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Renfield had been so hopeful the night his master revived him. waking again beneath Dracula's hands and his blood on his lips had felt like a blessing. A second chance, a purpose. He had believed that he served well enough; he had proved himself useful enough. His master missed him; he needed him.
Or so Renfield thought.
Whatever had happened in the decades since Renfield's death had changed his master. The man he worshipped had become so cruel. Every mistake, no matter how small, was met with severe punishment. Every hesitation with suspicion. Every stray thought torn from his mind without permission. It seemed like even perfection wasn’t good enough anymore.
Even the brides seemed to keep their distance now. He rarely saw them anymore, where they once clung to their master from the second he was home to the second he left cooing and loudly laughing at his every word they now spoke in hushed whispers before vanishing behind the locked door of their bed chamber. Sometimes Renfield caught glimpses of pale dresses disappearing around corners the moment Dracula approached.
Perhaps they were hiding from him too, just like Renfield was now.
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Renfield had no bed chamber. He didn’t deserve one after all, so instead he hid away in a long-forgotten room in his master’s manner. Dust coated everything making the air thick with its slightest disturbance. Furniture rested beneath white sheets, untouched for decades. Cobwebs covered every nook and cranny of the room.
Renfield had crammed his bruised body into a small corner hidden behind all the things stored away. His eyes trailed along a half-finished painting, fingers absentmindedly tracing against a canvas leaning against the wall. The oils had long since dried, never to be properly blended out and layered, Whoever had started it had never returned to finish it. No one ever would. Why Dracula had kept it all these years was anyone's guess. His eyes drifted over the woman's unfinished face.
"Ethel..." The name escaped before he realized he'd spoken it.
With trembling fingers, he reached toward the painted outline of her cheek, stopping just short of touching the canvas.
He had seen her before, only in passing. Brief glances while he ran errands for his Master. Always with one of her lovevers, always smiling. His master's runaway bride, the one Dracula despised for making such a mockery of him. She took no familiars of her own, she didn’t stalk and kill to feed, her lovers were humans and werewolves. Dracula called her such horrible things for it.
Renfield had always wondered if perhaps she was simply kinder. The thought alone made him flinch.
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Renfield was practically shaking in front of the door. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to run back to his master before he noticed he was missing. Before he was punished.
He stepped back to turn and run the second the door opened making Renfield freeze. She stood in the doorway. She was even more beautiful up close.
She was shorter than him by several inches, wrapped in a nightgown, black and white hair framed her piebald face and spilled down her shoulders and back, crimson eyes wide with surprise looked at him, clearly not expecting Renfield to be the one knocking at this hour.
He threw himself at her feet before she could speak. His knees struck the stone steps hard enough to bruise as he desperately clung to the hem of her nightgown.
"Please," he begged. "Please, please, Mistress-" The words poured from him faster than he could think. "I promise I'll serve you. I'll do anything. I'll wait upon your every beck and call. I'll clean for you, I'll hunt for you, I'll bleed for you. Command me as you wish, I ask nothing, nothing save..."
His forehead struck the cold stone between her feet. "Dont make me return." His shoulders shook violently."Please- I beg you...Do not send me back to Dracula."
Silence answered him long enough that despair began settling over him like fresh dirt on a coffin as he waited to be kicked away like a stray mutt, to be beaten, to be laughed at.
Instead, cool fingers touched beneath his jaw. Not claws, not the iron grip of ownership he was so familiar with Dracula using. Merely fingertips, Cold and soft as marble.
Renfield flinched instinctively as she tilted his head up to look at her. He expected disgust. Instead, he found himself looking into eyes filled with such sorrow that his own chest ached beneath their weight. It was an expression he recognized. Professor Helsing had worn that same look through the bars of his asylum cell. Not hatred, not disgust, just pity. Infinite, unbearable pity.
"This isn't one of Dracula's tricks..."Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Is it?"
Renfield tensed, waiting for the familiar invasion of his mind. Master never asked questions because he never needed answers; he simply reached inside Renfield's mind and plucked them out as he pleased.
Every wall Renfield built was ripped apart, every memory examined, every shame dragged into the light. It hurt, every time it hurt. But the pain didn’t come. No claws inside his thoughts. No unbearable pressure splitting his skull apart as she looked for what she wanted. It took a moment for him to realize it was because she wasn't trying to force her way into his mind at all.
"I-it's not," he whispered, voice shaking.
"I promise, Mistress...It's not."
She searched his face for another long moment before her shoulders slowly relaxed.
"Alright."
And that was it
She believed his word Without ripping the truth from his head
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Renfeild awkwardly sat on the very edge of the bed wrapped in a towel watching water drops drip from the tips of his hair onto his bare knees before running down onto the wooden floor. He hadn't remembered the last time he had a proper bath, probably the asylum if he had to guess. And even then they didn't have warm water and soap that smelled of flowers. He jumped as his mistress returned carrying folded clothes.
"They're Griffin's," she apologized with an embarrassed smile. "I don't know how well they'll fit you but they'll do till we can get you something better ."
Renfield stared at the pajamas as he took them from her. Clean, soft, no blood, no torn seams that would never be mended.
“Let me know if you need anything, we’re just down the hall”
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He didn't sleep.
Every groan of the old home made him bolt upright, Every branch scratching against the windows was Master's claws. Every creak of the old house settling was Master coming to punish him for running away.
The room itself felt wrong, too large, too warm, too soft. He didn't deserve a room. He certainly didn't deserve a bed. Crawling out of the bed Renfield slipped into the hallway. Bare feet silent against polished wood as he searched for his mistress.
Almost without thinking, he pressed his cheek against her door listening to the voice on the other side, soft laughter, someone yawning, someone complaining about another person hogging the blankets.
He slid down the wall until he was curled into a tight ball on the floor, arms wrapped around his knees. He stayed there until getting startled awake the next morning by Griffin tripping over him.
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Days steadily turned into weeks, and weeks into a month. Master never came, but Renfield never truly relaxed. His mistress's home was... odd.
No one shouted at him. No one struck him. There was always a place set for him at every meal because his mistress insisted he was far too thin to survive on bugs alone.
He was given proper clothes, not whatever scraps could be salvaged from Dracula's victims, but nice clothes bought just for him, and carefully tailored to fit just right.
He kept himself busy, having long since forgotten how to simply sit and rest. If the house needed cleaning, he cleaned. If his mistress required something, he was already there to fetch it. And when she had no need of him, someone else always did.
Dr. Griffin inevitably needed another chemical or some obscure book fetched from town. Sir Talbot often had clothes that required mending after another full moon. The Bride was always delighted to have his help combing through Darkmoor's records, searching for clues about the people whose bodies had been stitched together to make her and the families they had left behind.
Every task, no matter how small, was rewarded with gratitude and praise. The words no matter how simple made him almost dizzy with happiness, their warmth lingering with him for the rest of the day.
Even the way his mistress fed from him was gentler. Instead of sinking her teeth into him as though she meant to tear away flesh, she only bit hard enough for her fangs to break the skin. When she had taken what she needed, she always healed the wound, leaving no mark behind. It was the same way she fed off her lovers.
It was a stark contrast to the countless bite marks that covered his body from Dracula.
It only made the dread worse.
Every kindness, every warm meal, every word of praise, every gentle touch became something precious and every passing day convinced him that Dracula would appear without warning and rip it all away.
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"Renfield?" Ethel called to him, noticing him hurrying down the hall to whatever task he had assigned himself.
"Yes, Mistress." He answered eagerly without even thinking as he stopped in his tracks
“Come here” she beckoned him. He entered nervously, He had spent countless nights sleeping outside this very door. Yet never once had he actually stepped foot inside her room.
Heavy curtains covered every window, shutting out the daylight entirely. Dozens of candles filled the room with warm light. An enormous bed sat against one wall, buried beneath mountains of blankets and pillows.
The air was heavy with perfumes and colognes. If he concentrated, he could pick out which scent belonged to which of her lovers.
"I like the warmth," Ethel explained with an amused smile as she pulled him to lie in bed with her.
Renfield flinched automatically before forcing himself still as His cheek came to rest against her chest. He was terrified that even breathing too loudly might upset her.
Her fingers ran lazily through his hair for a moment before she spoke "We're all so happy you're here," she murmured. "You've been such wonderful help."
"I live to serve you," he whispered. "It is my soul purpose as you are familiar."
Her hand paused, then resumed its gentle strokes.
"No," she said softly.
Renfield blinked.
"No?"
"You don't have to earn your place here."
He stared at her in confusion. "I don't understand."
"I know."
She smiled sadly. "But you will, in time."
His throat tightened painfully with each shaky breath, He clung to her tightly as if letting go would mean he would never be allowed this close to her again. Tears blurred his vision as he tried desperately to blink them back to no avail.
"I won't let him take you back." She whispered into his hair holding him tighter as he began to sob.
He couldn't stop crying, couldn't breathe, couldn't apologize enough as he tried and failed to stop.
Ethel simply held him, letting him cry "You're safe love."
And for the first time in decades, Renfield started to believe it.
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He wasn't sure how much time had passed when he woke. The room was dark and quiet, The candles had long since been blown out.
Soft breathing surrounded him. Someone snored softly from the other side of the bed, and another muttered something unintelligible before rolling over.
Renfield realized he couldn't move. Not because he was trapped or under some vampiric hypnotism, but because he was being held.
Someone's arm rested loosely over his waist, another body was curled against his back, His mistress's hand still tangled lazily in his hair. All under a warm blanket someone had taken the time to put over him.
Renfield lay perfectly still, terrified that moving would wake them and reveal the mistake. But something deep inside him wondered if it wasn't, at least not in their eyes. No one woke him telling him he didn't deserve a bed let alone theirs. No one threw him out of the room. They simply curled around him as if he belonged there with them.
Maybe he did