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He buried his face in his hands, and the cold, hard truth sank in. To remain entombed in the closet was to slowly wither and die inside, suffocating beneath his own unfulfilled desires. But recklessly shedding propriety and seizing his passions could prove even more ruinous.
Jonathan lifted his head, his gaze once again drawn to the embracing warriors. Their stone faces were as serene and content as he wished he could be.
Chapter Thirteen
The overcast Transylvanian morning cast a pallid light through the library’s towering windows. Dracula stood before them, his tall figure silhouetted against the gray sky. His piercing gaze swept across the castle grounds, coming to rest on the small figure of Jonathan Harker as he entered the hedge maze. A slight smile tugged at the corners of the Count’s lips, softening his usually stern countenance.
Vigo, ever-present and attentive, observed his master’s change in expression. “It is good to see you smile, my lord,” he said, his gravelly voice tinged with a note of hope. “None of the others made you smile so. In fact, the last time I had seen such a smile was whenever you played with that stray you brought home.”
Dracula turned, irritation flashing in his dark eyes. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he scoffed, “You give far too muchweight to this Englishman’s presence, old friend. He is merely... a curiosity to me, nothing more.”
The ancient servant raised one bushy eyebrow. Skepticism etched into the deep lines of his face. “You cannot deny the resemblance. Of all the others, he is your beloved’s spitting image. After centuries of scorning the demon’s empty promises--”
“Enough!” Dracula’s voice cracked like a whip, reverberating through the cavernous library. The Count’s eyes blazed with barely contained fury, his fists clenching at his sides. “I will not entertain such fanciful notions again, no matter how...” His gaze flicked momentarily towards the window, softening almost imperceptibly. “No matter how striking the similarities.”
With an irritated huff, Dracula stalked across the room, his dark cape billowing behind him like the wings of some great bat. “Leave me,” he commanded. “I wish to study this... Jonathan Harker further while he is away.”
As Vigo bowed and retreated, Dracula swept out of the library, his footsteps echoing through the empty corridors. He found himself drawn inexorably towards Jonathan’s quarters, a part of him reveling in this invasion of the young man’s privacy even as another part recoiled at his own weakness.
The door creaked open, revealing a room that seemed to pulse with life compared to the rest of the castle. Dracula inhaled deeply, his heightened senses drinking in the lingering scent of Jonathan’s cologne. It was a complex aroma - notes of bergamot and lavender mingled with deeper tones of sandalwood andmusk. The scent was at once familiar and utterly foreign, stirring memories long buried while simultaneously reminding Dracula of the vast gulf of time that separated him from the world of the living.
His gaze swept across the room, taking in the scattered personal effects that spoke of a life beyond these castle walls. A silver pocket watch gleamed on the bedside table. Folded copies of The Times lay nearby, their pages filled with news of a world Dracula had long since ceased to be a part of.
But it was a small velvet-lined case that truly captured his attention. He opened it to reveal a series of mounted photographic images. Dracula ran a long, pale finger over the glass surface, tracing the outlines of the frozen figures captured within.
There was Jonathan, smiling broadly in a bustling London street. The background teemed with life - horse-drawn carriages, ladies in bustled dresses, gentlemen in top hats. It was a snapshot of a world in constant motion.
Another photograph showed Jonathan with a young woman. They stood arm in arm, their expressions a mixture of affection and something else... uncertainty, perhaps? The Count studied Lucy’s face, searching for any hint of the passion he remembered from his mortal days. He found none.
But what he did find was how different the world was outside, the clothes they wore, the large buildings in the background, and contraptions he had never seen before. His children had spoken of such things, and he had even seen through their eyes onoccasion, but to step out into this new world, to live in it? Was he afraid?
He laughed bitterly. “Eternal Paradise.” That’s how the demon described his dark world of immortality, and for a while, he had believed it even as he missed his beloved. To him, it would have been an eternal paradise if his love was by his side, but lately, he had wondered how true that would have been. Perhaps they would have grown tired of one another and parted ways like so many of his children. Perhaps it was a good thing that Béla’s soul didn’t reincarnate, and if it did, would it be right to find him?
Even if this Jonathan was Béla reincarnated, what could a monster offer him but darkness and stagnation?
The photographs slipped from Dracula’s hands, scattering across the floor in a flurry. He was overwhelmed by the realization of all he had lost. The world he had known and the empire he had fought for had changed beyond recognition.
“This ceaseless stasis... it is death,” Dracula whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. “My very essence wilts and fades while life’s river flows on without me.”
He had sold his soul for the power to crush his enemies, and immortality ensured that he would stand as an eternal bulwark against those who threatened his Romania. But now, everyone he had ever known was dust. The glory of the Ottoman Empire, which he had fought so fiercely to defend against, had waned. He was a relic, a creature out of time.
Surrounded by the scattered remnants of Jonathan’s life, Dracula was struck by a sudden, desperate desire for change. He wanted to live again, truly live, not merely exist in this twilight state. But how? The children he had created over the years were spread out in that new world, and he recoiled at the thought of approaching them for aid, of revealing his own uncertainty and fear.
His thoughts turned to Jonathan, with his quick mind and his knowledge of the modern world. But even as the idea formed, Dracula dismissed it. How could he expect the young man to understand, let alone help? Jonathan was a part of that vibrant, ever-changing world. To drag him into the shadows would be an act of supreme selfishness.
His movements were less fluid than usual as he gathered the scattered photographs, carefully replacing them in their velvet case.
With a final glance around Jonathan’s room, Dracula swept out. The castle suddenly felt more confining than ever, a mausoleum of memories and regrets.
Chapter Fourteen
The sun had begun its descent towards the horizon as Jonathan emerged from the hedge maze, his mind no clearer than when he had entered. Instead, he was raw and exposed. He wandered the grounds aimlessly, wondering what he should do next. Perhaps go to bed? Or maybe take a bottle of wine and drink until he can’t think of anything anymore?
A weathered sign caught his eye as he rounded a corner of the castle. Mounted above what appeared to be a partially built underground structure, it read simply: “Wine Cellar.” Jonathan’s eyes lit up, a spark of mischievous desperation igniting. He recalled the exquisite vintages he had sampled during his stay. He could still practically taste their rich complex flavors. The Count had such refined tastes.
“Why not?” Jonathan muttered to himself, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “If I’m to be destroyed by my abnormal desires, I might as well go down with a fine vintage in hand!”
Descending the rough-hewn steps into the cellar, Jonathan found himself surrounded by racks upon racks of dusty bottles. The air was cool and musty, heavy with the scent of aged wood and fermented grapes. He ran his fingers along the labels, marveling at the dates - some stretching back centuries.
