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He sealed the envelope and felt a twinge of guilt at the omissions and half-truths. But how could he possibly explain the reality of his situation? Blood drinking creatures of the night, reincarnations, and raving bands of monster hunters, thedanger, the complex emotions gripping his heart - these were things that defied explanation in a simple letter.
He set the sealed envelope aside, his mind already turning to thoughts of Dracula. He knew he needed to discover a way to convince the Count to allow him to remain at the castle and he had just figured out how to do it.
Jonathan leaned back in his chair, his mind drifting to the enigmatic Count. “A man as handsome as the Count,” he mused aloud, “shouldn’t be cooped up in a castle forever.”
He again indulged in a brief fantasy of introducing Dracula to London society. He saw the Count effortlessly charming both women and men, captivating hearts with a mere glance. The image brought a smile to his face, but it quickly faded as an unexpected wave of jealousy washed over him.
Suddenly, he found himself wanting to keep Dracula hidden away, like a jealous explorer guarding a rare, precious pearl. The Count was more than just a man; he was a living embodiment of all things dark, mysterious, and hidden in this mundane world. Jonathan felt privileged to have glimpsed this secret realm, and the thought of sharing it - even under the guise of introducing a European noble seemed almost sacrilegious.
He chuckled softly at his own possessiveness. “That’s silly,” he chided himself, rising from the desk. Still, the sentiment lingered as he considered his plan to convince Dracula to let him stay. It wasn’t just about remaining in the castle anymore; it was about preserving this connection to a world beyond the ordinary, a world he was increasingly reluctant to leave behind.
Jonathan made his way through the castle’s winding corridors. He found himself outside Dracula’s chambers, hesitating only briefly before pushing the heavy oak door open.
The room that greeted him was a stark contrast to the rest of the castle. Where the other chambers were adorned with tapestries and ornate furnishings, Dracula’s bedroom was austere, almost monastic in its simplicity. The walls were bare stone, their rough surfaces catching the fading daylight that seeped through the heavy velvet curtains. He didn’t have time to look at this room last night, for one it was too dark, even for his newly sharpened vision, but he was also too wounded to care. Now he was able to take it all in.
A massive fireplace dominated one wall, its hearth cold and empty. Beside it stood a high-backed chair, its dark leather cracked with age. A small writing desk occupied one corner, its surface bare save for a single quill and an inkwell. He spotted the canopy bed off to the other side of the room, its bloodied sheets were gone and replaced as if nothing happened. But Dracula was not there.
It was the center of the room that drew Jonathan’s gaze. There, atop a raised dais, stood Dracula’s coffin. It was a thing of terrible beauty, crafted from polished ebony wood so dark it seemed to absorb the light around it.
Jonathan approached the coffin with a mixture of trepidation and fascination. His fingers traced the intricate carvings on its ebony surface, feeling the stories etched into the wood - tales of a mortal life long past. The coolness of the wood beneath hisfingertips sent a shiver down his spine, this was the thin line between life and death that Dracula straddled.
As he peered inside, the rich, blood-red silk lining caught his eye. It was luxurious, almost inviting. A part of him recoiled at the idea of willingly lying in what was essentially a vessel for the dead. Yet another part, a part he was only beginning to acknowledge, felt an odd longing to experience it, to understand this aspect of Dracula’s existence.
He imagined what it would be like to lie there, enveloped in silk and darkness. Would it feel confining, or would there be a strange comfort in it? Would he feel closer to Dracula, sharing this most intimate space? The thought both thrilled and terrified him.
His gaze fell upon his still form. The Count looked so peaceful, so human in his repose. It was hard to reconcile this image with the powerful, sometimes terrifying being Jonathan had come to know. He found himself wondering about Dracula’s dreams. Did vampyres dream? And if so, what visions haunted the slumber of a creature who had lived for centuries?
Unbeknownst to Jonathan, Dracula was acutely aware of his presence. The vampyre had sensed Jonathan’s approach the moment he had entered the room, no long before that, he had heard the scratching of his pen along the parchment and the beat of his heart as it grew louder the closer he approached.
And yet Dracula remained still, feigning sleep, his keen senses attuned to Jonathan’s every move like wind brushing against the hairs on his skin.
He was curious to see what Jonathan would do, how he would react to this intimate glimpse into his unlife. Would he run in fear? Or would his fascination overcome his natural revulsion? Dracula found himself hoping for the latter, though he chided himself for such sentiment.
Béla would have ran from the room the moment he saw the coffin. He hated all things that had to do with death as he had lost so much of his family. And when he confessed his pact with the monster, not even he knew what type of monster he would become or the conditions that came with it. Perhaps Béla would have changed his mind the moment death became a part of it.
And yet, here this boy was, tracing his hand along his coffin and having the gall to gawk at him as if he were a piece in a museum.
There was a spirit in this solicitor, a curiosity and courage that both intrigued and unsettled Dracula.
Finally, when he sensed Jonathan leaning in too close, Dracula decided to end his charade. His eyes snapped open, his lips twisting in a fanged grin.
Jonathan stumbled back, but not quickly enough. Dracula’s hand shot out, grasping Jonathan’s wrist and pulling him into the coffin.
“Why have you disturbed my sleep?” Dracula’s voice was a low growl, his face inches from Jonathan’s.
Jonathan felt his face flush, acutely aware of their proximity. He felt both fear and desire, each threatening to overwhelm the other.
“I... I was just...” he stammered.
Dracula’s lips curled into a smirk. “You seem well enough to catch the train out of Transylvania,” he said. “Though it isn’t quite nightfall yet. I’ll escort you to the station when the sun sets.”
Jonathan’s heart sank. “My work isn’t complete,” he protested. “I refuse to leave a job half-finished.”
Dracula chuckled, the sound reverberating through the confined space of the coffin. “Real estate was merely an excuse to bring you here, solicitor.”
“Then I’ve discovered a way I can truly be helpful to you,” Jonathan said, his voice gaining strength.
Dracula cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? And what might that be?”
