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Jonathan’s brow furrowed as he delved into long-buried memories. “When I was a boy, I often felt an overwhelming loneliness. On those nights, as I drifted to sleep, I felt myself wrapped in someone’s arms. But I was so cold as if I were dying.” His voice grew distant, lost in the recollection. “I couldn’t see anything, but I could smell blood and death all around me. And a man was crying, crying for me. It always ended the same way - the sensation of falling from a great height, and then I’d wake with a start.”
As he spoke, Jonathan became aware of how close Dracula had drawn. The Count’s dark eyes seemed to burn with an inner fire. His lips slightly parted as if in anticipation. Jonathan felt himself drawn in, an irresistible pull urging him to close the distance between them.
For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Jonathan’s heart raced, his breath catching in his throat. He wanted, more than anything, to kiss the Count. The desire was overwhelming, frightening in its intensity.
Panic seized him, and Jonathan stumbled backward, gasping for air. He turned away, struggling to regain his composure. When he finally gathered the courage to face Dracula again, intending to excuse himself, he found the greenhouse empty. The Count had vanished as silently and swiftly as a shadow at noon.
Left alone with his turbulent thoughts, Jonathan felt shame wash over him. How could he have entertained such lustful thoughts? To give in to such deviant longings, even for a moment, could see him publicly disgraced, imprisoned... or worse. The world had no patience for sodomites.
Yet even as he castigated himself, Jonathan couldn’t shake the memory of Dracula’s intense gaze, the electric charge that had passed between them. He had never felt anything like it before, and a small, rebellious part of him longed to feel it again.
As he reached the castle doors, he cast one last look at the moonlit gardens, half-expecting to see Dracula’s tall figure emerging from the shadows. But the grounds remained still and empty, leaving Jonathan alone with the echoes of a past he couldn’t remember and desires he dared not name.
Chapter Twelve
One Week Later
The crisp Transylvanian morning found him seated at the ornate desk in his quarters, a letter from Lucy spread before him. As he read her words, a smile played across his lips, picturing his beloved dog Béla being pampered in his absence.
“Your pup is doing well and being spoiled rotten,” Lucy wrote. “You may have to get used to Béla’s extravagant new tastes once you return.”
Jonathan’s amusement was tinged with a bittersweet longing for home. Yet even as he yearned for the familiar comforts ofLondon, he knew that returning would mean confronting the stark reality of his situation - a loveless engagement and a life of perpetual deception.
, this past week, his business meetings with the Count had been tormented by stolen glances and lingering touches. Jonathan struggled to maintain his professional demeanor, even as every interaction with Dracula stirred silent longings. The Count’s penetrating gaze seemed to see right through him as if privy to Jonathan’s most secret desires.
Seeking refuge from his tumultuous thoughts, Jonathan found himself drawn to a part of the castle grounds he had not yet explored. As he rounded a corner of the manicured gardens, he came upon an intriguing sight - the entrance to what appeared to be an enormous hedge maze.
Two towering yew trees formed the archway leading into the labyrinth, their branches intertwined to create a natural gateway. A weathered stone plaque above the entrance bore an inscription in Latin: “Intra ad cor” - Enter to the heart.
Curiosity overcame Jonathan’s melancholy. He had read about such mazes in novels but had never encountered one in person. The prospect of losing himself in its green corridors held a sudden appeal. Perhaps it mirrored his own emotions.
As he stepped through the archway, the sounds of the outside world seemed to fade away. The high walls of meticulously trimmed hedges rose on either side, their dense foliage creating an atmosphere of secluded tranquility. The path beneath his feetwas lined with crushed gravel that crunched softly with each step, the only sound breaking the eerie silence.
The morning air was invigorating, carrying the mingled scents of damp earth, autumn leaves, and the sharp, green aroma of freshly cut foliage. Dew still clung to the leaves, sparkling like tiny diamonds in the slanted morning sunlight that managed to penetrate the leafy canopy above.
As Jonathan ventured deeper into the maze, the twisting paths seemed to close around him. In each turn was a new decision, left or right, progress or frustration. The high green walls, easily ten feet tall, blocked out any view of the surrounding landscape, creating an unsettling and oddly comforting sense of isolation.
Jonathan encountered small clearings within the maze here and there. Some held ornate stone benches, their surfaces worn smooth by centuries of use. Others featured intricate topiaries, the hedges sculpted into fantastic shapes of animals and mythical creatures. One such clearing boasted a sundial at its center, its gnomon casting a sharp shadow across the weathered face.
As he navigated the twisting paths, Jonathan found his mind quieting. The physical act of finding his way through the labyrinth provided a welcome distraction from his inner turmoil. Each decision, each turn, required his full attention, leaving little room for the conflicting emotions that had been plaguing him.
The maze seemed to have a personality of its own, sometimes playful as it led him in circles, other times mysterious as itrevealed hidden nooks and crannies. As he wandered, Jonathan lost all sense of time, the outside world fading into irrelevance. Within these green walls, he felt a strange sense of freedom - as if the very act of being lost allowed him to shed the burdens of his identity, if only for a moment.
It was in this state of peaceful detachment that Jonathan rounded yet another corner, only to find himself face to face with the fountain that would shatter his momentary reprieve and plunge him back into the depths of his inner conflict.
Before him stood a burbling stone fountain, its iconic center statue depicting two strapping nude male warriors frozen in a tender embrace. The sight was at once beautiful and utterly demoralizing.
Jonathan’s breath hitched, his heart racing at the brazen homoerotic imagery. He had seen such things before, tucked away in private collections in London but never so flagrantly on display. The sight was intoxicating, stirring desires long suppressed beneath layers of Victorian propriety.
His gaze traced the contours of the marble figures, drinking in every sculpted muscle and tender touch. The warriors’ faces were etched with an expression of uninhibited passion, their stone eyes locked in a gaze of pure adoration. It was everything Jonathan craved - the freedom to love without fear or shame, to express his desires openly and without reservation.
But even as he yearned for such a life, he knew it was forever beyond his grasp. The pressure of societal expectations bore down upon him, threatening to crush any hope of truehappiness. He tore himself away from the captivating statue, slumping onto a nearby stone bench in dejected resignation.
His thoughts turned to Lucy, to their friendship and the sham of an engagement that awaited him back in London. He cared for her deeply, but not in the way a man should care for his future wife. Their marriage would be a facade, a convenient shield against the prying eyes of society.
“There has to be more than this... this half-life of self-negation,” Jonathan muttered, running his hands through his hair in frustration. He knew all too well that proper London society would destroy him if he dared to live openly. And even if he did, who would he share such a life with? Most men like him also hid, seeking fleeting pleasures in the shadows.
The thought of marrying Lucy and prowling for rent boys at night disgusted Jonathan. He didn’t want that kind of duplicitous existence, constantly living in fear of discovery and scandal. But what other options did he have?
