsing replied with a warm smile. “I do still owe you a debt for saving my life during the war after all.”

   Their brief exchange reinvigorated the colligated hope in the room. The discussion shifted as Van Helsing was introduced to Minerva and Arthur. Minerva, her visage drained of color and painted with deep lines of distress, wasted no time in imploring Van Helsing to offer his aid. “Professor, I beg of you,” she pleaded, her voice tremulous with emotion, “can you cure my daughter? She has been withering away for weeks, and Dr. Seward nor any other physician we’ve contacted has been able to alleviate her suffering.”

   Van Helsing’s expression softened, empathy emanating from his gaze as he listened intently to Minerva’s desperate cries. He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, an anchor in her turmoil. “I will do everything in my power to help, Mrs. Westenra,” he assured her, his tone steady and confident. “I have encountered many bizarre ailments throughout my career – cured a small Afghan village of typhoid, freed a priest from the grips of scarlet fever in Germany, and even assisted a friend in Kenya battling a long-standing addiction to opiates. So, you can rest assured that while my methods may seem strange, I will exhaust all avenues to save your daughter. Now, if you would kindly show me where Lucy is.”

   With that, they led Van Helsing to Lucy’s dimly lit room, where the young woman lay frail and motionless upon her bed, her skin pale as freshly fallen snow, and her breathing shallow and labored.

   As Van Helsing drew closer to her bedside, his sharp eyes immediately took in the dire details of Lucy’s condition. She lay trembling with a relentless fever, sweat beading on her forehead like glistening pearls, and her body seemed to writhe fitfully in pain even in sleep. Her face, once vibrant and full of life, was now a ghostly pallor, more emaciated and gaunter than when Minerva had first seen her when she became ill. Her lips were nearly colorless, resembling the faded petals of a dying flower, while her skin felt clammy and cold, almost lifeless to the touch. Her once-bright eyes, now clouded and dull, seemed to gaze through the veil of illness, unfocused and distant, while her chest rose and fell with desperate, labored effort, each breath a monumental struggle.

   However, what seized Van Helsing’s attention most were the ominous dark veins that snaked across Lucy’s neck, branching out from the two small puncture wounds that marred her delicate skin. These tiny bite marks, seemingly innocuous at first glance, were a harbinger of something far more sinister. To Van Helsing, they were a chilling reminder of horror’s past – a telltale sign he had encountered many times throughout his extensive career. Each vampire bite he had witnessed over the last decade and a half bore a striking resemblance to the ones before it, yet the black, poisonous veins emanating from Lucy’s neck sent a jolt of dread through him. They recalled the memory of one patient he had failed to rescue that still caused his heart to ache to this day, and one formidable foe he had failed to vanquish. Varney.

   “So, that slippery bastard survived?” Van Helsing thought to himself. Determination surged within him; he vowed silently to himself that he would not make the same mistake a second time.

   Though he knew that Lucy had fallen victim to a vampire, Van Helsing understood the peril of articulating such a fantastic theory. Years of experience had taught him that many would dismiss the supernatural claims as mere superstition. He needed the unwavering trust of Lucy’s family and friends if he was to devise a plan to save her. So, he turned to Dr. Seward, his voice measured as he inquired about the bite marks on Lucy’s neck.

   “A few days,” Dr. Seward replied, his brow furrowed in genuine concern. “They appeared shortly after she first took ill and have swelled down since. But I must admit, I can’t discern their origin; they might be from an animal, or possibly linked to her illness.”

   Van Helsing nodded, a sense of grim determination forming in his gut. His instincts whispered that Lucy had become prey to a vampire, being poisoned while simultaneously having her vitality siphoned away by the creature’s sinister bite. Yet for the moment, he resolved to keep this knowledge under wraps. “You mentioned she has been afflicted with tuberculosis for some time now?”

   “Yes, indeed,” Dr. Seward affirmed, his voice steady. “I’ve cared for her over the years, and we have brought her tuberculosis to a manageable level. She was making progress.”

   “Has she traveled recently? Perhaps somewhere that might have exacerbated her condition?” Van Helsing’s voice was calm, but his mind raced.

   Minerva, visibly distraught, interjected, “Well, Lucy and her sister Mina enjoyed a vacation to Whitby Bay a few weeks ago, but I can’t see how-”

   “Ah, therein lies the crux of the matter,” Van Helsing interjected. “It seems that during that holiday, Miss Lucy contracted a virulent strain that has bonded with and mutated her tuberculosis, escalating her illness into a far more perilous condition.”

   “Are you absolutely certain, Professor?” Dr. Seward’s eyes widened with alarm, searching for reassurance.

    “Of course,” Van Helsing replied, bolstering his tone with authority, though the knowledge came more from instinct than substantiated evidence. “It’s a phenomenon I have encountered before – a fusion of maladies that can spiral quickly out of control.” He could see the fear bubbling beneath the surface in the faces around him. “But we must act with urgency if we are to save her. Her body is weak; she has lost a significant amount of blood. Quickly, Jack, fetch the necessary equipment for a blood transfusion!” As the urgency of the moment surged through the room like a tidal wave, Van Helsing’s demeanor shifted from deliberation to command.

    Arthur, his face pale yet resolute, stepped forward. “I’ll donate my blood. Anything for Lucy,” he declared, a mix of desperation and determination in his voice. While everyone else saw this as Arthur being eager to do anything to save his beloved, in truth he merely wished to preserve his façade of caring for her. If she died now, then he could still inherit his father’s wealth – all the old man had said was that he needed to find a wife to marry before he passed away from his illnesses, not that she had to survive till their wedding day. Still, he had to look the part of the concerned fiancé until his bizarre bride croaked it.

    Not knowing the sinister intentions within Arthur’s mind, Van Helsing nodded in acknowledgment, instantly assuming the role of the skilled surgeon. Van Helsing worked swiftly, using his advanced medical knowledge to perform the transfusion with precision, focused intently on stabilizing Lucy’s fragile condition.

    As the blood flowed from Arthur to Lucy, a faint color returned to her cheeks as the black veins began to fade away. Her once labored breathing steadied, each inhale gradually becoming deeper and more even. The transfusion, though an immediate life-saving measure, was merely a temporary reprieve. Van Helsing, with a furrowed brow and a determined gaze, understood that to genuinely safeguard Lucy from the threat that loomed, he would need to resort to more drastic and unconventional methods.

    Employing his extensive knowledge of the occult to shield Lucy from any further assaults by the vampire, he began to implement a series of precautions, disguised to the others as exotic healing techniques. The atmosphere in her room was soon filled with the pungent aroma of wolfsbane, a plant long believed to possess protective qualities. He carefully arranged the herb in a series of strategic placements throughout the space; its sharp, earthy scent filled the air, leaving an unmistakable impression.

    In an added measure of defense, Van Helsing crafted a delicate necklace using the same wolfsbane, explaining to Minerva that this herbal adornment would serve a dual purpose: it would not only benefit Lucy’s sinuses but also aid in her overall recovery.

    “The smell is dreadful, Professor,” Minerva remarked, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “Are you sure this is necessary?”

    Van Helsing’s face hardened, his voice low and firm. “Absolutely, Mrs. Westenra. Under no circumstances should the wolfsbane be removed from her room or, indeed, from her person. It is a potent remedy and must remain.” He knew that his explanation was a facade; the truth was far darker. The wolfsbane was not intended to alleviate any nasal discomfort; its true purpose was to act as a repellent against the vampire that had nearly claimed Lucy’s life.

    In tandem with the wolfsbane, Van Helsing prepared a small, ornate crystal bottle filled with water, carefully concealing the fact that it was, in fact, holy water. He placed it beside Lucy as she slept, ensuring that it remained within her reach. He turned to Joan, who had been entrusted with the important task of watching over Lucy. “Joan,” he said, locking eyes with her to emphasize the gravity of the situation, “you must ensure that the wolfsbane remains around her neck at all times, even while she sleeps. It is crucial for her safety.”

    Recognizing that vigilance was paramount to Lucy’s survival in case Varney decided to show up again, Van Helsing enlisted the assistance of Arthur, Minerva, and Seward, organizing a watch schedule to keep a vigilant eye over Lucy throughout the night. He was acutely aware that the vampire, emboldened by its initial success, would likely make another attempt to finish what it had started. The thought fueled his sense of urgency; he could not allow Lucy to be left alone, even for a moment, in her time of vulnerability. The fate of her life hung in the balance, and every precaution had to be taken.

    After implementing the initial measures he deemed essential, Van Helsing took a deep breath, weighing his next words carefully. “I must excuse myself,” he said, his voice tinged with urgency.

    Dr. Seward, frowning in concern, hurried after him. “Where are you going?” he pressed, his eyes searching Van Helsing’s face for answers.

    Van Helsing paused, a shadow of worry crossing his features as he shook his head solemnly. “To truly save Miss Lucy, I must go home. There, I have access to rare herbs and specific medicines that may provide her the relief she desperately needs.” He intentionally left out an essential detail – his need to gather his specialized vampire-hunting tools. Turning back to Dr. Seward, his eyes locked with determination, he added, “You must trust me, old friend. I will return as swiftly as I can, but in the meantime, you must adhere to my instructions without fail. Lucy’s very life, her very soul hangs in the balance.”

    With that, Van Helsing turned and departed, but not without turning back one last time to remind Seward. “Telegram me at every opportunity regarding her condition,” he urged, his voice firm. As he exited the Westenra Estate, the weight of the task ahead pressed down on him. His mind swirled with strategies and contingencies, each more urgent than the last. The battle ahead wouldn't just be for Lucy's life but rather against a formidable adversary lurking in the shadows, ready to strike again.

🦇

Convent, days ago...

   It had been several days since Mina and Quincy had arrived at the convent, staying by Jonathan’s side as he recovered from his mysterious illness. The convent had become a temporary home for them, a place of quiet reflection and anxious waiting. The sisters had been kind, offering them solace and support, but nothing could ease the tension in Mina’s heart as she watched Jonathan’s fragile state. Quincy was having a fun time regaling the sisters with his tales of America, many of which he’d told to Mina and Lucy several times, yet they never tired of them.

   The morning sunlight filtered through the window of Jonathan’s room, casting a soft glow over the simple furnishings. A welcome change Mina thought, in contrast to the constant heavy overcast that’d taken over London’s skies back home. Mina stood by the window, carefully replacing the flowers that had wilted in the vase. The scent of fresh blooms filled the air, a small effort to bring some life and beauty into the room where Jonathan lay in a deep, restless sleep.

   As she arranged the flowers, her eyes were drawn to something in the nightstand beside his bed. The drawer was slightly ajar, and inside, she could see the corner of a journal – Jonathan’s journal. She recognized it immediately. It was the same one he had always carried with him, whether at work or when showing her new recipes he’d found to try together. The leather cover was worn and tattered, as though it had been through as much as its owner.

   Mina’s heart quickened. She had been searching for answers ever since Jonathan had been found, delirious and broken, on the doorstep of the convent. He had spoken of ghosts, wolves, and demons, but his words had been incoherent, his mind shattered by whatever horrors he had faced. Perhaps this journal, this small, unassuming book, held the key to understanding what had happened to him.

    Curiosity tugged at her, and with a hesitant hand, Mina reached for the notebook. She pulled it from the drawer, feeling the worn leather beneath her fingers. The pages were slightly yellowed, the edges frayed, but it was intact. She expected to find the picture of her and Lucy that Jonathan kept inside it, but it was gone; perhaps unfortunately lost during his adventures. Whatever had happened to Jonathan, this journal had survived it with him.

    Mina’s mind raced with possibilities. Could this journal hold the answers to his illness? Could it explain the strange marks on his neck, the feverish nightmares, the fear that seemed to cling to him even in sleep? She knew that reading it might be an invasion of his privacy, but she was desperate for anything that could help him.

    With a deep breath, she opened the cover, about to read quietly to herself.

    Suddenly, though, a voice broke the silence. “No!” Jonathan cried out, his voice hoarse and filled with fear.

    Mina jumped, startled by the sound. Jonathan was awake, his voice raw from disuse, but it was filled with a terror that sent a chill down her spine. “Don’t read it, Mina,” he begged. “Please… don’t.”

    Mina froze, her heart racing as she looked into Jonathan’s eyes. He was awake, truly awake, but the wildness in his gaze was unlike anything she had ever seen. His face was pale, his eyes wide with fear, as though the very sight of the journal had stirred some deep, unspeakable horror within him.

    But then, the realization that he was finally conscious overtook her. The fear in his voice was momentarily forgotten as joy flooded her heart. Dropping the journal to the floor, she rushed to his side, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. “Oh, Jonathan!” she said, her voice filled with unbridled joy. “I’m so happy you’re awake!”

    For a moment, Jonathan seemed disoriented, his body stiff in her arms. But then, slowly, he relaxed, his breathing uneven as he tried to calm himself. His voice was weak, but there was a hint of recognition in it. “…Mina?”

    Mina pulled away slightly, just enough to look into his eyes, but she kept him close, her hands resting gently on his shoulders. “Yes, darling, it’s me,” she said, smiling brightly. “I’m here.”

    Jonathan blinked, his gaze softening as he took in the sight of her. There was still fear in his eyes, but it was tempered by the warmth of her presence. For the first time in months, they were together again, and for a brief moment, the horrors of the past seemed to fade away.

    They sat there, embracing each other in silence, neither of them willing to let go. Mina could feel Jonathan’s heart beating against her chest, weak but steady, and she held him tighter, as though her love alone could keep him safe from whatever darkness had befallen him.

    After a few moments, Jonathan pulled back slightly, his expression filled with guilt. “I’m sorry, Mina. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

    Mina shook her head, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “It’s alright. You’ve been through so much. I’m just happy you’re awake.”

    Jonathan’s gaze shifted to the journal lying on the floor, his face growing pale again. He swallowed hard, his voice trembling as he spoke. “It’s just… that book…” He pointed weakly at the journal, his hand shaking. “I believe the cause of my illness is written in that book. But I dare not read it. I dare not even hear its contents aloud.”

    Mina’s heart ached at the fear in his voice. She glanced at the journal, now lying innocently on the floor, and wondered what terrible secrets it contained. What could be so horrifying that Jonathan, a man of reason and strength, was too afraid to face it?

    Mina bent down to pick up the journal, her hands trembling slightly as she held it. She wanted to help him, to understand what had happened to him, but the weight of his fear pressed down on her. What could be inside these pages that Jonathan feared would destroy their future together?

    As she moved to put the journal back in the drawer, Jonathan gently grabbed her wrist, stopping her. “But… if you wish to read it, to find out what happened to me, you may. I trust you, Mina. But I beg you… never let me see it. I fear it would bring horrors into our life together.”

    Mina’s breath caught in her throat. She looked down at the journal in her hands, her mind racing. She had always known Jonathan to be a man of logic, a man who faced challenges head-on. For him to be so afraid of the contents of this journal meant that whatever was written inside must be truly terrible.

    But at the same time, she couldn’t ignore the possibility that the answers to his recovery lay within those pages. If she could understand what had happened to him, perhaps she could help him heal, both physically and mentally.

    Her hands trembled as she placed the journal back in the drawer, closing it gently. For now, she would respect his wishes. She would not read it – not yet. But the temptation lingered, the unanswered questions gnawing at the back of her mind. “I won’t read it, Jonathan.” She said softly. “Not unless I have to.”

    Jonathan nodded, relief washing over his face. He leaned back against the pillows, his body still weak, but the tension in his muscles slowly easing. “Thank you, Mina. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I still can’t believe you’re here.”

    Mina climbed into bed beside Jonathan, wrapping her arms around him once more. They sat there in silence, simply holding each other, as the sunlight continued to stream through the window. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Mina allowed herself to breathe, to feel the warmth of Jonathan’s body against hers, to savor the simple joy of being together again.

    But even as they embraced, Mina couldn’t shake the feeling that the journal was calling to her. It sat there, hidden away in the drawer, its secrets locked inside, waiting to be uncovered. And though she had promised Jonathan she wouldn’t read it, she knew that the time would come when she would have no choice.

    For now, though, she would hold him close and cherish the peace they had found, however fleeting it might be.

🦇

 London, present ...

    The night air was crisp and cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant city lights as Dracula and Verona approached the imposing façade of the Westenra estate. The full moon hung low in the sky, its pale light spilling over the grounds and casting long, eerie shadows that danced playfully across the meticulously kept lawn. It had been far too long since Dracula had seen Lucy, and despite having previously dismissed her ardent advances, a sense of unease gnawed at him. Had her silence been merely the result of wounded pride, or was there something more sinister lurking beneath the surface? His heart, long hardened from centuries of loss, stirred with a longing to see her, to ensure her safety, to unravel the mystery of her absence.

    As they drew nearer to the estate, Verona suddenly halted, her delicate features contorting in disgust. Her keen senses, far more sensitive than Dracula's hardened instincts, had detected a rank stench clawing at the night air. “I smell something… foul,” Verona declared, her tone laced with revulsion. “It’s emanating from the house.”

    Dracula paused, his brow furrowing as he took in the scent. While the noxious odor assaulted Verona’s senses, it barely fazed him. Instead, he became acutely aware of something deeper, something that clawed at the fringes of his consciousness – a presence that felt both familiar and unsettling. It was an essence that stirred memories he had long tried to bury, whispers of a time when danger and desperation loomed closely.

    “I sense something…” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the very words could conjure the entity lurking in the shadows. “A presence I have not felt since…”

    He let the sentence dangle in the cool night air, the weight of the unsaid hanging heavily between them. His mind raced with the implications; he knew what it was – or rather, who it was. The thought of his ancient enemies daring to set foot in the home of his beloved Lucy ignited a fervent rage within him. Yet, as much as that fury unfurled, he quelled it for the moment. Tonight, his purpose was singular: to find Lucy, to be certain she was unharmed, and to confront her wrath if she truly was simply avoiding him.

    As they approached the door, Dracula's hand struck the surface with a deliberate knock, each rap echoing his racing thoughts.

    The door swung open, revealing Joan, her expression a mix of surprise and concern as she stepped aside to usher him in. As Dracula entered the dimly lit foyer, he was met by the familiar faces of Dr. Seward and Minerva. Seward’s demeanor was warm and inviting as he extended a hand, greeting the Count with a professional cordiality. In contrast, Minerva stood a few steps back, her polite smile failing to conceal the apprehension in her eyes. The dread in her heart for her ailing daughter overshadowed any past courtesies extended to Dracula.

    “I apologize for the late hour of my arrival,” Dracula began, his voice smooth yet laced with urgency as he clasped Jack’s hand firmly. “I was concerned about Miss Lucy and wished to inquire about her health.”

    “Count Dracula, I’m afraid now is not the best time for a visit,” Minerva replied, her tone polite but resolute. “My daughter is gravely unwell.”

    “Unwell?” he echoed, furrowing his brow in genuine concern, taking a step closer.

    “Yes,” Minerva stated firmly, her resolve hardening. “And I believe it would be in everyone’s best interest if you took your leave now.”

    Dracula opened his mouth to interject, to perhaps ease the tension with a well-chosen word, but before he could find his voice, a faint but unmistakable voice called out from the staircase above.

    “Vlad, is that truly you, Vlad?” Lucy’s fragile voice broke through the stillness, punctuated by a gentle cough that sent a shiver of worry through the room. “Please, let him in.”

    With a reluctant sigh, her mother stepped aside, the barrier between the two moments crumbling. “Very well,” Minerva conceded, her voice tinged with stress. “But please, do not linger.”

    Dracula nodded, masking the turmoil within at the urgency of the situation. “Thank you,” he said quietly, turning briefly to glance at Verona, who had remained steadfast beside him. “I’ll stay down here,” Verona muttered, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “The air… it’s unbearable.”

    Dracula understood her discomfort well. The foul stench of wolfsbane – a potent herb traditionally used to repel vampires and ward off malevolent spirits – permeated the air, thick and noxious. It coated the atmosphere like a shroud, and even Dracula found it intolerable, though his thoughts lingered heavier on the implications. Its presence suggested prying intentions, as if the household was preparing against his kind.

    Leaving Verona to battle the stench in the foyer on her own, Dracula followed Joan, Dr. Seward, and Minerva as they ascended the creaking staircase, each step echoing the gravity of the moment, toward Lucy’s chamber. The anticipation churned in his chest, a blend of hope and dread, as he moved further into the unknown of what awaited him behind the door.

    As Dracula stepped into the dimly lit room, he was immediately enveloped by the overwhelming and pungent scent of wolfsbane. The air was thick with its acrid aroma, heavy and cloying, as if the very essence of the herb had woven itself into the fabric of the room. Bunches of the plant were carefully arranged, hanging from the windows, and garlands of it were meticulously woven around the bedposts. Scattered petals lay across the hardwood floor, crushed under foot. Garlands of wolfsbane were the bed. He reluctantly pulled an embroidered handkerchief from his pocket, holding it close to his nose in an attempt to block out the pervasive odor.

    Yet it was not merely the wolfsbane that drew his attention, for lying frail and vulnerable in the bed was Lucy.

    She was a haunting sight, her once radiant beauty was now a faint echo, reduced to an almost ghostly complexion. The pallor of her skin revealed the delicate blue veins beneath, and her cheeks, once full and rosy, were now hallowed as if the life had been slowly siphoned from her. Her labored breathing filled the silence, punctuated by soft rattled gasps that seemed to steal the strength from her. What Dracula didn’t see, however, were the bite marks that Varney had inflicted on her, as they had now faded away entirely.

    A deep, visceral ache lodged in Dracula’s chest at the sight of her decline. He had never envisioned her in this condition, so diminished from the vibrant woman she had been. “Lucy…” he murmured, his voice barley above a whisper, laden with unspoken emotions.

    Dr. Seward stepped up beside him, his expression grim. “She’s been ill for less than a week now,” he informed, the weight of his words heavy in the air. “A particularly aggressive strain of tuberculosis, or so we believe. The treatments prescribed by my mentor have helped slow the progression, but it’s still worsening.”

    Hearing a soft, pitiful attempt at speech, Dracula hurried to her side, his cold fingers brushing against her fevered skin. Lucy managed to lift her gaze, a weak but warm smile attempting to break through the shadow of pain in her eyes. “I’m so happy you’re here, Count.” Her voice emerged as a fragile whisper, punctuated by a sudden fit of coughing that left her pale and gasping. “I didn’t think I’d get the chance… at least not one last time.”

    Her words were punctuated by a fit of coughing, and she brought a handkerchief to her mouth, spitting up blood. Dracula’s eyes darkened at the sight, his heart heavy with guilt and sorrow.

    “Unless the professor returns soon, I won’t be long for this world.” Lucy, chuckling weakly. “Hurrah to me, I guess; next to die.” She laughed bitterly, her voice laced with resignation. “Oh, how I wished I could’ve danced with you under the moonlight, one last time,” Lucy murmured, her voice barely above a breath, yet filled with longing.

    Dracula felt his chest tighten, the weight of regret pressing down upon him. He had never intended for this; he had pushed her away only to safeguard her future as a mortal, never dreaming that it would lead her to such despair. “Lucy… what I said the other night, I-” he began, his words faltering on the edge of a confession.

    But with a delicate smile, Lucy silenced him, her eyes glimmering with determination even through the veil of pain. “Shh, it’s alright. You only wished to do what you thought was best for me,” she reassured softly. Summoning what little strength she had left, she leaned closer, urging him to bend low enough to catch her whispered words but her strength wouldn’t let her, so he instead came in close for her to whisper to him. “Know that I, your beloved Lisa, will always love you, in this life and the next. My darling, Vlad.”

    Before he could respond, a violent round of coughing seized Lucy, her body trembling with the ferocity of it. Each convulsion seemed to steal away a piece of her spirit, and blood from her coughing stained the handkerchief she held to her lips. Dracula felt an agonizing helplessness wash over him.

    “That’s enough,” Minerva said, firmly. “You need to leave now, Count.”

    Dracula hesitated, his eyes lingering on Lucy’s frail form. But he knew there was nothing more he could do for her now. With a heavy heart, he rose from his seat and allowed Joan to escort him out of the room.

    As Dracula descended the grand staircase of the Westenra estate, the heavy air of unease rolled over him like fog denser than any of the wolfsbane. In the foyer, he spotted Verona waiting, her posture rigid and her brows knit together in worry.

    “We are leaving,” he stated briskly, stepping out into the cool night, with Verona trailing closely in his wake.

    “What happened?” she pressed, glancing up at him, her concern evident. “How is she?”

    Dracula’s shoulders sank, and he shook his head slowly, his voice gravelly and steeped in despair. “She’s dying,” he admitted, each word tasting bitter on his tongue. “An illness has taken hold of her, and unless something changes soon… she won’t survive.”

    Verona’s eyes widened in disbelief, her heart racing. “No. It can’t be. The Queen, dying?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, as if speaking the truth aloud would somehow make it more real.

    “Yes,” he confirmed, the weight of the reality hanging heavily between them.

    “Master, I know it is not my place to speak of such things, but–”

    “You’re correct; it is not.” He interrupted sharply. Once they were shielded from prying eyes, a torrent of frustration erupted from him. In a fit of rage, he hurled a fist into the nearby brick wall, his strength crumbling the stones like dust. As the echoes of his fury faded, he turned to Verona, his features a turbulent storm of sadness, anger, and regret. “I’m sorry, Verona. I did not mean to bark at you.” His voice softened, revealing the profound pain he struggled to conceal. “What were you saying?”

    “Master, if the Queen is lying at death’s door, there is one solution to cure her.” Verona’s words hung in the air, heavy with implications.

    Dracula felt the chill of dread creep down his spine; he instantly recognized the dark path she was suggesting: offering Lucy a taste of his blood to transform her into a vampire. “No,” he replied, his voice firm yet laced with anguish. “I swore I would not turn her, to condemn her to this cursed existence. No, we will find another means of saving her.”

    Verona nodded, though her gaze lingered on the heavy oak door of the estate. She could sense the tumult within Dracula; the guilt that gnawed at his conscience was palpable. But she held her tongue, aware that challenging him in this moment would only invite further fury.

    As they stepped out into the night, the lingering scent of wolfsbane clung stubbornly to the chill in the air, a bitter reminder of what lay within the crumbling walls behind them. Yet, as they walked away from the estate, Dracula’s thoughts remained entangled with Lucy, her frail form now a haunting image he could not escape.

🦇

Amsterdam, Late afternoon …

    The streets of Amsterdam lay quiet beneath the soft, flickering glow of gas lamps, their light battling against the encroaching darkness. The air was thick with the scent of rain-soaked cobblestones, a mingling of earth and water that whispered secrets of ages past. Inside a modest townhouse, Van Helsing returned home, his weary face etched with the weight of years spent confronting unspeakable horrors. He closed the heavy wooden door behind him, the sound of its latch clicking shut echoing in the silence, effectively locking out the world he had grown increasingly weary of. Yet, like shadows, the memories of his past clung to him, persistent and inescapable.

    Without uttering a word, he descended the narrow staircase leading to the basement, each step echoing sharply against the worn wooden boards. The basement was shrouded in dim light, illuminated only by a few flickering lights that struggled against the oppressive shadows. The air was tinged with the musty scent of dust and old books, each tome a vessel of ancient knowledge and forgotten lore. Stacked haphazardly around the room were countless volumes; some chronicled legends of monstrous creatures that had haunted humanity, while others were his own scholarly works, detailing the anatomy of myriad fiends, beasts, and metahumans he had encountered in his life.

    Van Helsing approached a weathered shelf, his fingers trembling slightly as he traced the spine of an old, leather-bound book. It was dedicated to chronicling his experiments to cure those afflicted by supernatural and paranormal venoms, toxins, and poisons. Contemplating the sacrifices he had made, he remembered the long nights spent in pursuit of the perfect ingredients for his antidotes. Although the last victim had succumbed to her infection, Van Helsing’s resolve crystallized; he would not allow another innocent life to wither away under his watch.

    With renewed determination, he opened the tome, its pages worn and yellowed, and his heart sank as he located the crucial section on the antidote that might still save Lucy. He carefully pulled out the corresponding ingredients from a cold storage container – a relic of his past experiments. His heart raced as he gathered the familiar objects, each one a steppingstone towards redemption.

    As he rummaged through the shelves, searching for other texts that might prove vital in his quest, his gaze drifted towards a framed photograph perched on his cluttered desk. He paused, taking a breath and holding the picture close to his heart. It was a cherished image of his departed wife, Roseanne – her radiant smile forever captured in time, a beacon of warmth that had long since faded from his life. In that moment, a vow renewed itself within him. He promised then and there to cure Lucy, to track down the wretched Varney, and at last, to avenge his beloved wife.

    As he carefully set the photo down on the dusty table, Van Helsing's penetrating gaze swept across the dimly lit room. His eyes, sharp and calculating, roamed over the peeling wallpaper and the remnants of old furniture, until they settled on a section of the far wall—a space that appeared utterly unremarkable to anyone who didn’t know where to look.

    But Van Helsing was not just anyone.

    With a low grunt, he gripped the edge of a nearby wooden beam, its surface rough under his fingers, and with a deliberate effort, he wrenched it free from its resting place. A soft creaking reverberated through the air as he exposed what lay behind it: a hidden wall that had kept its secrets for far too long. His fingers danced along the edges of the concealed panel, instinctively locating the catch. In a fluid motion, he pried the panel away, splintered wood falling to the ground like forgotten memories.

    Behind the wall lay a treasure trove of weapons and tools, his long-lost arsenal – each piece an emblem of the battles waged, and the dark creatures faced. Glass vials, filled with holy water, glowed softly with a faint luminescence in the dim light, casting ethereal shadows around the space. Exploding capsules brimmed with silver shavings, deadly projectiles against the nocturnal horrors that haunted his past. Collapsible silver stakes, sharp and gleaming, rested in their mounts, ready to pierce the hearts of the undead with merciless precision. Polished dual revolvers glinted ominously at him, their chambers loaded with carefully crafted silver rounds, while a robust shotgun lay prepared for the battle ahead.

    At the center of it all, standing out with a menacing elegance, was his most notorious weapon; a gift from the Indian Prince Dakkar, one of Van Helsing's many allies – Ramiel’s Wrath, a gas-powered, custom-built automatic crossbow, designed to unleash a barrage of silver bolts with remarkable speed and precision.

    Van Helsing stood before this arsenal, his breath even, though the adrenaline coursed through him like a potent elixir. His mind raced with thoughts of the impending confrontation; the telegram he had received earlier that day clutched tightly in his memory. A desperate plea from his old friend, Jack Seward, had shattered his commitment to a quieter life. The urgency echoed in his bones, igniting a fire that had long smoldered in the depths of his spirit. He knew, without a doubt, that the hunt was upon him once again.

    With grim resolve, he stored his arsenal in one of his inconspicuous suitcases. The weight of the gear felt familiar, a comforting reassurance, as if he had stepped back into an old, well-worn role. In the muted stillness of the basement, fully armed and ready, Van Helsing reached for a sleek black fedora of unique design that hung on the wall, its fabric untouched by time. As he donned it, he glanced back over the room, allowing himself a brief moment of quiet reflection. The air was thick with anticipation, the hunt was on once more, and this time – this time, he would not fail.

🦇

London, Midnight …

    The night was thick with fog as Dr. Seward, Minerva, and Arthur stood vigil over Lucy’s bed. Her once vibrant face was now pale and drawn, her skin almost translucent in the moonlight that filtered through the curtains. Her lips, once full and red, were now white and shrunken, her gums receding as if drained of all life. She lay still, her chest rising and falling weakly, her breath barely a whisper.

    Minerva knelt by her side, her hand trembling as she held Lucy’s. “She’s so cold,” he whispered, his voice cracking with fear. “Jack, what’s happening to her?”

    Seward, standing at the foot of the bed, could only shake his head. He had seen many illnesses in his time, but nothing like this. Lucy was fading, slipping away before their very eyes, and no amount of medicine or care seemed to help.

    “I don’t know,” Seward admitted, his voice heavy with frustration. “But I’ve sent a telegram to Van Helsing. He’ll know what to do. He has to.”

    Arthur’s eyes flickered with anger. “All your old professor did was transfuse some of my blood into her and fill her room with these disgusting plants.”

    “If anyone can, it’s him,” Seward replied, though doubt gnawed at the edges of his mind. “He’s dealt with… unusual cases before.”

    Arthur scoffed, not believing Seward’s trust in Van Helsing. His gaze lingered over Lucy’s face. She looked so fragile, so close to death. Only a matter of time now; either she was healed, and he would break her wild spirit as his wife, or she’d die and in grief over her his father would hand over the inheritance. Arthur was a patient man; he’d waited long enough – what was a few days more?

    Suddenly, a soft sound broke the silence – a faint tapping, like the fluttering of wings. Seward’s head snapped toward the window, his eyes narrowing as he moved closer. The curtains were drawn, but through the thin fabric, he could make out a shape hovering just outside.

    A bat.

    It flapped its wings slowly, almost lazily, as if it had been watching them for some time. Seward’s heart quickened, a chill running down his spine. He had seen bats before, of course, but this one… there was something unnatural about it. Something that made his skin crawl.

    He moved closer to the window, his hand reaching for the curtain, but before he could pull it back, the bat flapped its wings once more and disappeared into the night.

    Seward stood frozen for a moment, his mind racing. He had heard the old legends, the stories of creatures that could take the form of bats, of wolves, of mist. But those were just stories, weren’t they?

    He turned back to Lucy, her pale face barely visible in the dim light. Her breathing had slowed even more, her body growing colder by the minute.

    Whatever was happening to her, it was beyond his understanding. And he could only hope that Van Helsing would arrive in time to save her.

🦇

 Amsterdam, Dawn …

    Van Helsing stood at the train station, his coat billowing in the early morning breeze as he waited to board a train to Paris, France where he’d continue on to Calais to board a ship bound for London. His mind was focused, and his heart steeled for the battle ahead. Lucy was dying. And there was only one creature in the world that could be responsible for her condition.

    Varney. The vampire that took his Roseanne away.

    Van Helsing’s grip tightened on the handle of his suitcase which held his weapons as the train arrived. He had faced the sewer rat of vampire before – thinking he’d killed the accursed creature ten years ago when he was going by the name of Jack the Ripper. It looked like the vermin managed to survive and hide away to lick his wounds until he was ready to terrorize London again. But this time, Van Helsing would not rest until the vampire was destroyed, once and for all.

🦇

 On the final days at the Convent…

    It had been a few days since Jonathan had awoken from his fevered nightmares, his mind slowly beginning to recover from the horrors he had faced. Mina and Quincy had been staying at the convent, looking after him, watching as his strength gradually returned. The nuns had been kind, offering their prayers and tending to Jonathan’s physical needs, but it was Mina’s presence that seemed to do the most good. Every day, Jonathan grew a little stronger, his mind a little clearer, as though her love was the medicine he needed most.

    With Jonathan’s condition improving, Mina and Quincy began making preparations for their return journey to London. Mina had already thanked the nuns for their kindness, and Quincy had arranged for their passage back home. It seemed that, at last, they could leave this place behind and return to their lives.

    When Mina entered the room, she found Jonathan standing by the window, getting dressed. The sunlight streamed through the glass, casting a warm glow over his pale skin. For a moment, she simply watched him, her heart swelling with love and relief. He was getting better. They were going home. Everything would be alright.

    But then, as Jonathan turned slightly, Mina’s eyes were drawn to his back. Her breath caught in her throat.

    There, running along his skin, were scars – thin, jagged lines, as though made by fingernails. They were new, fresh, and they hadn’t been there before his business trip. Mina’s mind raced. What had happened to him? What had left these marks?

    Before she could ask, Jonathan turned to her, his face filled with a strange urgency. “Mina, I need to ask you something.”

    His voice was steady, but there was a tremor beneath it, a fear that he was trying to hide. Mina stepped closer, her worry deepening. “What is it, Jonathan? What’s wrong?”

    Jonathan took a deep breath, his heart racing as he locked his gaze onto Mina’s. “Mina… I want us to get married. Here. Now.” His voice, normally steady and calm, trembled with an urgency that made her pulse quicken.

    Mina’s breath caught in her throat, her mind racing. This moment was so unexpected, so unlike the carefully constructed dreams she and Lucy had shared over the years. They had fantasized about a double wedding – a day of joy where Mina would walk down the aisle side by side with Jonathan, and Lucy would be paired with Arthur. It had been their cherished plan for as long as she could remember. Yet now, Jonathan’s plea seemed to unravel everything.

    “What are you talking about, Jonathan?” she asked, her voice laced with concern. “We’re going home soon, and–”

    “Exactly,” he interrupted, a desperate edge creeping into his tone. “That’s just it, Mina. I can’t go back without us being married. I’m terrified that if we don’t do this now, we may never get the chance again.” His eyes, usually vibrant and full of life, now shone with a fear that mirrored the darkness that had haunted him since he had awoken.

    Mina felt her heart race as she processed his words. She could see the fear etched across his features – the same fear that had clung to him like a shadow since this ordeal began. But the thought of rushing into a wedding like this was jarring. “Jonathan, I understand you’re scared, but we’ve made plans to get married back home. Lucy and Arthur are waiting for us. We can’t just throw all of that away.”

    Before Jonathan could respond, a voice suddenly broke the tension in the room. “Actually, you could if you wanted to.” Startled, Mina turned to see Quincy leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed and a serious expression replacing any hint of levity. His demeanor was businesslike, but in his eyes, she saw a spark of determination.

    “Oh no, not you too,” Mina groaned, attempting a light-hearted front. “Did you two conspire for this? Is it a prank?” She desperately sought a glimmer of humor or a reassuring smile, but both men remained resolute, their expressions somber.

    Quincy stepped into the room; his posture relaxed yet purposeful. “Look, Mina, the way I see it, the only witnesses would be you, Jonathan, me, and a bunch of nuns we probably won’t see again after today.” His words hung in the air, heavy with implication.

    Mina’s heart pounded in her chest, the weight of their options pressing down on her. She turned back to Jonathan, desperately searching his face for answers. “Please, Mina,” he urged, his voice filled with a pleading sincerity. He moved closer, taking her hands in his. His touch was warm, though his hands quivered slightly, revealing his deep-seated anxiety. “I know you and Lucy had plans, but I fear… I dread that I don’t have much time left. I need to know we’re married before something happens. W-we can renew our vows when we return home, and Lucy need never know.”

    Mina’s mind spiraled into chaos. She had promised Lucy they would share their wedding day, a moment that was meant to be sacred and joyful. Yet, as she gazed at Jonathan – so vulnerable and broken – she realized she couldn’t deny him this moment. He needed her now, more than ever, and if this wedding could provide him with an ounce of comfort and healing, she would surrender her own plans.

    She hesitated, torn between her loyalty to Lucy and the undeniable love she felt for Jonathan. But ultimately, her heart resonated with the urgency of the situation, guiding her to a decision. “Alright, we’ll do it,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

    The relief that washed over Jonathan’s face was palpable. He stepped forward, pulling her into a tight embrace, wrapping his fragile arms around her as if she were the lifeline he so desperately needed. “Thank you, Mina. Thank you,” he whispered, a mix of gratitude and relief flooding his words.

    As they held each other close, Mina turned to Quincy, who stood by with a knowing smile that, despite the gravity of the moment, softened the atmosphere. “I guess you’ll be the best man then, then?” she said, a tentative smile breaking through her anxiety.

    Quincy chuckled, tipping his hat in acknowledgment. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

🦇

    That very afternoon, in the quiet chapel of the convent, Jonathan stood at the altar, his hands trembling slightly as he glanced at Quincy, who stood just a few feet away. The ceremony was intentionally simple, a reflection of their circumstances, attended only by Quincy and a handful of nuns who had nurtured Jonathan during his time of need. The chapel, with its modest architecture and stone walls, exuded an air of tranquility; the coolness of the stones offered a stark contrast to the warmth of the solemn occasion. The faint scent of incense mingled with the aroma of melting candle wax, wrapping around them like a comforting embrace.

    As anxiety began to swell within him, a familiar sense of dread tightening his chest, the notes of the chapel organ broke through the silence, filling the space with a rich, melodic harmony. Jonathan turned toward the entrance, and in that moment, all his worries seemed to dissipate. There, gliding gracefully down the aisle, was an angel – Mina.

    Caught by surprise by this turn of events, Mina hadn’t anticipated this hastily arranged “shotgun wedding,” as Quincy had put it, and thus had not packed her wedding dress. Instead, she found herself clad in a beautiful relic of the convent, a gown passed down through generations of brides who had sought solace within its sacred walls. The dress, a simple yet striking white linen, bore a distinctly Hungarian design. Though faded with age, it was adorned with intricate embroidery in deep reds, lush forest greens, and warm golden yellows, each stitch telling a story of love and hope.

    As Mina approached Jonathan, her heart raced, thrumming a lively beat against her chest. They stood together, exchanging vows that echoed through the hallowed space. The absence of grand celebration or the presence of family and friends didn’t dim the light of their union; instead, what filled the air was something far more profound – love, pure and unwavering. When Jonathan slipped the delicate ring onto her finger, Mina felt the weight of the past few months lift from her, if only for a fleeting moment. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, they were united, bound by the promises they had made to one another.

    Later, after the ceremony concluded, Mina and Jonathan retreated to their modest room and [fades to black; sorry, no depictions of ‘adult happy fun time’ for you lot]. Afterward, they sat together in the quiet of their room, covered under the sheets. In the afterglow of their first time together, the weight of the day’s events hung in the air, but there was a sense of peace between them now. They were married now – two souls intertwined, bound to each other, no matter what the future held.

    With an expression of deep affection, Mina reached for Jonathan’s journal, the one that had haunted him since his return, and wrapped it lovingly in a piece of soft cloth. She secured it with a string, sealing it with wax, pressing her wedding ring into the warm wax to leave a lasting imprint of their union – a tangible token of their vows.

    “This is my gift to you, Jonathan,” Mina whispered softly, her voice barely above a murmur. “I will keep it safe, and I promise… I will never let you see it again.”

    Jonathan’s eyes filled with gratitude, and he drew her close, wrapping his arms around her as if she were the only anchor he had keeping him tethered to the world. “Thank you, Mina,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

    As the sun began casting its warm glow over the convent, washing the room in golden light, Mina and Jonathan sat together, their fingers interlaced. The future was uncertain, filled with shadows, unanswered questions, and unseen challenges. But for now, they had each other. And that was more than enough.

    They would return to London soon, to face whatever awaited them in the bustling city. But at that moment, in the quiet of the convent, they were husband and wife, bound by the love that radiated from their hearts.

    And no matter what darkness lay ahead, they would face it together. For as long as they had each other.

    For as long as they had each other…

🦇

 Carfax Abbey, Nightfall ...

    That night Carfax Abbey stood silent, bathed in the cold light of a crescent moon, which cast long shadows on the stone walls, dancing like restless spirits. Inside, the room was still, the very air was thick and oppressive, as if it was holding its breath. Dracula sat alone by the large, arched window, his figure still as a statue against the pale glow outside, save for his eyes, which burned with inner turmoil. His gaze was fixed on the distant Westerna estate, where Lucy/ Lisa lay on the edge of death, her life slipping away with every passing moment. [Star Wars - Padme's Ruminations]

    The wind outside howled softly, but inside his mind, a tempest raged.

    He had lived for centuries, seen countless lives begin and end, but this – this was different. Lisa, reborn in the form of Lucy, was slipping away from him.

    He had lived for centuries, seen empires rise and fall, watched the world change in ways unimaginable. He had known love, lost it, and endured the endless ache of immortality. And now, after so long, fate had returned her to him – Lisa, his beloved, his eternal love. Yet here she was again, slipping from his grasp once more. Lucy’s radiant smile, her laughter, her warmth – so full of life just days ago – now seemed like a cruel mockery of what was to come. All of it was fading, just as it had before. But this time, he had the power to stop it; a choice which tore at the very core of his being.

    His hand rested on the cold wood of the window ledge, fingers curling into a fist as the weight of his decision pressed down on him. He could feel her suffering, even from this distance, her fragile heartbeat slowing, her breath shallow and weak. The choice before him was agonizing.

    He had the power to save her. It would be so easy. A single drop of his blood for her to drink, a moment of darkness, and she would be his forever. She would be reborn in life afterlife as the Queen of the Vampires. Immortal. Eternal. No more pain, no more death. They would never be parted again. He’d make sure of it this time. No manner of hunters, armies, not even God himself or all of heaven would tear them apart again. The thought of it, of having her by his side for all eternity, was intoxicating. He could already see it – her beauty untouched by time, her strength growing, their bond deepening as they walked through the endless nights together. He had the power to save her – how could he not use it?

    But then, the other side of his mind whispered, “What kind of life would that be for her?

    He had sworn, long ago back when she was alive as Lisa, that he would never condemn her to this cursed existence. He had renewed that promise when she had regained her memories as Lisa, when her heart was still beating strong, her spirit unbroken. He had vowed to let her live and die as a mortal, free from the eternal darkness that plagued him, to allow her the peace of a natural end. But that promise had been made in a moment of clarity, when she was healthy, when the thought of losing her seemed distant and abstract.

    Now, seeing her so close to death, the promise felt like a chain around his heart, around his soul, tightening with every beat. How could he let her go again, knowing that he had the power to save her? How could he stand by and watch her die, when he could offer her eternity?

    He closed his eyes, the image of her from the other night flashing before him – bright, radiant, full of life. He had accepted letting her go then, had made peace with the idea of her living a mortal life, even if it meant they would be apart. But now… now she was dying. And the thought of losing her again, so soon after he had found her, was unbearable.

    His mind spiraled, caught between the past and the present, between love and duty, between selfishness and sacrifice.

    And if he were to honor his oath to let her live and die as a mortal, how long would it take before they were reunited again? Decades? Centuries? Millennia? The weight of time pressed down on him like an unbearable burden. He had waited so long for her return, endured centuries of loneliness and longing. And now, to lose her again, when she was within his grasp, so soon after finding her… it was more than he could bear. He had just gotten her back from beyond the grave. Could he truly let her go again? Could he watch her die when he had the power to save her? The thought of waiting another lifetime, or longer, for her to return was a torment beyond words.

    But there was a catch; so long as she died a mortal, there was a chance that they could be reunited one day. She’d reincarnated once, she could do so again. But if she were to die as a vampire, he would lose her forever. Her soul trapped in the Nine Hells for all eternity.

    His gaze drifted back to the estate, where Lucy lay, her life hanging by a thread. His hand rested on the cold wood windowsill, trembling slightly. He could feel the pull of her soul, fragile and fading, and the temptation to act. He could feel the darkness within him stirring, urging him to act, to save her, to make her his once more. “What is eternity without her?” he wondered, his chest tightening with the weight of his own thoughts. “What is eternity if I let her go?

    But then, another voice, softer, more distant, whispered in the back of his mind. “What kind of eternity would it be if I take her choice away?

    He closed his eyes, the conflict within him tearing at his very soul. His mind was a battlefield, torn between the promise he had made and the love he still held for her. The thought of her suffering, of her dying in pain, gnawed at him like a relentless beast. He had always been the master of his fate, the one in control, the one who decided the course of his life. But now, in this moment, he felt powerless. Powerless against time, powerless against fate, powerless against the love that bound him to her.

    The night stretched on, silent and still, as Dracula sat by the window, his heart heavy with the weight of his decision.

    Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the scent of death and the promise of eternity.

🦇

 French Countryside, night…

    A train rumbled through the French countryside, its wheels clattering rhythmically against the tracks as it sped from Paris toward Calais. Inside one of the compartments, Mina sat quietly reading one of her novels under the dim light of the compartment’s lamps. Occasionally, she would glance at Jonathan who, still recovering from his ordeals, leaned against the window, his eyes half-closed. Her hand rested gently in his, not wanting to be apart. The journey had been long, and the weight of recent events hung heavily over them. But soon they would be home, and it would all be behind them.

    Accompanying them was another passenger, who’d coincidently bought a ticket in their compartment and was also currently asleep. From his large suitcase in the corner of the compartment, Mina deduced from the initials were etched into the brass plate A.V.H. that he might be the professor Jack had mentioned he studied under and served with in the Second Afghan War.

    As she sat quietly, lost in contemplation about the mysterious circumstances that had led them to travel together, the man beside her stirred awake. His deep-set eyes flickered open, and upon meeting Mina’s gaze, a spark of recognition illuminated his features. “Hello, ma’am,” he began, a hint of embarrassment coloring his tone. “I hope my sleeping hasn’t disturbed you.”

    “No, not at all,” Mina replied, a reassuring smile crossing her lips.

    “My name is Prof. Abra–” he started, but she interjected eagerly.

    “Professor Abraham Van Helsing. Yes, I’ve heard of your remarkable work from your former apprentice, Jack Seward. He’s a dear friend of mine, and he happens to be the personal physician of my sister, Lucy.” Mina paused, a hint of bashfulness appearing as she added, “Oh, where are my manners?” She set aside her book and extended her hand gracefully. “I am Mina Murray, or rather, now Mina Harker.” She glanced down at the ring on her finger, a testament to her recent marriage.

    Van Helsing greeted her with a warm smile, although it was tempered by a shadow of sorrow that lingered in his eyes. “Miss Mina,” he said softly, “isn’t it curious that we would find ourselves traveling together this evening? I assume you are on your way to assist your sister as well?”

    “Assist her? I don’t understand,” Mina responded, her brow furrowing in confusion.

    “Of course,” he replied, his expression growing more serious. “Forgive me. I have grim news. I regret to inform you that your sister, Lucy, is gravely ill.”

    As the words settled, Mina's complexion drained of color, shock washing over her. “What?”

🦇

    Meanwhile, Quincy was comfortably settled in a plush, worn-out seat, enjoying shots in the bar car, his Stetson tilted back to reveal his rugged features. The bar car buzzed with life, filled with the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and the chatter of animated conversations. A group of soldiers, fresh from the training grounds and part of a regiment being shipped to England for joint exercises, commanded attention at a nearby table. In the other corner was an old couple, merely being in each other’s company.

    Quincy’s sharp blue eyes scanned the room, taking in the lively scene. As the whiskey burned smoothly down his throat, and he poured himself another shot, he heard a beautiful voice come up to him. “Mind if I join you, cowboy?”

    He looked up to find a strikingly beautiful woman standing before him, her presence instantly electrifying the space around them. Her cascading red hair shimmered like fiery embers, framing a face that was both alluring and enigmatic. She wore a long, flowing dress that hugged her curves, the fabric accentuating her pale, brown skin, and her full lips curled into a seductive smile that made his heart race unexpectedly.

    “Sure, ma’am,” Quincy drawled, tipping his hat in a gesture of both respect and intrigue. “Always room for a pretty lady.”

    The woman gracefully slid into the seat beside him, her warm presence mixing with the whiskey’s bite in the air. She leaned in closer, her gaze locked onto his with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. “You’re quite the charmer,” she purred, the warmth of her breath brushing against his ear. “Tell me, what brings a man like you on a train like this?”

    Quincy chuckled, though his instincts were on high alert, each moment feeling charged with a thrill he couldn’t ignore. “Just heading back to London with some friends. What about you?” he replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

    The woman’s smile widened, revealing a hint of mischief. “Oh, I’m just following an old friend. Someone I’ve been searching for… quite some time.” The weight of her words hung in the air, teasing the possibility of hidden depths beneath her alluring exterior.

    Before Quincy could muster a response, he felt the call of nature from drinking one too many shots and excused himself.

🦇

    Back in the compartment, Mina’s questions continued. “Lucy… she’s sick?” she said, her voice filled with worry for her sister’s health. “When did this happen? What is wrong with her?”

    “It’s alright, Mrs. Harker,” Van Helsing reassured her gently. “I’ve seen her already and prescribed a treatment that has halted her decline. I am on my way to London now to deliver a very rare medicine, but I pray it is not too late.”

    Gratefulness mingled with dread as Mina replied, “Thank you, Professor. I sincerely hope you can cure her of whatever is afflicting her.”

    Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by a violent jolt as the train lurched forward. Mina gripped her seat, her heart racing as she sensed the unusual acceleration. Van Helsing's demeanor shifted instantly; his eyes narrowed, a flicker of suspicion igniting within. “Something is wrong,” he muttered, rising from his seat with purpose. He made his way swiftly to the window, peering out into the darkness that enveloped the countryside, where the world outside blurred into a streak of shadowy shapes racing past them at an alarming speed.

    “This train is moving far faster than it should,” he declared, a frown etched on his brow. “Wait here. I need to speak to the conductor.” With that, he strode toward the compartment door, leaving Mina with a sense of unease blossoming in her chest, the eerie tension coiling around them like a dark omen in the night. The terrible thoughts she had before leaving her sister at the train station flooded back.

🦇

    Moments later, Quincy returned to the bar car, finding the mysterious woman had not moved from her seat. And though she had his attention, Quincy noticed something very peculiar: the bar car, which had been lively but mere moments ago before he used the restroom, was now empty, said for the lady by the bar. The soldiers, the old couple, even the bartender were now missing. As Quincy resumed his seat, he failed to see that behind the bar, stuffed into the bottom liquor cabinets and shelves out of his view, were the bloodied remnants of the passengers he was looking for.

    As he resumed his conversation with the mysterious lady, an unsettling chill went through Quincy as the woman’s hand brushed against his arm. It was as if an icy current had surged through him, causing the tiny hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. Instinctively, his gaze drifted to her forearm, where a tight, black glove clung to her skin like a second layer. Something about it felt out of place, almost ominous.

    “That’s quite an interesting glove you’ve got there, miss,” Quincy said, his tone cautious. “What’s the story behind it?”

    A flicker of amusement danced in the woman’s piercing eyes, creating an unsettling contrast to the menace surrounding her. “Oh, this?” With deliberate slowness, she peeled off the glove, revealing a gruesome sight beneath. Her arm was marred with burns and angry scars, the flesh still emitting a faint, acrid smoke, as if it had not yet fully healed. “I had an unfortunate encounter a few nights ago while I was hunting down your friend Jonathan. The little morsel managed to scamper away and sought refuge in a convent. In my haste to catch him, I was careless enough to step onto its sacred ground. This is the souvenir I received in return.”

    Quincy instinctively tried to pull away, but Aleera's grip on his wrist was unyielding – a vice of bone and sinew that held him in place. Panic threatened to bubble to the surface as he realized just how trapped he truly was.

    “I was left scratching my head about how to extract him from that filthy nunnery,” Aleera continued, her voice dripping with venomous delight. “Then a clever thought struck me: why not enlist the help of someone else to retrieve him for me? You and Mrs. Harker – give the lovely new couple my congrats on the wedding, by the way – were so eager to return your ailing friend safely back to London, weren’t you? Funny how you never bothered to question who sent you that telegram.”

    Quincy’s heart raced as the realization hit him. “Sister Agatha, that was-”

    Aleera’s laugh was sharp and cold. “Yes, sweetie, it was me. But don’t fret, soon you won’t have to worry about that or anything anymore…” She leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear as her canines elongated into sharp fangs, inches from his throat. “I’ve never had American before; I wonder what you’ll taste like.”

    Suddenly, the door to the bar car burst open. One of the privates from the soldier regiment that'd survived Aleera's earlier attack stumbled inside, bloodied and panting, his eyes wide with terror. Following him was his regiment. “There! She’s the one!” he shouted, his voice shaking. “She killed them all! She’s a monster!” Within moments, the rest of the regiment stormed into the car, their rifles raised and aimed at Aleera. Their captain barked at her, ordering her to surrender and put her hands behind her head; his men’s fingers hovering over their triggers.

    Aleera chuckled, “Huh, looks like I missed one.” Turning back to Quincy, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered. “How about this? While I take care of them, you and your friends can have a head start running away. Be quick, though. I don’t know how long these strapping young soldiers will last me.” [Anastasia – Train Crashes]

    With a swift flick of her wrist, Aleera released Quincy from her grasp, stepping confidently into the center of the car. Her eyes sparkled with mischievous amusement, a glint that hinted at the chaos to come. The commanding officer, standing bravely before his men whose faces were etched with determination and panic, shouted at her to put her hands behind her head, his commands echoing in the confined space.

    A slow, sweet smile spread across Aleera's face, one that seemed to mock their authority as she raised her hands in a gesture of mock surrender. “As you wish,” she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

    In a heartbeat, the atmosphere shifted. As she raised her hands her body contorted in a brutal display of transformation; bones cracked and reshaped themselves under her skin, muscles rippling and expanding. The human form melted away, replaced by the terrifying figure of a monstrous, massive wolf with bat-like features. White fur bristled along her back as she snarled at the soldiers, revealing a mouth filled with razor-sharp fangs, her golden eyes glowering with predatory hunger.

    Turning her head slightly, she cast a glance over her shoulder at Quincy, who stumbled back in shock, his heart pounding furiously in his chest. The fear written on his face only fueled her delight. “Tick-tock, Mr. Cowboy! Tick. Tock.” she taunted, her voice now a low growl, echoing with the promise of impending chaos. With a deafening roar, she lunged at the soldiers, bearing her dagger fangs down on them.

    As the sounds of gunfire and screams filled the air, Quincy sprinted down the narrow corridors of the train, his boots thundering against the wooden floor. The smell of stale food and lingering cigar smoke drifted from the dining and gaming cars, but he barely noticed as he rushed past, desperation fueling his every step. Every horror he had encountered in his life seemed to pale in comparison to the terror of Aleera wreaking havoc, her laughter – a bone-chilling sound – echoing in his mind as she tore through the men like paper dolls.

    Bursting into their compartment, Quincy’s abrupt entrance startled Mina and Jonathan. His face was pale, his breath ragged, and his eyes wide with fear. “We need to move. Now!” Quincy urged, urgency tightening his throat.

    Mina and Jonathan exchanged worried glances; confusion etched deep into their features. Quincy was normally calm and collected even in the direst of situations, but now – something had clearly rattled him. “Why?” Mina asked, her voice laden with concern. “What’s wrong?”

    He had no time to elaborate; the words spilled from his lips in a frantic rush. “There’s no time to explain! We have to get out of here before she–” His voice faded as the unmistakable sound of gunfire rang through the narrow passageways, followed by a deep, guttural howl that sent a chill down their spines.

    Jonathan felt the color drain from his face, his heart sinking into his stomach. “She’s here,” he murmured, his voice shaking as the fragmented memories of Castle Dracula came flooding back.

    Mina, sensing the overwhelming fear radiating from her husband, instinctively reached for his hand, her grip a promise of solidarity. She met Quincy’s gaze, determination etched on her face. “Lead the way,” she said, her voice resolute.

    The three of them hurried through the narrow corridors of the train, moving further toward the engine and away from the horrors and carnage unfolding in the rear cars. As they entered the sitting/ music car, Quincy disconnected the rest of the cars from the train, hoping that would separate them from whatever demon that woman was. As the rest of the train – several cars full of passengers – began to fall behind, swallowed by the darkness of the night. Quincy hurried inside and locked the door behind him.

    Pulling out his revolver, his eyes scanned the empty room. There were now only four cars left, along with the coal car and the engine. If he was wrong and there was some way for her to reach them, they’d have little room to hide. “Hide,” he ordered, his voice low but firm. “Now.”

    Mina and Jonathan ducked behind one of the seats in the back, their hearts pounding in their chests. The train rattled beneath them, the sound of the wheels on the tracks now drowned out by the tension in the air. Quincy stood near the door, revolver in hand, his eyes darting toward the ceiling as a sudden thud echoed from above.

    Something – or someone – was on the roof.

    The sound of skittering claws followed, quick and unnerving, as whatever was up there moved across the train’s roof with inhuman speed. Quincy’s grip tightened on his revolver, his finger hovering over the trigger. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the noise stopped. Silence fell over the car, thick and suffocating.

    As the silence became deafening, Quincy was startled as he saw through the door window a figure appeared on the other side. Aleera, her body drenched in blood, her eyes gleaming with malice, stood there, smiling wickedly at him. “Time’s up,” Aleera said, mockingly. Quincy’s heart leaped into his throat as he stumbled back, his revolver raised.

    Aleera’s smile widened as she effortlessly ripped the door from its hinges and stepped into the train car. As she entered, her clothes shimmered and shifted until she was once again clad in her gothic, flowing attire – the ceremonial garb of Dracula’s brides. A horned skull mask materialized over her face, giving her an even more terrifying appearance. Her laughter echoed through the car as she advanced on them.

    Without hesitation, Quincy opened fire, the revolver bucking in his hand as he emptied the chamber into her. The bullets struck her, but they might as well have been pebbles. Aleera barely flinched, her laughter growing louder as she casually against the sleek piano of the car. With a nonchalant flick, she examined her perfectly manicured nails, stained in blood, treating the whizzing projectiles as if they were nothing more than mere puffs of air.

     “Come now, Mr. Cowboy,” she purred, a seductive tone laced with mockery. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she spoke, each word dripping with confident sarcasm. “Did you really think that would work?” A playful smile danced on her lips, accentuating the audacity of her composure. “You do realize I just came back from a room teeming with soldiers, and yet there’s not a scratch on me.” With exaggerated flair, she twirled around, showing off how she’d received no injuries from the hail of bullets he’d seen hit her.

    Before Quincy could react, Aleera lashed out with a powerful backhand, sending him flying across the train car. Mina let out a scream as she watched him crash into one of the seats, bursting through the wooden frame which splintered under the impact. As he lay there, he felt the breath knocked out of his lungs, a sharp pain radiating through his chest like wildfire.

    Mina whipped her head back to where Aleera had stood only moments before, but now, the woman loomed closer – mere feet away. Her fierce gaze pierced through Mina’s very soul as she stalked toward them, her fangs gleaming in the flickering light of the car’s lamps.

    As Jonathan cowered in frozen terror, Mina grabbed a nearby wine bottle from the table and smashed it against the edge, the glass shattering into jagged shards. She held the broken bottle up between herself and Aleera, her eyes blazing with determination. “Take one more step towards him!” Mina’s grip tightened on the makeshift weapon, her knuckles white. She knew the bottle wouldn’t kill Aleera, but it was all she had. And she wasn’t going to let this woman, this monster take her husband without a fight.

    Aleera’s eyes narrowed as she regarded Mina with a mixture of amusement, irritation, and a hint of admiration. The vampire had expected fear, had expected submission, but this – this defiance – was unexpected. Her lips curled into a mischievous smirk as she traced her finger along the broken bottle, Mina’s eyes widening in terror as she watched it transform into a sinister claw. With a swift flick, the bottle spun through the air and shattered into a million pieces against the far wall. Startled, Mina instinctively stepped back, her body instinctively drawing closer to Jonathan, as if to shield him from the impending danger.

    As Aleera watched the trembling figures of Mina and Jonathan, the playful glint in her eyes faded, replaced by a more somber demeanor. She crouched down to their level, her expression softening as she offered them a smile that mingled sympathy with regret. “You know,” she began, her voice soft in her attempt at comforting them in their final moments, “you two had such a beautiful wedding. I’m sort of jealous, actually. I can only imagine how happy you both would have made each other. Sweet Jonathan and fair Mina.” She reached out to Mina, who flinched away in fear, and pushed a few strands of her hair behind her ear. The vampire’s hand, cold as death, brushed against Mina’s cheek, her claws grazing the skin lightly, almost tenderly before pulling away. Mina’s heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing for a way out.

     “I genuinely did like you, Mr. Harker,” she continued, her gaze lingering on Jonathan. “I wish we could have remained friends. Maybe in another life.” Her eyes flicked between them, and a sense of longing filled her voice. “If only I could walk away from this moment, allowing you both to return to your lives in London, to forget all of this as if it were nothing more than a fleeting nightmare.”

    She closed her eyes and let out a wistful sigh, the weight of her words hanging in the air. “Unfortunately, you know too much of the master’s plans.” her glowing red eyes locked onto Mina's as she leaned in closer. The vampire’s fangs, sharp and gleaming, extended as her lips curled into a predatory smile.

    The cold, calculated malice in Aleera’s voice sent a shiver down Mina’s spine, but she refused to let fear paralyze her. She stood firm, her body shielding Jonathan, who was still frozen in terror behind her. Mina held Jonathan close as they shut their as Aleera raised her hand, her claws extending as she prepared to strike, offering them one last courtesy. “I’ll try to make this painless.”

    But before she could deliver the killing blow, a deafening blast echoed through the car, followed by Aleera screaming. Opening their eyes, Mina and Jonathan saw Aleera staggered back, screaming in pain and clutching her shoulder where a shotgun slug had torn through her shoulder. The silver-infused round burned her flesh from the inside out, and she could feel her strength waning by the second. Aleera whirled around, and her eyes were wide with terror as she saw the figure standing at the far end of the car. “YOU?!” she shrieked backing away, her once confident demeanor shattered.

    Van Helsing stood there in the doorway that led to the kitchen car, his shotgun smoking, his eyes cold and unyielding. Van Helsing fired again, the blast hitting her square in the chest and sending her reeling backward to the far wall. With a final shot, he blasted her through the side of the train, her body crashing through the wooden panels and disappearing into the night.

    The wind howled like a banshee through the gaping hole in the side of the train as Van Helsing lowered his shotgun, his expression a mixture of grim determination and lingering concern. He glanced over at Mina and Jonathan, who were still huddled together in shock. “Are you both all right?” he asked, his voice steady despite the chaos surrounding them.

   Mina, trembling slightly, nodded. She reached out to help Jonathan to his feet, her hands steadying him as he swayed. “Thank you, Professor,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You saved us.”

   Quincy, still reeling from Aleera’s ferocious attack, struggled to regain his composure. He staggered to his feet, wincing as pain shot through his side. “Would someone mind please telling me what the hell is going on? Who– what the hell was that?” His voice trembled between confusion and anger.

    “That, Mr. Quincy, was a vampire,” Van Helsing replied, slinging his shotgun over his shoulder. “A demon succubus straight from the pits of hell. She’s likely using this train as a nest, preying on unsuspecting passengers.”

   Quincy stared at him, incredulous, his brow furrowing in disbelief. “Oh, really? That clears everything up. I’m sorry, but who the hell are you?”

    “Prof. Van Helsing,” Mina interjected, her tone steady despite the chaos. “He’s on his way to help Lucy.”

    “What?” Quincy exclaimed, anxiety and worry lacing his words. “What’s wrong with Lucy?”

    “She’ll be fine as long as we get to her in time.” Van Helsing’s eyes flickered with concern as he glanced out the hole at the quickly speeding by countryside, the rhythmic clatter of the train reverberating ominously. “Unfortunately, we’re not out of the fire just yet. When I went to check on the conductors, all I found was their bloody mess. Whoever our quarry is, she is determined to kill you three, even if it means derailing this train.”

    “So, what do we do?” Mina asked.

    “One of you will need to come with me to the engine and see if we can slow it down.” Van Helsing explained.

    Quincy, still recovering from the aftermath of Aleera’s attack, grimaced as he staggered again, clutching his side as he attempted to follow Van Helsing. “Right, I’ll go with you.”

    However, Mina put a hand to his chest and stopped him. “No, you’re too injured from… whoever that was. You won’t be able to make it to the engine,” she said. “Besides, what if she returns? We need someone here to look after Jonathan. I’ll go with the Professor.”

    Quincy frowned, the lines of worry deepening on his forehead as he shook his head. “Mina, you’re a lady. You shouldn’t have to do this. This is men’s work.” His voice carried a sense of chivalry, but also an underlying desire to protect her.

    Mina’s eyes flashed with defiance, her voice sharp and unwavering. “I have had just about enough of people in my life telling me what I can and cannot do as a woman,” she retorted, her tone filled with quiet strength. “Now, you are going to stay here and look after my husband while I ensure we don’t all meet a gruesome end. Is that clear?”

    Quincy, taken aback by Mina’s assertiveness, could only stare at her in admiration. “Ma’am, yes ma’am,” he replied, the corners of his mouth twitching into a reluctant smile.

    Van Helsing nodded in agreement, his gaze meeting Mina’s with newfound respect. “Very well,” he said, his voice firm yet encouraging as he handed Quincy the shotgun.

    With determination burning in her heart, Mina and Van Helsing hurried toward the front of the train, leaving Quincy to tend to Jonathan, who still looked pale and shaken. “That’s sure one spitfire of a wife you’ve got there, Jonathan,” Quincy remarked, shaking his head in astonishment.

    Jonathan managed a weak smile, a flicker of pride mingling with the turmoil inside him. “You’re telling me,” He replied, trying to steady his breath as he watched Mina leave to help in saving their lives.

🦇

    Outside, Aleera’s body lay twisted and broken on the cold ground, her blood staining the earth. But she was not dead – not yet. Her vampiric body, though damaged, struggled to heal. With a groan, she forced herself to stand, her limbs trembling from the effort. She needed blood – fresh blood – to fully recover. Her eyes scanned the nearby woods, and soon she spotted a wild deer grazing in the distance.

    Aleera’s lips curled into a snarl as she lunged at the animal, her fangs sinking into its flesh. The deer struggled for a moment, but soon its body went limp as Aleera drained it of its life force. As the blood coursed through her veins, her wounds, even her silver gunshot wounds, began to heal as her strength returned. As she was renewed, Aleera noticed her skull mask had been damaged and growled in anger at one of her favorite possessions being ruined.

    With a low growl, Aleera tossed the mask to the side as her body began to shift once more. Her bones cracked and reshaped, her muscles expanding as she transformed into her direwolf form. But this time, massive bat-like wings sprouted from her back, their leathery membranes stretching wide. With a powerful leap, Aleera took to the skies, her wings propelling her forward as she soared after the speeding train. Her eyes burned with fury, and her heart pounded with the promise of vengeance as she wondered which one of her target’s skulls she would use to fashion a new mask from.

🦇

    As the train hurtled through the dark French countryside, Van Helsing and Mina (who’d torn off the lower half of her dress, using a pair of frayed slacks she found in the staff car to prevent getting snagged on the jagged edges of their surroundings) raced to the engine. Upon reaching the door leading from the cargo car to the heart of the engine, they encountered an unexpected obstacle: the door was jammed tight, refusing to budge despite their efforts. Frustrated but undeterred, they retraced their steps to the rear of the car; but not before Van Helsing stopped to grab from the storage area his briefcase and pulled out the vial containing Lucy’s antidote, wanting to make sure he had it on himself just in case. Reaching the end of the cargo car, the two of them climbed onto the side of the moving vehicle to the engine, muscles straining against the powerful rush of the wind as the midnight landscape blurred around them.

    When they finally managed to access the engine compartment, an alarming sight greeted them: the controls had been damaged beyond repair. It was evident that Aleera had set the engine to be trapped in a lethal grip of speed, hurtling forward without any means of stopping it.

    As they stood there, grappling with the gravity of their situation, a spine-chilling shriek pierced the stillness of the night. It was a sound that sent chills racing down their spines, resonating like the cry of a monstrous bat. Swiftly, they turned their gazes toward the window, where, high above, they spotted the large wolf form of Aleera. Mina was filled with terror as she took in the monstrous form – knowing now that Aleera was the wolf creature she’d seen at the convent and in her nightmare at Whitby. Aleera soared like a dark omen through the ink-black sky, her enormous bat-like wings beating powerfully, propelling her effortlessly past the speeding train.

    Both Van Helsing and Mina’s hearts sank as they glanced ahead and saw what Aleera was headed for. A couple of miles ahead was a stone suspension bridge, poised over a deep chasm. Realizing the imminent danger, Van Helsing and Mina exited the engine, racing toward the connection between the engine and the cargo car. In a flurry of movement, they worked together to disconnect the engine from the last four cars – the cargo, kitchen, staff, and sitting/ music cars.

    Aleera’s eyes, aflame with fury, were locked onto the bridge as she drew near. With an astonishing display of speed, she dove toward the bridge, extending her claws with lethal precision. Upon impact, her talons struck the central support beams with the force of a hurricane, causing the bridge’s brick and mortar to crumble as if they were mere paper. The bridge squealed in protest as Aleera relentlessly tore through its supports, chipping away at its stability bit by bit. With one final, devastating strike, she destroyed the last support, and the bridge began to collapse.

    As the connection between the cars and the engine was finally disconnected, Van Helsing pulled the brakes and the last cars began to decelerate, slowing against the furious momentum. However, the engine continued to speed forward. They watched helplessly as it flew off the now-shattered bridge, plummeting into the yawning chasm below. Yet the cars were not slowing down fast enough, and they knew they had to rush to the rear of the rest of the train before they too fell into the chasm.

    With the cargo door still stubbornly locked, Van Helsing and Mina climbed onto the roof of the car, their hearts racing as they ran along the metal surface. The screeching of metal against metal filled the air, mingling with their desperate breaths. Despite the brakes, the train’s cargo car made its way toward the edge of the crumbling bridge. Just as the car teetered precariously, they leaped from the roof, launching themselves onto the staff car just as the cargo car succumbed to gravity, disappearing into the depths of the ravine below with a thunderous clanging against the rocks.

    As Van Helsing and Mina scrambled into the staff car, a surge of urgency propelled them forward, the car lurching perilously as the momentum from the previous car sent them teetering toward the abyss below. Halfway inside, their surroundings took on an unsettling tilt as the car began to slide off the shattered remains of the bridge, forcing them to react swiftly. Adrenaline coursed through their veins as they found themselves clinging to the shifting interior, which had transformed into a vertical drop; the front of the car now dangling precariously over the yawning chasm. Many of the car’s contents – chairs, footlockers, carts – fell towards the two, causing them to hide in the staff rooms as they sailed past, landing as a heap at the front of the car.

    The chilling depths below revealed the remnants of the previous car and engine, mere silhouettes in the darkness, their twisted metal and shattered glass hinting at the chaos that had unfolded moments before. The only tenuous lifeline preventing their descent into the void was the connection cables to the kitchen car, fraying at the edges and poised to snap with the slightest additional strain.

    With panic tightening in their chests, Van Helsing and Mina fought against gravity, their hearts racing as they scrambled to find handholds on what had once been the car’s floor, now transformed into a vertical wall. The air was thick with tension as they grasped at rails and door frames, desperately trying to hoist themselves upward. Van Helsing forged ahead, using every ounce of strength to pull himself upward toward the rear of the car. His fingers clawed at the cold metal, muscles straining under the effort as he paved the way for Mina who followed closely behind, her hands gripping tightly onto anything she could find while her eyes reflected a mix of terror and resolve.

    As they climbed, a jagged piece of broken guardrail snagged and tore into Van Helsing's jacket pocket, causing the vial containing Lucy’s antidote to fall, landing in the upturned bed of one of the staff member’s rooms. Van Helsing tried climbing down after it but was stopped by Mina, who was closer to the room it fell in, albeit on the other side of the aisle. “No! Keep going! I’ll get it!” Van Helsing looked into her eyes and nodded, continuing to climb. Mina took a deep breath before jumping across the aisle and landing in the room. After searching for a few moments through the room’s bedsheets for the vial while the train car continued to creek and moan under the strain, Mina finally found it, thankful the slacks she borrowed had pockets as she slipped the vial inside.

    As Mina exited the room and continued her climb, there was the sudden sound of shattering glass from beneath them. Looking down, their hearts were filled with fear as they saw that Aleera had crashed through one of the windows at the lower end of the car. Her body shifted back into her human form as she landed gracefully on the vertical floor, unbothered by gravity as she stood menacingly. Her eyes gleamed with malice as she looked up at Van Helsing and Mina, who were desperately trying to climb toward the rear of the car. “Tch, tch, tch, so much trouble to my Master,” she said mockingly. “So much trouble.”

    Getting down on all fours, Aleera began to climb after Mina, her movements slow and deliberate, like a predator toying with its prey. Van Helsing and Mina scrambled upward as they tried to reach the top; the former managing to get almost to the door that led to their escape. But the car was unstable, and the large cast iron boiler, used for heating the staff’s shower water, started to shift. The bindings that held it in place were straining under the weight, the metal groaning as the boiler was held midair – aimed straight at Mina. Hearing the snapping of the bindings, Van Helsing’s eyes widened as he realized what was about to happen. “Mina,” he shouted. “Jump to me! Now!”

    Mina hesitated for only a second before leaping toward Van Helsing, her arms outstretched. Just as she did, the bindings holding the boiler snapped, and the massive object broke free, falling down the length of the car with terrifying speed. The boiler just barely missed hitting Mina as her outstretched hand was caught by Van Helsing, slamming into the stand she had just been standing on – shattering the wood and sending debris flying. Aleera, caught off guard, was directly now in its path. The boiler crashed into her with a deafening thud and dragged her down with it to the bottom of the car. She screamed in pain as her body was impaled by the rows of chairs, their broken legs like stakes piercing through her body, while the weight of the boiler pinned her down, trapping her beneath its crushing mass.

    The car groaned under the strain, its connection to the rest of the train weakening by the second. Van Helsing strained under their combined weight, holding Mina’s hand tight with one hand and the slowly breaking guardrail they were dangling from with the other. The door that’d lead to their escape was just out of reach. But the car was slipping, inch by inch, toward the edge of the chasm. To their horror, they heard the final connection between the staff car and the rest of the train begin to snap with a deafening crack. The car lurched violently, and for a heart-stopping moment, it seemed as though they would be pulled down into the abyss along with it.

    Just as it seemed like all hope was lost, Quincy and Jonathan appeared at the edge of the car, grabbing Van Helsing's hand. “Hold on!” Quincy shouted. Together, Quincy and Jonathan pulled Van Helsing and Mina up and out of the dangling death trap. Not a moment too soon, for just as they were pulled free, the car finally broke free and plummeted into the chasm below.

    Aleera, still trapped beneath the boiler, screamed as the car fell, her voice echoing through the night, only to be outdone by the booming sound of the staff car’s metal frame crumpling as it crashed into the engine below. Seconds later, a powerful explosion erupted from the destroyed engine, like a massive fireball detonating in the chasm below, obliterating everything in its path.

    Quincy and Jonathan strained with all their might as they pulled Van Helsing and Mina up from the edge of danger. Together the four of them quickly exited the car, in case the rest of them decided to fall into the chasm. Once they reached a safe distance, they all collapsed onto the cold, hard ground, each of them weighed down by exhaustion and shaken by the harrowing experience. Their muscles ached as they struggled to catch their breath, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away. The night was eerily still, broken only by the heavy sound of their ragged breaths and the occasional crackle of flames licking at the remnants of the train wreckage far beneath them.

     “Well… that was close,” Quincy gasped, wiping sweat from his forehead and looking at his companions, seeking reassurance in their faces.

    Mina held Jonathan tightly close, her body trembling as the adrenaline began to fade. Her wide, shocked eyes darted between the faces of her friends, and she nodded slowly. “Too close,” she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper, the gravity of their situation sinking in. Mina reached into her pocket, her fingers brushing against the cool glass vial that contained Lucy’s antidote. She held it close to her chest, a silent promise forming on her lips that she would return soon to save her sister, no matter the cost.

    They rose to their feet, drawing strength from one another as their collective gaze shifted toward the dark horizon. The road back to London loomed uncertain and fraught with danger, but for now, they were alive.

    Hours after the four of them returned to the rest of the train and gathered their belongings, down in the chasm a thudding sound could be heard amongst the burning wreckage. Suddenly, an injured, clawed hand burst through the twisted metal, reaching desperately toward the night sky.

🦇

 Westenra Estate, Midnight…

    The night was thick with an unnatural stillness as Dracula, in the form of a bat, soared through the moonlit sky. His wings cut through the cold air; his path unwavering as he approached the Westenra estate. The house loomed ahead, its windows dark and silent, save for one – her window. Lucy’s window.

    Hovering just outside, he could sense her presence within, fragile and fading. The scent of wolfsbane – sharp and bitter – assaulted his senses, a barrier meant to keep him at bay. But it would not stop him tonight. He had made his decision.

    Dracula tapped against the glass, his sharp claws rapping against the windowpane. Inside, Joan, tasked with watching over Lucy for the night, stirred at the sound. She approached the window cautiously, her hand trembling as she reached for the curtains. With a swift pull, the heavy fabric parted, revealing Dracula’s glowing red eyes.

    Joan’s breath caught in her throat as her gaze locked with his. In an instant, her will was no longer her own once again. His hypnotic power washed over her, commanding her mind, bending her to his will. “Remove the wolfsbane,” Dracula’s voice echoed in her mind, smooth and irresistible. “Take it from the room, and from around her neck. Then open the window.

    Without a word, Joan obeyed. Her movements were slow, deliberate, as she gathered the wolfsbane from the room, her mind clouded by his command. She gently removed the sprigs from Lucy’s neck, leaving the girl vulnerable. Then, with a quiet click, she unlatched the window and swung it open, allowing the cold night air to rush in.

    Dracula flew into the room, his form shifting as he crossed the threshold. In an instant, he stood at his full height, his dark cloak billowing behind him as he transformed back into his human form. His presence filled the room, the air heavy with his power.

    “Leave us,” he commanded softly, his voice a whisper in the stillness.

    Joan, her eyes glazed and unseeing, turned and exited the room without hesitation, closing the door behind her. Now, Dracula was alone with Lucy.

    He approached her bedside, his heart heavy with the weight of what he was about to do. Lucy lay before him, pale and feverish, her body wracked with violent coughs. She tossed and turned in her sleep, her face contorted in pain. Every breath was a struggle, her life slipping away with each passing moment.

    “Vlad…” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Why did you leave me?”

    Dracula’s chest tightened at the sound of his name on her lips. She was calling out to him, even in her delirium, her soul reaching for his. He knelt beside her, his hand trembling as he brushed a lock of hair from her damp forehead.

    “I’m here, my love,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m here.”

    He had sworn he would never do this again. He had promised her, in another life and this, that he would let her live and die as a mortal. But now, seeing her like this – so close to death, so fragile – he couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t lose her again.

    “Forgive me,” he whispered, his voice barely audible as he leaned closer to her.

    With a swift motion, Dracula’s canines elongated into razor-sharp fangs as he bit into his wrist, drawing forth his dark, vampiric blood. It oozed from the wound, thick and black as ichor. He held his wrist to Lucy’s lips, gently tilting her head so that the blood could flow into her mouth.

    At first, she resisted, her body weak and unresponsive. But then, instinct took over. Unconsciously, she began to drink, her lips moving against his skin as she swallowed the dark, forbidden liquid. Dracula closed his eyes, his heart aching as he watched her consume the blood that would seal her fate.

    As Lucy drank, her breathing began to steady, her body relaxing as the vampiric blood coursed through her veins. The transformation had begun. In a few nights’ time, she would rise again as his angel of the night. And they would be together forever.

    But just as Dracula began to pull away, the door to the room creaked open. Lucy’s mother, Mrs. Westenra, stood in the doorway, her face pale with terror. She had seen Joan standing outside the room, her eyes vacant and clouded, and had rushed in to see what was wrong. Now, she stood frozen, her eyes wide with horror at the sight before her.

    Dracula turned to face her, the blood from his wrist still dripping from his lips and fangs, his eyes glowing with an unnatural light. Mrs. Westenra gasped, clutching her chest as the shock overwhelmed her. Before her was the devil himself, feeding his dark blood to her daughter. Her heart, already weakened, gave out in that instant. She collapsed to the floor, her body lifeless before it even hit the ground.

    Dracula’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a heavy sigh, he turned back to Lucy, who now lay still and peaceful, her transformation just beginning.

    The room was silent once more, save for the faint sound of Lucy’s breathing, steady and slow. No longer wracked by pain. There was no turning back now. Dracula stood, his heart heavy with the weight of what he had done. He had saved her, yes – but at what cost?

    As the night deepened, Dracula stood by her side, tears welling up in his eyes as he watched over her as the darkness claimed her soul and she breathed her last mortal breath.

Chapter 7: The Queen Arises

Chapter Text

Dark Universe

Image

Written by Andrew Downs and Thomas Lapeyrouse III


 

A few days later, the sky hung low above London, a heavy blanket of dull gray clouds that seemed to absorb the very light of day, reflecting a yet unspoken somber mood. As Mina settled into the plush interior of the carriage, making her way back to the Westenra estate, an unsettling chill crept up her spine. The oppressive grayness above felt like an ill omen, a shroud enveloping her thoughts and heightening her fears.

Clutching the small, delicate vial resting against her chest, Mina’s fingers trembled slightly around the cool glass. Inside lay the precious antidote – the slender hope against whatever dark illness that had infected her beloved sister, Lucy. She could scarcely believe how far it’d taken to bring it here, facing trials and challenges that would have shattered the resolve of many. Yet here it was, a fragile glimmer of potential salvation, but even its assurance of hope was shadowed by anxiety.

Casting her gaze across the carriage, Mina studied the faces of those accompanying her. Her recently wedded husband, Jonathan, sat beside her, his expression a mixture of forced bravado for her sake and concealed worry. Across the aisle, her fierce friend Quincy, whose unwavering strength had buoyed her spirits during darker moments, offered a comforting presence. And finally, Prof. Van Helsing, a man of vast knowledge and mystery, whose calm demeanor instilled in Mina a sense of security she desperately needed. She silently acknowledged his presence with gratitude – had it not been for his guidance and bravery, none of them might have survived the terrifying encounter with that dreadful creature on the train.

Mina shuddered involuntarily at the memory, the haunting echoes of that night still fresh in her mind. The image of the she-devil’s predatory gaze flashed before her eyes, a reminder of how fragile life had become.

When the carriage eventually rolled to a stop at the grand, ivy-clad Westenra estate, Mina’s heart was heavy with conflicting emotions – hope intertwined with fear. However, what awaited them inside was not a scene of relief or hope. Not of joy for their return or for Lucy’s cure to have finally arrived. Instead, they found a somber, almost suffocating atmosphere wrapped around the mansion, thick with an overwhelming sense of loss and mourning.

As they ascended the steps, Mina watched as the house was filled with relatives and close friends, all donned in black attire, their expressions haunted and weary, etched with the markings of profound grief. Saddened by some tragic loss that Mina had yet failed to realize the meaning of. Whispers of sorrow hung in the air, amplifying the dread that coiled within her chest. She felt as though she had stepped into a nightmare, her heart sinking deeper with each breath as she realized that something was terribly wrong. Her breath quickened as she searched the crowd, her eyes darting from one face to another, looking for her mother, Minerva, or her sister, Lucy.

But neither was to be found.

Mina’s mind raced. Where was her mother, Minerva? The woman who rarely left the estate now was nowhere to be seen. And Lucy – where was Lucy? The cure was in her hand, but the fear that had gnawed at her during her journey now clawed at her heart with renewed ferocity, amplifying the sense of dread that enveloped her. Panic surged through Mina as she scanned the sorrowful faces around her, her gaze darting from one expression to the next, searching for any sign of her sister.

Mina’s gaze swept across the crowded room, finally landing on Joan Briggs, the family’s devoted maid, who sat alone in a dimly lit corner, her figure shrouded in an unsettling silence. Joan had always been more than just a servant; she was the bedrock of the household, a steady presence in turbulent times. As Mina approached, her heart began to race, filled with the hope of finding solace in Joan’s familiar warmth. Yet, as she drew nearer, she was struck by the emptiness etched on the woman’s face. Joan’s usually animated features were now frozen in a mask of despair, her body rigid, almost as if she were a statue carved from sorrow.

She appeared broken, her eyes distant and clouded, as if she were lost in a world of her own, a nightmare from which she could not awaken. She looked less than the staff and waiters that Mina had seen attending Count Dracula’s gala, unable to respond to anything or anyone. Mina felt a chill creep up her spine, a sense of dread washing over her. Something was profoundly, almost unutterably wrong.

Mina’s attention then shifted to Arthur Holmwood, Lucy’s fiancé, who stood among a small group of well-meaning acquaintances. Arthur, normally so composed and proper, now appeared utterly despondent, his posture slumped. Mina caught snippets of conversation drifting through the air, her heart clenched tightly in her chest as she heard the men murmuring their condolences for Arthur’s recent losses. The bit that Mina could make out was that Arthur’s father had died days ago, but there was something else – another loss they spoke of in hushed tones. Mina’s heart pounded in her chest as questions danced in her mind. “What other condolences?” she pondered, the questions spinning relentlessly in her mind like a whirlpool pulling her deeper into a despair she did not yet know. “Who else is Arthur mourning the loss of?

Desperate for answers, Mina spotted and hurried towards Dr. Jack Seward, a close family friend and Lucy’s physician. But as she approached him, the look on his face told her everything she needed to know, though she wished with all her heart that it wasn’t true. The dark feelings she’d had when she left Lucy at the train station mere days ago as she set off with Quincy to find and bring Jonathan back home creeped into her mind. Her voice trembled as she asked the question she already dreaded the answer to. “Jack, where is Lucy?” Mina asked.

“Mina,” he began, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath laden with the weight of unspoken grief. “I’m so sorry.” His voice was thick, weighed down by the burden of being the one to tell Mina the terrible news. “Last night, Lucy… Lucy passed away. She died quietly in her sleep.”

The floor beneath Mina seemed to collapse in an instant, as if the earth had swallowed her whole. [Freya Ridings – I Can’t Hear It Now] The vial that slipped from her trembling fingers shattered upon the hard floor – its splintering glass mirrored her shattered world – suddenly felt like a cruel joke, a useless relic of hopes that had been abruptly snatched away. Breath caught in her throat, Mina’s vision blurred, tears spilling forth without control, washing away her will to remain composed.

As she strained to focus on Seward’s words, they seemed to echo in her mind, but their meaning slipped through her fingers like grains of sand. “Your mother, Minerva… she died shortly after Lucy. It appears her heart couldn’t bear the shock of losing her.”

In that moment, the world around her morphed into a muted, hollow hum, each sound fading into an unbearable distance. Her mother, her sister, her sweet Lucy – the bright light of her life – was gone. The weight of their loss crashed over her like a wave, dragging her further into a pit of despair. She had fought so hard, endured so much, faced a demon on a derailing train suspended above a deep chasm – all for the chance to rescue Jonathan and save her loved ones. Yet here she stood, crushed by the irony that she was too late.

Her sister, her sweet Lucy, was gone.

Seward gently guided Mina through the crowd of mourners, leading her to the center of the room where two open caskets lay side by side. One held her mother, Minerva, her face serene in death. The other held Lucy, her beauty restored in death, her pale face framed by her golden hair and peaceful, as if she were merely sleeping. The moment Mina laid eyes on the two figures, the last of Mina’s strength gave out. Her knees buckled, and she sank beside Lucy’s casket, utterly consumed by an overwhelming wave of grief. She buried her face in her hands, the tears streaming down her cheeks like torrential rain. Tremors wracked her body as she reached out instinctively, her trembling fingers brushing against Lucy’s cold, lifeless cheek.

Jonathan knelt beside her, enveloping her in his arms, instinctively trying to shield her from the world that felt unbearably heavy at that moment. Jonathan held her close, his own heart breaking for his wife as he felt her heartache radiating through him. He had seen her fight so hard, had watched her face dangers no one should have to endure, all for the chance to save her sister. And now, all of it had been in vain.

While the mourners grieved, Van Helsing stood at a distance, his sharp eyes scanning the room. His heart was heavy with guilt. He had failed to save Lucy, just as he had failed to save so many others before her. The weight of his past failures pressed down on him, and he could feel the specter of his late wife, Roseanna, haunting his thoughts. He had promised her that he would save others from the fate she had suffered, but once again, he had failed.

As he approached Lucy’s casket, something caught his eye. A small, almost imperceptible stain at the corner of her lips. He leaned closer, his heart pounding in his chest. It was a bloodstain – but not just any blood. It was dark, almost black, the unmistakable mark of vampiric blood.

Van Helsing’s breath caught in his throat. “Damn you, Varney…” he cursed under his breath, his mind racing. Evidently, Varney, the vampire who had been plaguing London, had not only poisoned Lucy with his bite but had also force-fed her his own blood. The implications were clear: if Lucy had been given vampiric blood by Varney, it was only a matter of time before she would rise again – not as the sweet, innocent girl they had all known, but as a creature of the night, a vampire driven by an insatiable thirst for blood. The thought was unbearable.

He had failed to save her life, but he would not fail to save her soul. Van Helsing knew that if he killed the vampire who’d infected her, then Lucy’s transformation would be reversed, and she would remain in death a human. The only way to save her soul now was to kill Varney before she could rise from her grave.

🦇

That afternoon, the funeral for Lucy and Minerva Westenra unfolded within the majestic confines of one of London’s grand Gothic cathedrals. This towering edifice, a breathtaking masterpiece of stone and stained glass, loomed over the mourners like a solemn guardian of their collective sorrow. Constructed in the 13th century, the cathedral was a testament to medieval ingenuity, with spires that reached toward the heavens, seemingly pleading for divine mercy and redemption. The stone walls were dark and weathered, covered in creeping ivy that had been allowed to grow unchecked over the years.

Gargoyles perched on the corners of the roof; their carved features eternally frozen in watchfulness. As Mina noticed them, she couldn’t help but be reminded of the ones she’d seen in her nightmare in Whitby. These, however, seemed more stoic and less nightmarish, as if they were guardians of the souls who had departed this world.

Inside, the cathedral was dimly lit by the soft glow of hundreds of candles, their flickering flames casting long shadows across the stone floor. The high vaulted ceilings seemed to stretch endlessly above the mourners, the intricate ribbed arches drawing the eye upward to the heavens. Stained glass windows lined the walls, depicting scenes of saints and angels, their vibrant colors muted by the overcast sky outside. The air was thick with the scent of incense and the faint, lingering smell of damp stone.

Though she didn’t know it at the time, for Mina Harker it would be the last time she’d ever step foot in a church again, and the details of this day would play in her mind for years to come.

As the priest spoke to the crowd, before Mina at the front of the cathedral, two caskets lay side by side, draped in black velvet. Around her the mourners, a sea of somber faces, sat in silence, their faces etched with grief as they gazed upon the two women who had been taken from them too soon.

As the service drew to a close, Mina was called upon to speak. Rising with a heavy heart, she made her way to the pulpit, her chest tight with the weight of her sorrow. Her eyes, swollen and red from crying, glistened under the candlelight, yet she held herself with a quiet dignity. Clearing her throat, she addressed the crowd, her voice steady despite the tumult of emotion battling within her.

“My mother, Minerva, was a remarkable woman of great strength and grace,” Mina began softly, her words trembling. “Though she wasn’t my birth mother, she’d always been a part of my life. She dedicated herself to her family, always putting the needs of others before her own. Always pushing me and… and Lucy to do our best in life. She was our anchor, our guiding light, and her loss leaves an irreplaceable void in our hearts, a silence that will echo forever. Yet, as I stand here, I find solace in knowing that she is now at peace, reunited with my father in the arms of the angels.”

Mina paused, her voice choked with emotion as she turned her gaze toward Lucy’s casket. The sight of her sister, so still and peaceful, was almost unbearable.

“And my dear sister, Lucy…” Mina struggled to continue, her voice breaking under the weight of her sorrow. “She was the light of my life, the bright spark in the lives of so many. Her laughter could brighten even the darkest of days, and her kindness knew no limits. She was full of life, full of love; it is cruelly unfair that she has been taken from us so soon.” Her voice trembled as she spoke the final words, her heart breaking with each syllable. “But… But I take comfort in the knowledge that she is no longer in pain, that she is free from the suffering that plagued her in her final days.”

“And I know that I will one day see her again, see both of them again someday. So, I won’t say goodbye; merely that I’ll see you later.” Mina promised, echoing the final words she and Lucy had spoken to one another before she'd departed from London but a few days ago.

With that, Mina stepped away from the caskets, allowing her tears to fall silently as she returned to her seat beside Jonathan. The mourners sat in silence, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air.

🦇

 After the service, the mourners made their way to the Westenra family plot in one of London’s oldest cemeteries. The cemetery was a sprawling expanse of weathered tombstones and towering mausoleums, the graves of London’s elite stretching as far as the eye could see. The sky was still overcast, the clouds hanging low and heavy, as if the heavens themselves were mourning the loss of Lucy and Minerva.

 Before Lucy’s casket was sealed, Van Helsing made his move. Under the guise of paying his final respects as the others around him did the same, he approached the casket, his face grim with determination. He had failed to save Lucy in life, but he would not fail her in death. He dropped a handful of garlic flowers into the casket, their pungent scent filling the air. He also placed a small gold crucifix on her chest, hoping that these precautions would keep her trapped in the casket, should she rise as a vampire before he could kill Varney and free her from the curse.

 The mourners, unaware of the true nature of Van Helsing’s actions, thought nothing of it. To them, it was simply a final gesture of love and protection from a rather peculiar man.

 The two caskets were lowered into the ground side by side, now residing next to Mr. Westenra. Mina was all alone now, save for Jonathan; her whole family, both set of her parents and her sister now buried in the same cemetery.

The mourners gathered around the graves, their heads bowed in silent prayer as the priest recited the final rites. The sound of shovels digging into the earth echoed through the cemetery as the gravediggers began to cover the caskets with soil. As the last shovelful of earth was placed on the graves, the mourners began to disperse, their hearts heavy with grief.

Mina lingered by the graves longer than the rest, standing alone long after the others had left, save for Jonathan who was a few feet away to give her space. When she was finally ready to go, her hand rested on the cold stone of Lucy’s headstone. “I’m so sorry, Lucy…” Mina whispered. “I should have been here. I should have never left you alone. I..I’m so sorry that I c-couldn’t… couldn’t save you.”

Jonathan gently took her hand, leading her away from the graves as the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the cemetery.

🦇

 As the final mourners began to leave Lucy and Minerva’s graves, they were unaware of the eyes watching from the shadows. Hidden in the distance, just beyond the boundaries of the hallowed ground, stood Dracula and his entourage. The ancient vampire lord, cloaked in darkness, observed the scene with an intensity that belied the stillness of his form. His pale face, framed by the afternoon light of a cloud covered day, was expressionless. Yet, his red eyes were on the verge of tears for what he’d done, and for the new life afterlife that he had now cursed Lucy/ Lisa with. She would rise again that night, and forevermore be his, and the cost was almost too much to bear.

Beside him stood his daughter, Marya, her face a mask of quiet sorrow. Her long, dark hair flowed around her like a veil, and her eyes, though filled with the same supernatural glow as her father’s, held a sadness that Dracula either could not or would not acknowledge. Behind them, Verona and Marishka, stood in silence, their faces as cold and unreadable as the night itself. While Verona awaited the return of the Queen, Marishka was left seething inside. Varney had failed to kill Lucy in time, and soon she would rise again at her master’s side. Marishka would be cast away, forgotten by her master, less she came up with another plan.

From the shadows of a nearby alley, a figure staggered forward, her once-beautiful face marred by blood, scars and bruises: Aleera. Her long, flowing gown was torn and stained with blood, her body battered from a recent battle. She had been sent to finish off Jonathan Harker, the man who had dared to defy Dracula and survive the horrors of his castle. But now, as she approached her master, it was clear that she had failed.

Aleera crumpled to the ground at Dracula’s feet, her body trembling violently from the pain coursing through her. “Master… Harker… he’s alive,” she uttered weakly, her voice barely a whisper yet laden with desperation. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t kill him. Please forgive me.”

Marya and Verona rushed to her side, their hands gentle as they tended to her wounds quickly working to staunch the flow of crimson that marred her pale form. They exchanged worried glances, their concern evident, while Marishka loomed in the background, a study of cold detachment, her eyes narrowing in disdain as she observed Aleera’s failure with a flicker of satisfaction.

Meanwhile, Dracula remained fixated on the somber scene unfolding before him, his gaze locked onto Lucy’s grave. His voice, when it finally broke the suffocating silence, was calm and almost eerily detached, resonating with an unsettling authority. “It does not matter.”

Surprise flared in Aleera’s eyes, pain momentarily forgotten as her breath hitched painfully in her throat. She had braced herself for an outburst of fury, for retribution for her failure, yet Dracula’s voice remained steady, his attention unwavering.

“Jonathan Harker’s survival is inconsequential,” he continued, his tone devoid of emotion, yet beneath it lay a chilling confidence. “The final steps of my plan are already in motion. Soon, Lisa Tepes will rise from her grave, and when she does, she will be mine. We will be reunited as the King and Queen of the night, ruling over this domain as our war wages against the world, and no one –not even God himself – will be able to stop us.”

His proclamation hung in the air with a palpable intensity, a dark promise that sent shivers through Marya. Her father’s words, spoken with the certainty of one who had already conquered the world, made her heart ache with a pain she could not voice. She had clung to the faint hope, in the deepest recesses of her soul, that her father might show compassion, that he would let Lucy die peacefully as a human, rather than subject her to the horrors of vampirism. Marya yearned for a moment of clarity from him, wishing with all her might that Lucy could have restored even a fragment of the humanity left in him, enough to end this nightmare before he unleashed his war on humankind. But such hopes were but wisps of smoke – fading and insubstantial against the unyielding reality of his obsession. Dracula had been consumed, utterly and irrevocably, by a darkness that left no room for compassion or mercy.

Marya had spent her entire life in that oppressive shadow of her father’s consuming obsession – a relentless thirst for vengeance that stemmed from the traumatic loss of her mother. Memories flooded her mind of the countless lives that had fallen victim to Dracula’s wrath; how he’d burned this very city to the ground in 1666 and ravaged by demons from the pits of the hells when her mother was taken from them.

In her past life as Lisa, she, alongside Marya, had been saved from the fate of becoming vampires themselves, their prolonged existence instead sustained through ancient magic and hard-fought rituals. It was only after Lisa’s tragic death that Dracula had turned Marya into a vampire, a desperate act to save her from the horrific wounds she had suffered in her futile attempt to rescue her mother. And now, with dread creeping into her thoughts, it seemed that history was set to repeat itself.

Lucy, the woman her mother had been reincarnated into, was on the verge of being transformed into a vampire, forever shackled to Dracula’s insatiable hunger and dark ambitions. This knowledge shattered Marya’s heart: it meant she could never return to them through reincarnation, never to return when they could live a life of peace away from the prying eyes of humans. Instead, she would be forever ensnared by this monstrous curse, unable to escape the abyss of eternal damnation – even in death.

Still, Marya did not dare to show her despair as she and Verona tended to Aleera. She had learned long ago that her father did not tolerate weakness, and displaying such would invite her father’s ire. So, she steeled her emotions, maintaining a façade as cold and unyielding as the shadows that clung to the edges of their world. But deep within, her soul was a tumultuous sea of sorrow, weeping for Lucy, for the woman who had once been her mother, and for the life that had been stolen from her.

What she didn’t know though, was the same pain wracked her father’s soul as well. Eternally he was at war within himself, ashamed of his moment of weakness for turning Lucy into a vampire. A guilt that he would harbor for the rest of his days. This time, however, this time he’d protect her. He’d make sure this moment of weakness, of condemning his beloved to possible damnation, was never preyed upon. He’d fight against all the forces of heaven itself before he let them touch a single golden hair on her head.

As the night deepened, Dracula and his brides disappeared into the shadows, leaving the cemetery behind. The mourners had long since departed, and the graveyard was silent, save for the soft rustling of the wind through the trees.

But beneath the earth, in the cold darkness of her grave, Lucy Westenra lay still, her body at rest. For now.

Soon, very soon, she would rise again. And when she did, the world would be turned upside down.

🦇

The reception was held at the Westenra estate, the once lively home now filled with the quiet murmur of mourners offering their condolences. Mina and Jonathan stood together near the window, their hearts heavy with sorrow. Mina had barely spoken since the burial, her mind still reeling from the loss of her mother and sister. Jonathan held her close, his hand resting on her shoulder as they watched the mourners move about the room.

 Van Helsing stood apart from the others, his mind focused not on the reception but on the battle that lay ahead. With grim resolve, he made his leave.

In the room he was staying in, Van Heling armed himself securing his weaponry with practiced precision – staking the silver stakes into their holsters, clicking the revolvers firmly into place at his sides, and hefting the crossbow where it rested heavily across his back. The weight of the gear felt familiar, a comforting reassurance, as if he had stepped back into an old, well-worn role. Placing his black fedora on his head, he stepped out and began his mission to save Lucy’s soul.

🦇

The night was thick with fog as Van Helsing strode through the murky, cobblestone streets of Whitechapel, his black duster jacket billowing behind him like the shadow of death itself. His custom black fedora sat low on his brow, casting his face in shadow, but his eyes were sharp, scanning the murky alleyways for any sign of movement. The distant sounds of the city – the clatter of horse-drawn carriages, the murmur of voices, the occasional bark of a dog – were muffled by the oppressive fog that clung to the streets like a shroud.

Suddenly, the distant blood-curdling shriek a woman pierced the night, followed by the unhinged, maniacal cackle of a madman. [Van Helsing – Hyde and Seek] The chilling sounds guided Van Helsing to another grim scene – a young woman, lifeless, drained of her blood with a stab wound near her pancreas and two pinprick marks on her neck. The unmistakable telltale signs of one vampire’s handiwork.

Varney.

As Van Helsing inspected the body, the faint sound of scuttling reached his ears. He turned his head slightly, listening. The rats. His target’s twisted familiars, the vampire’s eyes and ears in the dark. If who he suspected was behind Lucy’s death and these killings was true, he knew those vermin would lead him right to their master’s lair.

And so, he followed.

🦇

The trail of rats wound through the desolate streets and led Van Helsing to the ominous entrance of an abandoned factory. [Van Helsing – Who’s Hunting Whom]  Its towering, dilapidated silhouette loomed against the night sky, broken windows resembling hollow eye sockets, while rusted machinery stood like forgotten giants in the shadows, remnants of a once-bustling industrial era. A chill hung in the air, thick with an unsettling tension that clung to the corners of the vast, empty space. The flickering glow from the streetlamps outside cast elongated, eerie shapes that danced across the crumbling concrete walls, creating a macabre spectacle.

Inside, the factory was a labyrinth of darkened corridors and towering machines, their silhouettes looming ominously like sentinels waiting for unwelcome visitors. This desolate place was perfect for a predator like Varney, skilled at stalking the unwary. However, Van Helsing was not an ordinary man; he was a master of survival, moving with calculated precision, each step echoing softly in the silence. The world around him faded into a blur as he focused intently on the task at hand, his senses heightened, alert to every rustle and whisper of the dark. He held his crossbow steadily, fingers poised just above the trigger, ready to pull at a moment’s notice.

Suddenly, the stillness shattered as a deep, mocking voice reverberated through the factory’s cavernous interior. “Ah, Van Helsing,” Varney's voice, rich and taunting, rolled through the shadows. “Just as stubborn as ever, I see. Still on that pathetic wee crusade o’ yors? Still chasin’ monsters, then, eh? 'ow noble. Nice new toy by the way. Can’t wait to rip it yer cold, dead 'ands.” The words dripped with disdain, slicing through the air like a knife. “'ow’s the ole lady, by the way,? Still layin’ on 'er back six feet under?”

Every syllable felt like a fresh wound, and Van Helsing’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing dangerously. His grip tightened around the crossbow’s cool metal, anchoring him in determination. “Show yourself, Varney,” he called back, his tone steely and composed despite the emotional storm brewing within. “You can’t hide forever.”

“Ah, yes,” Varney chuckled, the sound echoing eerily within the vast emptiness. “I remember ‘ow us last encounter ended.” As if summoned by his words, a figure stepped into the pale moonlight filtering through a shattered window, revealing Varney in all his ghastly glory. The silvery light illuminated his form, highlighting the eerie glow of a gaping hole in his arm – the very wound inflicted by Van Helsing’s bullet in 1891. “I’m not about ter make the bleedin’ same mistake this time,” he smirked, his lips curling into a sinister grin as he momentarily basked in the moonlight before slinking back into the shadows, his voice dripping with mockery. “Yer may ‘ave forced me ‘and into an early retirement once,” Varney continued, his laughter echoing off the cold metal walls. “But I’m back now, and I must say, ‘ow I’ve missed us wee games.”

The tension in the air crackled as Van Helsing steadied himself. “Your games end tonight, Ripper. The innocent you’ve slain will claim vengeance tonight.” Van Helsing said, coldly. “Tonight, peace will finally find the souls of those twenty-four men, twelve women-”

 “Eight children,” Varney interrupted. “Six goats, and a ravver nasty massacre o’ poultry. Yes, yes, I know. But… a man ‘as ter eat, doesn’t ‘e?”

Van Helsing, having spotted movement behind him, pulling back the safety on his crossbow with a click. “Not when he’s dead.”

In a blur of motion, Varney emerged from the darkness behind and lunged at Van Helsing, his eyes gleaming with malice. [Van Helsing – Attacking Brides Part 2] Without hesitation, Van Helsing leapt out of the way, firing his crossbow as he moved. The vampire hissed in pain, the silver bolts that’d pierced his shoulder, thigh, and chest burned his flesh like acid, already beginning to weaken him. But Varney was fast – faster than any human could hope to be. Despite the injury, Varney dodged Van Helsing’s next barrage of shots with supernatural speed, disappearing into the shadows.

Van Helsing’s eyes scanned the darkness as he reloaded, his senses on high alert. He knew Varney was still there, lurking, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Suddenly, the air was filled with the unsettling sound of scuttling as Varney transformed into a writhing swarm of rats, the mass of fur and jagged teeth surging toward Van Helsing in a chaotic wave. The hunter’s heart raced as he saw the vermin bearing down on him, their beady eyes glinting with malevolence. Without a moment’s hesitation, he reached for a capsule nestled in his utility belt, throwing it into the throbbing mass of rats. The capsule detonated with a sharp crack as it burst open, releasing a shower of silver shrapnel that sliced through the air like deadly confetti. The silver blast seared Varney’s flesh, compelling the monstrous shapeshifter to revert to his human form, a shriek of rage echoing through the factory.

Varney, now stripped of his formidable transformations, snarled in furious defiance. Anger and pain surged through him, propelling him back into the dark shadows of the upper floor. He called upon his minions, the swarm of rats, to swarm the factory floor and subdue Van Helsing for him as he attempted to recover. All around Van Helsing, glowing red eyes emerged from the enveloping darkness, hundreds of rodent bodies converging with a frenetic energy that sent a pulse of adrenaline through him.

Understanding the dire situation, Van Helsing knew he had to gain higher ground to thwart the oncoming tide of vermin. With a deft motion, he activated the harpoon-like grappling feature of his crossbow, the metallic device clicking into place with practiced ease. He aimed for a catwalk suspended above and fired the grappling hook with precision. The hook caught firmly, and with the push of a button, the gears inside the crossbow whirred as Van Helsing was propelled upward just as the wave of fur surged beneath him. Mid-ascent, he released another capsule into the mass of rats, the resultant explosion of alchemical fire igniting the air. Flames danced crazily, casting eerie shadows across the factory’s grimy walls, scattering the rats in a wild frenzy, their ranks visibly thinning amidst the chaotic blaze.

Now perched safely on the catwalk, Van Helsing quickly reloaded his crossbow, his eyes scanning the dimly lit expanse of the factory for any sign of Varney. The flickering flames below illuminated the grotesque remnants of the now-reduced swarm, while the acrid smell of burnt fur permeated the air, mixing with the unmistakable scent of danger.

As he steadied himself, preparing for Varney’s next onslaught, a chilling voice echoed through the cavernous space. “Yer know, right, despite ‘ow much yer despise me, yer can’t erase me as easily as yer wish,” Varney mocked, his tone dripping with disdain. “Me legacy will live on. As yor name fades from’ ‘istory, men will remember me greatest works as the terrifyn’ Ripper. One day, they’ll even ‘ave a look back and say that I gave birth ter the 20th Century.”

“You’re not going to see the 20th Century,” Van Helsing responded grimly, his voice steady and resolute against the backdrop of Varney’s taunts.

Without warning, a sharp, metallic groan pierced the air as Varney sent a massive piece of machinery hurtling toward him. Van Helsing spun around just in time, narrowly dodging the deadly projectile as it crashed into the space where he had stood moments before. Regaining his composure, Van Helsing realized he'd dropped his crossbow. Turning to where the machinery was thrown from, he spotted Varney swinging from the rusted rafters above like an ape toward him, laughing maniacally.

Refusing to be intimidated, Van Helsing quickly pulled out his revolvers and fired another round of silver bullets, each shot purposefully aimed not just at Varney but also at the precarious scaffolding overhead. The bullets struck with unerring accuracy, causing the structure to groan and tremble as it began to collapse. Varney, caught in the midst of his deranged laughter, was unable to shift forms in time due to the silver’s effects to evade the impending disaster. The scaffolding crashed down with a thunderous roar, enveloping him in a cascade of steel and debris, momentarily silencing the chaos.

Varney burst forth from the rubble of the factory, his once-dignified appearance now marred by dirt and soot. His eyes gleamed with an intense, almost feral fury, a primal rage that echoed through the shadows of their surroundings. With a primal roar, he lunged at Van Helsing, who stood resolute, bracing himself for the attack.

In a fluid motion, honed by years of hunting creatures of the night, Van Helsing drew forth a silver stake, imbued with sacred holy water. The moment it made contact with Varney’s chest, staking his heart, a gruesome expression of shock and rage washed over the vampire’s face. The silver, a bane to his kind, and the holy water, a searing testament of Van Helsing’s unerring faith, burned through his flesh, igniting a blistering pain that sent jolts of agony through his veins.

Varney’s once-mighty form began to weaken as the supernatural life-force that had long sustained him started to drain away, leaving him vulnerable and disoriented. He collapsed to the cold, hard ground, the power emanating from him fading like a dying ember.

Van Helsing stood over the fallen creature, a grim victor amidst the ruin. “Whatever nefarious plans you had for Ms. Westenra are now over,” he said coldly, his voice filled with a mix of determination and disdain. “With you gone, the curse against her will finally be lifted. You’ve lost.” Just as he prepared to turn away, ready to leave the nightmare behind, Varney’s laughter rang out as realization dawned on him, echoing ominously through the charred remains of the factory.

“So, that’s wot she were so afraid o’?” Varney crooned, a wicked smile curling his lips despite the encroaching darkness of his fate. “Oh, Van Helsing, yer ole fool. Yer’ve killed the bleedin’ wrong vampire.”

The hunter’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”

A sinister satisfaction danced in Varney’s eyes as he revealed the cruel truth. “I didn’t turn that lady into a vampire. I only poisoned ‘er wiv me bite. But I never gave ‘er any o’ me blood. Not a single drop.”

“You lie.” Van Helsing said in disbelief, believing Varney was simply attempting one last chance at batting him. “Why should I believe you had nothing to do with turning her?”

“Come now Van Helsing, I thought we knew each uvver better than that.” Varney chuckled, choking on his own dark vampiric blood. “Wen ‘ave I ever not taken credit for me masterpieces?”

Van Helsing’s heart plummeted as realization dawned upon him like a cold wave. He had made a grave mistake. Whirling back, his grip tightened around Varney’s collar, pulling him close, desperation fueling his voice. “Who? Whose blood did she drink?” he demanded, his tone laced with urgency. “Answer me!”

As Varney’s skin began to dissolve, grotesquely transforming into ash and bone, his mocking voice echoed throughout the warehouse. “If yer ‘ad so much barney Rubble takin’ me dahn,” he whispered with a cruel smile, “Yer stand no chance against ‘im. Yor but an ant, tremblin’ before ‘'is godly might. Oh, ‘ow I wish I could watch it as yer two tear each uvver apart!” With those final, damning words, Varney’s body crumbled to dust, scattering like dark memories on the wind.

Realizing the enormity of his error, Van Helsing sprinted through the engulfing smoke and flames of the burning factory and out onto the cobblestone street, dread pounding in his chest as he raced against time, hoping he wasn’t too late to prevent Lucy from rising as a vampire.

🦇

The midnight moon hung low in the starlit sky, casting an eerie silver light that shimmered across the graveyard. The silhouettes of ancient trees loomed over weathered tombstones, their gnarled branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. Shadows stretched long and thin, dancing eerily across the cold, damp earth, where the scent of decay and loamy soil mingled in the heavy night air. A chilling wind whispered softly through the trees, its voice laced with the distant, mournful howl of a wolf echoing through the darkness.

In the midst of this haunting landscape, Dracula strolled alone, his dark cloak billowing around him like the wings of a great bat unfurling in flight. While the rest of his kind recoiled from the graveyard, held at bay by the sacred power that infested the consecrated ground, Dracula was undeterred. The divine forces that repelled other creatures of the night held no sway over him or his clan. His eyes, glowing faintly red, were fixed intently on a single grave – a freshly dug mound of earth marking the final resting place of Lucy Westenra, his beloved Lisa. [Dracula the Musical – Life After Life]

Dracula slowly stretched out his hand toward Lucy’s grave, fingers outstretched and still with a mix of anticipation and yearning. This was the end, just the beginning. Not a funeral, more of a christening for his queen. His voice, deep and resonant, rose above the stillness of the night, reverberating through the chilling air. “Rise!” he commanded, each word infused with sorrowful longing. “You are only asleep. Rise, Lisa. Rise and return to me.” The earth beneath him trembled as if obeying a master’s call, and slowly, the mound of dirt began to shift, stirred by an unseen force. The casket, buried deep beneath the soil, groaned as it emerged from its earthly prison, roots and clumps of recently unearthed dirt clinging to it like remnants of a forgotten past.

Dracula approached the casket with unbroken focus, his glowing eyes locked onto the wooden box that held his lost beloved. With a flick of his wrist, the lid flew open, revealing the pale, lifeless form of Lucy inside. Her skin was as white as moonlight, luminescent and striking against the darkness that surrounded her. Her lips, a deep crimson, seemed to shimmer with an unnatural allure, while her ears, now pointed delicately, were telltale signs the transformation had been complete. Her long, golden hair framed her face like a dark halo, cascading around her shoulders and highlighting her ethereal beauty.

Yet, as Dracula peered inside, his heart sank momentarily at the sight of garlic cloves scattered among her resting place (the small golden cross Van Helsing had placed inside having been stolen by one of the mourners before Lucy had been buried). Fury ignited in his veins, and his eyes blazed a deeper red as he summoned the creatures of night. Moments later, hundreds of rats emerged from the shadows of the graveyard, their eyes reflecting the same blood-red glow as their master. They scurried toward the cloves, gnashing their sharp teeth with unnatural speed as they tore through the garlic with savage fervor, leaving nothing but scattered remnants in their wake.

As the protective charms laid by Van Helsing crumbled away, nothing remained to thwart Dracula from reclaiming what was rightfully his. He extended his hand toward Lucy once more, his voice lowering to a soft but insistent murmur. “Come to me, my queen. It is time.”

As soon as his words left his lips, Lucy’s eyes snapped open, glowing fiercely in the thick darkness, an inferno of red searing through the night. The once-pallid hue of her skin now pulsed with an otherworldly energy, vibrant and alive as if the very essence of night breathed into her. Her lips curled into a wicked smile, seductive and alluring, “Vlad, you came back.” She rose from the casket with an ethereal grace that defied the grave’s constraints. The gown in which she had been buried fluttered around her, caught in some invisible current, augmenting her ghostly figure.

As she stepped out of the casket, her gaze was locked onto Dracula’s, a connection that transcended mortal understanding. Without a moment’s hesitation, she embraced him, her arms encircling his neck with an intimate urgency. Dracula’s lips curled into a satisfied smile as they shared a long, deep kiss, his heart thrumming in delight as he held her close. In that moment, beneath the watchful gaze of the midnight moon, the two were entwined in a reunion that defied death itself.

🦇

 The ancient halls of Carfax Abbey echoed with the sound of footsteps as Dracula led Lucy through the grand entrance. The abbey had long been his sanctuary, a place where he and his brides could dwell in the shadows, away from the prying eyes of the living. But tonight, the atmosphere was different.

Marya, Verona, Marishka, and Aleera stood waiting in the main hall; their eyes gleaming with anticipation. They had known that this night would come, that their master would one day bring back the woman who had once been his beloved. Tonight, their queen had returned, and their reactions were mixed.

Seeing Marya, Lucy/ Lisa rushed to hug her daughter, her memories of her having finally returned. Marya’s heart was heavy with conflicting emotions. She had longed for this moment, for the return of her mother, and yet, now that it had come, her heart ached with sorrow. “She’s like me now,” Marya thought, her inner voice trembling with emotion. “Cursed… just like me.” For now, though, she simply took in the moment, shedding happy tears of being reunited.

Verona, the eldest of the brides and Dracula’s most steadfast ally, stepped forward first, her expression one of reverence and joy. “Welcome home, my lady,” she said reverently, bowing her head in respect.

Aleera, ever the playful and mischievous one, giggled softly as she curtsied. “It’s about time,” she teased, though her eyes sparkled with genuine excitement. “We’ve been waiting for you, your majesty.”

Marishka, the ficklest and sultriest of Dracula’s concubines, said nothing as she bowed. She had always been fiercely loyal to Dracula, and the thought of another woman – especially one who had just days ago been a mere mortal – taking her place filled her with a deep, burning hatred. She forced a smile, but her heart was filled with fear and jealousy.

Dracula, wishing to commemorate the moment, turned to his brides and spoke with authority. “Dress her,” he commanded. “She is your queen. She must be adorned in garments worthy of her grandeur.”

Verona and Aleera rushed to obey, eager to please their master. They led Lucy/Lisa away, their voices filled with excitement as they spoke of the gowns they would dress her in, the jewels they would place upon her. But as they disappeared into the shadows, Marishka was slow to follow, her eyes dark with malice.

🦇

Dracula stood alone on the balcony of Carfax Abbey, the cold night air swirling around him as he gazed out over the darkened landscape. The moon hung high in the sky, casting a pale silver light over the ancient stone walls and the sprawling wild overgrowth below. His mind was a tempest of thoughts, swirling with the weight of the decision he had made. Though he regretted turning his wife, he reassured himself that he had done the right thing.

It was the very purpose for why he’d come to London after all – to begin his war against humanity by building an army, and with his wife by his side, she would be his spearhead. His beloved wife, his queen, was now by his side once more. She would rule with him, and together they would turn the world into their eternal night. It was only a matter of time before London belonged to them. His empire, Sanguis Regnum, the dark side of the sun, would rise again, and soon, the world would tremble beneath the shadow of his dynasty. Soon, others would be turned, and their dynasty would grow, spreading across the globe like a plague of darkness.

His thoughts were interrupted by the soft creak of the door behind him. Dracula turned, his eyes glowing faintly in the moonlight, as Lucy/ Lisa stepped out onto the balcony, and the sight of her took his breath away.

“Master,” Verona announced. “After over two centuries of being apart, it is an honor to present to you the Queen of the Night, Lady of the Carpathian Peaks, Mistress of the Midnight Court, and Beloved of the Dragon, Countess Lisa Justina Ţepeş!”

His brides had outdone themselves, adorning her in a gown befitting her elevated position as their queen, a true masterpiece of vampiric splendor that shimmered as though infused with an otherworldly glow. The fabric was a rich, blood-red velvet, the color of freshly spilled blood glistening under the haunting light of a full moon. It clung to her body with a sensuous embrace, accentuating her every curve, while the material seemed to ripple and dance with her every movement, as if it were alive and responding to her presence.

The bodice of the gown was intricately embroidered with delicate black lace that evoked the intricate patterns of a spider’s web. Its plunging neckline revealed the pale, flawless skin of her chest and shoulders, creating a breathtaking contrast that drew the eye. The long, fitted sleeves ended in sharp, elegant points at her wrists, with fine strands of black silk trailing down like the ethereal tendrils of shadow itself.

Around her waist, a sumptuous black satin sash was cinched tightly, its bow tied perfectly at the back and its flowing ends cascading down to the floor like a river of darkness, adding an element of drama and movement to her silhouette. The skirt of the gown flared out dramatically, layers of plush velvet and delicate lace billowing out around her like the expansive wings of a great bat, giving her the appearance of a dark queen ready to take flight.

But it was the cape that truly set her apart. Draped over her shoulders, the cape was made of the finest black silk, lined with rich crimson satin, and fastened at her throat with a silver clasp in the shape of a bat – the middle of which bore the bat necklace she’d always worn ever since the day he’d arrived in Whitby, encased in blood red rubies. The cape flowed behind her like a living shadow, its edges adorned with delicate black feathers, remnants of freshly killed crows (an indulgence that Aleera, in her wolf form, was happily munching on the corpses of as she sat nearby). The feathers shimmered subtly in the moonlight, adding an enchanting allure to the silhouette created by her gown. As she moved, the cape seemed to flutter and shift, as though caught in an invisible breeze, giving her the appearance of a creature of the night, ready to take to the skies.

Her hair, now darker and more lustrous than ever, was swept up into an elaborate style, with strands of it falling in loose waves around her face, framing her striking features. Her eyes, once soft and innocent, now glowed with a fierce red light, and her lips were painted a deep, blood-red, matching the gown. She was no longer Lucy Westenra. She was Lisa Tepes, Queen of the Vampires, and she was magnificent.

Dracula’s heart swelled with pride as he gazed upon her. She was everything he had dreamed of and more. He extended his hand to her, his voice soft and filled with reverence, as he invited her to dance with him. Lisa smiled, her fangs gleaming in the pale light as she took his hand. Together, they began to dance, their movements graceful and fluid, as though they were one. The moonlight bathed them in its silver glow, and for a moment, it was as though time itself had stopped. They were the king and queen of the night, and the world belonged to them.

Off to the side, Dracula’s clan watched in silence as their master danced with his queen. His daughter, Marya, stood with her arms clasped together behind her back, her expression a mixture of joy and sorrow. She was happy to see her mother returned to them, but her heart ached knowing that she was now cursed, just as she was. Marya had long come to terms with her own vampiric nature, but seeing her mother transformed into a creature of the night filled her with a deep, unshakable sadness.

Verona and Aleera stood together, their eyes gleaming with excitement. They had waited for this moment for so long, and now that it had finally come, they could hardly contain their joy. Their queen had returned, and with her, the promise of a new era for their kind.

But Marishka stood apart from the others, her eyes filled with hatred and jealousy. She forced a smile, but inside, she was seething. She watched as her master danced with his queen, looking at Lucy with the love he’d never once given her. The way he doted on her as if she were the only woman in the world. It filled her with rage, her hands clenched into fists behind her back, her nails digging into her palms as she plotted Lucy’s demise. She would wait for the perfect moment, strike when Lucy was at her weakest in such a way that no trace of her treachery to her master could ever be discovered. And when she was gone, Dracula would have no choice but to return to her and her sisters. “I will be his favorite again,” Marishka vowed, her inner voice low and dangerous. “I will make sure of it.

As the dance came to an end, Dracula held Lisa close, his arms wrapped around her from behind as he kissed her exposed neck. He could feel the hunger growing within her, the insatiable thirst for blood that came with the transformation. Her body trembled with it, and he smiled, knowing that the time had come for her to embrace her new nature fully. “You are hungry,” he whispered into her ear, his voice low and seductive. “Come, my love. It is time for your first hunt.”

He led her to the edge of the balcony, his hand still holding hers. The city of London stretched out before them, a sea of lights and shadows, filled with unsuspecting prey. Lisa looked down, her eyes wide with both fear and excitement. She was like a newborn bird, unsure of her wings but eager to take flight.

With a gentle but firm motion, Dracula pushed her off the edge of the balcony. For a moment, she plummeted toward the ground, her body twisting in the air. But then, with a sudden burst of power, the cape transformed into a set of wings – great, bat-like appendages – unfurling from her back, catching the wind and lifting her into the sky.

She soared upward, her wings beating powerfully as she flew past the balcony, her laughter echoing through the night. Dracula watched her with pride, his heart swelling as he saw her take to the skies. She was magnificent, a creature of the night, and she was his.

The others followed suit, one by one. Marya, with her own bat-like wings, took to the air, followed closely by Verona and Aleera. Even Marishka, though filled with jealousy, could not resist the call of the hunt. She spread her wings and flew after them, her eyes still burning with hatred for the queen.

Dracula was the last to take flight. His wings, massive and powerful, unfurled from his back as he leaped into the sky, following his queen and his clan. Together, they soared through the night, a dark flock of predators, their eyes gleaming with hunger.

🦇

They flew over the city of London, the wind rushing past them as they danced through the air. Dracula and Lisa twirled and spun, their movements graceful and fluid, as though they were still dancing on the balcony. Below them, the city was quiet, unaware of the danger that now loomed above.

They landed atop the Great Clock of Westminster, their dark forms silhouetted against the moonlit sky. From this vantage point, they could see the entire city spread out before them, a sea of lights and shadows. Dracula’s eyes scanned the streets below, searching for the perfect prey. “There,” he whispered, pointing to a group of people walking along the Thames. “They will do.” With his hand stretched out toward the river, a thick fog, swirling around like a living thing, began to cover the bridge.

Lisa’s eyes gleamed with a newfound hunger as she followed his gaze, her senses heightened by her transformation. She could hear the heartbeat of every living creature around her, smell the blood pulsing through their veins. The thirst for blood was insatiable, a burning need that consumed her every thought, and she could feel her fangs aching to sink into flesh. She could feel the power coursing through her veins, the strength of her new form, and it thrilled her. With a final glance at her king, Lisa’s lips curled into a wicked smile as she spread her wings and dove toward the unsuspecting citizens below, her clan following close behind.

All but Marya, who stayed, watching from a distance, her heart heavy with dread. She had seen this before – the way the hunger overtook a newly turned vampire, the way it consumed them until there was nothing left but the need to feed. And now, her mother was trapped in that same endless cycle.

“I can’t watch this,” Marya whispered, turning away from the scene. And for the first time in her unlife, Marya disobeyed Dracula and flew off, away from the carnage her clan wrought upon the river Thames, letting the wind take her away from the screams of the innocent. Anywhere but there.

Chapter 8: Revelations in the Dark

Chapter Text

Dark Universe

Image

Written by Andrew Downs and Thomas Lapeyrouse III


   The next afternoon, Marya awoke on the rooftop of Queen’s College. The overcast sky mirrored the turmoil within her – clouded and heavy. As the daughter of Dracula and the princess of vampires, Marya found solace on the roof of Queen’s College – the only place where she felt a semblance of closeness to humanity, far from the malevolent influence of her family. A place where she could momentarily forget her vampiric nature and let herself believe she belonged in the world of mortals.

   Just the previous night, her father had led their vampiric clan through the city for Lucy Westenra, or now Lisa Tepes, to indulge in her first hunt as a fledgling vampire. The sight of Lucy, once a radiant beacon of life, transformed into a creature of the night with a thirst for blood preying upon the innocent – it filled Marya with sorrow and despair. She was now lost to the same darkness that threatened to consume Marya. If someone as pure and full of potential as Lucy could so easily succumb to the shadows, what hope was left for Marya? Could she ever find redemption and live among humans in the light, or would the darkness claim her too?

   As Marya stretched and shook off the tiredness from her bones that clung to her like a heavy cloak, she felt her strength had not returned to her. She grumbled; not sleeping in her coffin back at the abbey had caused her sleep to not rejuvenate her vampiric power, leaving her weakened to slightly above human standards and sore. Thinking of where best to hunt to regain her strength, Marya heard the sound of laughter from down below. Peering over the edge of the rooftop, she spotted a group of students departing from the all-girls academy below. Among them were her former classmates, young women she had once spent time with, albeit her true identity kept in secrecy. For some time now, Marya had risked the wrath of her family by sneaking into Queen’s College, drawn by the magnetic presence of two mortals.

   The first was Ms. Mina Murray. Ms. Murray was a rarity among educators – fearless and passionate, she defied the stifling norms of the time. Unlike others who merely taught the girls the art of social etiquette, she delved into subjects that ignited minds: science, astronomy, and the mysteries of the universe. Ms. Murray, though unaware of Marya’s true nature, had become a beacon of hope for Marya, inspiring her with a fierce resolve to carve her own path, independent of her father’s oppressive grip. The desire to embrace humanity, to walk in the light rather than in shadows, burned brightly within her. Even when Ms. Murray had discovered that Marya wasn’t actually a student at the college, she never gave up on her. Though she could no longer attend her classes at the college, Ms. Murray had offered to continue teaching Marya privately.

   However, the headmaster of Queen’s College regarded Ms. Murray’s progressive teachings as a dangerous affront to tradition. When he discovered unconventional lessons, he brazenly fired Ms. Murray, shattering Marya’s aspirations in one cruel stroke when she heard the news. Marya had tried to find Ms. Murray to comfort her, but her teacher had left shortly after being fired, leaving Mayra not knowing where she’d gone.

   Marya’s rage over Ms. Murray’s dismissal had been uncontrollable. The headmaster, in her eyes, had not only impeded in her desires to become human but had also hurt one of the few mortals she cared for. In a fit of fury, Marya had killed the headmaster in the dead of night, sneaking into his home and ending his life as punishment for his transgressions.

   Later, when her mind calmed down the act of murdering the headmaster weighed heavily on her conscience. Though she had justified it as an act of vengeance, it was a stark reminder of the darkness that still lurked within her. How could she ever hope to live among humans when her vampiric instincts led her to such violence? Each step she took toward the light seemed to pull her deeper into the shadows.

   Now, with Ms. Murray having returned to find her family dead and Lucy being turned into a vampire, Marya sat alone atop the roof, her heart heavy as she watched the other girls leave the college. Each step they took echoed in her mind, a reminder of the camaraderie she yearned for yet could not attain. As she watched them, she caught a familiar scent on the wind – a scent that filled her with a fleeting sense of happiness. Searching through the crowd of students, she found the second human she cherished. The one who’d stolen her heart.

   Lilian Gray.

   Lilian, with her bright smile and unwavering spirit, was everything Marya admired in humanity – kind, intelligent, and full of life. Every time she saw her, the world seemed to slow, and the darkness that constantly threatened to consume Marya’s soul was momentarily held at bay. The girl’s golden curls bounced with each step, catching the faint light that broke through the clouds. To Marya, they were like the rays of the sun she could no longer bask in, a reminder of the warmth and light she had lost when she became a creature of the night. The curls framed Lilian’s soft features perfectly, as if they were spun from the very essence of the sun itself, and Marya found herself mesmerized by their movement.

   But it was her eyes that truly captivated Marya. They were the color of the first light of dawn, a soft, shimmering blue that reminded Marya of the sun rising over the Black Sea, a sight she had once cherished in her human life. Those eyes sparkled with a kindness and warmth that Marya had never known in her own existence, and every time Lilian smiled, it was as if the world itself became a little brighter.

   Marya’s heart ached as she watched Lilian walk, her figure growing smaller as she moved further away from the college. There was a sadness in her today, something that weighed down her usual lively step. Marya could sense it, even from this distance. It was as if the light that always surrounded Lilian had dimmed, and it pained Marya to see her like this. She longed to go to her, to comfort her, to ask what troubled her and offer her solace. But how could she? How could a monster like her ever hope to bring comfort to someone so pure?

   Despite her internal turmoil, Marya couldn’t tear her eyes away from Lilian. She had watched her from afar for so long, always keeping her distance, always telling herself that she could never be part of Lilian’s world. But that didn’t stop her from dreaming. Dreaming of what it would be like to walk beside her in the daylight, to hold her hand, to feel the warmth of her skin against her own cold flesh. To hear her laugh, to see her smile up close, to be the reason for that smile.

   But those were just dreams. And Marya knew that dreams were dangerous for someone like her. How could Marya ever confess her feelings to Lilian? How could she, the princess of vampires, ever hope to be with someone so pure and innocent? The thought of Lilian discovering the truth about her sent a chill down Marya’s spine. Would Lilian recoil in horror, just as others had before? Or could there be a chance, however slim, that Lilian might accept her for who she was? As the girls began to disappear from view, the ache of longing settled deep within Marya’s soul, mingling with her lingering hope.

  Suddenly, Marya’s reverie was shattered by a voice behind her. “Hey, lil pup. Oh, she’s pretty.”

  Marya whirled around, her body tensing, ready for a fight. For a moment, she feared it was Marishka, ready to take delight in mocking Marya over her growing affections. But instead, she found herself face-to-face with Aleera, one of Dracula’s brides whom Marya surprisingly counted as an ally.

  “Oh, It’s just you.” Marya said as she sat back down.

  Perched casually on the rooftop beside her, Aleera had transformed into her hybrid form – a strange blend of human, bat, and wolf. Her vibrant eyes glinted with mischief, and her tail swayed with a lively exuberance as she grinned at Marya. “So, what’s her name?” Aleera inquired, her curiosity evident as she leaned closer, her features softening into an expression of genuine interest.

  Marya blinked, caught off guard, her mind still taken aback by Aleera’s sudden appearance. She hesitated for a moment before answering, her voice soft. “Li-Lilian.”

  Aleera’s grin widened into a gleeful smile. “Lilian?” she echoed, her voice bubbling with excitement. “Oh, that’s such a pretty name! The Scarlet Princess has found herself a pretty lily. Have you spoken to her yet? What’s she like? Does she have any feelings for you? Is she-”

  Marya interrupted her flood of questions, her voice sharper than she had intended. “What are you doing here?”

  Aleera’s ears perked up at the tone, the playful lilt in her demeanor momentarily fading. However, her enthusiasm quickly returned as she explained, “Oh, the master sent me to fetch you! You slipped away mysteriously as we descended upon the Thames for the queen’s first hunt, and he’s been worried sick about you. He sent us to find you.”

  Marya’s eyes widened in disbelief. Her father, Dracula, had been worried about her. “He did?” she asked, her voice tinged with incredulity.

  Aleera gave a nod that seemed to echo her delight, her grin never fading. “Yes! Luckily, I found you first. Verona would’ve given you a stern talking-to,” Aleera rolled her eyes. “And we both know how much Marishka would’ve loved to jump at the chance to make your life miserable, especially given that your heart is set on that pretty lily there.”

  Marya shuddered at the thought of Marishka finding her here. Despite having placed a binding blood curse on Marishka to keep her from harming Lilian or revealing her existence to Dracula, Marya was acutely aware of Marishka’s cunning nature and would find a way to torment her, even if it was just to see her suffer. “Please,” Marya said, her voice laced with desperation. “Don’t tell Father about this. If he finds out about her…”

  Aleera tilted her head, curiosity glowing in her expressive eyes, her bat-like wolf ears twitching in amusement. “He’d what? Kill her?” With a low, playful laugh that danced through the air, she teased, “Come now, lil pup! Your father may harbor hatred for humanity that burns hotter than a thousand dark suns combined, but deep down, we both know he would never hurt you. If you genuinely like that girl, he would support you wholeheartedly. Who knows? He might even throw a grand ceremony for your marriage and the day you transform her into a vampire! I do so love weddings. Oh, would you let me be one of your brides maids…” Aleera stopped her ramblings when she saw the look on Marya’s face.

  Marya’s face paled even more than normal at the thought. Turning Lilian into a vampire? Stealing away her warmth, her kindness, her humanity – such a fate would be nothing less than a cruel, eternal torment. A fate worse than death. The dread of seeing Lilian being condemned to the same darkness that had consumed her own life sent shivers down Marya’s spine.

  Aleera, noticing the change in Marya’s expression, quickly realized why the thought of turning the girl she loved into a vampire troubled her. With a voice imbued with tenderness, she approached, “Princess,” she began, her words softening the sharp edges of the conversation. “If you really want to be with her and keep her as a human, you should go to her – now.”

  Marya blinked in bewilderment; her thoughts scattered by Aleera’s words. “What?” she uttered, confusion clouding her features.

  Seeing Marya’s struggle, Aleera’s gaze softened further, and she leaned in, her voice taking on a rare tone of sincerity Marya had never heard come from her. “Mortal life is fleeting, and we, we are eternal,” she explained, her tone almost pleading. “Would you rather spend your eternity remembering about the moments you two shared, or trapped in regret for the time you let slip away?”

  Marya’s heart raced as Aleera’s words sank in. She stared into the depths of Aleera’s eyes, searching for hidden motives. Why was Aleera being helpful, encouraging her to be with a human? Was it a form of manipulation, a twist of torment disguised as compassion? No, that was Marishka’s game. So, what was Aleera’s? “Why are you helping me?” she asked cautiously, wariness lacing her voice.

  For a brief moment, Aleera’s expression clouded, a shadow of grief flitting across her features. “Because… I had someone I loved too,” she admitted, her eyes momentarily glazing with remembrance. “And every day, every single day, I wake up with the pain of not being with them. And the last thing I want is for my little pup to feel the same. Now, get going!” She gestured emphatically toward the college gate. “She’s walking away!”

  Marya turned back to look at the college’s gate, her eyes locking onto the distant figure of Lilian as she moved away from the college. Marya’s heart constricted in her chest. Aleera’s words echoed in her mind. Mortal life is fleeting. She had spent so long watching from the shadows, too afraid to step into the light, too afraid of what her father would do, of what she herself might become. But now, standing on the edge of a decision, she realized that Aleera was right.

  Why shouldn’t she go to Lilian? Ms. Murray had always encouraged her to carve her own path, to break free from the chains of her father’s influence. And even though Mina was gone, her words still lingered in Marya’s heart. What they did outside the college didn’t matter. If Lilian found out that Marya wasn’t really a student, it didn’t mean they couldn’t spend time together. Right?

  “But Father…” she murmured, the weight of her father’s potential fury bearing down on her, the thought causing her stomach to churn with anxiety.

  Aleera waved her hand dismissively. “I’ll explain that you went hunting alone, trying to prove your worth or some grand idea like that,” she stated nonchalantly. “It doesn’t matter. Now go! Go to your pretty Lili!”

  With a surge of determination, Marya dashed forward, her heart racing as exhilaration coursed through her veins. She paused just long enough to wrap Aleera in a brief, grateful embrace before climbing down the side of the college building with the effortless grace and speed of a vampire. She slipped into the shadows, her eyes fixed on Lilian as she hurried to catch up with her.

  For the first time in ages, Marya felt a flicker of hope within her. Maybe, just maybe, she could have a moment of happiness. Even if it was fleeting.

  And as she followed Lilian into the afternoon light, Marya allowed herself to believe that, for once, she could be more than just a monster.

🦇

   The Westenra estate was no longer the warm, bustling home it had once been. After the tragic passing of her sister and mother, the house had become a hollow shell, its once vibrant halls now filled with an eerie silence. Mina Harker could barely stand to be there any longer. The memories of her sister’s laughter, her mother’s gentle voice, and the life they had shared haunted every room. The weight of grief pressed down on her, and she knew she needed to leave.

   Mina had made the decision to return to Whitby, where she would stay with her husband, Jonathan Harker, and his family. She couldn’t bear to stay in London any longer, not with the memories of loss surrounding her. But she wouldn’t leave alone. She had decided to take Joan Briggs, the ladies’ maid, with her. Joan had been a devoted caretaker to Lucy during her illness, but after Lucy’s death, Joan had become a shadow of her former self. She barely ate, barely spoke, and seemed lost in a world of her own.

   As Mina gathered a few of her belongings from her home office, she glanced around the room, her heart heavy with the weight of the past few days. The whirlwind of events had left her reeling. From leaving Lucy at the train station to embark on her quest to find Jonathan, to discovering her fiancé in a terrible state, to the secret wedding they’d had in the convent – everything had happened so fast. And then there was the attack on the train, the monstrous wolf-bat creature that had nearly killed them both. And finally, coming home to find that Lucy and her mother had died while she was away… it was all too much.

   The house, once filled with love and laughter, now felt like a tomb. She’d come back later. To settle the estate and sell what was left. But for now, she just needed to get away.

   As she gathered her belongings, the door creaked open, and Professor Van Helsing entered the room. His face was somber, his eyes filled with regret. He’d failed to reach Lucy’s grave in time, finding it dug up and her casket empty. He’d searched all night for whoever this vampire was that’d turned her, even checking the bridge by the Thames when he heard rumors of people going missing during a thick fog that’d enveloped the bridge, but he’d found no leads. He’d failed to save Lucy’s life, and now he’d failed to save her soul.

   “Mina, I am so sorry,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I failed to save Lucy. I failed to protect her.”

   Mina looked up at him, her heart heavy with the weight of his words. The weight of grief pressed upon her chest, but she found no room in her heart for blame. How could she possibly hold him accountable? He had done everything he could, more than anyone else had. He’d even rescued herself and her husband from a demon. “You did more than anyone could have asked, Professor. Lucy was a stranger to you, but you fought for her. I will always be grateful for that.”

   Van Helsing nodded slowly, though the sorrow etched on his face remained steadfast, like a dark cloud refusing to part.

   Suddenly, a sharp scream sliced through the stillness of the estate, drawing their immediate attention. As they rushed downstairs, they found Joan stirring restlessly on the sofa, as if awakening from a nightmare. Her eyes were wide open, reflecting both fear and confusion, and her complexion had drained of color.

   “Joan!” Mina cried out, her alarm evident as she rushed to her friend’s side.

   Mina and Van Helsing, alongside Jonathan and Dr. Seward who joined them after hearing Joan’s scream, quickly gathered around Joan to help her sit upright, her trembling frame barely supported by the plush upholstery.

   Joan’s breathing came in rapid, shallow bursts as panic flickered in her gaze. She struggled to piece together the fragmented events of the night Lucy died. “It was… it was like a dream,” she murmured at last, her voice barely escaping her lips. Jonathan hurriedly left to fetch a glass of water, sensing her distress.

   “I was just starting to drift off, fighting the urge to watch over Ms. Lucy… and then I heard the fluttering of bat wings… and wolves howling in the distance. The room… it became engulfed in mist. It was so thick, I could barely see the streetlamp outside the window, just a tiny spark in the fog.” Her voice quivered with each word as she relived the haunting experience, her eyes distant, glazed with fear.

   “And then… I saw them.” she continued. “Two red eyes, piercing through the darkness outside the window, locking onto mine. A face, pale and ghostly, emerged from the depths of the fog. It drew nearer… and nearer. I could feel the cold breath on my skin… and then… its lips…” She shuddered unexpectedly, her voice fracturing into a whisper. “I felt so weak… as if all the life had been drained out of me.”

   Van Helsing, his brow furrowed in concentration, leaned closer to her, a flicker of alarm tightening his features as he noticed two dark markings on her neck, almost obscured by her hair. “Joan, may I examine your neck?” he asked, his tone steady yet urgent.

   Joan hesitated, uncertainty flickering in her wide eyes, but ultimately she nodded in agreement. Van Helsing gently tilted her head aside, revealing to the group two small puncture marks on her neck, minuscule yet unmistakably disturbing – marks that had first appeared the morning after Lucy had died.

   Dr. Seward, who had been listening intently, frowned in bewilderment as he exchanged glances between Van Helsing and the markings. “Those are identical to the marks that were found on Lucy’s neck,” he remarked, his brow knitted in confusion. He turned to Van Helsing, eyes wide with concern. “But what could have caused these?”

   Before Van Helsing could respond, the front door opened, and a maid entered the room, announcing a visitor. “Count Dracula has arrived.” The mere mention of the name sent a chill pulsating through the air, an icy dread creeping into the hearts of Mina.

   Van Helsing’s expression shifted, eyes widening in a double take of recognition of the name. He had heard legends of Count Dracula, a nobleman from Transylvania, who was said to be one of the most powerful vampires in history. In fact, the original vampire. His mind raced with the possibility: could this man truly be the elusive creature from the ancient tales, or was it just a coincidence?

   As Dracula entered the room and shook hands with Dr. Seward, exuding an aura of elegance and authority, his dark, piercing eyes scanned the gathered group as though assessing their very souls. He spotted Van Helsing as the professor rose, the two regarding each other, assessing if the person before them was who they believed.

   “Oh, have you two already met?” Dr. Seward commented, breaking the tense silence.

   “No,” both Van Helsing and Dracula replied in unison, their voices colliding uneasily in the thick tension.

   “But I have heard of you, Professor Van Helsing,” Dracula continued smoothly, his accent rich and impossibly charming. “Your reputation precedes you, even in the wilds of Transylvania. You are a most distinguished scientist.”

   “And I you, Count Dracula,” Van Helsing replied, his voice steady yet hinting at a wary undertone. “Your family’s name has emerged several times in my research on anthropology. I must say, you are considered quite the legend even as far out here in London.”

   “Indeed,” Dracula replied, a hint of amusement gracing his lips, as though he relished the acknowledgment.

   An uneasy silence blanketed the room, a tangible tension hanging in the air until Dr. Seward spoke up again, breaking the stillness that had settled like a fog. “So, what brings you to our doorstep, Count Dracula?”

   “I apologize for my sudden and unexpected arrival,” Dracula said, his voice dripping with sincerity as he stepped closer to them, emanating a sense of calm that was almost hypnotic. “I heard of Ms. Westenra’s untimely passing and wished to offer my condolences.” He moved with a grace that seemed almost preternatural, and as he advanced, Mina felt her breath catch in her throat. A deep-seated unease stirred within her – a darkness radiating from him that tickled at the edges of her consciousness.

   “My deepest condolences to you, Mrs. Harker,” Dracula said softly, his gaze fixed intensely upon Mina. “for the loss of your sister and mother.” His words were smooth, wrapped in an enchanting cadence that sent shivers racing down her spine, leaving her heart racing and her skin prickling with apprehension. There was something about him, something profoundly unsettling that made her want to retreat.

   As Dracula continued to speak, Dr. Seward moved to open a small, ornate cigarette box resting on the table, eager for a smoke to ease the tension in the air. Inside the lid, an antique mirror caught Van Helsing’s attention. At the angle he was looking at it in, the reflection it held penned a peculiar scene: while Mina’s sharp reflection was clearly visible, Dracula cast no reflection at all. As he watched, Dr. Seward returned to the conversation, and Van Helsing saw that while both he and Mina showed their reflections, there was a large gap between them where Dracula stood.

   Dracula's piercing gaze lingered on Mina Harker, his dark, smoldering eyes seeming to ensnare hers in a hypnotic grip. The atmosphere felt electric as she stood frozen, each heartbeat thumping loudly in her chest. A shiver crawled up her spine; she could feel the weight of his presence pressed upon her, as if the very shadows around him had come to life, radiating an unsettling darkness. Fear coiled within her heart, tightening its grasp with every passing second.

   “I hope you are in good health, Mrs. Harker.” Dracula said softly, his voice a smooth, velvety whisper that belied the threat beneath. “It would be a shame for the world to lose another member of this household so soon.” His words, though courteous, dripped with an underlying menace. He had come with nefarious intentions: to seduce Mina into his dark world, transforming her into one of his beloved children of the night. He understood that his cherished Lisa still harbored a deep affection for her mortal sister, and he could not bear the thought of her despair should they be torn apart.

   Just then, the door swung open, and Jonathan entered the room, his face frozen in terror the moment he saw Dracula. A glass of water slipped from his trembling fingers, shattering upon the floor and sending droplets splattering across the polished wood. Seeing her husband distressed, Mina felt the urge to protect Jonathan. She excused herself as she went to tend to Jonathan, leading him away and out of the room.

   Van Helsing, determined to confront the Count, stepped forward, holding up the cigarette box. “Count Dracula,” he began, his voice steady, disguising his true intentions, “I have stumbled upon a most remarkable phenomenon. Would you care to see it?” As Dracula, curious, stepped forward, Van Helsing opened the box, revealing the mirror inside.

   Dracula’s visage instantly darkened. An ember of rage flickered in his eyes, and with a suddenness that took everyone by surprise, he swept his arm out, slapping the box from Van Helsing’s grasp. The glass shattered with a resounding crash, shards scattering across the floor. Silence descended upon the room, the tension now thick enough to cut with a knife. Attempting to regain composure, Dracula bowed his head slightly, his tone disarmingly calm. “I dislike mirrors, Dr. Seward. They are… unsettling. I’m sure Van Helsing will explain,” he uttered, masking his fury behind a veneer of politeness.

   With his eyes burning with a mix of anger and intensity, Dracula turned his piercing gaze toward Van Helsing, his voice low and dangerous, laced with a menacing undertone. “You are a wise but foolish man, Van Helsing.” The warning hung in the air, foreboding.

   Without further ado, Dracula made a hasty apology, the façade of civility slipping as he swiftly exited the estate. Dr. Seward, still processing what had just happened, hurried to the terrace to see where Dracula had gone. As he looked out, he spotted something strange – a massive creature streaking across the lawn, its form morphing and disappearing into the depths of the shadows.

   “A dog?” Dr. Seward muttered, perplexity etching lines of confusion on his face. “Where did Dracula go?” The night seemed to resonate with an unearthly silence as he pondered the implications of Dracula’s flight.

   Van Helsing stood at the threshold, his eyes narrowed as he watched the shape retreat into the darkness. He understood that what they had seen was no ordinary dog, nor even a wolf; it was a vampire in its most primal form – the embodiment of darkness itself.

   Van Helsing had found his vampire, and the battle had only just begun.

🦇

   Marya had been trailing Lilian through the bustling streets of London, her heart racing like a drum in her chest. Each step brought her closer to Lilian, and with it a swirl of emotions – anticipation, anxiety, and a fierce desire to connect. She wasn’t quite sure what she would say once she caught up, but she knew she couldn’t let this chance slip away. After all, like Aleera had said, how many chances like this would she have? How many more opportunities to feel the warmth of Lilian’s presence, to bask in the glow of her beauty, to pretend – if only temporarily – that she was a part of Lilian’s world?

   After what felt like an eternity, she finally closed the distance, her breath hitching in her throat as she softly called out. “Lilian!”

   The moment her voice reached Lilian, the young woman turned, her golden curls bouncing playfully around her shoulders. Her bright blue eyes lit up with recognition, and for an instant, the bustling world around them faded into the background. “Marya!”

   Marya caught up, standing anxiously so close to Lilian. “Hi.” She said nervously.

   “Hi.” Lilian smiled. “I was wondering where you’d gone. You haven’t been in class for days.”

   Marya’s mind raced with the urgency to come up with a convincing excuse, something that wouldn’t raise suspicion or lead to unwanted questions. She couldn’t reveal her true identity – not now, not ever. How could she explain that she wasn’t a student at Queen’s College, but rather the daughter of Dracula, the princess of vampires, and that she had been avoiding her family’s latest monstrous escapades? “Oh, I… um, I’ve been feeling unwell. A bit of a fever, I think. I didn’t want to risk spreading anything to you or the other girls.”

   Concern flickered across Lilian’s features, softening her expression. She reached out, her delicate fingers brushing against Marya’s arm, igniting a warmth that surged through Marya’s veins. “I’m so sorry to hear that. I hope you’re feeling better now?”

   Relief washed over Marya; Lilian seemed to accept her fib without further inquiry. “Oh yeah.” Marya stammered, feeling her cheeks blushing. Could vampires blush?, she wondered to herself as she rambled. “Yeah, loads better. I’m much better now, so no need to worry.” As she stood there, taken in by the sincerity of Lilian’s gaze, Marya couldn’t shake the weight of the sadness she had witnessed in the love of her unlife earlier that day. “I noticed you seemed… sad today. Is everything all right?”

   Lilian’s smile flickered, her gaze dropping as her fingers intertwined nervously. “My grandfather passed away recently. It’s been… hard,” she admitted, her voice wavering slightly, as if the words were heavy stones weighing down her heart.

   Marya’s heart ached at the pain etched in Lilian’s voice. She knew what it was like to lose someone, though her losses had been far more complicated and twisted by the curse of immortality. Still, she understood grief, and she hated seeing it etched on Lilian’s face and felt the urge to comfort her. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Lilian,” she said earnestly, wishing she could alleviate even a fraction of her sorrow.

   Lilian nodded, her eyelids glistening with unshed tears before she blinked them away. Marya wanted to do something, anything, to make her feel better. But as Marya opened her mouth to suggest they spend time together, the words tangled in her throat. Being so near to Lilian, feeling the warmth radiating from her, made Marya’s mind go blank. Her usual confidence crumbling like autumn leaves, and she stumbled over her words. “I-I was wondering if… maybe… you’d like to… I mean, if it’s alright with you… we could, um… spend some time… unless you have other plans, which is okay…” she stammered, heat flooding her cheeks.

   Yet Lilian, ever insightful, merely smiled softly as if she could read the uncertainty churning within Marya. “Would you like to spend the afternoon with me, Marya?” she offered gently.

   Marya’s eyes widened in genuine surprise, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest. “You… you really mean it?” she breathed, disbelief coloring her words.

   Lilian nodded, her smile unfolding like a sunlit flower, warm and genuine. “Yes, I do.”

   Ecstatic joy surged through Marya, and before she could rein in her enthusiasm, she began to hop on the spot, excitement bubbling over. Lilian’s laughter at Marya’s antics rang out, light and musical, and in that moment, time seemed to stand still. But as reality set in, Marya suddenly became aware of how ridiculous she must look. Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment, and she quickly straightened up, determined to compose herself.

   “I-I mean…” she began, awkwardly trying to regain her dignity. “Yes, I’d love to.”

   In an effort to appear more graceful, Marya reached out and took Lilian’s hand, her movements deliberate and careful, reminiscent of the gentlemanly gestures she had observed in the human world. The warmth of Lilian’s hand sent a thrill racing through Marya, electrifying the air between them. Amusement danced in Lilian’s eyes by Marya’s attempt at formality, but she didn’t pull away; instead, she allowed Marya to guide her down the lively street.

   “So, where would you like to go first?” Lilian asked, her curiosity evident.

🦇

   As Mina gathered the last of her belongings from her home office, she glanced around the room, her heart heavy with the weight of the past few days. The whirlwind of events had left her reeling. From leaving Lucy at the train station to embark on her quest to find Jonathan, to discovering her fiancé in a terrible state, to the secret wedding they’d had in the convent – everything had happened so fast. And then there was the attack on the train, the monstrous wolf-bat creature that had nearly killed them both. And finally, coming home to find that Lucy and her mother had died while she was away… it was all too much.

   As she placed the last few items into her box, Mina’s eyes fell on something that made her pause. There, on her desk, was Jonathan’s journal – the one he had kept during his last business trip.

   “Strange…” Mina thought, frowning. “I could have sworn I put that away.”

   She picked it up, her fingers brushing against the damp fabric. The cloth was slightly wet, and as she lifted it to her nose, she caught the unmistakable scent of salt water. Her heart skipped a beat. It was the same smell that had clung to the Captain’s Log of the Demeter, the ill-fated ship that had washed ashore in Whitby. The logbook had appeared mysteriously on her desk, its pages filled with the harrowing tale of a crew slowly driven mad as an unseen monster hunted them.

   Mina’s hand trembled as she held Jonathan’s journal. The memories of the Demeter’s log came rushing back – how it had chronicled the ship’s doomed voyage, the crew disappearing one by one, the sense of dread that had seeped from every page. She had been terrified then, and now, holding Jonathan’s journal, she felt that same fear creeping up her spine.

   “Is this another dark omen?” Mina thought. “What horrors lie within these pages?”

   She turned to leave the office, her instinct telling her to flee, to leave the journal untouched. But as she reached the door, she hesitated. She remembered the nightmare she had had in Whitby – the vision of a castle burning, the swarm of bats, the giant wolf. She remembered the attack on the train, the demon woman who had tried to kill Jonathan. Something was wrong. Something dark and terrible was lurking in the shadows, and she needed answers.

   “I promised Jonathan, I wouldn’t read it…” Mina thought. “but I need to know. I need to understand what happened to him. Forgive me, Jonathan.”

   With a deep breath, Mina sat down at her desk, unwrapping the journal. The damp cloth fell away, and she opened the book, her eyes scanning the first page. As she began to read, the words seemed to leap off the page, pulling her into the nightmare that Jonathan had endured. [Brad Derrick – Lost in Greymoor Keep]

  • Jonathan’s journal began innocuously enough. He had been sent to Transylvania on business, tasked with assisting a nobleman named Count Dracula with the purchase of property in London. At first, everything had seemed normal. The Count, his daughter, and three female servants had all been polite, if a bit strange, and the castle, though old and isolated, had been impressive.

  • But as the days passed, Jonathan’s entries grew more frantic, more desperate. He wrote of strange occurrences – doors that locked themselves, shadows that moved on their own, and the Count’s eerie ability to appear and disappear without a sound. Jonathan had begun to suspect that something was terribly wrong, but by the time he realized the truth, it was too late.

    • Excerpt: “I am a prisoner in this castle. The Count is not a man, but a monster. His servants are she-devils, wicked and cruel. I have seen him crawl down the walls like a lizard, speaking with flocks of bats and packs of wolves as if they could understand one another, his eyes glowing in the darkness. I fear for my life. I fear for my soul.”

   Mina’s heart raced as she read on.

  • Jonathan had tried to escape, but the Count’s supernatural powers had thwarted every attempt. The Count had even forged letters in Jonathan’s handwriting, intent on sending them out to inform his loved ones that he would be leaving soon. But Jonathan knew better – Dracula had no intention of letting him escape.

   Mina gasped, realizing now why that letter she’d received from Jonathan months ago seemed so strange.

  • Jonathan recounted how he felt trapped, helpless, as the Count fed on him, draining his strength, his will to live. The journal described the Count’s terrifying transformation – his fangs, his blood-red eyes, the way he seemed to grow younger with each passing day.

    • Excerpt: “I am lost. I am weak. I do not know how much longer I can survive. The Count has taken everything from me. I fear I will never see Mina again.”

   Mina’s hands shook as she turned the pages. The horror of Jonathan’s ordeal was almost too much to bear.

  • But then, something changed. Jonathan wrote of a strange ally, a woman who had appeared in the castle’s darkest hour.

    • Excerpt: “The Count’s daughter, Marya, she is not like the others. She is… kind, in her own strange way. There is a goodness in her, though she hides it from the others. She says she will help me escape. I do not know if I can trust her, but I have no choice.”

   Mina was left puzzled. The Marya Tepes she’d met at the Count’s gala over a month and a half ago had been a child. How could she have been a full-grown woman back during Jonathan’s journey? As she pondered this, Mina felt a strange familiarity when reading of Marya. She knew her more than just a passing name or a momentary introduction at the gala, but she couldn’t place it.

  • She read on, her eyes widening as Jonathan described how Marya had attempted to help him escape from the confines of the castle. During those fateful midday hours, she had led him through a labyrinth of secret passages, each turn shrouded in mystery, leading him to an inexplicable haven of safety. What awaited Jonathan at the end of this tunnel was beyond his wildest comprehension: a colossal cavern hidden deep beneath the castle ruins above, within which lay an ancient and formidable stronghold.

  • This subterranean fortress towered ominously, hewn into the very bedrock of the cavern, its architecture a blend of ancient Nordic and Gothic influences. The stone walls appeared as though sculpted by time itself – dark, weathered, and draped in lush moss that clung tenaciously to the surface. Eerie tendrils of luminescent fungi cast an otherworldly glow, illuminating the dank air with a ghostly light. Above him, the cavernous ceiling was adorned with an even larger fortress, its jagged towers resembling menacing stalactites poised to descend upon any intruder. Together, these two structures formed a chilling visage, a fanged maw of earth as if the very planet had awakened, a mouth that dripped molten lava, cascading like an angry river around the lower fortress.

  • When Jonathan asked what this place was, Marya, her voice filled with sadness, revealed the truth: this was the true Castle of Dracula, the domain of the King of the Vampires.

  • Suddenly, a fluttering sound like bat wings echoed through the cavern, prompting Marya to urgently usher Jonathan to hide and await her return. Time slipped away as minutes transformed into long, drawn-out hours, each tick of the clock amplifying Jonathan’s sense of unease. A strange, magnetic force seemed to emanate from the fortress, calling to him with an insistent whisper that urged him to draw closer. As he ventured toward the keep, the atmosphere shifted dramatically, plunging him into a realm of oppressive darkness and biting cold. The damp scent of decaying stone clawed at him, and the only illumination came from the fiery river of lava that wound its way through the cavern. The keep was eerily silent, save for the echo of Jonathan’s footsteps or the distant sound of water dripping from the cavern ceiling.

  • Once inside the keep, Jonathan was struck by the sinister elegance of the architecture, a direct reflection of the malevolence that permeated the space. The walls were draped with ominous tapestries and ancient, tattered banners emblazoned with the sigils of House Drăculești. Majestic gothic arches and towering spires loomed overhead, creating a cathedral-like ambiance, albeit one marred by an unsettling darkness that seeped into every corner of the hall.

  • As Jonathan wandered deeper into the shadowy fortress, he spotted through a grimy window a group of men – likely Vistani – busily hauling coffins from the cavern's depths. Each coffin was meticulously filled with soil collected from the castle grounds, an unsettling ritual that sent shivers down his spine. His exploration led him to a massive mausoleum, a structure that spiraled downwards into an abyss that seemed endless. The walls of the mausoleum were lined with coffins – dozens, hundreds, perhaps even thousands.

  • In the center of this macabre display, encased in an eerie green mist, floated a single coffin marked with the Count’s ominous sigil. Jonathan’s hands trembled as he approached and slowly lifted the lid. What lay within chilled him to the bone: Dracula, appearing lifeless and serene, as if entrenched in a slumber that transcended time. But without warning, the Count's eyes snapped open, glowing a vivid crimson, piercing through the darkness and locking onto Jonathan’s gaze. A jolt of excruciating pain surged through Jonathan’s mind, and he heard the Count’s voice infiltrating his thoughts, a menacing whisper proclaiming, “You should not have ventured down here, friend Jonathan.”

  • Panic struck Jonathan like a thunderclap, compelling him to flee the malevolent presence of the Count. He raced back through the serpentine passageways, desperate to reach the safety of the castle ruins above. As he burst forth into the night sky, an ominous sight greeted him: a throng of villagers, their faces twisted with rage and terror, advanced toward the castle wielding torches and pitchforks. Their chants filled the air, a cacophony of anger echoing retribution against the evils that Dracula had inflicted.

  • With a fervent blaze, they ignited the ancient edifice, flames licking hungrily at the stone, consuming it as they sought to eradicate the darkness that had dwelled within its walls. As the inferno surged high into the night, Jonathan felt the weight of destiny pressing down upon him, and with a trembling hand, he began to pen his final entry.

    • Excerpt: “The castle is engulfed in flames. The villagers are shouting, their torches casting flickering shadows into the night. Marya insists I must flee now, before the inferno engulfs us all.”

    With a racing heart, Mina closed the journal and set it down, her pulse echoing in her ears like a tribal drum. A whirlwind of questions surged through her mind, each more frantic than the last. But one truth stood stark in her mind: Dracula was the man Jonathan had been sent to do with business with all those months ago, the very same Count who had unleashed a reign of terror upon her husband. How had she remained oblivious to this gruesome possibility for so long? The notion that he was now prowling the streets of London sent waves of horror coursing through her veins.

   Thoughts clamored for attention in her mind, each spiraling into another. Why had Dracula chosen to venture to London? What insidious desires drove him to her city, to seek out her loved ones? Most haunting still, he had spent time with Lucy, her dear sister. Mina couldn’t shake the harrowing question: was Dracula the one who caused Lucy’s death? The chilling realization slid down her spine, leaving her breathless and trembling.

   In that moment, it became painfully clear to her: she needed answers – answers that only one man could provide. Grabbing Jonathan's journal and placing it in a satchel slung over her shoulder, Mina rushed out of the estate, determination crystallizing in her chest as she whispered to herself, “I must find Van Helsing.”

🦇

   The afternoon passed in a blur of happiness for Marya. She and Lilian spent hours together, moving from one place to the next, enjoying each other’s company. Marya would remember each moment, each precious second of that day she spent with Lilian for the rest of her time; each moment more precious than the last, more priceless than the rarest jewels and treasures ever known.

   They started at the library, where they perused shelves of books, sharing their favorite stories and discussing the ones they had yet to read. Marya found herself particularly captivated by tales that explored the depths of human experience – stories steeped in love and loss, revelations of fleeting joys that shaped the mortal experience. Lilian, on the other hand, had a love for science and astronomy, much like Ms. Murray, and she eagerly shared her knowledge with Marya, who listened intently, her heart swelling with admiration.

   After their time in the library, they went to a quaint little restaurant tucked away on a side street. As Lilian enjoyed a meal, Marya sipped at a glass of wine, pretending to eat so as not to raise suspicion. The conversation flowed easily between them, rich with laughter and shared stories, and for the first time in centuries, Marya felt like she belonged. She wasn’t the Scarlet Princess or the daughter of Dracula. She was just Marya, a girl spending time with someone she cared about.

   Their next destination was the park, where the crumbling autumn leaves created a chorus of crunching sounds beneath their feet. The beauty of the scenery enveloped them, colorful leaves swirling around them like confetti as they strolled along the winding paths. As they wandered, they stumbled upon a street artist, his easel vibrating with color as he captured the world around him. Lilian, filled with enthusiasm, insisted that they sit for a portrait together. A flicker of hesitation crossed Marya’s mind; due to not having a reflection for centuries, she’d forgotten what she actually looked like, and she was afraid of what she’d see. However, seeing Lilian’s pleading eyes, Marya relented and agreed. She was also curious. She wondered what Lilian saw of her – not a monster or a distant memory – but as a normal girl. And she especially wanted to see what she looked like side by side with Lilian. She just hoped the form she’d taken didn’t have anything embarrassing on it.

   When the artist finally unveiled the portrait, Marya was overwhelmed by emotion. For the first time in centuries, she saw herself. The memory was faint, pushed back from hundreds of years dwelling in the shadows, but it was her. She looked just like she did back before she was turned into a vampire – albeit, not covered in dirt or dressed in rotting rags. Not a creature of darkness, but a girl glowing with warmth and companionship. And beside her, was Lilian, smiling radiantly. It was a moment frozen in time, and Marya would cherish it forever.

🦇

   Dracula stepped into the nearly empty parlor of a hotel, a shadowy retreat bedecked with heavy, brocade curtains that muted the glow of the flickering fireplace. The only other occupant was Van Helsing, sitting by a mahogany bar with a few of his books laid out. The ornate furnishings – intricately carved armchairs – added an air of elegance, yet the atmosphere was thick with an unsettling tension. As he entered, he heard a familiar song on a record player in the corner of the room. “‘Fischerweise,’” he quoted, his voice resonating with an eerie calm. “Schubert, 1826. ‘Give up your foolish trickery.’” His presence was magnetic, commanding every droplet of attention as he glided toward Professor Van Helsing, his dark cloak trailing behind him like a specter.

   Van Helsing, a man of meticulous discipline and steadfast resolve, looked up at Dracula with a mixture of curiosity and caution. “This fish you cannot cheat,” he replied, a hint of challenge lacing his words.

   “I hope I’m not intruding,” Dracula said, his voice smooth and velvety, yet carrying an undertone of menace.

   “Not at all,” Van Helsing said, his brow furrowing slightly as he shifted his gaze to the teapot. “I’m simply going over my lesson plans as I’ve been summoned to return to Cambridge. A tiresome affair, really.”

   Dracula’s dark eyes sparkled with feigned interest as he picked up one of Van Helsing’s authored books, its spine well-worn from extensive study. “Of course. The esteemed college would surely need a man of your many talents. Graduated from Oxford at such a young age, earning an M.D., Ph.D., Eng.D., PsyD., and D.Litt by the time you were scarcely past thirty. For one who has not lived even a single lifetime, you’ve amassed quite an impressive trove of knowledge, Professor, from medical science to anthropology and even… parapsychology.” His words dripped with mock admiration.

   Van Helsing straightened, the corners of his mouth quirking into a slight smile despite himself. “Indeed, the supernatural has long intrigued me. I find it particularly fascinating to explore the myths and legends surrounding monsters. Understanding how they think, how they hunt the innocent, and ultimately, how they are vanquished.” Van Helsing glared at Dracula, before feigning proper decorum. “Forgive me for my rudeness – would you care for some tea or coffee? Or perhaps something…” He pulled up his sleeve, revealing the pronounced veins on his arm that pulsed with blood. “Stronger, perhaps?”

   Dracula arched an eyebrow, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “No, but might I trouble you for a moment of your time?” Van Helsing lowered his sleeve and motioned for the Count to continue. “I’ve recently heard that my good friend, Jonathan Harker, has been married. I’ll be sure to convey my heartfelt regards to the happy couple when next our paths cross. I trust they shared the delightful details of their wedding on the train with you; how was it?”

   Van Helsing’s expression hardened. “Definitive. They are no longer party to my investigations, intending to relocate to Whitby for a fresh start in their lives. Their union removes them from my equation entirely. I trust you’ll take this into consideration.”

   Dracula paused, his interest piqued. “And what considerations will you grant me?” He placed Van Helsing’s book back onto the table, the thud echoing in the quiet room.

   Van Helsing narrowed his eyes, assessing the vampire before him. “Have you actually read the book?” he inquired bluntly.

   “I found it compelling… though I confess I am primarily intrigued by your more recent endeavors, as I suspect you are by mine,” Dracula replied, a smile creeping across his lips.

   Van Helsing nodded, recognizing the subtle compliment. “I take that as a compliment.”

   Dracula stepped closer, his demeanor shifting to one of earnest respect. “I hold the utmost regard for your talents, Professor Van Helsing. Your methods in dispatching many rivals of mine is… enticing to hear about. It’s a genuine pleasure to finally meet you… officially.” They clasped hands – a momentary connection laden with unspoken meanings.

   “I knew of your ancestor, Solomon Kane,” Dracula said as their hands returned to their side. “Unfortunately, we did not quite see eye to eye. He interfered with my mourning in September of 1666, right here in London, in fact. He did not take too kindly to me unleashing the forces of hell in retaliation for the tragic loss of my wife, bestowing upon me this.” With a grim smile, Dracula peeled back the collar of his cloak to reveal a jagged scar across his chest, still raw and festering – a haunting testament to their fateful encounter long ago. “With the very sword from which your cane was forged,” he added, pointing at the silver cane with an Egyptian cat head handle – his tone a mix of nostalgia and bitterness.

   “I remember the legends.” Van Helsing said. “My father told me tales of Solomon Kane. How he met you in your castle in Transylvania on one of his adventures. Story goes, he said you were a man with a genius-level intellect, with a highly creative yet meticulous nature; though, the legends suggested you possessed an acute narcissism, a complete lack of empathy, and a pronounced inclination toward–”

   “No.” Dracula interrupted.

   “Moral insanity.” Van Helsing finished, bitterness filling his voice.

   “In response to your previous request regarding Mr. and Mrs. Harker’s involvement…” Dracula said. “My answer remains no. As I’m sure you know from your years of study, that the immutable laws of celestial mechanics dictate that when two objects collide… there is always damage of a collateral nature.”

   As Dracula spoke, he reached into the depths of his black cloak, a gesture both deliberate and precise, drawing forth a delicate rose. With an almost theatrical flourish, he placed the bloom on the table before Van Helsing, its petals soft yet vividly colored. To an onlooker, the act might seem trivial, but to Van Helsing, it was a poignant reminder that sliced through the air like a blade. The rose mirrored the exact hue of iris lavender that his beloved wife, Roseanna, had tended in their shared garden. Memories surged back unbidden, a nostalgia laced with bitterness.

   “Exempli gratia.” Dracula said. “Two gentlemen find themselves at cross-purposes. A young woman torn between them. The strain proves too much for her, and she suddenly meets… a tragic fate. If I’m not mistaken, I do believe that you were supposed to accompany her on that ill-fated missionary trip to my country. I’ll tell you this, my brides and subordinate [Varney] ensured her end was… not pleasant. Now… are you sure you want to continue playing this game.”

   Van Helsing, his heart heavy with sorrow yet ignited by sheer determination, clenched his fists and met Dracula’s gaze, proclaiming fiercely, “Before this night is over, I’m going to kill you.”

   Dracula’s lips curled into a mocking smirk, his dark gaze piercing. “Rest assured, if you seek to bring destruction upon me… know that I shall return the favor. My respect for you, Prof. Van Helsing, for your valiant attempt to cure Ms. Westenra, is the only reason I have spared your life thus far. Therefore, I extend to you the same courtesy that your ancestor once bestowed upon me: Return to your homeland, Van Helsing,” he warned, his voice silky yet laced with threat. “Leave now, lest you find yourself ensnared in the intricate web of my designs, and face a fate more dark than death itself.”

   “No. No, I think I’d rather stay, and protect those whom you would destroy.” Van Helsing said, anger roaring through his words. “To enact justice for those you have slain, for Ms. Lucy, for my wife. I will raze your abbey to the ground, stone by stone, excavated a mile around. I will find your earth box and stake it with silver, driving the point through your heart. That is my courtesy to you.”

   With an imperious gesture, Dracula raised his hand, aiming to ensnare Van Helsing within his hypnotic grasp. “Come here,” he commanded, his voice dripping with a dark allure. Van Helsing found himself taking three tentative steps forward, an involuntary act of surrender under the pressure of Dracula’s will. However, as if regaining his own agency, he abruptly stepped back, shaking off the influence of the vampire’s sinister coercion.

   “Your will remains impressively strong, Van Helsing,” Dracula admitted, an edge of annoyance creeping into his tone, his expression shifting to one of scorn.

   In a swift, unanticipated movement, Dracula lunged at Van Helsing, revealing his fangs, glistening with a predatory hunger. But Van Helsing, resolute and quick-thinking, reached into the depths of his coat, pulling forth the Crucifix of Navarro, the sacred emblem held defiantly before him. The crucifix glimmered in the dim light, its history rich with the power of the Jesuit Priest Luis Navarro, who had once vanquished 113 vampires on a fateful day in La Oroya, Peru, in August 1709.

   As the crucifix was thrust into the open air, the atmosphere shifted dramatically, heavy with an electric tension. Dracula grasped the crucifix, which boiled and burned to molten metal in his hands – yet did nothing to the Count. “Perhaps this is a conversation better suited for another time,” he hissed, retreating into the surrounding shadows, leaving behind an air thick with unspoken threats and a promise of dire confrontations that awaited in the darkened corners of their destinies.

🦇

   As the day slowly gave way to twilight, Marya and Lilian found themselves nestled together on a weathered wooden bench in the park. [Beauty and the Beast - The Library] The dusky sky was draped in a thick blanket of gray clouds, obscuring the vibrant colors of the sunset.

   Lilian let out a soft sigh, her azure eyes wandering aimlessly toward the gloomy horizon. “I wish it hadn’t been so cloudy lately,” she murmured, her voice tinged with a hint of disappointment. “I would have loved to watch the sunset with you.”

   Marya felt a pang in her heart at the wistfulness that laced Lilian’s words. She ached to create a moment of joy for her, a fleeting memory to chase away the clouds, both in the sky and in her friend’s heart. Resolutely, she made a decision. “Close your eyes,” Marya said gently, her tone encouraging.

   Lilian looked at her, curiosity sparkling in her eyes. “What? Why?”

   “Just trust me,” Marya insisted, her voice soft but firm.

   An amused smile danced on Lilian’s lips, but she complied, reluctantly shutting her eyes and waiting with bated breath.

   After ensuring Lilian’s eyes were indeed closed and that no one else was around to see what she was about to do, Marya stood, her heart racing wildly as she stretched her hand toward the sky. Though she wasn’t as powerful as her father, she felt a fierce determination blossom within her. Focusing all her energy, she reached out to the clouds, silently commanding them to part.

   The effort was immense; she could feel the strain ripple through her body, her muscles trembling as she fought against the stubborn veil of gray. With every ounce of willpower she could muster, she envisioned a sliver of the sun breaking through. Gradually, the clouds yielded, and a golden ray sliced through the murky sky, casting a warm light over the park. Marya steered the light so that it enveloped Lilian, feeling both exhilarated and cautious, staying safely in the shadows to hide her true nature.

   Finally, satiated with her effort, Marya returned to the bench, her heart still thudding in her chest. “Okay, open your eyes,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, thick with hope.

   Lilian cautiously opened her eyes, and as the brilliant sunset unfolded before her, her breath caught in her throat, awe flooding her expression. The sky transformed into a masterpiece of oranges, pinks, and golds, the hues melding seamlessly like an artist’s brushstroke. The sunlight poured over them, wrapping both girls in a warm embrace that felt almost magical.

   “It’s beautiful,” Lilian breathed, her voice a soft, reverent gasp as she soaked in the sight.

   Marya couldn’t look away from Lilian; the sheer brilliance of the sunset paled in comparison to the wonder shining in her friend’s eyes. “Yeah, beautiful,” she murmured, her heart swelling with something unnamable.

   Lilian turned toward her, her blue eyes widening with sudden realization. In that fleeting moment, clarity flooded her mind. She saw the love reflected in Marya’s gaze, the depth of her devotion laid bare. It was as if the clouds had parted from her heart, allowing her own feelings to surface.

   Without a word, drawn by an invisible force, Lilian leaned closer. Marya, her breath hitching in her throat, met her halfway. Their lips connected in a tender, gentle kiss that held the weight of unspoken emotions and promises. Time seemed to stretch infinitely; for the first time in her entire long existence, Marya felt a profound, genuine happiness blooming within her.

   In that magical instant, the world beyond them faded away, and all that mattered was Lilian – their connection, the warmth of their shared breath, and the pulse of something extraordinary swirling in the twilight around them.

🦇

   Mina Harker could feel an urgency coursing through her veins as she rushed through the fog-laden streets of London. The chilling mist seemed to wrap around her like a shroud, amplifying her sense of dread and determination. Determined to unveil the sinister truth behind the horrifying events she’d recently faced and what had been written in her husband’s journal, she was driven by an insistent need to confront Professor Van Helsing. He was the one person who seemed to possess insights into the darkness that had seeped into her life.

   With each hurried step, her mind was a tempest of unanswered questions, swirling like the fog that obscured her path. When she found his room, her heart racing wildly, a cacophony of fear and resolve resonating within her as she hammered her fist against the wood, her voice trembling yet resolute as she called out to him.

   “Professor Van Helsing!” she cried, the panic unmistakably lacing her words. “I need to speak with you! Please… You must help me. I beg you! I need to understand what is happening. My husband’s journal is filled with horrors beyond comprehension. Why does Jonathan believe in these monstrous events so fiercely that it has torn apart the man I hold dear? Why was there a… a demon of a woman pursuing him on the train? Why... why is my sister dead?” As the final words escaped her lips, tears pooled in her eyes, the weight of her anguish threatening to consume her.

   The door swung open slowly, revealing Van Helsing’s formidable figure, his expression grave and somber, more unyielding than the door he had just opened.

   “Who is Dracula?” Mina asked, her voice wavering slightly as she stood in the dimly lit hallway.

   Van Helsing nodded with understanding and quickly ushered her inside, casting a cautious glance behind to ensure she’d not been followed. He closed the door with a decisive click, the sound echoing in the silence that enveloped them.

   Once inside, Mina sank into a chair at the modest table in the room, her breath still coming in quick gasps as she struggled to stead her fraying nerves. Van Helsing, ever the consummate host despite the dire circumstances, prepared tea, hoping the warmth and the soothing aroma might anchor her drifting thoughts. As he sat across from her, his hands clasped together in front of him, he met her gaze. His expression was grave but resolute as he tried to gauge whether or not to tell Mina the truth. He knew that Mina had already been drawn into this dark world, and there was no turning back now. With a sigh he made his decision; she deserved – no, she needed – the truth.

   “There is an old saying in my family, Mrs. Harker,” he began, his voice low yet powerful, “‘In the absence of light, darkness prevails.’ Make no mistake; there are creatures of dark forces lurking in the shadows, and, tragically, you have found yourself entangled in a world that is as ancient as it is terrifying: the world of vampires.”

   As Mina sat there, absorbing his words, Van Helsing began to lay bare the horrifying intricacies of Dracula’s machinations. “The creature that attacked us on the train was no mere woman,” he elaborated with a gravity that pressed down on her shoulders. “She was a vampire, an undead monster that feeds on the blood of the living. A servant of Count Dracula himself. And the Count…” His voice dropped, as though uttering the name invoked an intense danger. “Dracula is no ordinary man. He is one of the most powerful vampires in history; the original vampire. The one who all vampires trace their dark lineage back to.”

   “Centuries ago,” Van Helsing continued to explain, pulling out old tomes to illustrate the story he was unfolding. “He was the prince of Transylvania, a warlord whose evil was so terrifying his own allies betrayed and imprisoned him. But that was not enough. In the darkness of his cell, wasting away in darkness for years, he forged a dark pact with the devil himself, becoming Satan’s lieutenant and a curse upon humankind. A malevolent entity that has existed for centuries, drawing life from the blood of the living to perpetuate his unholy existence.”

   Mina felt her breath hitch in her throat, a wave of disbelief and dread washing over her. Her heart hammered wildly as the fragmented pieces started falling into place, forming a picture that was overwhelmingly horrific. Though she had harbored suspicions about the Count since the moment she met him, hearing Van Helsing’s recounts made the reality all the more terrifying.

   “But why is he here?” Mina gasped, her voice barely above a whisper. “Why come to London? Why now?”

   “That is what I’ve been striving to unravel,” Van Helsing replied, a pinched expression of frustration crossing his face. “I’ve poured over my research, trying to piece it together, but the connections elude me. It is as if there is a hidden thread that binds it all, yet it remains just out of reach.”

   A glimmer of resolve ignited within Mina, and she felt an urge to help, to contribute to understanding this unfathomable nightmare. “Perhaps this can help,” she said, as she reached into her satchel and withdrew Jonathan’s journal, its worn pages a testament to both his struggle and her desperation. Not only had Jonathan detailed the events of his stay in Dracula’s dark castle, but he also made notes of his conversations with the Count and the business they conducted – giving them some insight into Dracula’s plans.

   Together, they meticulously compared notes, pouring over Jonathan’s entries and aligning them with information gathered from various sources. Their investigation led them to the local newspapers, where the obituaries and business sections revealed an unsettling trend – key figures within the city’s industries were either mysteriously deceased, had transferred ownership to untraceable entities, were coerced into silence, or, worse yet, had been enthralled by Dracula’s dark influence.

   From the powerful steel and iron manufacturers that granted Dracula dominion over the production of materials vital for constructing weapons of war, to the essential transportation networks and shipping routes that provided him the means to move his forces and supplies across the country discreetly and out from the light of day. The automotive factories, innovators shaping the future of travel, lay in the grips of Dracula’s ambition, poised to produce vehicles and war machines that would serve his campaign of terror.

   Furthermore, the telegraph broadcasts crisscrossing the nation meant Dracula could manipulate the flow of information, severing communication between critical regions, sowing confusion and ensuring his plans remained shrouded in secrecy. Even the Barings Bank, one of the most powerful financial institutions in the world, was implicated, granting Dracula the financial means to fuel his war in the shadows, all while arousing no suspicion from the public eye. And last, but certainly not least, influential members of Parliament had unknowingly or willingly become pawns in his game, ensuring that Dracula’s schemes would face no hurdles from the British government.

   As they unraveled this intricate web, Mina and Van Helsing realized the chilling reality: Dracula was not merely seeking dominion over London; he intended to assert control over the entire United Kingdom. Once he had solidified his power base, he would initiate a brutal war against humanity, transforming the citizens of London into either his unwitting slaves and blood cattle or his vampiric soldiers, drawn to do his bidding.

   Mina’s heart raced as the weight of their findings settled upon her. “This can’t be real,” she said, horror echoing in her voice.

   “I’m afraid it is,” Van Helsing replied, his brow knitted with concern that deepened with each revelation. “Dracula has chosen London as the epicenter of his resurgence, a cornerstone for forging a new domain of darkness. He aims to set this great city ablaze with his war machines while holding its citizens at his mercy.” His voice, steady yet fraught with urgency, carried the gravity of their task. “I should have realized sooner. London is not a mere city; it’s a symbol – the birth place of where the Industrial Revolution began. The rapid advancements in technology and industry provide him with a wealth of resources for constructing his insidious weapons and machines of war. But, beyond this…”

   “What, Professor?” Mina interjected, sensing the weight of unspoken fears in his tone.

   Van Helsing paused the weight of what he was about to say hanging heavy in his heart – a dark secret poised to shatter Mina’s already precarious reality. “It is also where his wife, Lisa, was tragically murdered,” he said finally, revealing an illustration from one of his oldest tomes on myths and legends.

   As Mina’s eyes fell upon the aged page, she gasped, dropping her teacup which shattered just like the world around her. Her heart filled with horror at what lay before her. For on the page was a depiction of Lisa Tepes – and she looked exactly like her sister, Lucy.

   “Yes,” Van Helsing affirmed, noting the horror in her expression. “I’m afraid that your connection to Dracula is by no mere coincidence. Your sister was, is, the reincarnation of his wife, lost centuries ago.”

   “What do you mean ‘is’?” Mina demanded, her voice trembling. “My sister is dead because of this… this monster. And if Dracula believed she was this… Lisa, why would he kill her?”

   “He didn’t simply kill her, Mina,” Van Helsing explained, his voice heavy with sorrow. “Your sister still lives, though in an unholy form of unlife. She fell victim to Dracula’s darkness; she was transformed – turned into a vampire under his evil influence, corrupting her very soul and turning her into a creature of the night. I saw the signs and tried to intervene, to stop her from rising again so that she may rest in peace, but I was a fool. In my anger and desperation, I made a mistake and killed the wrong vampire.”

   “No… No, it can’t be… Lucy.” Tears welled up in Mina’s eyes, she couldn’t believe what Van Helsing was telling her. If he’d told her these things days ago, she would’ve laughed him off, thinking he was a madman. But she’d seen things, things she couldn’t explain. And now, now she knew what’d happened to her sister. Her heart ached; her sister’s killer had been right under her nose this whole time, bidding his time to snuff out Lucy’s light – to corrupt her pure heart and turn her into a monster.

   Mina forcibly pushed back her sorrow, a surge of anger overcoming her. She’d never felt this rage inside her before, that engulfed her. She now knew who was responsible for her husband’s disappearance and his descent into madness. The one who had unleashed that demon upon them and tried to kill them. The one who had taken her sister from her. She lifted her gaze to Van Hesling, who, despite having faced countless terrors in his time, was taken aback by the seething need for vengeance in Mina’s eyes. “How do we stop him?” she demanded, determination infusing her voice.

   Van Heling looked into her eyes, discerning if she truly was up to the task for what lay ahead. “We’re going to need some help.” Van Helsing resolved.

🦇

   Marya’s heart was light as she walked Lilian home after their beautiful day together. The joy of their kiss still lingered on her lips, and for the first time in centuries, she felt something close to peace.

   But… that peace was shattered the moment she saw where Lilian had taken her.

   The house before her was all too familiar. Its tall, imposing structure, the ivy crawling up its brick walls, the iron gate that creaked in the wind –the home of the headmaster. The man she had killed in a fit of rage. The man whose blood had stained her hands.

   “No…” Marya whispered. Her voice was barely audible, but Lilian turned to her, a soft smile on her face, unaware of the storm brewing inside Marya.

   “So, this is where I live,” Lilian said. “With my parents and grandmother now… since my grandfather passed away.”

   Marya’s breath caught in her throat. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of what she was hearing. Lilian’s grandfather… the headmaster? The man she had murdered in cold blood? The realization hit her like a stake through the heart.

   “He was killed by some wild animal in his sleep,” Lilian said sadly. “It’s been hard on all of us.”

   Marya’s world spun. The ground beneath her felt like it was crumbling away. She had killed him. She had taken Lilian’s grandfather from her, the very person Lilian had been mourning. The person she loved with all her heart. And now Lilian loved her – Marya, the monster who had ripped her family apart.

   “What have I done?” Marya thought.

   But there was no time to react. Lilian took her hand and led her inside, introducing her to her family. Marya’s mind was a blur as she met Lilian’s parents and grandmother, all of whom were kind and welcoming, their grief still palpable. They had no idea that the girl standing before them was the very creature responsible for their loss.

   As they sat in the living room, Marya’s eyes were drawn to the mantle above the fireplace. There, surrounded by small memorials and tokens of love, was a picture of the headmaster. His stern face stared back at her, a reminder of the night she had taken his life. The night she had let the darkness inside her take control.

   The weight of her guilt was suffocating, but she forced herself to smile, to nod politely as Lilian’s family spoke. Inside, though, her heart was breaking.

🦇

   Later that night, Marya found herself sitting beside Lilian in her bed. Lilian had fallen asleep, her breathing soft and steady, her golden curls spread out on the pillow like rays of sunlight. Marya sat in silence, watching her, her mind a storm of emotions. She’d killed Lilian’s grandfather, she’d taken from her someone she loved. In her moment of rage and weakness against the darkness within her, she’d hurt the love of her unlife. How could she ever tell her? How could she ever make this right? The afternoon had been filled with so much happiness, and now it was slipping away

   Her hands trembled as she thought about the blood on them, the blood of the innocent. She had tried so hard to leave that life behind, to be better, to be worthy of the love she felt for Lilian. But now, it seemed like the darkness inside her would never let her go. [Journey to Bethlehem – In My Blood; albeit gender appropriate]

   She stood up, careful not to disturb Lilian, and began pacing the room – even walking on the walls and ceiling. Her thoughts turned to her father, Dracula, and the life she had once led. Back then, back when she was just a recently turned vampire, she had been proud to be his daughter. She had worshipped him like a god. She could hear his voice echo in the halls of Castle Dracula like thunder as he commanded his vampire kingdom. She’d followed his every command, fighting in his name, set on a mission to prove she was worthy of approval from him – worthy of being his adopted daughter and the princess of vampires. She’d earned the title of the Scarlet Princess for being brave, feared and fearless, ruthless and relentless – just like he’d been.

   “So…” Marya thought. “Am I just like you?” The question echoed in her mind, and she shook her head violently, shouting in her mind “No!”, trying to push the thought away. But was that true? What kind of queen ran through her blood? What kind of woman had she become? She didn’t know anymore. She felt trapped by the darkness that coursed through her veins, a prisoner of her own nature. Could she ever change? Could she ever be free of the curse that bound her to the night? When her darkness was in her very blood?

   Her mind wandered back to the grand halls of Castle Dracula, where she had once walked with pride. The vampiric soldiers in their obsidian armor had lined the walls, their eyes filled with reverence as she passed. At the end of the hall, seated on his throne, had been Dracula, the king of vampires, her father, and beside him, her mother, Lisa Tepes, the queen of vampires.

   Marya had been a good soldier back then; never been anything but her father’s loyal daughter. She had followed her father’s orders without question, never questioning him once, spilling blood in his name, earning his approval. All she had wanted was to be like him, to prove that she was worthy of being his daughter.

   But now… now her world was unraveling. She hated who she had been. She hated the blood on her hands, the innocent lives she had taken. She thought it was all behind her. And yet… she had hurt the one person she loved more than anything in the world. She didn’t know anymore if she was a monster or the daughter of a king.

   She looked down at Lilian, her heart aching. Even if she never forgave her, one day, Lilian would grow old and die, just like all mortals did. She would wither away, and Marya would be left alone, just as she had always been. But it didn’t have to be that way. All it would take was a few drops of Marya’s blood, and Lilian could live forever. They could be together for eternity – just like her father had done with her mother.

   “No!” Marya screamed in her mind. The thought horrified her. She couldn’t do that to Lilian. She couldn’t steal her humanity, her warmth, her light. But the temptation was there, lurking in the back of her mind, whispering to her. She couldn’t stay. She had to get away before the darkness consumed her completely. Before she did something she could never take back.

   In a flash, Marya transformed into a swirling cloud of mist, her body dissolving into the night. She slipped through the window, the sound of the wind rushing past her waking Lilian from her sleep. Lilian sat up, confused, her eyes searching the room for Marya. “Marya?” she called out.

   But Marya was already gone, racing across the rooftops of London, her heart pounding in her chest. The city blurred beneath her as she ran, her thoughts spiraling out of control. She had to get away, afraid she’d hurt Lilian… or worse. She had to protect Lilian from herself, from the monster she feared she was. She had thought she could find redemption. But now, it seemed like the darkness would always be a part of her, no matter how hard she tried to fight it.

   Tears streamed down her face as she fled into the night, her heart breaking with every step. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she had to get away. Away from Lilian. Away from the pain. Away from the darkness that threatened to consume her.

   But no matter how far she ran, she couldn’t escape the truth.

   The darkness was in her blood.

   And it always would be.

Chapter 9: What Could Have Been

Chapter Text

Dark Universe

Image

Written by Andrew Downs and Thomas Lapeyrouse III


On this fateful night, three mistakes were made, each committed by a different individual. Deliberate actions, born out of impulsive decisions. Three choices that would irrevocably turn the world upside down and alter the course of fate forever.

🦇

   In the dimly lit study of the Westenra Estate, shadows danced against the walls as Professor Abraham Van Helsing convened a critical meeting with the four men his new ally Mina Harker trusted the most – four men she knew had stakes in the fight against Dracula: Mina’s husband Jonathan Harker, her sister’s fiancé Arthur Holmwood, her closest friend Quincy P. Morris, and her sister’s personal physician Dr. Jack Seward.

   They should have trusted only three.

   The room was silent, save for the crackling of the fire in the hearth, as Van Helsing detailed the horrors they he and Mina had uncovered. Lucy, who had once radiated vitality and joy, had fallen victim to a malevolent force – Count Dracula. Van Helsing explained the transformation that had taken place, describing how the innocent girl they all cherished had become a creature of darkness, a vampire destined to roam the night and feast on the blood of the living. A servant now to an ancient and powerful evil that sought to claim London as his own in his war against humanity. The weight of this revelation hung heavily in the air around the table, but not all present were convinced.

   Arthur leaned forward, his skepticism edging into disbelief. “Surely, there must be some other explanation,” he said, his voice laced with doubt. “Vampires? It seems… impossible. I’ve met the Count and while I hold no positive outlook on the man, to claim he seeks to wage war against all of humanity…”

   Dr. Seward, too, struggled with the concept. “Professor Van Helsing,” he protested, his brow furrowing further. “Modern medical science does not admit of such a creature! The vampire is a pure myth, superstition, a fabrication of folklore. Nothing like it exists in the natural world.” As a man of science, he found it difficult to reconcile the supernatural with his understanding of the world.

   Arthur chimed in again, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Exactly. It simply cannot be.”

   Van Helsing nodded to Mina, who left to fetch something from the foyer. Van Helsing then met Arthur and Seward’s resistance with a calm yet determined gaze. “But what if I were to show you proof that the superstition of yesterday can indeed become the scientific reality of today?” he inquired, his eyes narrowing fiercely.

   Arthur’s smirk reappeared, laced with derision. “Then I would say you were as much of a magician as you are a medical doctor,” he shot back, his aim to wound. The sting of Van Helsing’s failure to save Lucy hung heavily in the air, sharpening the edge of Arthur’s words. Arthur turned to Mina as she reentered, returning with a satchel she handed to Van Helsing. “I’m truly sorry, Mina,” Arthur said, shaking his head ruefully. “You’ve been taken in by this charlatan, who couldn’t save your sister and now insists that she wanders the night as some grotesque.”

   “Arthur!” Seward interjected, his brow furrowing in frustration. “While I may not agree with this belief that vampires exist, or that the dead can rise again, I have known Van Helsing for many years. If he said he would save someone’s life, then you can be assured he would’ve moved heaven and hell to get the job done.” Arthur scoffed as he walked away from the table and turned his back on them, striding towards the fireplace where he lit his smoking pipe.

   “Yet, Professor,” Seward returned his gaze to Van Helsing, his voice steady but tinged with uncertainty. “you must understand that if such a creature truly existed, then museums would be filled with artifacts detailing them. But none do. There is nothing – no credible evidence to support this outside of folklore and myth. No one, to my knowledge, has even so much as laid eyes on one of these creatures.”

   Quincy, the pragmatic Texan, finally interjected, “I have.” His voice was steady but weighed down by his own harrowing experiences. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes,” he asserted, a seriousness creeping into his tone. “In fact, I fought one of the damned creatures on the return train here – along with Van Helsing, Jonathan, and Mina. Jack, she… that thing wasn’t human, and it sure as hell wasn’t natural.” Jonathan and Mina exchanged fearful glances, their experiences wrought with fear and disbelief, nodding in affirmation as they recalled the terror of that encounter.

   Arthur, unwilling to relent, retorted. “More likely you had a few too many hard drinks, my friend, and are still reeling from this old man’s tall tales.” However, Jack seemed to be considering Quincy’s account. “You can’t be serious? Well, if you all wish to continue this game of monsters and heroes without any proof but this man’s words, then be my guest, but I will not be a part of such madne-”

   Arthur’s skepticism was cut short as Van Helsing reached into the satchel and produced a ghastly piece of evidence: Varney’s charred skull. Arthur and Seward backed away as Van Helsing placed the skull squarely in the middle of the table, letting the dim light illuminate its macabre surface. The sight of the skull’s scorched surface, its large vampiric fangs still intact, sent an icy chill coursing through the room; a haunting reminder of the very real dangers they faced. Eyes widened in horror, Arthur and Seward stared in silence, grappling with the undeniable truth that loomed before them – the supernatural forces they had dismissed as mere legends were disturbingly real.

   “Would this proof suffice?” Van Helsing asked, testing the men to question the reality before them. “This is no myth, no superstition.” he declared gravely, his voice low and serious. “This is the visage of the evil that walks among us, a blight on our world.”

   Slowly, the skepticism in Arthur and Seward’s eyes began to fade, replaced by a growing sense of dread. The evidence was undeniable. The supernatural forces they had once dismissed as mere legends were all too real.

   “So, it’s true,” Seward said, still trying to make sense of it all. “And you said… you said Lucy had been turned into o-one of these things?”

   “Regrettably, yes.” Van Helsing affirmed.

   Dr. Seward, motivated by a fervent sense of duty, focused on the urgency of saving Lucy’s soul from an eternity of torment. To think the woman he’d once loved and had tried to the best of his abilities to save was now cursed as some bloodthirsty monster… it sent a child down his spine.

   Arthur’s mind, however, veered into darker thoughts. The idea that Lucy, now transformed into a vampire, might retain some semblance of consciousness and memories of her life haunted him. If she remembered anything of her former life, the cruelty he had inflicted upon her during her illness, she could expose him as the abusive fiancé he truly was, shattering the façade he’d carefully crafted. This possibility tormented him, driving him to consider… drastic measures.

   To rally support for their difficult task ahead, Arthur suggested, “I can bring men from my father’s iron mills. They may not believe a word of this, but they’ll follow my instructions without question. We’ll need every hand we can get if we’re to confront these monsters.” He framed it as a necessity for strength in numbers, but beneath his calm surface lay a more sinister motivation. He hoped to gather not only the manpower to fight against the vampires, but also to ensure that, should the others oppose him in dispatching Lucy, he would have the means to deal with them.

   The group delved into an earnest discussion about strategies for confronting Lucy and the formidable threat posed by Dracula. Van Helsing explained to the group the nature of vampires, of their various powers and vulnerabilities. He explained that vampires, while formidable, were not invincible and possessed weaknesses – sunlight, silver, and holy symbols – that could be exploited.

   He then distributed some of his specialized weaponry to the assembled men – silver bullets, silver stakes, silver shrapnel grenades, and various implements designed for their grim purpose. He also entrusted Quincy with his automatic crossbow, acknowledging his own fatigue from the intense confrontation with Varney. Quincy accepted the weapon, a grim sense of determination etching lines into his face as he gripped it tightly, knowing that they would soon face a battle unlike any they had ever imagined.

   But above all, Van Helsing emphasized a crucial decree: “Under no circumstances are you to kill Lucy.” His eyes were intense, radiating a mixture of determination and concern. “If you were to end her life in her current state, you would condemn her soul to an eternity of torment in the depths of hell. Our mission is to locate her and capture her, so we can either bring her back here or to another secure location, where I can work on a cure to restore her to her true humanity.”

   Quincy, his brow furrowed with worry, interjected, “And what if the Count discovers our plan? What then?”

   A faint smile touched Van Helsing’s lips, revealing a flicker of righteous wickedness in his plans. “Then we’ll have the perfect bait to lure him and his minions into our trap.”

🦇

   Meanwhile, in the darkened study of Carfax Abbey, Dracula stood at the head of a large, ancient table carved from dark obsidian. The room was filled with the quiet hum of anticipation, punctuated only by the quiet hum of distant otherworldly whispers from the shadows and the faint, metallic tang of blood emanating from intricately designed goblets that sat on the table. Dracula’s piercing eyes scanned over the maps and drafted documents spread before him, detailing the intricate labyrinth of London – its streets, alleyways, and his hidden strongholds – and the carefully orchestrated plans for the upcoming war against humanity. The weight of centuries of scheming plans hung in the air like a heavy mist; plans that were nearly complete. Soon, their war would begin.

   Flanking Dracula on either side were his wife Lisa Ţepeş and his trusted assistant Verona Vilisevic. Lisa, though supportive of her husband, stood poised yet conflicted, her powerful vampiric instincts subdued by the remnants of a grand feast the night prior. The echoes of the sanguine banquet lingered in her senses, allowing the more tender, rational aspects of her mind – those reminiscent of her mortal identity as Lucy Westenra – to start to take hold. Verona, meanwhile, sharp-eyed and pragmatic, surveyed the logistical details of their ambitious campaign with a cold, calculating demeanor. Her mind was a steel trap, absorbing every possibility and risk, as she meticulously analyzed the information spread before them.

   On one side of the table, Marishka Karelova was brimming with barely contained fury, her simmering resentment directed towards Lisa for standing so close to their master. Next to her, Aleera Popofsky exhibited a detached indifference, her fingers absent-mindedly fiddling with the assorted pieces that Dracula used for strategizing his military maneuverings, her mind drifting far from the weighty discussions at hand to thoughts of the hunt. Across from them stood the formidable Countess Carmilla of Styria, who’d arrived ahead of schedule, her presence commanding attention. Her presence had been a unique surprise to Dracula and his clan, but they were more than happy to have her in attendance. She’d expressed her desire to assist Dracula in finalizing his preparations for war, eager for the moment when Varney would officially cede control of London to Dracula in front of the assembled Vampire Council so that the war could finally commence.

   Dracula’s voice, low and magnetically soothing, broke through the charged silence. “Soon, London will be ours,” he proclaimed, a hint of dark triumph lacing his words, which contrasted sharply with the malice that simmered just beneath the surface, like a volcano ready to erupt. “And from there, the world will follow in our wake.”

   Carmilla leaned forward, a sinister smile curling her lips revealing her fangs. “The humans won’t suspect a thing, my lord,” she purred, her voice a silky whisper infused with ravenous ambition, seductive in its allure. “As you said, their time is over, and soon we will step into the glorious age of vampires.”

   Dracula’s eyes glinted with cold satisfaction. He had waited centuries for this moment, and now, it was within his grasp. But just as he was about to speak again, the sound of footsteps echoed through the abbey. His keen senses immediately recognized the presence of his daughter, Marya Drăcoaia Ţepeş. She had returned, but something was wrong. He could feel the sadness radiating from her, a deep sorrow that tugged at the edges of his consciousness.

   Marya had returned to the desolate and foreboding Carfax Abbey, her heart heavy with the weight of her guilt and sorrow. As she moved through the abbey’s shadowy corridors, her presence was akin to that of a specter, her thoughts still entangled in the traumatic events that had unfolded at Lilian’s home. She had inflicted pain on the one she cherished most, and now, she didn’t know if she could ever make things right. The sense of belonging she had once felt faded into a distant memory, overshadowed by the emotional turmoil within her. As she ascended the winding staircase, a flicker of movement caught her eye, and she felt a rush of relief as Lisa and Aleera approached, their faces etched with concern.

   The warm glow of moonlight streaming through the windows danced around Lisa’s features, illuminating her worried expression as she drew closer to her daughter. Her instincts as a mother told her that something terrible had happened. “Marya, my darling, what’s wrong?” she asked softly, her voice like a soothing balm against the rising tide of tension that filled the atmosphere.

   Aleera, always more direct and impatient, stepped forward, her eyes narrowing as she studied Marya’s expression. “What happened with Lilian?” she pressed, concern tinged with frustration. “You were so happy with her earlier. What changed?”

   At the mention of Lilian’s name, Marya felt her heart clench painfully, the memories flooding back and twisting like knives in her gut. As she glanced at her mother and Aleera, a whirlwind of confusion and guilt threatened to overwhelm her. She wanted to tell them everything, to pour out her heart, but the words caught in her throat like a choking mist. How could she possibly convey the horror of having taken Lilian’s grandfather from her? That she had hurt the one person she loved more than anything? And would they even understand? Would they mourn a mere human life as fiercely as she did? Her voice emerged trembling, wavering on the precipice of despair. “I... I hurt her. I hurt the one I love.”

   Before she could say more, a cold, imperious voice cut through the air like a blade, sending an icy shiver racing down Marya’s spine.

   “And who is Lilian?” Dracula said, sternly, his voice echoing through the halls of the abbey. He appeared at the top of the staircase, his presence commanding and filled with authority. His crimson cloak billowed behind him, casting an imposing silhouette against the moonlight streaming from the stained-glass windows. His dark eyes, usually so inscrutable, were locked on his daughter with a mixture of disappointment and barely contained anger. Lisa and Aleera instinctively took a step back, sensing the tension that was about to erupt. Marya froze, her heart pounding in her chest. Marya froze as she saw him, her heart racing in her chest. She had known this moment would come, but she wasn’t ready for it.

   “Well?” Dracula pressed, his impatience blatant. Marya’s breath caught in her throat, a visceral fear gripping her. She had never disclosed Lilian’s existence to her father; the very thought of his reaction sent tremors through her. Now, she stood paralyzed, her trembling hands clenching tightly at her sides. “Answer me!” he shouted, his voice reverberating with authority.

   Unable to find her voice, Marya remained silent, a cacophony of emotions swirling within her. It was Aleera, seeking to spare Marya, who broke the tension, her voice cutting through the silence. “She’s a human girl that the princess was courting, master.” The words spilled out, revealing Marya’s secret to the unforgiving light of Dracula’s gaze. Marya’s gaze turned to Aleera, feeling betrayed.

   With a sharp sigh, Dracula pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “I consider myself a reasonable man.” he stated, his voice calm, but there was an edge to it, a warning that Marya had crossed the line. “I set certain rules to protect you and our kind, and I expect those rules to be obeyed. You were to remain by our side during your mother’s first hunt, Marya, yet you disobeyed me. You simply vanished without so much as a word! Do you comprehend the dangers that lurk outside, Marya? A hunter, Van Helsing, the descendant of Solomon Kane is prowling the streets this very moment, intent on our annihilation! Do you think I could bear the thought of finding my heir, my daughter, staked through the heart by silver?”

   Marya felt her father’s words weigh heavily upon her; the chilling reality of Van Helsing’s legacy of destruction against vampires frightened her. “But Father, I—” she began, her voice faltering with a desperate plea for understanding. Her heart raced as her mind scrambled for something that would cement an understanding between her and her father’s expectations.

   “Enough!” Dracula’s voice rose with a frigid fury, echoing ominously in the cavernous hall. “I have been beyond accommodating regarding your misguided notions of socializing with humans by permitting your attendance at that human school, simply because your mother’s mortal sister taught there, and allowing you to pursue this…. this Lilian.” The stark realization crashed over Marya like a wave; her father had known, all this time, of her secret escapades at Queen’s College and the girl that’d stolen her heart.

   “Have you any comprehension how reckless that was? If it hadn’t been for Marishka diligently watching over you, you could’ve easily been discovered, jeopardizing everything we have fought so hard to work towards!” A glance at Marishka revealed a smug satisfaction etched across her face, an unsettling reminder that Marya had been monitored all along. This entire time, she’d been watching her the whole time! The nights at the College flooded back into focus; the subtle presence of bats flitting in the shadows, Marishka’s familiar spies, now took on a more sinister context.

   “Now,” Dracula declared, his voice taking on an ominous weight as he broke through Marya’s thoughts, “you shall put aside your childish dreams of mingling with the livestock. It is time you remembered who you truly are, my Scarlet Princess, and took your rightful place by my side as we prepare for the war that lies ahead.” With that, he turned sharply, striding deliberately towards his study, his crimson cloak swirling around him.

   While the others followed him – Lisa and Aleera giving Marya sympathetic glances – their footsteps echoing on the cold stone floor. Marya remained rooted in place, and a quiet defiance surged within her. “… no,” she murmured, her voice scarcely louder than a whisper yet filled with an unmistakable conviction.

   Dracula halted abruptly, his back turned to her, the bright flash of an abrupt appearing storm’s lighting casting a shadowed silhouette that seemed to pulse with an ominous energy. “Say that again,” he commanded, his voice low, dangerous, crackling with a tension that sent shivers down everyone’s spine. The air between them crackled with tension, electric and suffocating. Marya whispered something under her breath, but the words evaded clarity; it was only when Dracula spun around, his eyes flashing with impatience, that he roared, “Speak up!”

   “I said no!” Marya shouted, her voice piercing through the heavy atmosphere. The others instinctively recoiled, stepping back as the space between Dracula and his daughter ignited with the heat of their glaring confrontation.

   “No?” Dracula echoed, incredulity lacing his tone. “You dare to defy my command?”

   “If you want to burn the whole world down, fine!” Marya shouted, each word reverberating with fierce resolve. “But I will no longer be a part of it! I will not partake in hurting the innocent or the one I love anymore!”

   Dracula’s shock was palpable as he gaped at her, his jaw slackening, a mixture of disbelief and seething rage contorting his features. “No!” he exclaimed, incredulous, his voice rising in a cocktail of desperation and fury. “Have you lost your senses completely? She’s a human! You’re a vampire!”

   “I don’t care,” Marya shot back, her voice trembling, the weight of suppressed emotions threatening to explode within her

   Dracula’s face contorted with a seething rage, his once regal demeanor now marred by a tempest of emotions. His voice, low and ominous, reverberated through the cold night air. “So, help me, Marya,” he growled, each word laced with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. “I am going to get through to you. And if this is the only way, so be it!” In an instant, he morphed into a swirling mass of bats, a chaotic whirlwind of dark wings – the very embodiment of his fury manifesting as they rushed toward the balcony. His intent was unmistakable: he intended to find Lilian Gray and end his daughter’s rebellion once and for all.

   “No!” Marya cried out in a panic, her voice echoing with desperation against the stone walls of Carfax Abbey.

   As her heart raced like a wild drum and fear coursed through her veins like ice, Marya tapped into her own supernatural abilities, transforming into a storm of bats to chase after him into the inky darkness of the night where a powerful thunderstorm had abruptly apparated moments ago. The others of Dracula’s clan rushed out to the balcony, watching as the two flocks collided with a violent force that echoed the thunderstorm around them, their forms twisting and spiraling in a breathtaking yet chaotic dance of power and rage. Claws and teeth seemed to hunger for flesh, gnashing in the air as the beating of wings, cries of bats and crash of thunder filled the air, a cacophony that reverberated ominously and sent echoes across the landscape.

   With a final, devastating blow that seemed to crack the very air, Dracula sent Marya crashing forcefully onto the balcony, forcefully returning to her human form. The impact jolted through her, and with a fierce determination, she struggled to her feet, her eyes blazing with defiance, the flames of her spirit burning brightly as she refused to be extinguished. Dracula landed several feet away, a dark figure re-emerging with an unsettling grace, his wounds already starting to mend with supernatural speed.

   Dracula’s expression twisted into a violent storm of pain and rage, each feature reflecting a tumult of emotions as he shouted, “I do not understand, Marya. Why? Why!” His voice boomed, heavy with disbelief and despair. “Why would you side with the humans? They took everything from us! They took your mother from us!” The words echoed through the midnight air, reverberating off the cold stone walls.

   Marya’s breath came in frantic gasps, each inhale steeped in the adrenaline of conflict. The intensity of their clash gnawed at her, an exhausting battle both physically and emotionally. With fierce determination, Marya shot back, her voice breaking through the tension like glass shattering. “She’s standing right there!” she shouted, her finger trembling as it pointed toward the doorway. There, Lisa stood frozen, her face a portrait of fear and sorrow, the weight of her husband and daughter’s fierce argument pressing heavily on her shoulders.

   Dracula paused, his fury momentarily silenced, as his daughter’s words sliced through his rage. He turned to look at Lisa – the woman he had adored for centuries, whose spirit he had fought to preserve, whose life he had stained his hands with blood to protect. Yet, in his obsessive hatred for humanity, he now saw in her wide, terrified eyes fear – fear of him.

   “You are so consumed by vengeance against people who died centuries ago,” Marya said, her voice quavering, heavy with anguish. Tears began to pool in her eyes as she continued, “that you can’t even see the miracle that is right in front of you.” The raw emotion in her tone crackled in the air, each word punctuating the suffocating tension.

   The weight of her words lingered in the charged air, suffocating the moment. Silence enveloped them, feeling as if time had stretched into an eternity, each second stretching longer than the last. Slowly, Dracula’s ire began to dissolve, replaced instead by a profound, aching sorrow that settled deep within his chest, squeezing the breath from his lungs. With a voice that trembled under the strain of his emotions, he commanded, “Leave my sight,” as he turned away from Marya, his heart heavy with despair.

   “What?” she asked, her voice a fragile whisper that barely broke the silence.

   “You are no longer my daughter,” he uttered, each word piercing his heart like a dagger. The declaration was fraught with pain, the finality of it hanging in the air like a bitter fog. “If you choose to be with the humans, then you can perish with them!”

   As the enormity of his words settled over Marya, a wave of unbearable anguish crashed over her. “I hate you!” she screamed, the rawness of her feelings spilling forth. In that moment of intense sorrow, she transformed into a swirling flock of bats, their wings flapping wildly as they took to the sky. Tears streamed through her transformation, a lament for a love she could no longer hold onto, as her whole world disintegrated around her like ashes in the wind.

   As he watched his daughter take off into the night sky, Dracula knelt on the cold balcony, his heart heavy with a mix of anger, sadness and regret. As the weight of his daughter’s powerful words echoed in his mind, Lisa approached him, her presence like a gentle yet firm breeze. Her voice was soft, but there was a strength in it that he had not heard in centuries. “She’s right, Vlad,” she said gently, her tone imbued with compassion.

   Dracula turned to face her, his eyes clouded with sorrow, reflecting a lifetime of choices that had led him to this moment. “I can’t abide by the evil we’ve done,” she confessed, her voice trembling with the weight of her remorse. “What I’ve become… and what you’ve become. Marya is right. It’s time to move on.”

   The ache in Dracula’s heart intensified at her words, but he knew they were true. He had allowed himself to be blinded, consumed by a hatred for humanity so profound that he had lost sight of everything that mattered. Of the love he had once shared with Lisa, the life they had once lived with Marya, back when they were the center of his world, now overshadowed by the monster he had been forced to become.

   “I want the man I fell in love with back,” she said, her voice trembling yet resolute, her gaze piercing through his veil of despair. “The man I see in your eyes – the one who held me close and danced with me beneath the crescent moon.” Lisa reached out; her hand, though cold to the touch, was warm and inviting, grounding him in a reality he thought he had lost forever. “I long for him, not the creature you’ve become. You are still capable of kindness; I can feel it.”

   Lisa’s hand, though icy to the touch, was imbued with a warmth that anchored him in a reality he feared had slipped away forever. “It’s time for us to leave this place behind. To return to our home in Transylvania. I don’t know if it’s possible, but let’s try to live in harmony with humans. It’s time to forgive and to move on.”

   Her words washed over him like a cleansing tide, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Dracula felt a flicker of hope ignite in his ancient heart. He had spent centuries consumed by hatred and a need for vengeance, as he looked into the eyes of the woman he loved and saw the sorrow etched upon his daughter’s face, he realized he had stumbled upon a profound opportunity for redemption and renewal – a chance to be the man he once was.

    “You’re right,” he said softly, his voice steadying. “It’s time to lay the past to rest.” With a resolve he hadn’t felt in ages, he turned to his brides who stood off to the side. “Prepare to leave for Transylvania. We’re going home.” Verona bowed her head in agreement, her face glowing with hope, while Aleera smiled brightly, her joy uncontainable. Marishka stood still, her demeanor cold and aloof, yet she accepted her master’s command with a subtle nod. Carmilla, however, did not take his news well.

   “But sire,” she interjected, her voice laced with doubt and hesitation. “The war… Surely you don’t mean—” The low growl that rumbled from deep within Dracula silenced her instantly, a primal sound steeped in centuries of authority and power. Understanding the gravity of the moment, Carmilla lowered her gaze, stepping back in submission. “Of course, forgive me… master,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, as the chilling truth of his resolve settled in.

   As Dracula attempted to fly off to find Marya and apologize, Lisa gently interjected, insisting that she should go instead; Marya would still be too hurt to listen to him. Understanding this harsh truth, Dracula reluctantly agreed, ordering Marishka and Aleera to accompany Lisa.

   As Lisa and his two brides flew off into the night on their bat wings searching for Marya, Dracula returned to the abbey, followed by Verona and Carmilla, each step echoing with memories of a past rich with laughter and joy. [Count of Monte Cristo – The Man I Used to Be] He had seen a thousand wonders, lived a hundred lifetimes, but not until this moment had he truly understood the gift that was before him: the return of his beloved Lisa. And now he knew that miracles could be real; the hate was gone, and he had a second chance to reclaim the life they had once shared.

   As Dracula walked through the dark halls, he stopped before one of the few intact mirrors in the abbey, his reflection [metaphorical; just for the purposes of the song – not his actual reflection] staring back at him. For the first time in centuries, he saw not the King of Vampires, but was faced to face with the man he used to be. The man who had loved Lisa with all his heart. The man who had dreamed of a future filled with love and peace.

   Suddenly, a flood of memories surged through him, vivid and poignant, like memories of truth returned. Determined, Dracula made a solemn vow. No matter whatever else may come, whatever challenges awaited him and his family, he would no longer be the creature of darkness that had consumed him. Forever in his eyes Lisa would see the man that he used to be. He would be the man Lisa had fallen in love with. The man who had once dared to dream of a better world.

   And so it was, as fleeting as a shadow, all the years of pain and hatred that drove him forward began to melt away. The nights ahead would fall much softer now, tender with the promise of hope that would move on. Dracula envisioned a life with Lisa, with Marya, and with his clan waiting for their return to Transylvania – not as the feared King of Vampires, but as a man in search of redemption. A man willing to learn how to forgive, all for the sake of his wife and daughter whom he cherished.

   For though he had once wandered in blindness, now the light of understanding pierced through the darkness. Once a slave to his despair, he felt free as the bonds of his hatred shattered. He was free – free to resurrect the part of himself that had been lost to the darkness. Free to be the man he used to be.

   As he stood gazing into the mirror, Dracula realized that whatever challenges lay ahead, he would face them resolutely, with Lisa by his side. Together, they would find a way to live in harmony with the world. Together, they would be free.

🦇

   Once Arthur’s men had gathered at the Westenra estate, he went over a carefully fabricated story, designed to rally their spirits for the perilous mission ahead. [Bram Stoker's Dracula – Vampire Hunters] The tension at the estate was palpable, and Mina was beginning to feel worried; this was no longer looking like a group set out to rescue her sister but instead, a mob set out to kill a monster – a mob just like the one from her dream in Whitby.

   Suddenly, one of the men burst through the door, breathless and wide-eyed, his urgency igniting a spark of fear amongst the group. “Sir! Sir! I saw three figures leaving Carfax Abbey!” he exclaimed, his voice trembling. “They were heading towards the graveyard where Lucy is buried!” Believing one of those figures might be Lucy, the men steeled themselves for the dangers that lay ahead.

   However, as the men prepared to embark on their dangerous quest, Jonathan and Mina Harker were not told to stay behind. Jonathan, still trapped in the shadows of emotional turmoil from his harrowing encounters at Castle Dracula, was deemed too fragile for the mission to participate. Mina, too, was deemed too much of a risk; the group feared that her womanly heart could not handle the difficult decisions they’d need were about to face.

   Mina, though, was furious at being excluded. “Lucy is my sister!” she shouted, her voice laced with righteous anger as she stormed toward the assembled men. Her eyes blazed with determination. “I will not stand idly by while you go to save her soul!” Her passionate plea echoed through the manor, invoking a reverberation of guilt and hesitation among the men. They exchanged glances, some visibly shaken by her words.

   Despite her fervor, Van Helsing remained unyielding. The burden of responsibility weighed heavily on his shoulders, and he could not risk Mina’s safety in a mission fraught with peril. “Mina, I understand your pain,” he said firmly, his voice a blend of compassion and resolve. “But you must stay behind.” The look in his eyes was a mix of empathy and determination, but that did little to quell her anger. Seeing her refusal to back down, Van Helsing turned to Quincy with urgency. “Quincy, take her upstairs.” Quincy, though equally reluctant and pained by the situation, obeyed the order.

   Quincy hoisted Mina over his shoulder, her struggles and protests futile against his strength as he carried her to one of the estate’s third-story rooms. Locked inside the room, Mina’s furious cries echoed throughout the stately halls. “You can’t do this!” she shouted, her voice laced with desperation. “Let me out!”

   Jonathan, tasked with watching over her, stood helplessly nearby. He could only listen as Mina banged incessantly on the door, her pleas filled with panic and determination. Deep inside, he wanted to help her, to join the others in their mission, but he knew that they were right. The danger was too great, and he would not risk her life.

   With that, Van Helsing and the rest of the men set out into the night, their hearts heavy with the gravity of their mission. The moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the landscape as they made their way toward the graveyard where Lucy’s mausoleum lay. The air was thick with anticipation; the silence of the night was broken only by the sound of their footsteps and the distant howling of wolves. The hunt had begun, and each man knew that the coming hours could determine not only Lucy’s fate but the fate of them all.

🦇

   As the men made their way to the graveyard, high above them, Lisa, Marishka, and Aleera soared through the night sky. Their dark silhouettes danced against the backdrop of the pale, luminous moon, which cast an otherworldly glow over the desolate landscape below. The wind howled, a mournful cry that carried the chilling scent of blood and death through the air. Below, the graveyard sprawled like a vast labyrinth of shadows, ancient tombstones jutting from the earth like silent sentinels, bearing witness to the horrors soon to unfold.

   Suddenly, Lisa felt a familiar and unmistakable presence lurking within the dim shadows of the graveyard - it was her daughter, Marya. Instinctively, she gestured for the others to follow, her heart racing with urgency.

   As the three vampires glided through the night, they spotted a group of men near Lisa’s recently disturbed grave, scouring the graveyard with determined fervor.

   “What are they doing here?” Lisa’s voice trembled with a mix of fear and frustration.

   “Most likely hunting us, your majesty,” Aleera replied with a grim certainty.

   Marishka, ever the strategist, saw an opportunity from the hunters. With a glint of mischief in her eyes, she whispered, “We can’t attract too much attention by staying together. We must split up.” She turned to Aleera, “You and Her Majesty will search for the princess while I lead the humans away. Trust me; I know how to handle them.”

   Lisa and Aleera exchanged concerned glances, recognizing Marishka’s plan’s logic. They nodded in silent agreement, acutely aware of the ticking clock urging them to find Marya before the hunters did. “Please, be careful,” Lisa urged, her voice filled with motherly concern. For a moment, Marishka saw in Lucy the Lisa she remembered and reconsidered her current plans; this moment lasted only a second. Marishka feigned appreciation for the gesture, but inside her mind, she was working on a scheme to get rid of her rival.

   A mistake she would come to regret.

   With their plan set in motion, Lisa and Aleera soared off in opposite directions, their wings slicing through the night air as they continued their search for Marya. As they left, Marishka’s demeanor transformed as a wicked smile spread across her face, revealing her menacing fangs. She darted toward the group of hunters, her movements fluid and graceful, moving like a lingering shadow, her form barely perceptible among the gravestones and crypts.

   As she sensed their attention locked onto her elusive figure, Marishka lunged from the darkness, her eyes glinting with predatory excitement as she snagged a few of the men, dragging them screaming into the inky depths of the graveyard until their deaths silenced them. The remaining hunters, startled but intent, gave chase, their footsteps echoing eerily through the stillness of the night as they followed after Marishka while she led them in the direction Lisa had flown off in. Her goal was simple: she would lead the men to Lisa and let the humans kill her rival so she could bask in her master’s affections unchallenged.

   Meanwhile, Lisa’s wings beat steadily, each flap resonating in the heavy air, heightening her senses to the lurking threats surrounding her. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, and the moonlight painted eerie, elongated shadows that flickered across the ancient stones. As she searched desperately for her daughter, her thoughts involuntarily drifted back to Transylvania – memories of other graveyards and cemeteries that dotted the home they would soon be returning to.

   She envisioned a future where those sacred spaces might make peaceful retreats where her family could gather for picnics, sitting among the graves, their laughter mingling with the haunting songs of creatures of the night, sharing bottles of blood beneath the soft embrace of starlit skies. Her reverie shattered when a soft sound broke through the heavy silence – an unmistakable, heart-wrenching sob. Lisa’s eyes snapped toward the source, her heart constricting as she beheld what lay before her.

   Just a few feet away, Marya was lost in her own turmoil as she knelt before an ornate statue of an angel, its wings outstretched in a timeless gesture of solace. Her midnight-black hair billowed softly in the cool night breeze as tears streamed down her pale cheeks, glistening like pearls under the moonlight. Her heart ached as she felt the weight of her existence pressing heavily upon her, and she murmured desperate prayers into the night, her voice barely more than a whisper.

   “Please…” The words trembled on her lips, fragile and quaking, dissolving into the stillness of the midnight hour. “God… forgive me…” For the first time in her existence, she desperately pleaded to the heavens above to free her from the torment that her vampiric existence had wrought upon her soul. Her hands were held tightly in prayer, trembling as she sought forgiveness and redemption for the demons of her past, for hurting the one she loved most deeply.

   Behind Marya, Lisa descended quietly, her feet connecting with the ground almost like a whisper. When she finally reached Marya, Lisa enveloped her in a warm embrace, wrapping her arms around her trembling figure as if to shield her from the very world that caused her so much pain. Marya sobbed deeply into her mother’s shoulder, her body trembling with the weight of her guilt. Lisa held her tighter, feeling her own heart shatter at the sight of her daughter’s suffering; each sob felt like a dagger piercing the depths of her own soul.

   “Shh… it’s alright, my darling,” Lisa murmured softly, her voice a soothing balm in the night. “I’m here.” Her words were comforting, a promise of unwavering support and love amidst the chaos.

   For a moment, it felt as though the rest of the world faded away as if nothing else existed but the two of them.

   But their moment of solace was short-lived.

   Lisa’s sharp ears picked up the sound of footsteps approaching. The hunters were close – too close. Marishka had failed to drive them away, and now they were descending upon them like wolves closing in on their prey. Before Lisa could act, a group of hunters suddenly descended upon them, their weapons drawn and aimed at the two vampires. Lisa’s heart sank as she saw the familiar face of her once-beloved Arthur, now filled with hatred and determination, ordering them to their knees and hands in the air.

   As Lisa held Marya close and the two surrendered, Marishka watched from afar, perched in the shadowy limbs of a bare tree, a wicked grin spreading across her face. Everything was going according to plan. She had led the hunters to Lisa and Marya, knowing that their deaths would devastate Dracula. His sorrow would reignite his desire for vengeance, fueling his war against humanity, and in his grief, he would turn to her for comfort, allowing her to reclaim her place as his favorite.

   “Two for the price of one.” Marishka thought, quite pleased with her dastardly wickedness. “Soon, Dracula will be mine again.”

   Lisa and Marya were terrified by the hunters. Arthur was at the front, his face twisted with anger and determination. “Men, take aim! Prepare to fire on these beasts!”

   “Arthur, please,” Lisa pleaded, her breath caught in her throat as she heard Arthur’s words. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. This was the man she had once loved, the man she had planned to marry. How could he say such things? “It’s me, Lucy. Your fiancée.”

   Arthur’s face twisted with anger and disdain. “You are not my fiancée.” He said coldly. “Lucy died. You’re just a monster wearing her face.” Lisa’s heart broke at his words. She had known that her transformation into a vampire had changed everything, but she had never imagined that Arthur would turn on her so completely. Arthur signaled to his men.

   “Please don’t,” Lisa pleaded desperately. “At least let my daughter go. She’s done nothing wr-”

   Without warning, he struck Lisa across the face with the butt of his rifle, silencing her. She stumbled, her cheek already bruising from the blow due to not having fed enough to gain her full strength yet. “Silence!” he said furiously, his voice cold and unyielding and his eyes filled with hatred. “You both die tonight! Men, open fire!” The tension in the air was palpable as Arthur and his men prepared to open fire on the two vampires. Their weapons were raised, fingers hovering over the triggers, ready to end the unlives of Lisa and Marya.

   But before they could fire, Quincy grabbed the rifle from Arthur’s hands, his voice filled with urgency. “Enough.” The command was sharp and authoritative and froze the men in their tracks. “Arthur, have you gone mad? You heard Van Helsing; killing them only damns them hell.” The men hesitated, their grips on their weapons faltering as they looked to Quincy for guidance.

   However, Arthur, consumed by hatred, pulled a gun from his belt and pointed it directly at Quincy. “What are you doing Quincy?” Arthur said furiously. “These are monsters and should be dealt as such.”

   “You can’t be serious?” Quincy said, his voice filled with disbelief by what his ‘friend’ was saying. “Look at them. This is Lucy we’re talking about. For god’s sake, that’s a child!”

   “Serious? Why would I not be serious? Just look at them; they’re monsters! Bloodthirsty beasts! You saw that other one, what she did to my men. You told me one slaughtered an entire regiment and tried to kill you and the Harkers by derailing a train! No. No, we can’t let them live! Men, open fire!” The tension in the air was palpable as Arthur and his men turned their weapons on the two vampires, fingers hovering over the triggers, ready to end the unlives of Lisa and Marya.

   But before they could pull the trigger, Quincy got in between them, shielding Lisa and Marya from Arthur and his men, pointing the crossbow at him. “Not while I’m here!”

   The men exchanged uncertain glances, their grips on their weapons faltering. Arthur, however, was not so easily swayed. His brow furrowed in anger as he leveled his gun at Quincy. “Get out of my way, American,”

   The standoff was tense, the air thick with the possibility of violence. Suddenly, a low growl cut through the chaos. Out of the shadows, Aleera burst onto the scene, her body shifting seamlessly into that of a direwolf. Fiery determination blazed in her eyes as she stood between the hunters and the trembling figures of her queen and princess. She let loose a bone-chilling howl, a sound that was both a warning and a rallying cry. It echoed through the ancient tombstones, causing the hunters to falter, their bravado shaken by the primal ferocity of the creature before them.

   Aleera turned to Lisa and Marya, her gaze fierce yet protective. With an urgent bark, she commanded, “Run! I’ll hold them off!” and barked, “Run! I’ll hold them off!” before returning her attention to the humans, snarling.

   “Aleera, no!” Marya called out, worried for the safety of her friend. “They’ll kill you!”

   “Don’t worry about me, lil pup. Now go!” Aleera’s attention returned to the armed humans, baring her elongated, gleaming teeth in a menacing snarl that dripped with challenge and resolve. The hunters may have come seeking easy prey, but they’d instead found themselves face to face with a guardian willing to fight to her last breath. As the men regained their composure and aimed their guns at her, Aleera gave a ferocious growl before lunging at the hunters, her powerful jaws snapping at their throats. She moved like a blur, her claws slashing through the air as she easily overpowered several of Arthur’s men. The hunters fought back but were no match for Aleera’s raw strength and fury.

   Seizing the moment, Lisa grasped Marya’s hand with a fierce urgency, her heart racing as she pulled her daughter along. “We have to go, now!” she urged, her voice charged with an adrenaline-fueled desperation.

   Marya, still reeling from the emotional turmoil, felt her limbs weak and unsteady. She stumbled alongside her mother, adrenaline surging through her despite her exhaustion. As they took flight, their wings unfurling behind them, the rush of the air whistling past their ears filled them with a fleeting sense of freedom. They soared toward the safety of the shadows, hoping to escape the danger that lurked in their wake.

   But just when they thought they had eluded their pursuers, Arthur, fueled by a mix of rage and desperation, pulled from his belt one of the silver shrapnel bombs Van Helsing had given him. With a primal shout of fury, “Die, monsters!” he hurled the bomb toward the fleeing vampires. The bomb detonated with a thunderous roar, a deadly hailstorm of silver shrapnel bursting forth that echoed throughout the graveyard. Lisa and Marya screamed, the sharp fragments embedding themselves deep into their flesh, searing like the flames of hell as they burned from within. Their wings faltered under the weight of the silver shrapnel embedded in their bodies, and Lisa and Marya plummeted to the ground, crashing into the cold stone of the graveyard.

   “Mother…” Marya’s voice was barely a whisper, her body trembling from the agony coursing through her.

   Lisa staggered to her feet, every muscle in her body screaming in pain. The world around her was unfocused, dancing in and out of clarity as sharp agony sliced through her body. She could feel the silver coursing through her veins, each piece burning like fire, sapping her and Marya’s supernatural strength with every passing second and leaving them vulnerable, but Lisa refused to give in. She had to protect her daughter. She had to keep moving. Her eyes darted around the graveyard, searching desperately for an escape from the merciless hunters that pursued them.

   Her heart raced as she spotted the entrance of a catacomb, its dark passage, and a foreboding abyss that Lisa hoped would be able to lose the hunters in its depths. Drawing a deep breath, Lisa led Marya to it, her voice hoarse yet filled with urgency. “Hurry!” As they slipped into the shadows of the catacomb, the twisting labyrinthine tunnels stretched out before them, dark and foreboding, but they offered the only hope of survival.

   Meanwhile, as Aleera fought against his men and Quincy, Arthur saw the catacombs Lisa and Marya rushed into. Grabbing the crossbow Quincy had dropped, Arthur shouted for some of his men to follow him as they entered the catacombs.

   As they navigated the labyrinth, Lisa could feel her strength waning. The silver had pierced her deeply; every step was a monumental effort. She stumbled slightly and, in that moment, caught sight of Marya’s worried face. The girl’s youthful features were marred by fear. Seeing her mother’s struggle, Marya instinctively reached out to help support Lisa, her own body shaking with the effort. “I’m sorry, Mother…” Marya’s voice trembled, thick with emotion as tears streamed down her cheeks. “This is all my fault. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen…” The guilt in her voice was clear, and Lisa could see the anguish etched in her daughter’s expression.

   The ominous sounds of shouts and heavy boots echoed throughout the catacombs, growing louder with every heartbeat that passed. Lisa knew that their time was slipping away like sand through her fingers; the hunters were drawing closer. Turning to face her daughter, Lisa’s eyes shone with a potent mix of love, determination, and an unyielding resolve. She understood what had to be done – even if it meant making the ultimate sacrifice to ensure Marya’s survival. “You have to run, Marya,” she urged, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. “I’ll lead them away from you. You need to escape while you can.”

   Panic etched itself across Marya’s face as the weight of her mother’s words sunk in. “No!” she hissed, shaking her head vigorously, desperation lacing her voice. “I won’t leave you! We can find a way out together!” Terror gripped Marya’s heart at the mere thought of being separated.

   However, Lisa was adamant and aware that their situation was dire. Staying together would only spell certain doom for them both. They were too weak, and the hunters too near. “Marya, listen to me,” Lisa said, her tone firm and unwavering. “If you stay with me, we’ll both perish. You must trust me. Go… I’ll find you. I promise.”

   Inside, each word felt like a shard of glass piercing Marya’s heart. With a trembling hand, Lisa cupped Marya’s face, her thumb brushing gently over the girl’s cheek as if trying to seal that moment in time. Pressing a soft kiss to Marya’s forehead, she lingered, absorbing the cold warmth of her daughter, imprinting the love they shared deep within her heart. “Now go, my darling. Go!” she commanded with a fierce whisper, her voice quaking with emotion.

   With a heavy heart and tears clouding her vision, Marya cast one last glance at her mother before reluctantly obeying. She turned and fled, her heart pounding and echoing in sync with the frantic rhythm of her footfalls. Every instinct screamed at her to look back, to go to her mother, but she had to trust in Lisa’s strength. She had to believe that they would find each other again.

   As Marya vanished into the inky darkness, Lisa took a deep breath and steeled herself for what was to come. The hunters’ footsteps closed in, their voices growing more distinct, dripping with malice. Lisa could feel the cold grip of fear tightening around her heart, but she knew she had to act. With a flash of determination coursing through her veins, she pushed herself deeper into the tunnels, the resounding echoes of her footsteps purposely loud as she drew the hunters to chase her. She could feel their presence, the weight of their hatred bearing down on her. But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. Every step she took was a step further away from Marya and closer to ensuring her daughter’s safety.

🦇

   Back at the Westenra estate, Jonathan stood outside Mina’s locked room, anxiety gnawing at him. He took a deep breath and knocked; his voice barely steady as he called out to her. “Mina, I’m sorry,” he said, his heart heavy with guilt. “I only agreed with the others to have you stay behind because I was worried for your safety. I’m certain… no, I hope that Van Helsing will not hurt Lucy.” There was no response, just an unsettling silence that filled the air. “Mina?” After a moment of hesitation, Jonathan turned the doorknob, his hand trembling slightly, and pushed the door open.

   To his shock, the room was empty. The window stood ajar, a chilling breeze whispering through the space, causing the curtains to flutter gently. His gaze landed on the bed where Mina had ingeniously tied together sheets to create a makeshift rope. They really shouldn’t have tried locking her up in a home she grew up in and had escaped from many times before.

   Mina dashed through the winding streets of London, her heart pounding in her chest like a war drum. She felt the oppressive darkness wrap around her, the shadows stretching and shifting in the flickering glow of the gas lamps. With every hurried step, she fought against the night, barely avoiding a collision with a horse-drawn carriage that rattled past, its driver barking impatiently. Her thoughts were singular and frantic – she needed to find Lucy.

   With the fog rolling in thickly around her, Mina pressed onward, her feet pounding against the cobblestones as she navigated the treacherous paths of the city. Each breath was a ragged gasp, the cold air biting her lungs, but she wouldn’t let that stop her; she needed to reach the graveyard, the place that Van Helsing and the others had mentioned as their search area for Lucy. The urgency to save her dear sister propelled her forward, overriding everything else.

   “Please, Lucy… hold on,” Mina whispered to herself, her voice barely breaking the stillness of the night. “I’m coming.” The weight of despair hung heavily around her as the minutes stretched endlessly, but with each determined stride, she quelled her fear and focused on the flicker of hope that drove her – she could not lose Lucy to the depths of despair and darkness. She had to find her, and she would fight against the night itself if that’s what it took to bring her sister back.

🦇

   Meanwhile, deep within the winding corridors of the catacombs, Lisa found herself facing a small army of Arthur’s men, their faces twisted with malice. With every ounce of training that she recalled from her past life, she fought fiercely, using her agility and cunning to outmaneuver them. Once they were defeated, Lisa stood over the bodies of several of Arthur’s men, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She had fought them off, but the battle had taken its toll. Blood dripped from her hands, her once-pristine dress now torn and stained with the crimson of her enemies. But there was no time to rest. She had to find Marya and get her to safety.

   Just as she turned to leave, a sharp pain shot through her shoulder. She gasped, stumbling forward as a silver bolt embedded itself deep into her flesh. She turned, her eyes narrowing as she saw Arthur standing at the far end of the corridor, his crossbow still raised.

   Lisa hid in the shadows as Arthur entered the chamber, slowly stalking her. “I can’t say I’m sorry it’s come to this, Lucy!” Arthur said, coldly. “But I can’t let you leave. Not after what I’ve done.”

   Another bolt whistled through the air, narrowly missing her as she darted deeper into the labyrinthine catacombs. Lisa’s heart pounded in her chest as she clutched her wounded shoulder, her mind racing. Arthur’s words sent a chill down her spine.

   “You see,” Arthur continued, his voice laced with mockery. “I can’t have you leave to tell the world about me. What would people think if they heard you say I’d hit you mere days before you suddenly died from a mysterious illness? No, no… that would ruin everything.”

   He loaded another bolt into his crossbow, his eyes gleaming with malice. “You know, this was always going to be how it ended between us, dear. I never loved you, Lucy.” Arthur said, smirking. “Not for a moment. You were just a means to an end. A way to get my inheritance from my stubborn father. The old goat wouldn’t hand it over to an unmarried son before he finally croaked it; he wanted me to settle down, to ensure his legacy would continue with his grandchildren.” He rounded a corner, but didn’t find Lisa.

   “And you were just so willing to fall in love with any man you could find. Hell, you accepted a marriage proposal over letters!” Arthur laughed. “So gullible. Your sister, Mina, though; now she saw through me, didn’t she?” Lisa’s breath caught in her throat when he mentioned her sister’s name. “Well, perhaps I’ll stage the little accident I was going to kill you with after the wedding for her instead. Maybe a mishap with a runaway carriage, or a little slip of poison into her food.”

   Lisa’s heart shattered at his words, though deep down, she had always suspected as much. Arthur had never treated her with the love and respect she deserved. She had been nothing more than a pawn in his twisted game. “You…” Lisa whispered. “You’re a monster.”

   Arthur’s laugh echoed through the catacombs as he readied his crossbow, locating where she was from her voice. “No, my dear.” he said, sneering. “You’re the monster now, and I’ll be hailed as a hero for taking you down.” Lisa turned and ran, Arthur’s silver bolts whizzing past her ear as she evaded him and ran into a tunnel.

   Her mind raced as she tried to find a way out of the labyrinthine catacombs. But no matter which way she turned, the walls seemed to close in around her. Arthur’s voice followed her, taunting her, reminding her of the betrayal she had suffered. “You can’t escape, Lucy!” Arthur shouted. “I’ll never stop hunting you! And if I don’t find you, someone else will!”

   As she stumbled through the dark corridors, her strength waning, Lisa did the only thing she could think of. She called out to the one person who might be able to save her.

   “Vlad…” Lisa said in her mind desperately. “Please… save us…”

🦇

   Back at Carfax Abbey, Dracula went over the preparations for his clan’s return to Transylvania with Verona and Carmilla, the latter of which he was going to give London over to in his stead in light of Varney’s demise. He was ready to make a change for his beloved Lisa and put his war behind him for a new chance at unlife. But as he spoke, a familiar voice reached his ears, carried on the wind like a faint, desperate whisper.

   “Vlad…” the voice said faintly. “Please… Save us…”

   Dracula’s eyes widened, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew that voice. It was Lisa, and she was in danger. Without a word, Dracula transformed into a massive flock of bats, bursting through the window of the abbey in a flurry of wings. The night air rushed past him as he soared into the sky, his mind focused on one thing: reaching Lisa before it was too late.

   Verona barely managed to keep pace behind him, her eyes filled with concern. “Master, what’s wrong?” she called out into his mind.

   But Dracula said nothing. The two vampires flew through the skies over London, their wings cutting through the cold night air as they raced toward the catacombs. Dracula’s heart ached with fear. He had to reach Lisa. He couldn’t lose her. Not again.

   As they raced into the night, Carmilla merely watched them from the shattered window. She had… other plans. Carmilla’s gaze shifted to the vault in Dracula’s war room, where he had left his discarded war plans unprotected. A sly grin curved her lips as she quietly made her way toward them.

🦇

   Meanwhile, the darkness of the catacombs seemed to close in around Marya as she sprinted through the winding tunnels, her heart pounding with fear and confusion. Her skin still burned from the touch of silver, and a gnawing hunger twisted in her stomach – she hadn’t fed on blood the entire day, and the weakness was beginning to take its toll. Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind, urging her to run, to hide, but now she was lost. The twisting corridors of the catacombs disoriented her, and every turn seemed to lead her deeper into the labyrinth.

   As she rounded a corner, her path was suddenly blocked. Standing before her was Quincy, flanked by several of Arthur’s men. Their faces were hard and unfeeling, their weapons gleaming in the dim light. Before she could react, they threw a silver-dusted net over her, the fine, sparkling fibers burning her skin as she struggled to break free. “No!” Marya cried out. “Let me go!”

   But the men held fast, dragging her to the ground as she thrashed against the net. The silver sapped her strength, its touch like fire against her skin, leaving her powerless to fight back. She could feel her energy draining away, her limbs growing heavy as the men bound her tightly.

   “Hold her steady, men!” Quincy shouted. “Don’t let her get away!”

   The men obeyed, their grips firm as they secured the net around her. Marya’s heart raced with fear as she realized there was no escape. They were going to kill her. She could see it in their eyes – the cold, unfeeling determination of hunters who had no mercy for the creatures they pursued. The same look she’d seen in her father’s eyes when he mercilessly killed their kind.

   “Should we kill it, sir!” one of the men asked, stepping forward with a silver stake gleaming in his hand. Marya’s eyes widened in terror as she watched him raise the weapon, preparing to drive it through her heart. She struggled against the net, but the silver burned her skin, sapping her strength with every movement.

   Quincy was about to affirm the man’s request, but then he looked into Marya’s eyes – scared and pleading. “No,” he said. “You heard the Professor. Whatever this… thing is, it was once a girl. I’m not about to send a girl to hell. Drag her out of the catacombs; we’ll let the Professor figure out what to do with her.”

   The men obeyed, dragging Marya away as she struggled against the silver net, her heart filled with fear for what was to come.

🦇

   Mina finally reached the dark, foreboding graveyard, where the air felt thick with an unnatural chill. [Arcane – Goodbye] The shadows twisted and deepened around her, as if reluctant to let her pass. Every step echoed the urgency in her heart, and she desperately hoped she could find her sister before it was too late – a thought that chilled her to the bone. As she rushed through the graveyard, the grisly aftermath of battle unfolded around her; the air was thick with the metallic scent of bloodshed all around and the cries of men clashing. The haunting images from the fight between Aleera and Arthur’s men, would remain etched in her memory forever.

   As Mina searched for Lucy, she recalled the promise she’d made to their father just before he passed away – a promise to always look after Lucy, to protect her from the dangers of the world. Now, as a sense of overwhelming dread washed over her, she could almost see her father’s sorrowful face, tears glistening in his eyes before they fell. “Oh, Lucy,” Mina thought, her heart heavy with remorse. “How could I have ever let you down?”

   Despite everything that Van Helsing and the others had said about Lucy, of the monster she’d become, she was still Mina’s little sister, the one with whom she shared her childhood joys and dreams. Memories flickered in her mind like distant stars – moments when they’d play with shields made of stone, imagining themselves as warriors, or sit perched on the wooden swings, dreaming of adventures that only young girls could concoct.

   As she pressed on, Mina saw tendrils of smoke curling toward the sky, indicating the entrance to the catacombs. Two of Arthur’s men were stationed by the entrance, their faces grim, hardened by the strife that surrounded them. Unwilling to be deterred, Mina summoned her resolve, pushing past the men despite their futile attempts to restrain her. She grabbed one of their guns, a cold, heavy weight that provided a flicker of reassurance. “I swear I’ll find you, Lucy,” she promised herself fiercely. “We’ll find a way out of this nightmare together.”

   Nothing had made sense since she returned home; everything felt distorted and wrong. The familiar faces of her loved ones now seemed like those of strangers – Jonathan was like a ghost, a mere shadow of the vibrant man she once knew. Quincy had become remarkably stern, his brows permanently furrowed in worry and anger, while Arthur’s demeanor was colder than ever, his eyes void of the warmth she used to find.

   Yet all of that paled in comparison to the thought of her dear sister. As she navigated the treacherous catacombs, fear tinged her thoughts; where was her friend? The one she’d known since she was only just a kid? Mina’s breath came in ragged gasps as she called out echoing pleas for her sister, her voice a fragile sound that seemed to dissolve into the oppressive silence. “Lucy!” Mina cried out, desperation threading through her tone. “Lucy, where are you?” The shadows around her absorbed her words, and the weight of the catacombs pressed down on her like a living entity, suffocating her hope. But Mina refused to surrender; she had to find Lucy. She had to save her. “Please, Lucy,” she implored silently, her heart aching. “Please be alright.”

🦇

   High above the city, Dracula soared through the skies, his heart pounding with fear and determination. The lights of London blurred beneath him as he raced toward the catacombs, his mind filled with thoughts of Lisa. The wind howled around him, but he paid it no mind. Nothing mattered now except reaching Lisa before it was too late. He couldn’t lose her again, not like this.

🦇

   Amidst the perilous catacombs, Lisa stumbled forward, her body weak from the silver bolt lodged in her shoulder. She could hear Arthur’s footsteps somewhere close behind her, his relentless pursuit echoing through the stone corridors. But then, through the darkness, she heard a familiar voice. “Lucy!” Mina shouted, calling for her sister.

   Lisa’s heart swelled with hope as she recognized her sister’s voice. She shouted back, her voice filled with desperation: “Mina! I’m here!”

   Mina’s heart leaped in her chest as she recognized the voice. It was Lisa. She rushed toward the sound, her footsteps echoing through the stone corridors. “Lisa!” Mina shouted. “I’m coming!”

   The two sisters’ voices echoed through the catacombs, their desperate cries intertwining as they searched for each other through the maze of stone. But as they drew closer, the sound of Arthur’s footsteps grew louder, his presence a dark shadow looming over them both.

🦇

   Outside the entrance to the catacombs, the men stationed on guard suddenly heard an unusual sound, faint at first but growing louder with every passing second, like the flapping of dozens of tiny wings.

   One of the guards squinted into the darkness, trying to make out the source of the noise. When he saw what it was, he shouted, “What the fu–”

   Before he could finish his sentence, a massive black cloud of bats surged toward them, a chaotic whirlwind of wings and screeches. The guards barely had time to react before the swarm tore through them, knocking them aside like leaves caught in a storm as the bats rushed into the catacombs, their path clear and unstoppable.

🦇

   The cold, damp air of the catacombs clung to Lisa’s skin as she stumbled forward, her vision blurring with every step. The silver bolt lodged in her shoulder burned like fire, sapping her strength with each passing second. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, the weight of her curse and the betrayal she had suffered pressing down on her like a suffocating shroud. Behind her, the echo of Arthur’s footsteps reverberated through the stone corridors, growing louder with every passing moment. He was close – too close. Lisa knew she couldn’t outrun him for much longer. But she had to try. She had to survive, if only for a few more moments. She had to find Marya and Aleera and get them out.

   But just as despair began to creep into her heart, a familiar voice broke through the darkness. “Lucy!” Mina called out.

   The sound of her sister’s voice filled Lucy with a sudden surge of hope. She could see Mina on the other side of a large chamber deep within the chamber, her face filled with desperation and determination. For a brief, fleeting moment, Lucy believed that maybe – just maybe – they could escape this nightmare together. With renewed strength, Lisa rushed toward her sister, her arms outstretched. Mina did the same, her heart pounding with hope and fear as she ran to meet her sister. “Mina…” Lisa said softly.

   “Lucy!” Mina called out, happy to have found her sister. Mina’s mind raced with thoughts of how she could save her sister. She didn’t know how, but she was determined to find a way to lift this terrible curse that had befallen Lucy. They would go back to their normal lives, back to the way things were before the darkness had consumed them.

   Thnick! [End of Song]

   Just as the two sisters were about to embrace, the sound of something terrible whooshed through the air. A sickening sound that echoed through the chamber and would irrevocably turn the world upside down.

   Lucy suddenly stopped, her body rigid. Mina’s eyes widened in horror as she saw the sharp tip of a silver crossbow bolt protruding from her sister’s chest. Lucy gasped, her eyes filled with shock and pain as she looked down at the wound. “Mina…” Lucy said weakly.

   “No!” Mina’s scream echoed through the chamber as she watched her sister collapse to the ground, her body crumpling like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Without hesitation, Mina rushed to Lucy’s side, her hands trembling as she cradled her sister in her arms. “No, no, no… stay with me, Lucy.” She said desperately. “Please, stay with me.”

   Unseen by Mina, Arthur stood in the shadows behind Lucy, his face twisted with a mixture of cold determination and satisfaction. The barrel of his automatic crossbow still steamed from the shot he had just fired.

   Tears streamed down Mina’s face as she pressed her hands to the wound, trying in vain to stop the bleeding. But the silver was already doing its deadly work, sapping the life from Lucy’s body. Mina could feel her sister’s strength fading, slipping away like sand through her fingers. “Please, Lucy… don’t leave me,” Mina said, sobbing. “I can’t lose you. Not again.” Mina’s heart shattered as she held her sister close, her tears falling onto Lucy. She had promised to save her, to lift the curse, but now it seemed she was too late.

   Lucy’s eyes were already dimming, her breaths growing shallow and labored. She looked up at her sister, her face pale and sorrowful. “I’m s-sorry…” Lisa said weakly. “Mina… I’m s-so sorry…”

   As Arthur raised his crossbow once more, his eyes cold and unfeeling, ready to end Mina’s life and completely bury his dark secrets, a sudden rush of wind filled the chamber. The sound of wings beating against the air grew louder, and before Arthur could fire, a swirling mass of bats burst into the chamber, knocking him to the ground. “What the–” Arthur shouted.

   The bats swirled around Lisa and Mina, their dark forms creating a protective barrier between the sisters and the hunters. As the bats converged, they began to take shape, forming into the imposing figure of Dracula. His eyes blazed with fury and sorrow as he knelt beside Lisa, his heart breaking as he looked down at the woman he had loved for centuries, now lying on the brink of death.

   Before he could do or say anything more, the sound of footsteps echoed through the chamber. Van Helsing arrived and, seeing Arthur sprawled on the ground, picked up his crossbow to aim at Dracula. Turning to the sound of the approaching men, Dracula saw Van Helsing wielding the weapon that’d struck his Lisa, and his rage seethed. Knowing they couldn’t stay less the hunters overwhelm them, Dracula acted quickly, scooping Lisa and Mina (despite her protests) into his arms before transforming into a swirling tornado of bats, carrying both sisters with him as he flew out of the catacombs and into the night. The wind howled around them as they soared through the skies over London to Carfax Abbey.

🦇

   The wind howled around them as Dracula flew through the skies, his heart heavy with grief. Verona followed closely behind, her eyes filled with concern as they returned to Carfax Abbey. Time was running out, and for the first time in his long, immortal life, Dracula felt the icy grip of fear.

   They landed softly on the balcony of Carfax Abbey, the night air thick with the scent of rain. Dracula reformed into his human shape, his black cloak billowing around him as he landed with Lisa in his arms. He dropped Mina, who’d blacked out from the shock of witnessing her sister’s death and Dracula transforming the two sisters into a swarm of bats and back, not caring for her. Dracula’s attention was entirely on Lisa, the woman he had crossed centuries to find, the woman whose unlife was slipping away in his arms.

   Verona arrived shortly after; her eyes filled with concern as she rushed to Dracula’s side. “My lord… what happened?” Verona asked urgently. Moments later, Aleera and Marishka also returned, and Carmilla exited onto the balcony from inside the abbey.

   Dracula cradled Lisa’s body, his hands trembling as he held her close. [Dracula Untold – This Life and The Next] The silver bolt had done its damage, and even Dracula’s vampiric blood could not heal her fast enough. He was beside himself, his mind racing for a solution, for anything that could save her. Panic surged through him, palpable and gripping; for the first time in his long existence, he felt completely powerless. The grand vampire, who had instilled fear in countless hearts, was now utterly powerless to save the one he loved.

   Lisa reached out with a trembling hand, her voice barely a whisper as she called his name, “Vl-lad?” Each syllable hung in the air like a fragile note, a plea that echoed through the darkness of the night.

   He drew her closer, wrapping his arms around her in a desperate embrace, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotion. “No, don’t speak,” he urged, his eyes brimming with tears of blood that shimmered like distant stars in the faint moonlight. “Lisa... please, stay with me. You’re going to be all right.” The wind howled around them, blending with the wetness of his tears as they streamed down his cheeks, tracing paths of heartache. “Somebody, somebody help me!” he cried out into the night, his words a raw, anguished call for anyone – anything – that might help him in his moment of despair. All his brides and Carmilla could do was watch, unable to save the life of their queen. Even Marishka began to feel a bang of regret as she watched her master’s desperation.

   A painful gasp escaped Lisa’s lips, a sound that echoed with both fear and fading hope. He pressed her closer, his lips brushing softly against her forehead, whispering urgent, desperate promises that felt both futile and necessary. “You’re going to be all right,” he insisted, though doubt gnawed at his heart. “We’ll go back to Transylvania, just like you wanted, far away from humans. We’ll never have to see them again. I’ll abandon all my plans if that’s what it takes. I’ll take you to all the places you love…” His voice trembled, the weight of his love crashing down on him like a tidal wave.

   Desperate, he tried to remind her of all the places she loved back home, hoping to ignite her spirit in her darkest hour. “We-we’ll soar above the Carpathian Mountains, just the two of us – riding the winds together, no one else around. We’ll wander through the d-dark forests, sharing stories that make us laugh until our bellies ache. We’ll dance atop the towers of the castle under the moonlight…”

   His voice faltered as he choked back a sob, his heart breaking with every vividly conjured scene. Lisa stared off into the midnight sky, his words painting vivid pictures of a life they could’ve shared together. “I-I’ll show you the village that adored you, the people who saw you as their protector. Your sister and her husband can live there too. You won’t have to be apart from them. We’ll create a peaceful life, just you and me, Lis… Lucy. Forever… S-so please…”

   But with each word, Lisa’s condition worsened, her breaths becoming shallower and more ragged as if she was slipping through his fingers like sand. Blood – vampiric blood – began to spill from her lips with each choked breath. Dracula’s heart clenched painfully in his chest as he watched the light dimming in her eyes, his soul twisting in anguish. “No… no, no, no, Lucy, please,” he pleaded, his voice nothing more than a whisper now, laced with desperation. “Don’t go. Not now. Not when I just got you back, when I’ve crossed an ocean of time just to finally find you.”

   With great effort, Lisa raised a trembling hand to touch his cheek, her fingertips icy against his cold skin. This simple gesture, filled with love and remembrance, sent a wave of grief crashing over him. She looked deep into his eyes, and for a brief moment, he could see the affection she had always held for him, a connection that transcended time and space. “I-I lo-love y-” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper, each word a ragged breath until her final breath escaped her lips. And with that, she was gone.

   In that heart-wrenching moment, Dracula felt his world shatter into countless pieces. “No, no, Lucy… don’t go. Don’t leave me.” His voice broke as he pressed his lips against her forehead, desperately seeking to bridge the chasm that was widening between them, his tears pooling onto her pale skin, mingling with the frail essence of her fading life. “Don’t go where I can’t follow, please…” he cried, every word laced with anguish as he cradled her fragile form, the night closing in around them as hope slipped further and further away.

   But it was too late. As he held her, Lisa’s body began to turn to ash, crumbling in his arms. Her form, once so full of life even as a vampire, dissolved into dust, carried away by the midnight breeze, floating away like memories dissolving into the night. Dracula watched in horror as the woman he loved, the woman he had fought so hard to save, disappeared before his eyes. All that remained was her charred skeleton.

   Dracula was left alone on the balcony, his arms cradling the remains of his beloved, his heart hollow. The pain of losing her again, after having just turned her to save her from the brink of death, was unbearable. A pain he had only felt once before – when Lisa had been taken from him all those years ago, burned at the stake by the very humans she had sought to help. And now, she was gone again, this time forever.

   He threw back his head and let loose a roar to the heavens that shook the very foundations of the abbey, a primal sound of loss and despair echoing into the void, mourning the love he had lost once again. His voice, deep and filled with centuries of sorrow, echoed through the night, a cry of pain that reached the heavens. The bats surrounding the abbey grounds scattered into the sky, fleeing from the force of his grief. His tears of blood stained the ground, his heart breaking with every sob that escaped his lips. He had lost her. Again.

   As Dracula mourned, Carmilla approached him with words of sympathy. Her voice dripped with feigned compassion as she spoke, “How cruel it is, my lord, to have just gotten her back, only to lose her again. And to think, mere days after you saved her from death by Varney’s poison. Isn’t that right, Marishka?”

   The words hung in the air like a dagger, and Marishka felt her heart stop. She glanced at Carmilla in shock, her mind racing. Carmilla knew. She knew that Marishka despised Lisa, knew she’d conspired with Varney to kill her. Why was she revealing this now? Panic surged through Marishka as Dracula’s gaze shifted to her, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

   Dracula, his voice cold and commanding, demanded, “What does she mean, Marishka? Explain yourself.”

   Marishka felt her heart race like a trapped bird as she stood before Dracula, desperate and frantic as she tried to spin a lie. “I know nothing of Varney poisoning Lisa, my master! I swear it! Her sudden illness is as mysterious to me as it is to you. Her death was now beyond my control as well; I simply lost her in the catacombs, and by the time I found her, the hunters were already upon us. I tried to save her, but it was far too late!”

   Dracula, however, was not so easily deceived. His mind whirred with a storm’s intensity, piecing together fragments of unsettling truth that seemed to shimmer just beyond his grasp. Lucy’s abrupt decline had always seemed suspicious, but if Varney was indeed behind it, how could he have known to target her? Dracula had taken every precaution to keep such details hidden, ensuring that no one, save for Marya and his brides, knew that Lucy was actually Lisa. No one but Marya and his brides…

   The realization struck him like a thunderbolt: Marishka had betrayed him. She had told Varney. She’d plotted with him to eliminate Lisa. And when Varney had failed, she had deliberately led the hunters to Lisa, ensuring his beloved’s death.

   As Dracula glared at Marishka, an inferno ignited within his eyes, burning with the fury of the damned. “You lie,” he hissed, a sinister edge to his voice that sent a shiver down everyone else in attendance’s spines. The shadows in the room thickened as though alive, swallowing the light as he rose to his full height. His towering form loomed over her, casting a long, oppressive shadow that enveloped her like a shroud. “You conspired against me? Me, your King? To kill my wife?!”

   Panic tightened its grip on Marishka like a vice. Instinctively, she took a half-step back, her voice quavering with fear. “My lord, please,” she pleaded, her voice quavering, heavy with fear. “I-I only did it for you! For us! Can’t you see? I love you! I wanted to be the wife you truly deserved, better than Lisa ever could have been. She was weak, but I–”

   As her desperate words spiraled into a tangle of lies and justifications, a chilling interruption swept over her like an icy breeze. Dracula’s stoic expression began to soften, his lips curving into a burst of soft, mocking laughter that sent shivers down her spine. “Oh, what a fool I have been,” he mused, the richness of his voice tinged with genuine amusement.

   Marishka felt a confusing surge of hope swelling within her - as if a flicker of light momentarily eclipsed the grim shadows surrounding them. “You are right, Marishka,” he continued, his tone shifting, flowing like honey drizzled over a velvet cloth. “Lucy Westenra was never truly my beloved; it was an illusion – merely a fool’s dream to think that this fragile, pathetic mortal could ever be the reincarnation of the one I cherished.”

   The words hung in the air, tantalizingly sweet, as he stepped closer, the intimacy of his presence igniting a brave courage within her. “Thank you, thank you for revealing this truth to me,” he said, his arms opening wide, a gesture that seemed to promise safety and acceptance. “Come to me, my true love.”

   Caught in the rapture of her fervent love for him, Marishka rushed into his embrace, her heart soaring with the belief that forgiveness and redemption were finally within her grasp. She melted against him, banishing all doubts with the electrifying sensation of their lips meeting in a wild, desperate kiss – one that she hoped would seal their bond anew against the weight of their past. But as Dracula’s lips began to trail down her neck, leaving love bites along her skin, whispering secrets and promises that were both intoxicating and perilous, his grip around her tightened – his gentle embrace transforming into iron bands that ensnared her with a fatal finality.

   At first, Marishka thought it was a lover’s bite, a sign of his affection. But as the seconds passed, she felt the vitality leaving her body, her blood being drawn from her veins as Dracula exsanguinated her. It became painfully clear to her, too late, that this was not an embrace born of love; it was a trap of vengeance. As the chilling truth settled in, she felt her heart plummet, entangled in the web of her own deceit. The warmth of her earlier hopes dissipated, replaced by the icy claws of despair. Panic set in as her body became bloodless like an ancient corpse, and she struggled against Dracula’s powerful arms as she was slowly crushed to death in his teel-like embrace. Her hands clawing at his chest, her legs kicking in vain. She bit, scratched, punched, doing everything she could think to try and break Dracula’s hold on her, but Dracula’s grip was unyielding, his strength far beyond hers.

   Her screams filled the night air as she called out to her sisters, begging for their help. “Verona! Aleera! Help me!”

   But they stood still, their faces pale with fear and sorrow. Aleera’s eyes filled with tears, but she did not move. Verona, the eldest and most loyal of Dracula’s brides, remained silent, watching as her sister was drained of life. Even Carmilla, who had set this chain of events in motion, stood unmoved, her expression cold and calculating.

   As the last of her blood left her body, Marishka’s struggles weakened. Her once-beautiful form withered, her skin turning pale and leathery, her eyes hollow. She became a dried, ancient husk, a grotesque shadow of the woman she had once been. And with a final, violent motion, Dracula tore her body apart, scattering her remains across the balcony.

   Dracula loomed over the shattered remains of Marishka, the air thick with tension and the scent of crimson that lingered from the chaos. His breath came in heavy, labored gasps, each punctuated by the fierce tumult within him. His eyes blazed like molten coals, fueled by an unquenchable fury that scorched his very soul. With a voice that resonated with thunderous authority, he turned his piercing gaze toward Aleera. “You! You failed to kill Jonathan Harker and let him escape! You let him seek out Van Helsing and unveil my plans!” he intoned, each syllable dripping with accusation, “You are just as much at fault for Lisa’s death!”

   Aleera’s heart raced as she stood frozen in place, her limbs heavy with dread. The haunting image of Marishka’s demise replayed in her mind – the brutal ferocity with which Dracula had silenced her – and she felt the icy tendrils of fear coil around her. Her body trembled as Dracula advanced, his looming presence casting an oppressive shadow over her fragile form, his hand rising as if to strike her down swiftly and mercilessly.

   Just as the air crackled with anticipation of violence, Verona rushed forward, placing herself between Dracula and Aleera. Her voice cutting through the suffocating tension. “My lord, I beg of you! Spare her! She has shown her loyalty to you, just as I have. We are both devoted to your cause; we will serve you faithfully; I swear it on our very lives!” Her words were imbued with urgency, each one laced with the hope of survival.

   Dracula’s hand lingered in the air, trembling with the heat of his barely-contained rage. The desire for vengeance surged within him, thrumming like an electric current ready to strike. But before the destructive impulse could ignite into action, a firm grip halted his hand. He whirled around, his anger spilling forth like a tempest, only to find himself met by Carmilla. Her grasp was unyielding yet gentle, contrasting starkly with the violent storm raging within him. “My lord, you must exercise restraint,” she urged, her voice cool and composed, like a soothing balm against his fury. “You will require their strength and loyalty to avenge the queen and rescue the princess.”

   Her calm and deliberate words sliced through the chaotic haze of his wrath. Slowly, he felt the fire within dimming, subsiding like a dying ember in the wake of her reasoning. She was right; his mind began to shift from blind vengeance to a more pressing concern. An image of Marya, his precious daughter, filled his thoughts – snatched away by the treacherous hands of humans, and now in grave peril. A pang of determination ignited within him. Losing more allies was not a luxury he could afford, not now. He would need them to find her, to save her. He would protect his family.

   But his vengeance was far from over. The humans – Van Helsing, Jonathan Harker, and the others who had aided them – would pay for what they had done. He would avenge his beloved’s damnation. Dracula would scour the earth, bathing it in the blood of his enemies. The Prince of Darkness would not rest until every human – every man, woman, child, every last one of them – was dead, and the world was cleansed of their kind.

   As Dracula’s mind raced with thoughts of vengeance, a soft sound broke the silence. Mina, who had been unconscious during the chaos, began to stir. Her eyes fluttered open, and she groaned softly, unaware of the horrors that had just unfolded around her. “Lucy?” she softly called out.

   Dracula’s gaze fell upon her, and a cruel smile spread across his face. Mina was the key to his revenge. Through her, he would deliver a fate worse than death to Van Helsing and the men who had helped him. He would make them suffer as he had suffered.

   “Verona, Aleera,” he commanded, his voice cold and authoritative. “Lift her to her knees.”

   The two brides, shaken but obedient, moved to Mina’s side. They lifted her like a doll, not caring for her cries of pain as they placed her on her knees before Dracula. Mina, still dazed, looked up at him with confusion and fear. Dracula approached, raising his wrist to his mouth, and bit down, drawing his dark, vampiric blood.

   Dracula had lost his queen. Now, the world would lose everything as it trembled beneath the wrath of the Son of the Dragon.

Chapter 10: Battle at the Abbey

Chapter Text

Dark Universe

Image

Written by Andrew Downs and Thomas Lapeyrouse III


   In the eerie silence of London’s graveyard, the air hung heavy with an unsettling stillness, broken only by the distant rustling of leaves in the breeze and the occasional groans of the wounded. Shadows danced among the tombstones, illuminating the grim aftermath of a fierce battle. Bodies lay scattered on the damp earth, their lives extinguished, while the spirits of the living felt similarly broken – defeated and filled with dread.

   Turning to his companion, Arthur, Van Helsing studied his face, which was a grim mask of fatigue and turmoil. “What happened?” he inquired, his voice low, laced with an urgency that belied his calm exterior.

   Arthur’s expression was a storm of conflicting emotions – rage and guilt flickered in his darkened eyes. He drew a shaky breath before recounting the harrowing events of the night. “Dracula came,” he said, his voice quavering with barely suppressed fury. “He arrived in a swarm of bats, darkening the sky. I lost Lucy and Mina. There was nothing I could do.” His heart wrenched at the memory, yet something deeper festered within him that he dared not voice. He withheld a crucial detail – he had shot Lucy with a silver bolt and attempted to kill Mina as well.

   As Van Helsing began to formulate their next move, the sudden clanking sound of rattling chains shattered the quiet. Emerging from the entrance to the catacombs were Dr. Seward and Quincy, dragging a figure bound in heavy chains behind them. Marya Tepes, muzzled to prevent her from biting anyone and drinking their blood to regain her strength, was ensnared in silver-dusted iron chains that glimmered menacingly in the moonlight, her pale skin blistering painfully where the cold metal met her flesh. She was too weak to resist; the unyielding grip of the chains consumed her energy, the silver searing her body and robbing her of the strength she might have possessed had she fed on blood that very day.

   Van Helsing’s sharp gaze fixated on the trio as he approached. “Who is this?” he asked, his voice laced with authority and concern.

   Quincy, his expression grim and troubled, replied, “She’s a vampire. Apparently, she’s Dracula’s daughter. We found her in the graveyard – where this ass hole,” he gestured toward Arthur with a stern glare, “had a breakdown and went fucking ballistic.”

   “What are you talking about, Morris? I was simply trying to–” Arthur’s protest was immediate, a desperate attempt to regain control of the narrative.

   “Save it, Holmwood!” Quincy interjected, the fire in his voice leaving no room for argument as he approached Arthur, thrusting the chains that bound Marya into Seward’s hands. “If I hadn’t been there, you would’ve ordered your men to murder this girl and Lucy without a second thought!”

   Van Helsing’s expression darkened, shadows crossing his brow as he shifted his intense gaze toward Arthur. “You what?!” His voice resonated with barely suppressed fury, each word laced with disappointment.

   With a sudden, swift motion, Quincy grasped Arthur by the collar, his fingers digging into the fabric tightly. “If I didn’t know any better,” he continued, his voice lowering to a dangerous whisper, “I’d say you wanted her dead even before she became a vampire.”

   “Get your hands off me!” Arthur protested vehemently, wrenching himself away from Quincy’s iron grip. There was a fire in his eyes, indignation that made him look almost unrecognizable.

   Van Helsing’s voice rose again, a storm raging within him. “I gave you explicit orders to capture Lucy alive,” Van Helsing’s voice carried an unwavering authority, cutting through the tension that hung heavy in the air. His expression was one of stern disapproval as he continued. “We were meant to find a way to cure her, to save her soul! Yet, you attempted to kill her?”

   Dr. Seward, who had been aghast by the accusation, looked on in disbelief. His eyes widened, reflecting shock and betrayal. “Lucy is your fiancée, Arthur!” he interjected, his voice trembling slightly from his growing anger. “How could you betray her like this? Lucy, our Lucy! Our mission was to save her, not bring about her death! Van Helsing told you, told all of us, what awaited her should she die.”

   “Apparently, he forgot the part about her being damned to fire and brimstone when he called them blood-sucking demons,” Quincy interjected, his fist clenched tightly at his side.

   Arthur’s face contorted with raw anger and a fervent defiance. “She is no longer my fiancée. There’s no saving vampires!” he barked, his voice rising in a mix of indignation and resolve. “They are monsters that must be eradicated, not coddled or spared!”

   As the men engaged in their heated argument, Marya remained kneeling beside Seward, her eyes wide with fear and desperation. She pulled weakly at the chains that held her captive, her thoughts racing with concern for her mother, Lisa, and the imminent danger looming over them both.

   Seeing that Arthur was too emotionally volatile to continue with their quest, Van Helsing took a decisive step. “You’re done, Arthur,” he stated coldly, each syllable sharp as a knife. “You’re too unstable to be of any use to us. Leave. Now.”

   Arthur’s eyes blazed with a ferocious fury, his fists clenching in disbelief. “You dare issue me orders?” he snarled, his indignation bubbling over. “Me? For the sake of a demon! After everything I’ve sacrificed for this? After all the men I’ve lost!” And with that, he lunged at Van Helsing, fists raised, ready to unleash his wrath.

   However, Van Helsing was prepared. With a practiced sidestep, he evaded Arthur’s reckless assault and countered with a swift punch, landing squarely with Arthur’s jaw. The blow left Arthur with a bloody nose and a bruised ego, staggering back in shock. Quincy, ever pragmatic, drew his revolver, its cool weight reassuring in his palm. He aimed it steadily at Arthur, a silent warning that served to calm the storm of emotions before it escalated further. “Back down, Arthur,” he urged, voice steady.

   Seething with rage and humiliation, Arthur spat contemptuously on the ground, a last act of defiance before storming off into the enveloping night. His mind whirred with thoughts of revenge, plotting how he would finish this fight on his own terms. No one – not even his former allies – would succeed in standing in his way.

   Just then, Jonathan Harker rushed across the fallen leaves of the graveyard and reached the men, his face ghostly pale and his eyes wide with terror. His breath came in ragged gasps, and the urgency in his voice was palpable as he demanded, “Where is she?” His gaze swept over the group, his eyes locking onto the bound figure of Marya. “Wait, why do you have a child chained up?” He shook his head. “No, never mind. Where is Mina?” His voice trembled, each word laced with panic and dread. His eyes darted around the graveyard, as if hoping to find Mina hidden among the shadows.

   Van Helsing met Jonathan’s frantic gaze and took a moment, drawing in a heavy breath before responding, “Dracula came,” he replied. “He took Mina and Lucy. I assume back to Carfax Abbey.”

   Desperation flooded Jonathan’s eyes, transforming fear into a fierce determination. “Well, then, we have to go after them! Now! Come on!” He spun on his heel, ready to charge into the night, but he stopped short when he realized the others weren’t following him.

   Quincy shook his head, his voice calm yet unyielding. “With whose help, Jonathan?” he asked. “Arthur’s men are either dead or scattered. It’s just the four of us now.”

   Jonathan’s eyes darted between the men, his desperation mounting. “W-well, we… we have Van Helsing,” Jonathan stammered, turning to the seasoned vampire hunter. “I’m sure you’ve killed plenty of these monsters in your time. Right?” His voice held a flicker of hope, as if clinging to the notion that Van Helsing’s experience could somehow guide them through the darkness.

   Van Helsing nodded solemnly, but his expression remained grim. “Yes,” he admitted, “but none like these.” He paused, locking eyes with Jonathan. “I can take out one or two high-ranking vampires after months of preparation. But this… against Dracula, the most powerful vampire in existence, and his clan? No. We’re outnumbered and no match for them in our current state.”

   Jonathan’s frustration boiled over, his mouth opening to protest, but before he could speak, Dr. Seward stepped forward. “Professor,” he began, his tone steady and resolute, “do you remember the Second Afghan War? We were pinned down, outnumbered, and overwhelmed. Our spirits were nearly broken. We believed we wouldn’t make it, but you didn’t give up. You found a way. And I’m sure you can find a way again.”

   Seward’s words hung in the air, and for a moment, silence enveloped the group. The memory of that desperate battle reignited something in Van Helsing – a flicker of hope that refused to be extinguished. He couldn’t afford to fail now, not when Lucy, Mina, and perhaps all of humanity’s lives hung in the balance. “You’re right, Jack. We will not abandon Mina and Lucy to torment and death. Not while we have strength left.” [Bram Stoker’s Dracula – Vampire Hunters (Epic Version)]

   Before they could formulate a plan, a mocking voice, dripping with sarcasm, cut through the heavy air. “How touching.”

   The men turned to see Aleera and Verona perched atop a mausoleum, their dark forms casting long shadows in the moonlight. Aleera’s lips curled into a sneer, her eyes gleaming with predatory malice as she ridiculed their passionate speeches. Quincy reacted instinctively, raising his crossbow, his fingers poised on the trigger, ready to fire. But Van Helsing raised a hand, stopping him before he could act.

   Seeing the vampires, Marya pulled against her chains, her eyes wide with fear and desperation. She wanted to rush to them, but Seward, thinking the vampires meant harm to her, yanked her back, gripping her chains tightly. Aleera, her expression a mix of contempt and fury, stepped forward, ready to unleash her wrath to rescue Marya. But Verona raised a hand, stopping her.

   “We didn’t come here to fight,” Verona said, her voice calm and measured. “We come with a message.”

   Van Helsing narrowed his eyes, suspicion flickering beneath the surface. “Continue,” he commanded, his voice steady.

   Verona’s lips curled into a cold smile. “Our master invites you to Carfax Abbey. He proposes a trade: the woman for the princess.”

   Quincy’s eyes narrowed, distrust etched into his features. “I don’t trust them,” he muttered to Van Helsing under his breath.

   Van Helsing, however, remained resolute. “No,” he said quietly, turning slightly to Quincy. “Dracula may be a devil, but even he is bound to his word, twisted though it may be. With his daughter as our hostage, he would not dare risk her safety.”

   Aleera’s eyes gleamed with sadistic delight as she added, “Also, Mr. Cowboy, if you refuse, Mrs. Harker dies. Slowly.” She smiled cruelly, revealing her sharp fangs, the threat hanging in the air like a blade poised to strike.

   Van Helsing understood the gravity of their situation. “We accept,” he said gravely, his voice unwavering.

   Bowing respectfully to their mortal enemy, Verona led Aleera as they took to the air, their dark forms vanishing into the night sky. The weight of the situation pressed heavily on the men’s shoulders as surreal silence fell in their wake.

   As the vampires vanished into the darkness of the night, Quincy turned to Van Helsing, his brow furrowed with concern. “I still believe it’s a trap,” he said, his voice low and serious.

   Van Helsing nodded, a determined glint in his eyes. “Oh, it’s undoubtedly a trap,” he agreed. As the first drops of rain began to fall, Van Helsing gazed up at the looming darkness above, his mind already strategizing a daring plan to navigate the treacherous road ahead.

🦇

   The storm outside raged with a ferocity that mirrored the turmoil within Carfax Abbey. The ancient structure stood like a fortress for the vampires that lurked inside, its towering walls barely visible through the sheets of rain. As Seward took his position at a strategic vantage point atop his Asylum, which happened to adjoin the Abbey’s grounds, Van Helsing, Quincy, and Jonathan approached the foreboding entrance, their faces set with grim determination. Quincy held tightly to the chains binding Marya (the muzzle having been since removed), her small frame trembling with fear as they drew closer to the looming shadow of the Abbey. The wind howled, and the storm battered them, but they pressed forward, knowing that the fate of Mina and Lucy – and perhaps all of humanity – hung in the balance.

   Van Helsing stepped up to the massive wooden door, his knuckles rapping against its surface. The sound echoed ominously through the Abbey’s cavernous stone halls, reverberating like a death knell in the oppressive silence. For a moment, nothing stirred. Then, with an eerie creak, the door swung open on its own, revealing a dimly lit foyer beyond.

   The three men entered cautiously, their eyes scanning the shadowy interior for any sign of danger. The flickering glow of candlelight danced around the room, casting long, eerie shadows that twisted and warped along the damp walls. The air was thick with the scent of decay and ancient stone, and the oppressive sense of dread weighed heavily on their shoulders.

   In the center of the foyer stood Verona, her dark eyes glinting with barely contained fury. Her expression was inscrutable, but the rage simmering beneath the surface was palpable. Fury for her queen’s death. Fury for her plans being shattered. Fury at seeing her princess in chains. Yet, she remained composed, awaiting her master’s command to unleash their revenge.

   To her left, lounging in a chair as if she were a queen herself, was Carmilla, sipping delicately from a glass of a maiden’s blood. She exuded an otherworldly beauty that was as cold and deadly as a winter’s night, an ethereal yet dangerous presence that seemed to draw the very warmth from the air. Three vampiric servants stood at her side, their eyes gleaming with hunger. Though they were low-ranking members of her clan, they were all she could summon from her own clan in Styria on such short notice.

   Crouched to Verona’s right was Aleera, transformed into her dire wolf form; her sleek, muscular body coiled with tension, and her yellow eyes glimmered with a predatory hunger that promised swift, vicious action should they be provoked. She was barely restrained, her instincts screaming to attack the humans and rescue her princess. The only thing holding her back was Verona’s and Dracula’s command.

   Van Helsing’s eyes swept the interior of the Abbey, searching for any sign of Dracula. The storm outside intensified, and a sudden flash of lightning illuminated the grand staircase at the room’s far end. There, silhouetted against the tempest, stood Dracula himself – his dark form framed like a portrait of evil. His presence filled the room with an overwhelming sense of dread, as if the very walls of the Abbey were closing in around them.

   Beside him, in stark contrast to his imposing figure, stood Mina, her hands cruelly bound behind her back. A heavy hood obscured her face, casting her features in shadow. Though her expression was hidden, the tension in her body spoke volumes of her plight. She stood rigid, like a prisoner awaiting judgment, her fate hanging in the balance.

   When Marya caught sight of her father, hope ignited in her eyes, only to be filled with fear and concerned worry when she saw Mina. She struggled violently against her chains, her voice trembling with raw vulnerability. “Father! I’m so sorry! This is all my fault! Please let Miss Mina go; she did nothing wrong!” Her desperate plea echoed through the Abbey, each word laced with guilt and sorrow.

   Dracula’s cold gaze flicked down to his daughter, but he remained silent. His expression was unreadable, his thoughts hidden behind a mask of calm indifference. His eyes, however, betrayed a flicker of something – perhaps regret, perhaps anger – but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

   Van Helsing stepped forward, his face set in grim determination. His voice cut through the charged atmosphere like a blade. “Where is Lucy?” he demanded, his tone sharp with urgency.

   Dracula’s eyes bore into Van Helsing, his fury as dark as the storm outside. “You should know,” he said, his voice low and menacing as he pointed to the crossbow in Van Helsing’s hands. “You carry the very weapon you killed her with.”

   As confusion swept across Jonathan and Quincy’s faces, Van Helsing’s expression, however, darkened as the pieces of a tragic puzzle began to fall into place. “Arthur,” he murmured, his voice thick with anger and betrayal. The truth hit him like a physical blow. Arthur had lied. He had killed Lucy, his own fiancée, and blamed Dracula for her death. The weight of that betrayal settled heavily on Van Helsing’s shoulders. He had failed Lucy – again. This time, there would be no saving her. Her pure and innocent soul was now damned to hell for all eternity.

   Quincy’s grip tightened on the chains binding Marya, his knuckles white with rage. “That son of a—” he growled, but Van Helsing raised a hand, silencing him. There would be time for vengeance later. Now, they had to focus on the task at hand.

   As the truth of her mother’s fate sank in, Marya felt her legs give way beneath her. She crumpled to the cold stone floor, her body shaking with sobs that echoed through the cavernous space of the Abbey. Time seemed to stand still for her, the world around her blurring into insignificance under the crushing weight of her guilt. If only she had obeyed her father’s orders. If only she hadn’t run away when she wanted no part of his war against humanity. Perhaps her mother would still be alive.

   Tears streamed down her face, hot and relentless, as she released a heart-wrenching scream that reverberated off the stone walls, shattering the windows. “Nooooo!” Her voice was filled with the kind of pain that only comes from the deepest of losses. Her sobs filled the room, mingling with the sound of the storm outside, creating a symphony of sorrow and despair.

   Aleera whined softly at the sound of her princess’s grief. Her yellow eyes flicked toward Marya, and for a moment, the predator was replaced by something softer, something more human. But it was fleeting, and soon the hunger returned, her body coiling once more with tension with fury at the men that’d caused this hurt to her pup.

   Verona stepped forward, her presence commanding and chilling, each word dripping with an icy authority that echoed through the dimly lit chamber. She cast a sidelong glance at Marya, who remained on her knees, caught in a storm of grief, before leveling a piercing gaze at Van Helsing, a predatory glint flickering like a flame in her eyes. “Shall we discuss the terms of the exchange?” she inquired, her voice smooth and cold as ice.

   Van Helsing’s gaze hardened into a steely glare, his eyes narrowing with the gravity of the moment. He knew he was walking a fine line, one wrong move, and they would all be dead – or worse. “Make your demands,” he said, his voice low and controlled.

   With a calculated calmness, Verona continued, her voice unwavering. “You shall return to us the princess, unharmed, and hand over the man responsible for the queen’s death,” she declared, her voice sweetly sinister. “In return, we will return to you, Mrs. Harker. Are these terms acceptable?”

   Van Helsing’s eyes narrowed. “We will allow you to leave London alive on the condition that you never set foot outside of your castle in Transylvania ever again.” His words hung in the air like a leaden weight, the stakes as high as the dread that suffocated the room.

   A low, mocking chuckle escaped Dracula’s lips. He stepped forward, his presence commanding the room. “And if we refuse?” he asked, his voice a dark, velvet challenge that hung heavy in the air. In response, Van Helsing raised his crossbow, aiming it directly at Marya, who knelt helplessly on the cold stone floor. Her tear-streaked face glistened in the dim light, her eyes wide with fear and sorrow. Dracula’s eyes narrowed, but his calm demeanor remained unshaken. “Very well,” he said, his voice cold and measured. His eyes locked onto Van Helsing’s – his gaze unyielding and fierce, neither man willing to back down. “We will abide by your terms… as long as we both live.”

   Van Helsing nodded slowly, though a flicker of suspicion darkened his gaze. He knew that though Dracula was a man of his word, the vampire had a habit of twisting his words to the detriment of his enemies. But for now, they were cornered and had no choice but to see the exchange through.

   With the agreement settled, Verona turned sharply on her heel and ascended the stairs as she went to retrieve Mina. Meanwhile, Quincy unchained Marya but held her close, stepping forward to meet Verona in the center of the foyer, where they exchanged their respective hostages. Mina, her face still obscured by the heavy hood of her cloak, moved cautiously towards the men, each hesitant step laden with dread. Her movements were slow, as if she were walking through a nightmare. Marya, on the other hand, staggered toward her father, her tears flowing freely, her heart torn apart by guilt and fear.

   She searched his face for even a flicker of warmth or reassurance, but all she found was an unforgiving emptiness, a harbinger of the darkness within him that barely contained a storm of rage. Her heart sank further at the realization that the father she had once known had been consumed by darkness. Disheartened by this realization, she found herself paralyzed with fear, unable to summon the courage to reach out to him. Instead, she silently sidled up to his side, her head bowed low, the silence between them stretching like a chasm.

   On the other side of the room, Mina was swept away by an overwhelming surge of emotion. The moment she was close enough, she rushed into his Jonathan’s outstretched arms without any hesitation. The moment their bodies connected, she sank into his embrace, and Jonathan clung to her tightly as if he could shield her from all the horrors of the world, waves of relief washing over him. But something was wrong.

   As Jonathan held Mina, a chill ran down his spine. An unsettling chill radiated from her skin – cold and lifeless, like the touch of death itself. Alarm bells rang in his mind, prompting him to pull back just enough so he could see her face under the hood. He hesitated only momentarily before drawing back the dark hood that obscured her features.

   What he saw sent a jolt of horror through him.

   Mina’s once warm and vibrant complexion was now deathly pale, her skin as white as a specter. Her ears had become pointed, like a creature of the night, and her eyes – those beautiful eyes that had once been filled with love and life – now blazed with an unnatural, blood-red crimson glow. Her lips parted slightly, revealing sharp, gleaming fangs.

   Jonathan stumbled back, his heart shattering as the truth hit him like a hammer. “Mina…” he whispered, his voice breaking. “No… no…”

   Van Helsing’s eyes widened in shock as he took in the sight before him. His worst fears had been realized. Mina had been turned. She was no longer the woman they had come to save – she was a vampire, bound to Dracula’s will.

   The room fell into stunned silence, the horror of the moment sinking into the men’s hearts. A chilling voice pierced through the heavy silence. “I warned you, Van Helsing,” Dracula sneered, his tone dripping with mockery and cold satisfaction. “If you sought to bring destruction upon me and my loved ones, I would return the favor.” [Van Helsing – Final Battle]

   As he spoke, Dracula’s eyes glowed a deep, menacing red, and Mina’s eyes mirrored his. Her body tensed, her movements no longer her own, controlled by some unseen force. With a sudden, feral snarl, she lunged at Jonathan, her fangs bared, her once-loving gaze now filled with predatory hunger. Jonathan barely managed to push her away, his heart breaking as he realized the full extent of Dracula’s control over her. “Mina, no!” he cried, his voice filled with anguish. But she was no longer the woman he loved – she was a creature of the night, bound to Dracula’s will, her humanity stripped away.

   The storm outside raged with a fury that mirrored the chaos within Carfax Abbey. Lightning split the sky, thunder roared, and the wind howled as if nature was witnessing the dark events unfolding.

   Dracula took a step forward, watching the scene unfold with cold satisfaction. His plan had come to fruition. He had taken from Van Helsing and Jonathan what they held most dear, just as they had taken from him. His revenge would soon be complete.

   But before Dracula could savor his victory, a sharp crack echoed through the abbey – a gunshot. The bullet tore through the air, striking Dracula square in the chest. He stumbled back, a look of surprise crossing his face. For a fleeting moment, it seemed as though the great vampire lord had been brought down. But then, with a slow, deliberate motion, Dracula straightened, his hand outstretched. He opened his palm, revealing the bullet, which he had effortlessly caught mid-air.

   “Did you truly believe you could kill me so easily, Doctor?” Dracula’s voice was cold, dripping with menace as he looked through the shattered window toward Dr. Seward, who had fired the shot from the highest floor of the Asylum. Dracula’s eyes gleamed with a predatory glint, and a sinister smile curled his lips.

   As Dracula spoke, Carmilla, ever graceful and poised, rose to her feet. With a sharp snap of her fingers, the sound echoing in the dimly lit room, two of her loyal subordinates sprang into action. Without hesitation, they darted toward the wide, broken window where the chilling night breeze flowed in. Their dark cloaks billowed behind them like shadows escaping into the night as they leaped through the opening, heading straight for the Asylum and Dr. Seward.

   The tension in the Abbey escalated as the vampires poised to strike. Van Helsing, Quincy, and Jonathan stood at the ready, their weapons drawn, their hearts pounding with the knowledge that this could be their final stand. But before any of them could act, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed from outside the Abbey.

   The heavy door of the Abbey erupted open with a thunderous crash, and a flood of Scotland Yard officers, led by Arthur, stormed into the Abbey. Armed with rifles and pistols drawn, the officers fanned out across the room, their faces a mixture of shock and confusion at the chaotic scene before them. The flickering light from the storm outside cast eerie shadows on the stone walls, making the vampires appear even more monstrous.

   Dracula stepped forward, his grin widening. “Ah, Holmwood,” he crooned, his tone mocking. “I see you’ve brought the cavalry. Or be it, the buffet we will dine on after your deaths.”

   Arthur’s voice rang out, filled with self-righteous fury. “There they are! The monsters who killed my men! Arrest them! All of them!” Van Helsing’s eyes narrowed, realizing that Arthur had betrayed them.

   As the tension reached its breaking point, the storm outside seemed to respond to the growing chaos within. The howling winds lifted Verona off the ground, her eyes glowing with power as bolts of azure lightning erupted violently from her outstretched hands. She hurled the bolts at the men, each one arcing through the air like a serpent, striking with deadly precision. The officers scrambled for cover behind the sparse furniture and crumbling stone walls, but the lightning was relentless, illuminating the abbey in blinding flashes of light and burning through the men unfortunate enough to be hit. Each strike revealed fleeting glimpses of terror on their faces as they realized the futility of their weapons against the supernatural forces they faced.

   Meanwhile, Aleera darted through the shadows like a predator. Her massive form, a blur of fur and fangs, her eyes glinting with primal hunger as she darted effortlessly through the darkness. As the men took cover from Verona’s blasts, Aleera would lunge leap from the shadows at the men, her jaws snapping as she tore through their ranks. The police fired their rifles, but their mundane bullets did nothing more than irritate her vampiric hide. Quincy, caught in the maelstrom of the battle, fired his crossbow, but the silver bolt narrowly missed Aleera as she zipped toward him, her movements almost too fast to track.

   As the intense battle raged, Mina, still under Dracula’s powerful sway, grasped Jonathan’s arm with a strength that was beyond anything human. In an instant, she lifted him effortlessly and took off through the dimly lit corridors of the abbey. Jonathan struggled in her grasp, but the overwhelming force of her grip made escape impossible.

   As he watched her drag Jonathan away, Van Helsing noticed Arthur and a group of officers break away from the fight. They were chasing after Dracula, who had fled deeper into the abbey with Marya and Carmilla’s subordinate. Van Helsing’s mind raced. He knew that Arthur, in his blind rage, would not hesitate to kill Marya as well if he caught up to them.

   “Go!” Quincy called out, his words infused with urgency as he reloaded his crossbow. “Stop Dracula and save Jonathan and Mina! I’ll manage things here!” Quincy then fired a barrage at Aleera, keeping her at bay for now as she darted through the shadows.

   Van Helsing hesitated for only a moment before nodding. He knew Quincy was right. Van Helsing turned and sprinted up the stairs, leaving Quincy and the remaining officers to fend off the brides.

🦇

   Deeper within the abbey, Dracula pulled Marya along with him, his mind racing. He had to get her to safety. The humans were closing in, and he couldn’t risk losing her as he had lost Lisa. But as they moved through the darkened corridors, Marya’s voice broke through the silence, trembling with fear and sorrow.

   “Please, Father,” she cried, her voice nearly breaking. “Let’s just leave! We don’t have to do this! We don’t have to fight!”

   Dracula slowed, his grip on her arm loosening. For a moment, the cold, calculating mask he wore slipped, and the man beneath – the father – was revealed. He looked at Marya, his heart heavy with the weight of her plea. She was all he had left, the last remnant of his once-great family. Could he truly risk her life for the sake of his revenge?

   But then, the memory of Lisa’s death surged through him, filling him with renewed rage. The humans had taken everything from him – his wife, his kingdom, his peace. He could not let them take Marya, too. He ordered her to hide while he took care of the intruders. His vengeance was all that remained, and he would see it through to the bitter end.

🦇

   The Asylum was eerily quiet, except for Dr. John Seward’s ragged breathing as he sprinted through the dimly lit corridors. The flickering gas lamps cast long, dancing shadows on the walls, heightening the oppressive atmosphere. Behind him, the guttural growls of the remaining vampire echoed through the halls, growing louder with each passing second. The creature was relentless, its predatory footsteps closing the distance between them.

   Moments earlier, Seward had managed to kill one of Carmilla’s servants, his silver rounds tearing through the vampire’s chest and reducing it to ash. But his victory had come at a cost - he had exhausted his ammunition. Now, with only an empty revolver in hand and his wits to rely on, he was being hunted by the second servant, a feral and bloodthirsty predator who was faster and stronger than any human.

   Seward’s mind raced as he darted into a side room, slamming the door shut behind him. He knew the Asylum well - every corridor, every room, every tool at his disposal. He had prepared for this moment, anticipating that the vampires might come after him once the battle at Carfax erupted. But now, face-to-face with death, he realized that no amount of preparation could truly steel a man for the terror of being hunted by the undead.

   The vampire slammed against the door, its claws scraping at the wood as it snarled in frustration; thankfully, it was a low-level vampire and not as powerful as Dracula, his brides, or the other third or fourth-generation vampires. Seward backed away, his eyes scanning the room for anything he could use. His gaze fell on the electroshock therapy chair in the center of the room and the generator humming faintly in the corner. A plan began to form in his mind - a desperate, dangerous plan that might just save him, though he knew it would likely cost him his life.

   Seward had prepared this room in advance, knowing that if the vampires ever breached the Asylum, he would need a way to fight back. The electroshock chair had been modified for just such an occasion. Around the base of the chair, he had poured a thin, nearly invisible line of holy water from the small chapel inside the Asylum; funny, Seward had always thought it was superstitious nonsense, yet now it was all that would potentially save his life. The idea was simple: according to Van Helsing, vampires, unable to cross holy water, would be trapped within the circle. But Seward had taken it a step further. If he could lure the vampire into the chair and activate the generator, the combination of electricity and the sanctified water would create a deadly conduit, frying the creature where it stood.

   The door splintered as the vampire burst into the room, its eyes glowing with malevolent hunger. It was tall and gaunt, its skin stretched tight over its skeletal frame. Blood stained its fanged mouth, and its claws gleamed like knives in the dim light. Seward backed away, keeping the chair between himself and the creature.

   “Come on, you bastard,” Seward muttered under his breath, his voice trembling but resolute. “Let’s finish this.”

   The vampire lunged at him, its claws swiping through the air. Seward ducked, narrowly avoiding the attack, and scrambled toward the far side of the room. The creature snarled in frustration, its movements animalistic and erratic. It was toying with him, savoring the hunt.

   Seward grabbed a nearby stool and hurled it at the vampire, the wooden legs splintering against its chest. The creature barely flinched, its glowing eyes locking onto him with predatory focus. It lunged again, faster this time, and Seward couldn’t evade its claws as it slashed him across the back. He stumbled, falling to the floor, and the vampire loomed over him, its fangs bared.

   “Not yet,” Seward hissed, rolling to the side and scrambling to his feet. He moved toward the chair, his heart pounding in his chest. The vampire followed, its movements fluid and unnervingly silent. It was toying with him, confident in its inevitable victory.

   Seward reached the electroshock chair and turned to face the vampire, his back pressed against the generator. He was out of options, out of time. The creature lunged at him again, and Seward didn’t move this time. Instead, he grabbed the vampire’s wrist as it struck, using its momentum to pull it forward. The creature snarled in surprise as Seward twisted its arm, forcing it into the chair.

   The vampire thrashed violently, its claws slashing at Seward’s arms and chest. Blood poured from his wounds, but he held on, using every ounce of strength he had to hold the creature in place as the generator charged. The vampire roared in fury, its fangs snapping onto Seward’s neck, forcing him to fall back.

   “You’re not getting out of this,” Seward growled, his voice hoarse with pain. He staggered back, his body trembling from the effort. Blood dripped from his wounds, pooling on the floor beneath him, completing the circle of holy water.

   The vampire thrashed against an invisible barrier created by the holy water, its movements frantic and desperate. Seward stumbled toward the generator, his vision blurring as blood loss began to take its toll. He reached for the lever, his hand trembling.

   “When you get to Hell, tell them that Seward sent you,” he murmured, his voice low but steady. “And then apologize on my behalf for the inconvenience.” With a final, defiant tug, he pulled the lever of the generator, the machine humming to life with a deep, resonant growl that echoed through the dimly lit room.

   The room was filled with a deafening hum as electricity surged through the chair. The holy water surrounding the chair’s base began to sizzle and steam, creating a deadly circuit that engulfed the vampire in a blinding flash of light. The creature let out a blood-curdling scream as its body convulsed violently, smoke rising from its flesh. The sanctified water burned through its skin like acid, and the electricity tore through its body, reducing it to ash within seconds.

   As the vampire disintegrated, the room fell silent once more, save for the faint hum of the generator. Seward collapsed to the floor, his body too weak to stand. Blood pooled around him, his wounds too severe to survive. He leaned back against the wall, his breathing shallow and labored, until he let out his final breath.

🦇

   Back in the foyer, the battle had reached a fevered pitch. The dim light flickered against the ancient stone walls, casting long shadows as the combatants clashed in a deadly dance of steel, claws, and blood, illuminated by brief flashes of gunfire and blasts of lightning. Quincy, his face set with grim determination, fought valiantly alongside the officers of Scotland Yard, his silver-dusted bowie knife gleaming as he slashed at Aleera, one of Dracula’s most ferocious brides.

   Aleera, her eyes glowing with primal hunger, moved with terrifying speed, her claws raking through the air as she attacked. Quincy, despite his injuries, fought with everything he had. His knife found its mark, slashing across Aleera’s flank, drawing a deep, dark line of blood. She howled in pain, her voice echoing through the abbey like the wail of a banshee. But the wound only seemed to enrage her further. With a snarl, she retaliated, her claws raking across Quincy’s chest, tearing through his flesh with brutal efficiency.

   Quincy stumbled back, blood pouring from the deep gashes, but he refused to back down. His breath came in ragged gasps, but his resolve was unshakable. With a final surge of strength, he lunged forward, driving his bowie knife deep into Aleera’s side. The blade sank into her flesh, and she screeched in agony, her body convulsing as the silver burned her from within.

   But before Quincy could pull the knife free, Aleera moved with blinding speed. She lunged at him, her fangs bared, and sank them deep into his throat. Quincy gasped, his body going limp as Aleera’s jaws crushed his windpipe. Blood poured from the wound, staining his clothes and the cold stone floor beneath him. His vision blurred, and he could feel the life draining from his body.

   With a final, desperate effort, Quincy twisted the knife deeper into Aleera’s side, causing her to howl in pain once more. But it was too late. His strength failed him, and his body slumped to the floor, lifeless. Aleera staggered back, severely wounded but still standing, her eyes glinting with a savage triumph.

   As Quincy’s body lay motionless on the floor, the battle in the abbey continued to rage. The officers, their faces pale with fear, fired their rifles at the vampires, but their bullets were useless against the supernatural creatures. Verona stood at the center of the chaos, her hands crackling with energy. With a surge of adrenaline, she unleashed a fierce torrent of lightning, the bolts of azure light illuminating the darkened sky and forcing the officers to retreat further into the shadowy recesses of the abbey. The air was thick with the smell of burning flesh as the lightning tore through the abbey, reducing everything in its path to ash.

   But amid the chaos, Verona noticed something strange. Carmilla had mysteriously disappeared. A furrow formed in Verona’s brow as suspicion bubbled within her, but there was no time to dwell on it. With a surge of adrenaline, Verona unleashed another fierce torrent of lightning, illuminating the darkened sky and forcing the officers to retreat further into the shadowy recesses of the ancient Abbey.

🦇

   Meanwhile, far removed from the bloodshed at Carfax, Carmilla strode through the rain-soaked streets of London with an unnerving calm. The steady downpour fell around her, cascading off the brim of her wide, floppy-brimmed hat, soaking the world in a dreary haze. Yet, Carmilla remained unfazed, her demeanor cold and collected. Her expression was a blank mask of icy stoicism, betraying none of the wicked thoughts churning within her mind.

   The streets lay deserted, the storm having driven most of the city’s inhabitants indoors to seek refuge from the elements. But for Carmilla, the rain was a mere backdrop – her heels clicked with a rhythmic confidence against the worn cobblestones, echoing through the silence as she made her way to a waiting vehicle. Parked beneath the flickering, ghostly glow of a nearby streetlamp was a sleek black car, its engine purring softly.

   Inside the car, the dim light revealed two figures caught in the shadows. One was a hulking man, his physique formidable, muscular, and imbued with a potent aura of danger and mystery. The dimness obscured his features, allowing only hints of his sharp jawline and the gleam of his glowing green eyes under his top hat, which penetrated the gloom. Opposite him sat Professor Septimus Proteus, a man distinguished not only by his unmatched intellect but also by his penchant for mad invention. His piercing gaze, sharp as a hawk’s, was riveted on the door, anticipation carved into the lines of his face as he watched Carmilla.

   As she approached, the window of the car rolled down with a soft whisper, inviting her closer. Carmilla leaned gracefully into the opening, her movements fluid and deliberate. In her right hand, she clutched a bundle of documents, tightly secured within a discreet folder, its cover worn yet sturdy, all bound with a simple piece of twine. The bundle represented far more than mere paper – it was a treasure trove of dark secrets, holding the potential to alter the precarious balance of power for the entire world.

   “Dracula’s war plans, as promised,” Carmilla stated, her voice steady and devoid of emotion, as if imparting mere facts rather than secrets of immense consequence. She placed the bundle into Proteus’s outstretched hand, feeling the weight of it transfer – a palpable reminder that within those pages lay the potential for chaos and destruction.

   Proteus nodded without breaking eye contact, his expression inscrutable as he accepted the documents. “Well done, my dear. I’ll ensure they reach our mutual friend in Germany,” he said, his voice low and measured.

   With the exchange complete, Carmilla straightened up and turned away, her thoughts already shifting to the future. She had no ties of loyalty to Dracula; her true allegiance lay elsewhere. A sly smile, barely perceptible, flickered across her lips – a glimmer of wicked excitement – as she began her walk back toward Carfax Abbey, her mind racing ahead to the next phase of her intricate plan – a plan shaped by vengeance and ambition, driven by the singular desire to watch Dracula fall.

🦇

   The Scotland Yard officers, led by Arthur, pursued their targets into the labyrinthine corridors of the Abbey, their footsteps echoing in the oppressive silence. They had lost sight of Dracula and Marya, their quarry vanishing into the darkness like a wraith. Deciding to split up, Arthur led some of the men down a corridor while the rest continued onward.

   The officers slowed their pace, their breaths coming in ragged gasps as they scanned the shadows for any sign of the vampire lord. The dim light from their lanterns flickered, casting long, distorted shadows along the cold stone walls. The air was thick with tension, the silence broken only by the distant rumble of thunder.

   Suddenly, a sound pierced the quiet – a low, guttural breathing, deep and unnatural, reverberating through the hall. The officers froze, their eyes widening in terror. At the far end of the corridor, a pair of glowing, blood-red eyes appeared, cutting through the darkness like twin embers of hellfire.

   Dracula had found them.

   Panic surged through the ranks of the police. “Open fire!” one of the officers shouted, his voice trembling with fear. The hallway erupted in a cacophony of gunfire, bullets ricocheting off the stone walls, but none found their mark. Dracula advanced slowly, inexorably, like a shadow through the darkened halls, his presence a nightmare made flesh. His form was barely visible in the flickering light, but his glowing eyes remained fixed on them, unblinking and filled with malice.

   The bullets seemed to pass through him, as if he were made of mist. His dark cloak billowed around him like the wings of a bat, and with each step, the air grew colder, the shadows deepening. The officers’ shots became more frantic, but their efforts were futile. Dracula was a being far beyond mortality – an untouchable, unstoppable embodiment of wrath, revenge, and unearthly power.

   As he neared the first group of officers, Dracula raised one hand, his fingers curling into a menacing claw-like gesture that seemed to beckon the darkness itself. The shadows surrounding him began to stir, writhing and twisting like serpents or tentacles, as if imbued with a life of their own. From the darkness, eldritch shapes emerged – demonic bats, their bodies obscured in dark shadowy fur and their eyes glowing with the same malevolent red light as their master’s. The creatures screeched as they descended upon the officers, their leathery wings flapping wildly as they tore into flesh, dragging their screaming victims into the shadows and swallowed up by the writhing darkness.

   The remaining officers recoiled in horror, but there was no escape. Dracula summoned a thick, swirling mist that filled the corridor, its tendrils snaking around the men, lifting them off their feet as if they were weightless. The mist tossed them against the walls and ceiling with bone-shattering force, their bodies crumpling like ragdolls.

   One officer, trembling with a mix of fear and dread, raised his lantern, the feeble light flickering and sputtering in his unsteady hand. As the mist cleared for a brief moment, he saw Dracula standing before him, his eyes glowing brighter than ever. The vampire lord’s gaze locked onto the man, and in an instant, the officer was frozen in place, his limbs stiffening as if turned to stone as his mind went blank. Dracula’s hypnotic power held him captive, his mind overwhelmed by the sheer force of the vampire’s will.

   With terrifying ease, Dracula stepped forward, his claws gleaming in the dim light. He reached out, his hand closing around the officer’s throat. The man’s scream was cut short as Dracula’s fangs sank into his neck, the vampire draining his life’s blood with a savage hunger. As the officer’s body went limp, Dracula straightened, his strength replenished by the fresh blood.

   The few remaining officers fled in terror, their panicked footsteps echoing through the shadowed halls of the Abbey. Their faces were pale with fear, their breaths ragged as they scrambled to escape the nightmare they had unwittingly entered. Dracula stood motionless in the dim light, his crimson eyes narrowing as he watched them disappear into the storm outside. A cruel sneer twisted his lips, but the expression faltered as his body swayed.

   Dracula could feel it – the slow, insidious drain of his vitality. His hand pressed against the jagged wound in his chest, the wound Solomon Kane inflicted on him centuries ago but had never fully healed. Though he was the powerful vampire king, this wound sapped him of his strength, and using so much of his powers left him weakened, his strength ebbing with every passing moment. He could feel it in his bones, the centuries of wear and tear catching up to him. But his fury kept him moving, kept him fighting.

   “Marya!” he called out, reverberating through the ancient stone walls. He staggered forward, his movements unsteady; each step was a battle, his immortal body struggling against the searing pain that burned through his flesh.

   As he turned down the hall in search of his daughter to leave the hall, the deafening crack of a gunshot shattered the silence, the sound ricocheting off the walls like thunder. A sharp, blinding pain shot through his side, forcing him to stumble. His hand instinctively clutched at his side, where a silver bullet had struck him, his fingers slick with his own dark blood. Before he could regain his footing, another shot rang out, but Dracula dodged the attack this time.

   Turning to where the shots were coming from, Dracula saw Arthur at the far end of the corridor, his face contorted with hatred, his pistol still smoking in his hand. Arthur’s eyes burned with vengeful fury as he stepped closer, his voice dripping with venom. “Not so invincible now, are you?” Arthur sneered, his tone mocking and cruel.

   Dracula roared, the sound primal and filled with agony, as the silver bullet embedded deeper into his flesh. He staggered back, his crimson eyes blazing with fury. But even in his weakened state, he was far from defeated. With a guttural snarl, he vanished into the darkness, fleeing deeper into the darkness of the Abbey.

   Arthur’s heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He gritted his teeth and gave chase, his footsteps echoing in the storm-laden halls. He could hear Dracula’s labored breathing ahead of him, a faint, rasping sound that betrayed the vampire’s weakening state.

🦇

   Elsewhere in the Abbey, Mina and Jonathan were locked in a deadly struggle, their love now twisted into a tragic battle for survival. Mina, transformed into a vampire and enslaved by Dracula’s hypnotic control, attacked Jonathan with terrifying ferocity. Her movements were swift and predatory, her once-delicate hands now bearing long, razor-sharp claws. With a vicious strike, she drove her claws into Jonathan’s chest, the tips narrowly missing his heart by mere inches.

   Jonathan slumped to the cold floor, his body trembling as blood seeped from the wound just above his heart. His breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps, his face pale from the loss of blood and the pain wracking his body. Looking up, he saw Mina readying to strike him again. Yet, even as her eyes glowed red and she looked at him like a predator looking at their prey, he saw tears in the corners of her eyes. He knew that somewhere within her, Mina was struggling for control.

   Even in the face of death, his love for Mina remained unshaken. His eyes, filled with tenderness, locked onto hers, and his weak voice broke through the suffocating silence. “It’s okay… I love you, Mina,” he whispered.

   Those words, spoken with such sincerity and unwavering love – along with Dracula’s waning strength – pierced through the fog of Dracula’s hypnotic control over her. Mina froze mid-attack, her blood-red eyes widening as memories of her life with Jonathan came flooding back. Their laughter, their vows, their dreams – all of it surged to the surface, breaking through the dark haze clouding her mind. The iron grip of Dracula’s influence began to falter, and for the first time since her transformation, Mina saw clearly.

   She looked down at her hands, now stained with Jonathan’s blood, and a wave of horror crashed over her.

   “No… no…” Mina whispered, her voice trembling with anguish. She stumbled back, her hands shaking as the realization of what she had done hit her like a thunderbolt. She had mortally wounded the man she loved – the man she had risked everything to save from Dracula’s grasp. Tears welled in her crimson eyes as she fell to her knees beside him, cradling his head in her arms.

   “Jonathan… I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, her voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to… I d-didn’t want to hurt you…”

   As Mina cradled Jonathan in her arms, her tears mingling with the blood pooling on the floor, the sound of footsteps echoed through the Abbey’s shadowed halls. Verona stepped into the doorway, having slaughtered the remaining officers in the foyer, and went searching for her master. Seeing Mina free from Dracula’s control and weeping over the man the master had ordered her to kill, Verona’s eyes blazed with fury, and her lips curled into a snarl as she took in the scene before her.

   To Verona, this was an unforgivable betrayal; Mina, turned by Dracula himself, had been elevated to a status higher than any of his brides – a second-generation vampire, created to avenge her sister and serve as Dracula’s most powerful weapon against Van Helsing. And yet, here she was, defying him, mourning the very man she had been ordered to destroy. Verona’s voice dripped with venom as she stepped forward, her claws flexing in anticipation of the kill. “Looks like I’ll have to finish you both myself!” she hissed.

   Without hesitation, Verona lunged at Mina, her movements a blur of supernatural speed. Her claws slashed through the air with lethal precision, aimed directly at Mina’s throat. But when her strike landed, the space was empty. Verona’s eyes widened in surprise as she stumbled forward, her claws raking through nothing but air. Her senses were on high alert; Verona felt a presence behind her and spun around to see Mina standing a few feet away, her fists clenched, and her blood-red eyes narrowed with fury. Her posture was tense, her body coiled like a spring ready to strike.

   “Don’t you dare touch him!” Mina’s voice rang out, low and dangerous. The grief that had consumed her moments ago was now replaced by a cold, unrelenting resolve. Jonathan’s blood still stained her hands, but her focus was entirely on Verona.

   With a feral snarl, Verona lunged again, her claws outstretched. This time, Mina didn’t dodge. The two vampires collided with a force that shook the very walls of the Abbey, sending cracks spiderwebbing through the ancient stone. Their supernatural strength created shockwaves that reverberated through the air as they grappled, their claws slashing and tearing in a brutal dance of death. Their snarls and growls echoed through the Abbey like the roar of the storm outside.

   As Verona attacked, bolts of lightning crackled around her arms, illuminating the dark hall with bursts of blinding light. Her strikes were swift and brutal, her claws tearing through stone and wood as she pursued Mina with relentless fury. But Mina was faster, and she dodged and countered with a ferocity that matched or even surpassed Verona’s. Mina struck with blinding speed, her claws raking across Verona’s back. The older vampire snarled in pain and spun around, her lightning-charged claws slashing at Mina’s face. Mina ducked, the electricity crackling inches above her head, and retaliated with a powerful kick that sent Verona crashing into a nearby pillar. The stone cracked under the force of the impact, and dust rained down from the ceiling.

   Verona recovered quickly, her face twisted with rage. She raised her hands, summoning bolts of lightning. She hurled at Mina with deadly precision, and each strike aimed to incinerate her. Mina darted to the side, her movements a blur as she dodged the crackling energy. The lightning struck the walls and floor, leaving scorched craters in its wake.

   As Mina ran, she felt a surge of power swell from her chest and leaped into the air, her body dissolving into a swarm of bats that scattered in every direction. Verona’s eyes darted around the room, trying to track the movement of the flock, but the bats were too fast, their wings beating like a thunderous storm. Verona growled in frustration, her movements becoming more erratic as Mina’s speed and unpredictability began to overwhelm her. The lightning passed harmlessly through the flock, striking the far wall and shattering it into rubble as Mina returned to her human form.

   In a final, desperate move, Verona summoned a massive bolt of lightning, the energy crackling around her entire body as she prepared to unleash it. She hurled the bolt at Mina with all her might. The swarm circled Verona, disorienting her, before reforming into Mina’s human shape just behind her.

   But Mina was ready. She dissolved into a swarm of bats once more, the lightning passing harmlessly through the flock. The bats swirled around Verona, their wings beating like a thunderstorm, disorienting and overwhelming her. Verona slashed wildly at the air, trying to fend off the swarm, but the bats were too fast, too numerous.

   As Verona stumbled, Mina reformed behind her, her eyes blazing with determination. With a fierce scream, Mina drove her claws into Verona’s back, her hand piercing through the older vampire’s chest and puncturing her heart. Verona let out a blood-curdling scream, her body convulsing violently as the fatal blow took its toll. Her crimson eyes widened in shock and pain, and for a moment, it seemed as though she might retaliate. But the damage was too great.

   Mina twisted her hand, her claws tearing through the heart that had sustained Verona for centuries. As she pulled her arm free, blood and ash spilled from the wound. Verona staggered, her body trembling as it began to disintegrate. With a final, shuddering breath, she turned to face Mina, her expression a mixture of rage and disbelief.

   “You… will never… be free…” Verona rasped, her voice barely audible.

   And then, with a final gasp, Verona’s body collapsed to the ground, crumpling into ash and a charred skeleton. The storm outside seemed to quiet for a moment as if the Abbey itself were holding its breath. Mina stood over her fallen foe, blood dripping from her claws, her crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dim light of the Abbey. The silence that followed was short-lived, as from across the hall came a piercing scream, a sound filled with anguish and fury. “Sister! No!” 

   Aleera staggered into view, her tattered gown clung to her bloodied frame, the wounds from her earlier battle with Quincy still fresh and oozing. Her face was a mask of grief and rage, her red eyes shimmering with unshed tears as they fell upon the sight of Verona’s charred remains. Verona had been more than a sister to her; she had been her closest friend, a companion through centuries of darkness. And now, she was gone.

   Aleera’s gaze shifted to Mina, and her sorrow twisted into something far more dangerous. Her lips curled into a snarl, and her voice dropped to a low, venomous growl. “You! You’ll pay for this!” 

   Without hesitation, Aleera’s body began to contort and shift. Her bones cracked and elongated, her muscles rippling as she transformed into her direwolf form. She towered over Mina, her massive claws scraping against the wood floor, her fangs bared in a snarl that promised death. Despite the blood staining her fur and the wounds that slowed her movements, Aleera radiated raw, primal power. With a feral roar, she lunged at Mina, her massive form moving with terrifying speed.

   Mina barely had time to react as Aleera’s massive body slammed into her, sending her hurtling backward. She crashed into a wall, the impact shaking the Abbey and sending dust and debris raining down around her. Aleera was on her in an instant, her claws swiping with brutal precision. Mina rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the deadly strike, and sprang to her feet.

   Aleera lunged again, her jaws snapping inches from Mina’s face. Mina ducked and countered with a powerful swipe of her claws, raking them across Aleera’s flank. The direwolf howled in pain but retaliated immediately, slamming her massive paw into Mina and sending her flying through the air. Mina crashed through a wooden door, splinters flying in every direction, and tumbled into the next room.

   Before Mina could recover, Aleera charged after her, her massive frame barreling through the doorway and shattering the wall in the process. The force of the impact sent Mina sprawling across the floor. Aleera was on her in an instant, pinning her to the ground with her massive paws. Her jaws snapped dangerously close to Mina’s throat, saliva dripping from her fangs as she growled.

   Mina gritted her teeth, her hands shooting up to grab Aleera’s jaws just as they descended toward her. The direwolf’s strength was immense, and Mina’s arms trembled as she fought to keep the deadly fangs from closing around her neck. Aleera snarled, her breath hot and fetid, and pushed harder, her claws digging into Mina’s shoulders.

   With a burst of effort, Mina let out a feral scream and pushed back, her vampiric strength surging through her. She managed to shove Aleera’s jaws upward just enough to twist her body and slip free from the direwolf’s grasp. Rolling to her feet, Mina’s body shimmered and dissolved into a swarm of bats, the dark cloud scattering in every direction.

   Aleera howled in frustration, snapping at the bats as they swirled around her. The swarm darted and weaved, their movements too fast for the direwolf to track. The bats swarmed her, their tiny claws and teeth tearing at her fur and skin, disorienting her further. Aleera thrashed wildly, her massive claws swiping at the air, but the bats were relentless.

   As Aleera stumbled, Mina reformed into her human shape a few feet away, her crimson eyes blazing with fury. She didn’t give Aleera a moment to recover, her movements a blur as she slashed at Aleera with her claws. Mina tore deep into Aleera’s side, ripping through flesh and muscle. Blood poured from the wound, staining the floor beneath them.

   Aleera staggered back, clutching her side with one massive paw. Her crimson eyes burned with hatred as she snarled in pain, but the injury was too severe. She knew she was no match for Mina in her current state. With a final, hate-filled glare, Aleera turned and fled, her massive form disappearing into the shadows of the Abbey.

   Mina watched her go, her chest heaving, more out of instinct than a mortal’s need to breathe, as she steadied herself. The fight was over, but she wasn’t done yet. Without hesitation, she took off after Aleera, her crimson eyes gleaming with determination as she gave chase into the darkness.

🦇

   Arthur’s pursuit led him to the roof of one of the Abbey’s towers, where the storm’s wrath was at its peak. The wind howled like a banshee, and the rain lashed against the stone walls as if the heavens themselves were enraged by the battle unfolding within. Lightning split the sky in jagged, blinding flashes, illuminating the Abbey tower and the two figures locked in a deadly fight. The rain poured in torrents, soaking them both to the bone, but neither man seemed to notice.

   Dracula and Arthur struggled during their clash atop the tower, Arthur swiping at Dracula with a silver stake. With a fierce roar, Dracula lunged into Arthur, sending them both onto the main roof of the Abbey. Arthur managed to kick Dracula off, regaining some space. He then took a shot with his revolver at what he believed to be his enemy, only to realize it was a statue.

   Arthur, his face twisted with hatred, advanced cautiously, his pistol raised and ready. “Come on out and fight!” Arthur shouted, his voice barely audible over the roar of the storm. His tone was taunting, filled with malice. He prowled the rooftop, his eyes scanning the shadows where Dracula lurked. “What’s the matter, vampire? Too weak to face me?”

   Dracula moved silently among the statues and gargoyles that adorned the Abbey’s roof, using the darkness and the storm as cover. He was hunched over, his breathing ragged, his once-imposing form diminished by his injuries. Yet his eyes still burned with a fierce, unrelenting rage. His cloak billowed around him like the wings of a great bat, blending seamlessly with the night. He watched Arthur with predatory focus, waiting for the right moment to strike.

   Arthur’s taunts grew more venomous, his voice cutting through the storm like a blade. “Were you in love with her, vampire?” he sneered, his voice dripping with malice as he attempted to infuriate Dracula enough to let his guard down. “Did you honestly think Lucy would want something like you, when she had someone like me?” He laughed bitterly, his tone laced with mockery.

   The words struck a nerve. With a feral snarl, Dracula emerged from the shadows; his claws extended, and his fangs bared. He lunged at Arthur, their bodies colliding with bone-crushing force. The two men grappled, slipping and sliding on the rain-slicked stone as the storm raged around them.

   Arthur fought with the desperation of a man who believed he was humanity’s last hope, swinging wildly with his silver stake and fists. Dracula, though weakened, fought with the ferocity of a cornered predator, his claws slashing through the air with deadly precision.

   After a brutal struggle, Arthur managed to gain the upper hand. He kicked Dracula off him, sending the vampire sprawling across the rooftop. Arthur stood over him, his chest heaving, his silver stake aimed directly at Dracula’s heart. His face was a mask of triumph and hatred as he prepared to deliver the killing blow.

   “It’s over, demon!” Arthur shouted, his voice filled with righteous fury. “Tonight, you die at the hands of a man! Then next your daughter!”

   Hearing the threat to his daughter, something primal and ancient stirred within Dracula. A deep, guttural growl rumbled from his chest, and his glowing red eyes snapped open, burning brighter than ever. Fueled by a father’s unyielding love and a primal, protective rage, Dracula grabbed and crushed the silver stake in Arthur’s hands, burning his own in the process before dropping it. As Arthur reeled back, Dracula rose to his full height, his imposing form towering over Arthur.

   “What is a man?” Dracula growled, his voice dripping with contempt. “But a miserable pile of lies and secrets.” The storm seemed to respond to his fury, the wind howling louder, the lightning flashing brighter. His cloak billowed around him like the wings of a great beast, and his fangs gleamed in the storm’s light.

   Arthur’s bravado faltered. Fear flickered in his eyes for the first time as he realized the full extent of the monster he had provoked.

   With a roar that shook the heavens, Dracula lunged at Arthur, moving with supernatural speed. He knocked the pistol from Arthur’s hand, sending it clattering across the rooftop. His claws closed around Arthur’s throat, lifting him effortlessly off the ground. Arthur struggled, his feet dangling over the edge of the Abbey’s roof as Dracula held him at his mercy.

   Arthur’s bravado shattered. His face twisted with terror as he abandoned all pretense of courage. “Please,” he begged, his voice trembling. “Let me go! I’ll do anything! Anything!”

   Dracula’s grip tightened, his claws digging into Arthur’s flesh. For a moment, it seemed as though the vampire lord would end him then and there. But as Arthur’s desperate pleas echoed through the storm, another voice filled Dracula’s mind – the voice of Lisa, his beloved. He could hear her gentle words, her pleas for peace, her belief in the goodness of humanity.

   Dracula’s rage faltered. With a pang of sorrow, he realized that he was becoming the very thing he despised in mankind: cruel, merciless, and consumed by hatred. To take the life of a pleading man, even a man such as Arthur, would tarnish Lisa’s memory forever.

   Slowly, Dracula’s face softened, the pure fury draining from his expression. With a snarl of disgust, he threw Arthur to the roof, sparing his life. Arthur landed with a thud, coughing and gasping for air as he scrambled away.

   “Get out,” Dracula said, his voice low and dangerous. “Before I change my mind.”

   As Dracula limped away, his once-mighty form reduced to a shadow of its former glory, the pain of his ancient wound and the toll of battle weighed heavily on him. His steps faltered, his hand clutching at the silver bullet wound that burned like fire in his side. The storm outside raged with unrelenting ferocity, the wind howling through the broken windows, but it was the faint, desperate cry of his daughter that pierced through the chaos.

   “Father!” Marya’s voice echoed, filled with fear and urgency.

   Dracula stopped, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the darkness as he turned toward the sound. His heart – though long dead – ached with the primal need to protect his child. He staggered forward, his every step an act of defiance against the agony coursing through his body. But before he could reach her, a searing pain exploded in his back, and he let out a guttural roar of pain. He stumbled, his claws scraping against the stone wall for support.

   Behind him, Arthur stood, his face twisted with hatred and triumph. Refusing to accept defeat, Arthur had followed Dracula, a silver stake now gleaming in his bloodied hand.

   Dracula staggered, his strength failing him as the silver burned through his flesh. He turned, his fangs bared in a snarl, but before Arthur could strike again, a blur of motion shot through the storm. Marya, in her wolf form, leaped out of the shadows with feral speed. Her crimson eyes blazed with fury as she collided with Arthur, her fangs sinking deep into his throat.

   Arthur’s scream was short-lived, a gurgling cry that was drowned out by the storm. His lifeblood spilled onto the rain-slicked rooftop as he crumpled to the ground, his body lifeless. Marya stood over him, her chest heaving, her wolf form trembling with rage and grief. Slowly, she shifted back into her human form, her inky midnight hair clinging to her tear-streaked face as she rushed to her father’s side.

   “Father!” she cried, her voice breaking as she wrapped her arms around him. She held him tightly, her tears mixing with the rain as they streamed down her cheeks. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

   But their moment of peace was shattered by a sharp, whizzing sound cutting through the air. Dracula’s eyes widened as he heard the unmistakable hiss of a crossbow bolt. Without hesitation, he turned, shielding Marya with his body. The bolt struck him square in the back, piercing deep into his flesh. He let out a roar of pain, his body convulsing as the silver burned through him.

   Across the rooftop, Van Helsing stood, his crossbow raised, his expression grim and unyielding. The waning storm framed him like a vengeful specter, his coat billowing in the wind as lightning illuminated his resolute face.

   The air grew thick with tension, the storm seeming to hold its breath as the two adversaries locked eyes. On one side stood Van Helsing, the legendary monster hunter, his resolve like iron. On the other, Dracula, the King of Vampires, his body battered and broken but his presence still commanding, still terrifying.

   Dracula, his body trembling from the silver wounds that sapped his strength, struggled slightly to stay on his feet. He kept Marya behind him, his protective instinct overpowering his pain. His once-regal form was now a shadow of its former self, his cloak tattered and soaked with blood and rain. Yet, even in his weakened state, his crimson eyes blazed with unrelenting rage.

   Emerging from the Abbey, Aleera stumbled onto the rooftop, clutching her bleeding arm. Following closely after was Carmilla, a deep gash on her forehead (self-inflicted to appear wounded by the humans) streaming blood down the side of her face. Aleera’s face was pale, her eyes wide with panic. “Master! Master! They’ve killed Verona! They–” She froze, her gaze darting between Dracula’s injuries and the implacable figure of Van Helsing.

   Dracula’s voice, though strained, carried the weight of authority. “Aleera, get Marya her to safety.”

   Marya’s golden eyes widened with fear and defiance. “No!” she protested, her voice trembling. “I won’t leave you!”

   Aleera hesitated, her loyalty to her master warring with her fear of the hunter. But she obeyed, rushing along with Carmilla to Marya and attempting to pull the princess away from him. “You heard the master, girl!” Carmilla said to Marya. But Marya wouldn't let go of her father.

   But Marya wouldn’t let go of Dracula. Dracula turned to her, his expression softening for a brief moment, before he pushed her away from him. “Go! Now!” he said firmly, his voice filled with both love and finality.

   With Marya pulled from Dracula, Aleera grabbed Marya’s arm and pulled her back to the Abbey. Marya struggled, her heart breaking as she was dragged away. “Father!” she cried, her voice echoing through the storm. “Please! Don’t do this!”

   Dracula watched them go, his heart heavy with the knowledge that he might never see his daughter again. The storm swallowed their retreat, leaving him alone with Van Helsing. The Abbey fell into an eerie silence, broken only by the distant rumble of thunder.

   Dracula’s lips curled into a snarl, his fangs glinting in the lightning’s glow. “I wanted to make this world something better than it is. Something beautiful!” His voice was filled with bitterness and pain. “You took that away from me! You took her away from me! Lisa… my wife… my world! You took everything!”

   The pain in Dracula’s voice was palpable, but it was laced with a deep, burning hatred. His rage was not just for the loss of his wife, but for the destruction of the future he had envisioned – a future where vampires ruled over humanity, where he and Lisa could have reigned supreme. He stepped forward, his claws flexing. “I’m going to kill you.”

   Van Helsing’s expression didn’t waver as he raised his crossbow. His voice was calm, but his words were sharp as steel. “Take your shot.”

   Lightning flashed, and thunder boomed as Dracula, with a savage roar, lunged forward, his body a blur of motion as he charged at Van Helsing, who fired his crossbow. Dracula managed to avoid most of the shots, getting hit in his thighs and shoulder, before managing to close in on Van Helsing and knocking the crossbow from his hands. Deprived of his crossbow, Van Helsing pulled out dual stakes to battle Dracula with. The two adversaries collided in a whirlwind of violence, their fists flying in a brutal, explosive fistfight as sparks flew from the clash of stakes and claws. Using his speed and agility, Van Helsing danced around the vampire, landing swift and precise strikes. But Dracula, even in his weakened state, was a formidable opponent. His wild rage and supernatural endurance allowed him to absorb the blows, his strength slowly returning as the battle raged on.

   As the fight intensified, Dracula managed to seize Van Helsing, lifting him off his feet with terrifying strength. With a roar, he hurled the monster hunter against the cold, unforgiving wall of the Abbey, the impact sending a shockwave of pain through Van Helsing’s body. Before he could recover, Dracula charged again, his claws extended, ready to tear his enemy apart.

   The battle spilled out onto the Abbey’s balcony, where the dying storm raged in full force. Rain poured down in sheets, the wind howling like a banshee through the night as lightning illuminated the dark sky. The two combatants were drenched, their clothes clinging to their bodies as they continued their vicious struggle. Van Helsing, his body aching from the relentless assault, drew his silver stakes, prepared to defend himself against Dracula’s monstrous onslaught.

   The clash of claws and silver echoed through the storm, sparks flying as the two warriors fought with everything they had. The balcony became a battlefield, splattered with blood as each managed to land brutal strikes on the other. Van Helsing’s strikes were fast and precise, but Dracula’s rage-fueled strength made him a terrifying opponent, even in his weakened state.

   In a critical moment, Dracula took advantage of a brief opening. With a savage snarl, he captured Van Helsing in his fierce grip, lifting him off the ground. With a roar of triumph, Dracula hurled Van Helsing over the edge of the balcony. The monster hunter crashed to the ground below, the impact sending a jolt of pain through his body. As he tried to get back on his feet, he felt a sharp crack in his leg – he was injured, unable to stand.

   Before Van Helsing could react, Dracula landed on his chest, pinning him to the ground, knocking the air from his lungs as he coughed up blood. With terrifying strength, Dracula began to pummel Van Helsing’s face with savage blows, each strike landing with brutal force. Blood splattered across the rain-soaked ground as Van Helsing struggled to defend himself, his vision blurring from the relentless assault. With Van Helsing unable to fight anymore, Dracula readied the final death blow. “Kill me before the night is over, will you? It appears that you are not the better man. Know this, Van Helsing. After your death, I will burn the world down and bathe it in humanity’s blood. Your kind will not know the peace and mercy Lisa wanted to give you!”

   Just as it seemed that Van Helsing would succumb to Dracula’s fury, a figure seized his arm and stopped the vampire king’s brutal onslaught. Dracula was caught off guard and turned to see who’d dare interrupt him; before him stood Mina, her eyes blazing red with vengeance. “Lucy. Her name was Lucy. And you took her from me!”

   Dracula snarled in frustration and tried to swipe his claws at her. But Mina, having just fed and being a second-generation vampire, was far too fast and punched him, launching Dracula across the lawn where she reappeared behind him as if she’d teleported. Before Dracula could react, she launched a barrage of relentless attacks against him. Her strength, fueled by her transformation and her desire for revenge, was nearly a match for Dracula’s, especially in his weakened state. The two vampires clashed in a flurry of motion, their battle a blur of fangs and claws.

   With a relentless flurry of rapid punches, Mina unleashed all her fury upon Dracula, her strikes landing with devastating force. Each blow carried the weight of her grief, her rage, and her thirst for vengeance. The King of Vampires, still weakened from his earlier battles, could no longer match her ferocity. His once-overwhelming power had diminished, and he staggered under the onslaught, his body barely able to withstand the force of her attacks.

   In a final, desperate move, Mina let out a scream of righteous fury, her voice echoing across the storm-laden Abbey grounds. She seized Dracula with supernatural strength, her hands gripping him like iron, and hurled him through the air with all her might. The vampire lord crashed into a wood and marble statue that stood on the Abbey’s back lawn, the impact cracking the statue and driving a sharp, jagged piece of wood straight through his chest – the makeshift stake pierced his heart. [Dracula Untold – I Will Come Again]. His crimson eyes widened in shock and agony as he writhed, impaled and helpless. and Dracula.

   As Dracula struggled to pull himself free himself, his claws scraping at the wood, a silver bolt pierced his chest. Looking up, Dracula saw Jonathan, still bleeding from his wounds, emerge from the shadows of the Abbey. In his trembling hands, he held Van Helsing’s crossbow, which he had found discarded during the chaos. Summoning the last of his strength, Jonathan unleashed a barrage of silver-tipped bolts. Each shot struck true, puncturing Dracula’s body and further weakening him. The silver burned through the vampire’s flesh, sapping what little strength he had left.

   With Dracula’s strength fading, his control over the storm and skies above London broken, the thick, oppressive clouds that had blanketed London began to dissipate. For the first time since Dracula’s arrival, the faint rays of dawn pierced through the darkness (aside from that moment Marya gave to Lilian at the park). The golden light spilled across the Abbey grounds, illuminating the battlefield. Mina, standing in the shadow of the Abbey’s walls, was spared from the sunlight’s touch, but Dracula was not. The first rays of sunlight struck his impaled form, and his body began to burn. Smoke rose from his skin as the ancient curse of the sun took hold, his flesh charring and cracking under its relentless light.

   Through the haze of pain and fire, Dracula’s gaze shifted. In one of the Abbey’s shattered windows, he saw Marya watching in horror. Her red eyes were wide with disbelief and grief as she witnessed her father’s destruction. Psionically, his voice reached her, soft and filled with regret. “I’m sorry… I failed you.

   Seeing her father dying, Marya let out a blood-curdling scream that tore through the Abbey, a sound of pure anguish that seemed to shake the very earth. Her cry was filled with the pain of losing the only family she had left, a sound that seemed to shake the very stones of the Abbey.

   As the sunlight consumed him, Dracula turned his gaze back toward Mina and Van Helsing. His voice, though weakened, carried a dark and ominous promise. “Death,” he said, a cruel smile curling his lips, “is merely the beginning.”

   With those final words, his body erupted into flames, the fire consuming him entirely. His flesh burned away, leaving behind a charred, skeletal figure similar to a thousand-year-old fossil. The King of Vampires, who had terrorized the world for centuries, was no more.

   Inside the Abbey, Aleera and Carmilla rushed to Marya, their faces pale with grief and fear. Tears streamed down Marya’s cheeks as she stared at the spot where her father had been destroyed. Her heart was torn between the love she had for him and the hatred she now felt for the one who had taken him from her. Her gaze shifted to Mina, the woman who had filled her heart with dreams of freedom and individuality, the woman she had admired. One of the only two humans Marya genuinely, truly had ever loved and cared about. But now, Mina was the one who had taken the last of her family.

   Marya’s vampiric red eyes shifted, the grief and rage within her transforming them. Blackness crept from the edges of her irises, enveloping her eyes entirely, leaving only her pupils, which now gleamed with a draconic, predatory intensity. The Daughter of the Dragon let out a primal, guttural scream that shook the Abbey to its foundations. As her scream echoed, a choking black cloud of darkness erupted from her, engulfing the battlefield.

   When the cloud dissipated, Mina, Van Helsing, and Jonathan looked around in confusion. Dracula’s remains were gone. The wooden stake that had impaled him lay shattered on the ground, but his skeleton had vanished. Unbeknownst to them, Marya, carrying her father’s remains, had fled into the labyrinthine catacombs deep beneath the Abbey, accompanied by Aleera and Carmilla. The Daughter of the Dragon had disappeared into the shadows, her grief and fury festering in the darkness.

   With Dracula defeated, the storm clouds finally parted, and the first rays of dawn bathed the Abbey in golden light. The long night was over, but the cost of victory was steep.

   Mina stood in the shadows, her chest heaving with exhaustion and emotion. She had avenged her sister, Lucy, but the victory felt hollow. She was no longer the woman she had once been. The horrors she had endured, the blood she had spilled, and the transformation she had undergone had changed her forever. She was now a creature of the night, bound to the darkness she had once feared.

   A sudden sound drew her attention. Turning, she saw Jonathan collapse just outside the Abbey doorway [Justice League Dark – Returning Home]. Panic surged through her as she rushed to him, but as she reached the threshold, the sunlight streaming through the broken windows burned her skin. She recoiled, unable to cross into the light that bathed Jonathan.

   “Jonathan!” she cried, her voice breaking with desperation.

   Jonathan lay on the ground, his body pale and bloodied, his breaths shallow. He smiled weakly at her, his eyes filled with love despite the pain. “This isn’t goodbye, Mina,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “We’ll see each other again… one day.”

   With those final words, Jonathan’s eyes went still, and his body went silent. Mina fell to her knees, her tears streaming down her pale cheeks as she watched the man she loved slip away, just out of her reach. The sunlight, so warm and life-giving, was now a cruel barrier that separated her from him in his final moments.

   Van Helsing, battered and bloodied, pulled himself to his feet, his weary eyes meeting Mina’s. There were no words between them – none were needed. They both understood the weight of what had been lost. The battle for the fate of the world had been won, but the scars it left behind would never fully heal.

   As the first rays of dawn illuminated the Abbey, the long night finally came to an end. The storm had passed, but its aftermath lingered in the hearts of those who had survived. Mina, now a creature of the night, stood in the shadows, her grief and guilt weighing heavily on her. The world had been saved, but at a cost that could never be repaid.

   And deep beneath the Abbey, in the cold, dark catacombs, Marya cradled the remains of her father, her tears falling silently as her heart hardened with a vow of vengeance. The Daughter of the Dragon had been born anew, and the story of Dracula was far from over.

🦇

   Days later, Mina stood under an umbrella before her husband’s tombstone in the graveyard overlooking Whitby Bay, her heart heavy with sorrow. [Justice League Dark – Returning Home cont.] It felt only right to lay him to rest in his hometown, a place filled with their childhood memories and touched by deep sadness; the first place she’d ever encountered Dracula all those months ago, back when her world made sense and was at peace, before darkness overtook it.

   The sound of crashing waves off to the harbor shores could be heard while the air was filled with the familiar scent of saltwater tangled with the cool coastal breeze, wrapping around her like an old, tattered shawl. The afternoon sky was painted in hues of orange and pink as the sun began its descent, casting a warm glow over the world. Yet it did little to lighten the heavy burden in her heart.

   Dressed in a flowing black gown that billowed in the wind, Mina clutched the vibrant red scarf that Quincy had gifted her back when they’d embarked to rescue Jonathan. The wind’s mournful howl echoed her own inner turmoil; every gust seemed to carry with it the weight of all she had lost, each one a stab at her already aching heart. She had faced the darkness – she’d avenged her sister and spared the world from the King of Vampire’s reign of terror – but in doing so, she had lost a part of herself in the process, leaving her a mere shadow of the woman she once was. Quincy, Seward, Minerva, Joana, Jonathan, and Lucy – all of them, everyone that’d ever mattered to her, gone, all leaving an indelible mark on her soul. A cold pit she could never fill.

   In fact, all she could feel now was the bitter cold, a side effect of her vampirism. She could no longer feel the warmth of sunlight, or a candle’s softness during a night’s work at her desk, or even the warmth of her own blood in her veins. Only the coldness of death, the lingering curse Dracula had infected her with. The curse she now bore felt like a relentless chain she could never break. Van Helsing’s words lingered in her ears: not even death would free her from the vampire curse’s grasp, and she would forever be denied the sweet reunion with Jonathan in the afterlife. The thought brought tears to her eyes, the salt mingling with the sea breeze that whispered tales of lost love.

   From her side approached Van Helsing, walking with a stoop and leaning on a sturdy cane due to his injury against Dracula. He’d given her some time alone to grieve, and thanks to her new heightened vampiric hearing, she could hear every footstep he took to reach her from the hotel. He placed a gentle hand on Mina’s shoulder, offering her a silent gesture of comfort and understanding. His once vigorous frame had become a reflection of their shared struggles, yet there was warmth in his presence amidst the chill of her despair

   “Jon was a fine man, Mrs. Harker,” he began, his voice low and rich with sincerity. “I am deeply sorry for your loss... and your curse. If only I had defeated Dracula before you were turned…” His words were soft, a balm to her frayed emotions. “But know this: I swear I will find a way to cure your vampirism.”

   Mina looked up at him, her heart heavy yet filled with a flicker of hope. “Where will you go now, Professor?” she inquired, her voice trembling slightly as she sought some direction in the dark abyss of her new reality.

   “The forces of darkness are still out there,” Van Helsing replied, his tone resolute. “Dracula’s court and other monstrous creatures will undoubtedly be vying to fill the vacuum left in his absence. In their pursuit of dark power and might, they will prey on the vulnerable, targeting innocents who will need someone there to protect them – someone like you.”

   “Me?” Mina’s voice caught in her throat, a mixture of disbelief and uncertainty flashing across her features.

   “Yes,” he affirmed, his intense gaze unwavering. “I can’t continue this fight any longer,” he gestured toward the splint holding his broken leg in place. “But you? You could harness your curse for a greater good, becoming a shield against the darkness and saving lives. You can prevent others from suffering the same fate as those we’ve lost, those like Jonathan and Lucy.” His piercing gaze met hers, igniting within her the embers of a newfound purpose.

   Mina met his gaze, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and nodded in silent agreement. She understood now that her personal battle was far from over. A fierce determination ignited within her; she recognized that those loyal to Dracula were still out there, and she would not allow others to endure the same fates that she and her loved ones had. A sense of duty awakened within her, compelling her to wield her curse as a weapon to protect the innocent, even as her heart ached for a peace that felt increasingly out of reach.

   As the shadows lengthened and Van Helsing turned to leave, Mina lingered by Jonathan’s grave. Her voice was barely a whisper as she spoke into the encroaching dusk, “I will see you again, darling. In this life or the next.”

   Her gaze shifted to the horizon, where the sun began to dip below the water, its golden rays lingering for a moment before being swallowed by the deepening twilight. A profound sense of grief surged within her, coiling tightly around her heart. In that moment, the aching desire to be reunited with Jonathan consumed her thoughts. She envisioned a time, when she would be freed from the shackles of her cursed existence – a time when she might see a heavenly ship approaching the harbor, its sails full, carrying him back to take her away from the depths of darkness that had claimed her, so they could sail into the sunlight together.

   But not yet.

Chapter 11: Post Credits

Chapter Text

Dark Universe

Image

Written by Andrew Downs and Thomas Lapeyrouse III


   On a dark and stormy day in 1937, the air was thick with anticipation as Marya stood before the doors of Queen’s College [Dracula Untold – Epilogue]. A slight drizzle misted London’s cobblestone streets, transforming them into a glistening canvas of gray under the weight of dark, brooding clouds overhead. The wind tugged at her coat and tousled her dark, inky hair, yet Marya remained unfazed by the biting cold or the rain. Her eyes, glowing faintly red like embers in a dying fire, were fixated on the old building that echoed with memories of her tragic past.

   It had been decades since Marya last set foot in this city – decades since the night when her world had burned down around her, with memories dancing like phantoms in her mind. It felt even longer since she had visited the College – the very place where she had once experienced a fleeting flicker of humanity before it was extinguished, leaving behind a void filled with sorrow and rage. It was where she had met her beloved Lilian and her mentor-turned-enemy, Mina Harker.

   With a sense of reverence, she clutched her cherished locket – a small, delicate piece of jewelry, currently glamoured to conceal its gothic, vampiric design. Upon opening it, she revealed tiny portraits of her parents, Dracula and Lisa, which she had made from memory. Her fingers traced the outline of her father’s face as her mind filled with the memories of the past. She had lost them both, but she had not forgotten, and she hadn’t forgiven those responsible.

   Marya had once questioned whether she was like her father, filled with anger for the past, or if she could be her own person, seeking peace among humanity. The former had won out in the end. Now, as she stood before the College with the storm’s fury raging around her, Marya felt a sense of purpose swell within her as her decades-long plan began to unfurl. “I will see you again, Father, Mother,” she whispered softly, her voice nearly drowned out by the rain. “I will make you proud.” With steely resolve, she tucked the locket away, pushed open the heavy doors, and stepped inside.

   Inside the classroom, the storm outside cast shadows across the faces of the eager female students. The teacher, a stern yet fair woman with a sharp gaze, introduced Marya as Mary Dracon, an exchange student who had arrived a little past the start of the school year. With an inviting gesture, the teacher directed her toward the nearest available desk – which happened to be in the back beside the British Egyptian adventurer apprentice, Gracie Rashada. Just as Marya had planned.

   As Marya settled into her seat beside Gracie, the young Egyptologist introduced herself, and the two struck up a friendly, hushed conversation while the professor resumed her lecture. As their conversation continued, Gracie explained that she was only attending the College while her guardians, Carter and Helena, were back in Egypt trying to renew their Egyptologist licenses. Hearing about Gracie’s time in Egypt, Marya inquired on her experiences. Gracie, happy to talk about Egypt, eagerly shared tales of her recent adventures in the ancient country, describing her time among the ancient artifacts and mysterious pyramids; however, she made sure to leave out the details of the mummy princess Amunet and how they’d saved the world last summer from an undead army.

   What Gracie didn’t know was that she was recounting experiences from a journey orchestrated by none other than Marya herself – for she had been the unseen hand that’d guided Gracie and her family’s excavation in search of the temple where Amunet had been sealed.

   With a subtle glow in her red eyes, Marya leaned in closer and locked her gaze with Gracie’s as the vampire princess enthralled the unsuspecting girl. Gracie, unaware of the supernatural influence weaving through her mind, felt compelled to reveal every detail of her experiences in Egypt, especially those concerning Amunet. As Gracie told Marya everything, she would later on not remember anything of telling Marya about Amunet – the enthrallment ensuring that the conversation remained buried deep in her subconscious. Marya listened intently, a knowing smile curling across the edge of her lips.

    “It sounds like you’ve experienced so much,” Marya said, her smile growing genuine yet deceptive, concealing the web of secrets and ambitions that lay just beneath the surface. “I have no doubt that you and Amunet will be reunited before long.”

    As the rain lashed against the windows, forming a chaotic tapestry of drops, and the rumble of thunder echoed ominously in the distance, Marya allowed herself a small, sly smile. Everything was falling into place; she could almost hear the clock ticking down to the moment of reckoning. The intricate game she had crafted was about to begin, and she was ready to have her fun.

Notes:

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