Atop a gloved hand, the masked butler nimbly balanced a platter holding two wine glasses and an unlabelled wine bottle. He confidently stepped towards the Grizzled Sailor's lounge. The waiter arrived at a dimly lit section of the tavern, a table sitting far away from the others with only a small chamberstick illuminating its patrons, casting faint shadows over their faces and creating an intimate mood. Lowering the tray, he set the glassware down in front of the two diners. He gave the first glass to the lady with the crimson hair. Bewitching locks of straight hair fell freely upon her shoulders, framing the beauteous features of her face and accentuating her enchanting emerald eyes. Further down, her fair bosom was currently struggling for air, caged in an avant-garde ebony corset with a matching robe. The soft skin of her neck, as well as her slim arms, was completely exposed; such outrageous and revealing attire was in complete opposition with the current era’s timid fashion sense. Along with her charming beauty and the unusual color of her hair, it was enough to brand the woman a witch to be burnt at the stake without further question.

Opposite her, a slim, pale-skinned man sat, dressed in a masterfully woven red shirt. The otherworldly allure of his elongated, yet proportional facial features was further contributed to by his powerful jawline. A wig of straight gray hair further added to the man's eccentric handsomeness. He raised the glass of red wine to his nose and inhaled, feeling the sublime scent of wine pass through his nostrils, accompanied by a slight tinge of alcohol on his tongue.

"Is the wine to your satisfaction?" the monotone voice of the butler resonated through his mask.

"Indeed it is. We do not require anything else for the moment, Balthazar." Dracula smiled towards his servant, tilting his head and raising his brows as he did so.

"As you say, master. I shall leave you to your company." With a bow, he took the tray and made off with a mechanical, calculated pace.

"I think the wine will be to your liking." He took a sip, letting it linger in his mouth before swallowing. "It is something else, entirely. It has braved the Atlantic so that we could savor its sweet aroma. I find that the journey across the ocean has pleasantly matured it."

"Are you to say that you tasted Bordeaux Sweet in its home country?" She brought the glass to her alluring pink lips before taking in its scent and finally drinking from it.

"Not exactly. I'm not much of a francophone, ma chérie," he pronounced with perfect diction in a mocking French accent, "but I was fond of wine in the old world, a habit which the Americas have not yet changed." He chuckled, leaning forward on the table propped on his forearms, holding the bottom of the glass with his hand. "You know, Bordeaux was my favourite. I always had a glass when I dined."

"Just who exactly are you, Mr. Alucard?" she playfully asked. "I doubt that one of the common folk could shake hands with both Cromwells while also serving as a commodore, and apparently regularly drinking one of the most exquisite wines known to man." Her big jade pearls gazed intently at the vampire.

"Oh, I'm just a regular man." Dracula chuckled at the irony. "A simple tavern owner who just happens to have connections with the right men. But what about you?" He made for his glass, being purposefully slow as to make her uncomfortable. Indeed, the topic being shifted to her past brought great unease to the woman. Staring into his inquisitive eyes, she shifted forward in her seat and struggled to find her words.

"Oddly enough, I'm also a regular woman." Dracula took a long sip from his wine, his insistent gaze showing that he was not satisfied with the answer. "We are alike in that manner. But you'll find that we are different in many other ways, Alucard," she teased with a smirk.

"I would not be so quick to dismiss us as different." He moved his hand to lightly caress the back of her palm with his thumb, the sensual feeling of his fingertip through the velvet gauntlet causing the woman's spine to tingle pleasantly for a moment. "But, after all, opposites attract." Lowering his tone, the vampire leaned forward, inching ever closer to the woman's face and her inviting lips.

"Then we are indeed different," she whispered back and finished her wine, carefully moving her hand and lightly brushing Dracula's chin with the bottom of her glass. "But, tell me... could your courting be any more obvious?" She reciprocated his approach. Now, their faces were mere inches away from each other.

"Heh. I was hoping you'd have realised three hours ago," Dracula replied, unaffected by her bold question.

"Oh, but I have." She moved her hand behind his head to pull him closer in and whispered into his ear. "I just thought that your kiss ought to taste better after a glass of wine."

"Indeed, it ought to," Dracula repeated, the hot breath on her neck sending shivers throughout her entire body. "Would you care to try it?" Not letting her reply, he cradled her cheeks with his hands and pulled her close for a kiss, the lovers' tongues dancing around each other, neither of them willing to break the waltz of passion they had lost themselves in. Dracula's will was wavering, and he was struggling to resist the urge to bite at the appetising flesh of her lips, but he was saved by the woman finally pulling away.

"Yes, I would care to try it," she flirted. "Again. Maybe this time, it will be in your quarters." The woman didn't even let him answer, her infatuation already having made her rise from her seat. "After you, Alucard."

The two lovers made their way to Dracula's mansion, the vampire guiding his consort through the busy streets of the Boston harbor with his arm wrapped around her hourglass figure. After a stroll through the noisy city, they found themselves in front of an imposing steel gate. Staring through the bars, a majestic courtyard with an impeccably tended garden took the woman's breath away.

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"You said... quarters. I was under the impression you had rented one of the rooms at the tavern," she said with awe. Dracula walked forward and fished for the keys to the padlock in his pockets.

"Sweetheart, I *own* the tavern," he bluntly said. The lock clicked, and Dracula pushed the gates to his estate open. The vampire turned around and extended his arm, as if inviting her to a tango. "Follow me."

She took his hand, and the couple walked towards the mansion on a leisurely stroll. Holding his hand and breathing in the flowery perfume of his garden, she was at peace, overwhelmed with a warm feeling of serenity.

They walked up the stairs on a red carpet. After opening the unlocked door, they were met with a sparkling marble room. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, bathing the area in candlelight. The checkered tiles on the floor, as well as the chairs close to the walls, suggested that this was a ballroom. Her lips were slightly parted in surprise. Dracula didn't let her take in the sights for too long, and he led her through another door. The room they had just entered was very homely, with a couch sitting opposite a roaring fireplace. The obsidian statue to the left of the fireplace depicted a gargoyle with its wings outstretched, but it was too far away for the woman to make out the inscription on its base. A wool rug decorated the floor in the middle, and upon it, an empty table stood.

"Shall I get the maids to provide us with more wine?" he asked as he plopped down on a corner of the sofa, sprawling his arms on the couch back and inviting his partner to join him.

"N-no, I've had enough," the woman managed to stutter as she sat down next to him. He lowered his arm around her inviting neck, as if his embrace was meant to protect her from other thirsty children of the night.

"Are you sure, Carmilla? Are you perhaps scared of becoming groggy? I was under the impression witches were not able to feel the effects of alcohol." He smiled, and she extended her legs into his lap, sighing.

"Many rumors circulate about sorceresses. Most of them are inventions of the simple peasantry, whose idle and illiterate minds can come up with the strangest claims when left to their own." Dracula took off one of his gloves, gently pulling the fabric from each finger off before placing his mitt into his shirt's front pocket. His pale skin was exposed, and he slid his hand under Carmilla's robe to touch her inner thigh. His cold skin contrasted with the heat permeating from every inch of her flustered body, and when he caressed the surface of her thigh with his fingertips, Carmilla gasped in ecstasy, but was also surprised by his chilly touch. "Why are you so cold?"

"Am I?" Dracula chuckled. "You'll see. Come here." The vampire leaned in for the kiss, the last one he would give her. He started with gently brushing the skin of her neck with his lips, but he didn't go much farther. Opening his mouth wide, his fangs dug deep into her veins, drawing blood. Carmilla threw her head back as she moaned in pleasure. She never knew having her blood sucked out of her would feel so good. The warmth at the nape of her neck sent wild emotions throughout her entire body. She felt out of breath and dizzy, but she was certain it wasn't from the wine. She knew she was about to die, but never did Carmilla imagine that her final moments would be so blissful. The woman was powerless to resist, struggling with the feeling of disassociation she was experiencing.

When the vampire pulled back, she simply stared into his eyes. His lips contorted into a smile. Dracula wasn't a messy eater, as evidenced by the lack of even the faintest drop of blood on his face. Crimson liquid was still oozing from her new breathing hole, but in spite of this, she mustered the energy to talk.

“Y-you don't have to do this. P-please... let me live."

"And why should I, my darling?" Dracula rose from his seat and stared intently at her. "You have nothing to offer me. Your life force is spent. I see no reason to save you."

"Let me serve you..." she desperately pleaded, but her voice was cut short by the sanguine fluid filling her throat. With a distinct lack of grace, she spat a mouthful of blood on the carpet. "I-I am a witch, like my mother before me." Dracula looked at the stain on the wool rug, before snapping his gaze back towards her with interest.

"You're a witch, you say?" the vampire questioned. Turning to the gargoyle statue, he made a few arcane motions in the air and turned back around to her. "Your energies are weak. You are inapt. I shall waste no more ti--"

"W-wait," she interrupted him. "Perhaps witch was not the right word. I... am an alchemist. That which is physical, I transmute into energy..." Carmilla stopped to cough, before continuing. "I cannot channel energy of my own."

"She knows her stuff, apparently,” Balthazar chimed in, having returned from his errand with a bottle of ether and a long roll of bandages. "I have obeyed, master. I suggest sparing her," he spoke as he placed the first aid supplies on the table. "But you will do as you wish."

Dracula looked at the dying woman as if staring through her very fiber to judge her soul. She anxiously awaited the verdict, using a hand to apply pressure on her wound.

"Why do you desire vampirism, Carmilla?" he asked after an eternity, breaking the tense silence in the room. "What shall you do with your newfound blessing?"

"I shall cherish it... and I shall serve..." his prey weakly mouthed, her voice trailing off at the end; she didn't have much time left in the world of the living.

"Hmmph." He considered her answer, and found it satisfying.

The layer of skin covering his right hand seemed to peel off, dissipating into thin air as Dracula partially manifested his true form. Sharp claws burst forth, taking the place of what were once his neatly groomed nails. "You are... sufficient." He pulled the sleeve of his other arm back and superficially cut the still human skin of his wrist, letting a small quantity of blood flow from the wound. "Drink, Carmilla, and rejoice as you are born anew."

Bringing the bleeding hand of the elder vampire to her parched lips, the fledgling vampiress drank to her heart's content. The pain which had made her so blissful was gone, but she felt empty. Something was now eating away at her very soul, and she sucked on Dracula's wrist as if her life depended on it; for indeed, it now did. As Dracula recognised the symbols of bloodthirst from her desperate nibbling, he beckoned to Balthazar. "Prepare for her turning. Summon the maids. See to it that her hunger is sated."

"On it, master," his telepathic voice made itself heard in Dracula's head.

The dark lord pulled his feeding hand from Carmilla's mouth, easily sliding out of her desperate grip with his supernatural strength. "Balthazar will guide you. I have more pressing matters to attend to." Not waiting for her reply, he walked out of the room. Carmilla licked the vampiric blood from her lips, aching to drink more of the sweet nectar. She made for the crude first aid kit on the table so that she could clean her wound. Carmilla's tongue brushed against her new vampiric fangs and traced circles around them. She smiled as she awaited Balthazar, enjoying the lingering taste of sweet ambrosia in her mouth.

"I don't think I will be missing sunlight any time soon."