If someone from my village had told me that I'd be a guest in Castle Dracula and that the prolific Count's son was to be the issuer of said invitation, I'd have told them they were mad. No one who walked through the threshold of the horrific monolith, ever came out alive; at least that's what all the stories circulating around it ever said.

Yet somehow, I'd been spared. Why?

I'd have been content to remain within my reverie for a time, but the husky baritone voice I'd come to know already broke through. "This is where you'll be lodging for the evening." I tried to clear the shattered remains of my thoughts left behind by blinking quickly- it did little good. However, the room that I was being offered had done the trick.

It was a safe assumption that my childhood home was dwarfed by my current lodgings- almost tenfold. For a moment, I stood dumbfounded, mouth agape, and eyes mirroring saucers at the opulence and splendor- was this indeed the room I was permitted to stay in?

"You are welcome to any of the amenities your lodgings provide," my host's voice had once more been the anchoring point that drew me back from the depths of my mind.

"It-" I breathed, lost for words, attempting to find a single descriptor that could aptly encapsulate the majesty.

"I trust it is to your satisfaction?"

His question was unnecessary- the room was splendid and exceeded my modest expectations. "It's perfect," I mused with a sigh, spinning around the room to admire the vaulted ceilings, the rich woods, the glimmering brass fixtures, and of course, the mammoth bed that called my name sweetly. Selfishly I began to fantasize about curling up beneath the heavy duvet- already imagining how the velvet bedding would envelop my body and whisk me off easily into a dreamless sleep.

"Thank you," my voice little more than a whisper, my eyes wildly flicking about, desperately trying to drink in every sconce and votive. I wanted to commit every beautiful detail to memory, especially if I awoke the next morning, and all of this, my journey and this castle, had naught been but a fever dream.

Compounding every ounce of my will to turn and regard my kindhearted acquaintance with a beaming smile- words wouldn't form, no matter how hard I tried to grasp them from thin air. It didn't matter, the gorgeous man, with his silky tresses of spun gold and creamy alabaster skin, nodded curtly. He knew what I was going to say, even if my mouth failed me hence.

This had been the second act of generosity that I knew I couldn't repay. Desperately, like a drowning man clawing at the water for air, I too grasped blindly for an idea that would be sufficient repayment.

Where did I start, though? I had no money, and nothing I owned was of any value. What did I possibly possess that would be worthy of his kindness? What could I give the benevolent angel that he did not already own?

I was at a loss.

My eyes blinked away the haze of my thoughts, and I look up into the face of the vampiric aristocrat- searching those golden pools for an answer. I don't find anything there as he stares down at me. I feel my heart begin to hammer against my ribcage and then leap into my throat, threatening to choke me.

I have to calm myself or like how he'd heard my stomach; he'd hear my heart's deafening rhythm. In a feeble effort to slow its wicked pace, I swallow hard and force myself to speak, "H-how can I ever-"

"Repay me?" He finishes, his tone flat, denoting nothing of his feelings, yet I hang onto every second of silence.

"You could start by bathing- frankly, you smell like a dead dog."

So much for kind and gentle!

"You, you-!" I yelp, flushing the same hue as the heavy curtains, storming further into the lovely room. With a huff, I throw my satchel down with a thunderous crash and look back with a hellish glare. "At least I do not smell like a musty old man, y-you ill-tempered ass!"

I should not have called him names; I should have been grateful, but how dare he! I was furious, I was embarrassed, but above all, I was ashamed. I should not have been. I knew this. I'd been out in the wilderness for the better part of a week- if I had had a choice in the matter, I'd have smelled of lilac and rose oil!

"Well," my host snorts, shifting his weight from one of his long legs to the other, arms crossed tightly over his chest, "I'll leave you to your own devices." For the first time that evening, I actually wish he'd leave posthaste. I can't bear to look at him a moment more!

The burning urge to quip with more barbed insults ignites my tongue in liquid fire, but I resisted the urge and swallowed them down with a wince. I remind myself, like it is my sacred mantra, that I am his guest, and a certain amount of decorum was expected. Still, I glare invisible holes into the toes of my boots, patiently waiting until the delicate little vampire princeling retreats off into his corner to brood.

When I hear the steady beat of the man's receding footsteps, I feel my insides twists into a sickening ball of sailors' knots. I know I should have thanked him again. He had been magnanimous enough to allow me to take shelter from the harsh winter in his abode, yet, my blood still boils with my unquenched fury. He could have made his point without reminding me of my malodorous nature. I know full well I did not smell pleasant!

Quickly, I scamper across the distance separating the doorway and me, and I lean out, hoping to catch the man in order to offer one final 'thank you.' It doesn't take my eyes but a moment to lock onto his back as he walks away. "Thank you, uhm-" I stumble lamely over my own tongue, only now realizing as I search my memory for the stranger's name, fully aware that we had not exchanged them yet. I briefly smile smugly to myself as I reason I could always call him 'stubborn ass' again- it suited him. I chuckled at the thought as it soothes my wounded pride momentarily before the sobering thought that I know better, reminds me to stay my tongue.

"Adrian," the name reaches my ears. At first, I don't understand his response. Then, as if the fog lifts, I realize what he's given is his name. I smile to myself, thinking that any other name would not have suited him.

"Adrian Tepes. Or, Alucard, as the Wallachians call me."

"Well, thank you again, Adrian! I am grateful beyond what words can ever express." He did not stop even after I'd given my last reply, instead offering only a nod to show his acknowledgment. For a long time, I watch him as he goes, admiring the way the pale moonlight baths his angular features.

A heavy sigh heaves past my lips before I reason I should begin preparing for bed.

I step away from the door; my thoughts transfixed on the desire to disrobe and sink into arms of warm, safe slumber. Yet, as I step away and pull my filthy gray tunic over my head, my eyes shoot open as I realize the err of my ways: I hadn't offered my name in return! Turning on my heels, I peek my head through the door, calling out, "I'm Anna!"

All that greets my eyes is an empty hallway.

Disappointment clutches at my insides, "Anna Truemare," I mumble with a sigh, closing myself into my chambers for the evening.

Wordlessly I saunter over to the deep brass basin that sits beside a large cathedral-like window and stare at the bath, puzzled. How is water delivered? With a frustrated grumble, I fixate on the chilly panes and watch the outside world quietly. I wanted to see stars, the heavens, to peer out and see just how close we were to St. Peter's golden gates. All I see, however, is little more than a white blur. I pray as I work my hair free from the braid, that the snow will stop soon.

Initially, when I had set out on my journey, I had not considered the eventuality that it would snow, now, as I stared out at the barren white wasteland, I shiver as my mind recalls the biting cold. Already I began to fret- would I even survive?

I wanted to live in this moment forever; warm and safe.

With my hair free, I pivot on my heels to begin fiddling with a series of knobs that I learned quickly, control both hot and cold water. I knew it wasn't magic- at least, I assumed it wasn't. Lisa had been branded and burned as a witch, but she had been what some called a doctor, a woman of science. While these words were alien to me, I wondered if her son was the same, if he too used science to deliver water into my bath.

After a moment of contemplation and an extended period of fiddling with the brass knobs, I settled on a comfortably warm temperature, allowing the deep basin to fill with water.

As quickly as I had discarded the tattered gray tunic, so too did I leave the rest of my filthy clothes in a pool beneath my feet.

Cautiously I stepped into the basin and sank into the warm waters, moaning beneath my breath as I feel every knot and tight muscle ease. If heaven existed, this was it. With another contented sigh, I lay back against the warm brass and let my eyes flutter shut.

I lay there, soaking, letting the sands of time fall through the hourglass until I feel weightless. I will my mind to quiet for a time as I imagine a shimmering pool of placid water. I force the water to remain untouched and still, but this lasts for, but a breath. Ripples of thoughts drip into the undisturbed surface as I begin thinking about all that has happened and all that must happen.

Lazily I let my eyes flutter open, and I stare absently at the ceiling above me, gnawing my bottom lip anxiously.

Father will be furious with me upon my arrival, I think, lifting one of my hands to caress the raised, jagged scars that run from the side of my neck to the swell of my right breast. I can already hear his words, scolding me for daring to steal from him and run away, for thinking that it was my place to leave. I imagine how the conversation will go, of how I'll beg him to understand that what I did, I did out of love. Admittedly, I think as I sink further into the water until I'm completely submerged, he will be forgiving.

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

My little world is quiet, save for the steady thump of my heart in my ears as I lay there, back pressed firmly against the bottom of the basin. I enjoy this moment of peace as bubbles rush from my lips while I breathe out slowly. Finally, when my lungs are empty, do I sit up with a gasp and rub my hands across my face to remove the droplets that slide down my flesh.

I fold into myself, drawing my knees to my chest and resting the side of my face against the tops of my thighs- Sir Quartz will be furious. Not with me, maybe me for my inability to save his precious daughter, but certainly enraged by the 'creature.'

A snicker of humorless laughter leaps past my lips, and I smile sadly as I think of the legendary monster.

Immediately my mind begins to manifest Adrian's ethereal features in my mind, and I'm willed to close my eyes as I envision him, once again bathed in the soft pale light of the moon.

Alucard, the beautiful unknowable enigma, is no creature despite his desperate attempts to fashion himself that way. I could not say for sure what he had endured, save for the loss of his mother and father, but there was more than that sadness. His sadness was an ocean- turbulent and churning. He was a cold spot in a room, where the warmth of the sun could never touch, nor ever hope to. I wonder what it was that caused him to find his cruelty. What darkness has he suffered at the hands of mortals for him to take up his father's bloody mantle? Something terrible, I think, as my eyes again flutter open, and I try to stare out the snow-covered window, wishing still that it would stop for just a moment.

As I stare out into the frigid wastes, I feel my curiosity, thick like sap, coursing through my blood with my need to know Adrian's hidden truths. I want to know, and I tell myself I need to know.

But why? The rational part of me argues that it isn't any of my business and that it isn't within my right to ask either- she's right, of course. His secrets are his to hold tightly to his chest; no one is privy to them, not even God. However, the part of me that finds the mysterious golden-haired man exciting whines pathetically to know the truth. It won't matter, I huffed and began running my hands through my hair again, I'll be gone by first light, and I'll never see this place again. I'll never see him again. Adrian will be but a distant dream.

I feel a sharp ache in my chest that feels as if I've been stabbed, reasoning that the throbbing is from my unhealed wounds; they'd begun bothering me as of late. I straighten again, absently running my fingers along the unsightly injury.

A hiss erupts from my lips as I press the pads of my fingers against the tender flesh.

Tearing myself away from my thoughts, I look down to my fingers to find them wrinkled- I've been in the water too long, but reluctance keeps me seated for a time. The water is so warm, and this is the first time I've been able to feel my extremities for longer than a handful seconds. I know, however, that I can't stay here forever. I have chores to finish.

I do not tarry further and set about washing every crack and crevasse of my body, paying special mind to my long raven hair. Alucard had made it quite clear that I smelled like a dead animal- well, no more!

With my personal hygiene taken care of and every inch of me so clean, I wonder if I shimmer like a precious stone, I stand and look down into the filthy water and cringe. Apparently, I had been far dirtier than I'd initially thought. I console myself with the sobering fact that, despite having had every desire to bathe, I didn't want to leave anything to chance. Anything could have happened while I allowed myself to be exposed- whether that had been as prolonged as contracting an illness or encountering a predator.

Quietly I collect a towel and dry off quickly, wrapping the linen tightly around my body in a makeshift dress to obscure my nudity. I empty the filthy water from my bath and fill just the bottom with scalding hot water- it's my clothes' turn now. My mind wanders as I wash my clothes, paying particular attention to the bloodstains that ring the collar of my undershirt and my tunic. I know damn well that blood is nearly impossible to remove, but I try. I try until my fingers ache. I sigh with resignation as I stare down at the light brown stain- my clothes are ruined, but at least they tell a story.

As I reach up with one of my hands and the pad of my thumb caresses the unsightly mark, I'm reminded of Bess; I'm reminded of the words she spoke to me the night she vanished. "Always remember the lesson that," I mutter and stand slowly to my full height, my dripping undergarments in my small hands "compassion makes a man and cruelty makes a monster. Sometimes wars can be won by your words, and a singular act of kindness can sway even the most lost and broken of souls." Her words before this had seemed foreign, like they did not fit into the fable that was my life. At least, they hadn't until I'd stepped through the doors of Castle Dracula.

How had she known to impart this wisdom unto me?

I shake my train of thought loose, instead focusing all of my attention on wringing out my clothes. I couldn't rightly walk around the castle in the buff, and I would glow as bright as the sun if I dared to be so immodest.

After I had rung from my garments as much water as I could manage with my meager strength, I retreated to the one place I had been pining for since I'd laid my eyes on it- the large four-post bed with velvet bedding and enough pillows to drown in.

Immediately I want to run across the room and leap onto the soft goose feather bed and feel it swallow me whole, but I resign myself to quietly marching over to it. I am too tired, I think, as I trudged over and flop down with a soft thump. I am happy just to lay down and give my muscles a chance to recuperate.

Fatigue immediately begins to tug down roughly on my lids, attempting to coax me into sleep's loving embrace. I'd have accepted the invitation with gusto if my mind hadn't manifested a very real concern- that of Adrian coming to wake me at dawn. How immoral it would have been to have a man find me in such a state of undress, especially a man I had spoken less than a hundred words to. Despite being on a first-name basis, we were still strangers. The thought alone causes my heart to do little somersaults in my chest and my cheeks to feel feverish. "I suppose," I mutter with a yawn, "if he happens upon me in such a state, my leaving tomorrow will remedy any awkwardness. We'll never see each other again."

I couldn't allow myself to miss what had never been mine- I had known what to expect on this mission, but I had not anticipated encountering another living person with whom, despite his smart mouth, I enjoyed being around. Well, at least when he wasn't being an ass. I laughed at the thought, absently raising my hand to run my fingers along the long jagged scar that mars my ivory skin.

For a time, I quietly pet the tight flesh until I find my eyes fluttering closed. Sleep has continued to dog me and try as I might to resist the urge to stave off her advances, I feel myself get dragged beneath the churning waves, and I fall into dreamlessness.

I do not know how long I slept or if any of my dreams hang on the edge of my addled mind, but when next I opened my eyes to stare at the canopy that hung overhead, I knew it was late. Groggily I force myself to sit and look about my room, finding it just as I had left it when I'd laid down- save for the artificial light that had bathed my room in warmth. At some point, they had been extinguished, but by who? I searched through the cobwebs of my foggy mind to recall if I had been the cause, but for the life of me, I could not confirm it had been by my hand.

I let the thought slip away when I look down the length of my towel-clad body, pleasantly aware of how warm and soft my skin is. Damn, I still needed to get up and make myself somewhat decent. I consider briefly forgoing clothes. Unlike the twins, I reason that Adrian is undoubtedly not the type to barge into a lady's room and tear the covers off her body. Yet somewhere in the dark recesses of my memory, I can hear father scolding me for sleeping in the buff like a heathen.

As I erected myself with a yawn, I once more absently run my hands through my tangled tresses and am surprised by how smooth they've become. Perhaps, I think with another soft caress with my spindly fingers; the water was magic.

Another yawn quickly overtakes me, this one followed by a long, cat-like stretch that has me lifting my arms above my head. Half way through, I softly sob when the gashes on my neck and chest began to burn and tug- leaving behind the faint memory of tightness. For a long while, I sit curled into myself, clenching my shoulder with my free hand and trying to breathe through the remnants of my agony. God, why did it hurt so badly? With a brief, cursory check from quivering fingers, I find that the wound is cracked open but mostly intact.

Damn my forgetfulness!

Finally, the throbbing subsides, and I managed to catch my breath, my head swimming. At least it was over, for now, I think with a sigh.

I remain perched on my bed, as my eyes adjusted to the darkness. My gaze flicks about my surroundings in an attempt to locate my satchel. I recall immediately that earlier that day, I had purchased varying medicinal items. I kick myself for having nearly forgotten, but I argue that anyone with a brain in their head would have done the same- especially after meeting a vampire.

As quickly and carefully so as not to disturb the wound further, I scooted across the bed until I stood on my own two feet again and move first over to my undergarments. If I had any inclination to prepare my makeshift healing salve, I would need clothes first. Mindful to avoid bumping the tender area, I shimmy into my undergarments before setting my sights on the satchel. I move over to where it sits abandoned, plopping down with a grunt as my right hand slips past the fold.

Blindly I rummage about, feeling everything but the bushel of herbs and the small cloth pouch of crushed yarrow.

"Damnit," I hiss to myself in frustration, "where are those blasted herbs?!

It takes me much longer than I would have liked, but when I finally fished the thyme, lavender, and yarrow, I am already heading for the large double doors. Confidently I reach for the handle, but my fingers hover over the knob, frozen.

Like the voice of reason, I hear Adrian's voice, cold and indifferent, issue his strict command: "I do not want you poking around my castle."

Anxiously I began to chew on the inside corner of my lip, contemplating his words with a wildly pounding heart. While I have no desire to break the one rule he'd been so emphatic about issuing, I reason that my pain outweighs his ruling.

Besides, I think with a confident snort, he only wanted me not to go poking around- I know exactly where I'm going and what I plan on doing.

As quietly as I can, I suck in several deep, calming breaths before stealthily pushing the heavy door open enough to wiggle my lithesome frame through. I almost sigh in relief, but remember that somewhere down the long stretching hallway to my right, a vampire sleeps in his coffin.

I stand motionless in the hallway, not aware that I'm holding my breath until I gasp. I wince as I fixate my gaze on the impenetrable darkness, feet from me, watching to see if the familiar golden-haired man emerges with a sour look twisting his lovely features. Despite having already formulated my repose should I be caught, I feel myself withering beneath my crushing guilt. I wait but a moment more, collecting myself before I take off through the castle at a brisk walk, looking back over my shoulder until I've descended a long winding stairwell.

As I walk, I think I see shadows flit across my vision and dance about like they did the night I stayed within Lindenfeld. My heart stops for a fraction of a second as I recall the suffocating terror, but, I will myself onward. If I had any chance of sleeping comfortably, I needed the healing properties from the herbs I clutched to my breasts.

Relief almost immediately washes over me the moment I push my way in through the door leading into the kitchen, comforted by the familiar sight of the four-burner stove, the deep dish basin, and the simple dining table.

However, it lasted but a moment when realization washes over me in a cold wave that had my skin prickling- I knew where absolutely nothing was. While an unfamiliar kitchen had been something I'd navigated through before with relative ease, the fact of the matter was that my host had better hearing than any dog. If I made so much as a peep or banged around too loudly, I knew he'd be there in a second- looming over me like he was so prone to doing.

No, I encouraged, I'll be as silent as death!

At least that had been what I had told myself before I began searching for the kettle. While the hinges on the cabinets did not squeal in resistance, moving anything sounded like thunder to my ears.

Why was my ruckus so much louder?!

It took me several minutes to get everything prepared. Hot water set steaming in a mug, the yarrow sitting beside it, and the crushed mixture of thyme and lavender almost wholly ground into a fine powder that I would then mix with ash from the woodstove. The remaining steps I could complete in utter silence, at least I had thought so.

As I poured the contents of the pleasant, spicy smelling yarrow into the mug, I shrieked when a voice, deep and accusatory snapped coolly behind me, "What is it that you think you're doing?"