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Sir Ferdinand Lazarus lingered, relishing the helplessness of his intended victim. No trace of pity softened his diabolical features, his mind consumed with perfecting his villainy before striking fear into the heart of the beautiful yet unfortunate Flora.

Unbeknownst to her, those who would have rushed to her aid were lost in slumber, oblivious to her peril. She stood alone, teetering on the edge of madness, the line between reality and nightmare growing thin.

Still in her half-waking state, Flora called out Charles’s name, a desperate plea for his enduring love. Each utterance grated on Lazarus’s nerves, his impatience palpable.

With a menacing presence, Lazarus approached, his voice slicing through the night. “Flora Bennett, awaken! Look upon me, though it may shock you. Awake!”

It wasn’t his voice but his chilling touch that jolted her from her trance. Her scream pierced the silence, dispelling the eerie calm.

“Help! Where am I?” Flora’s panic filled the air.

Lazarus, arms outstretched like a sinister embrace, remained silent, his gaze fixed on her. Escape seemed futile, trapped in the clutches of a nightmare.

“The vampire!” Flora’s whispered terror echoed her worst fears.

“Yes, the vampire,” Lazarus confirmed. “Know me, Flora Bennett—the vampire who visited your blood-soaked banquet. I am the vampire. Do not fear me; learn to love me.”

Flora, trembling, struggled to comprehend the horror unfolding before her. “This is horrific! Why does Heaven not grant me release?”

“Stop,” Lazarus commanded. “Do not romanticize the terror. You are persecuted, by me—the vampire. It is my fate to torment you, bound by laws unseen yet powerful. I am a vampire; I must feed on others’ life-blood.”

Flora recoiled in horror. “Oh, the horror!”

“But I am drawn to the young and beautiful,” Lazarus continued. “It is from beings like you, Flora Bennett, that I seek sustenance. Yet, for the first time in centuries, I feel something akin to pity and love for you. I regret what I must do.”

His words, tinged with sorrow, stirred a glimmer of compassion in Flora’s heart. Tears flowed as she whispered, “May God forgive even you.”

“I need that prayer,” Lazarus exclaimed, his voice carrying an air of desperation. “May it reach Heaven’s ears on the wings of the night, whispered by angels to the Divine. I need that prayer!”

Flora’s voice cut through the tense air. “Your words, strangely, calm my fears. They soften your terrifying presence.”

“Hush,” Lazarus commanded. “There is more you must hear before you judge the fears that grip you.”

Flora demanded answers. “How did I come here? What otherworldly power brought me to this place? If I must listen, why not in a more suitable time and setting?”

“I possess powers,” Lazarus claimed, “powers that bend purposes to my will, powers inherent to my existence. That’s why I brought you here, to share revelations that should ease your distress.”

Flora braved the eerie chill. “Speak, I’m listening.”

“I have witnessed ages pass,” Lazarus began, his voice carrying centuries of weight. “I’ve seen empires crumble, and graves claim the young and beautiful, victims of my thirst for blood. But never have I loved until now.”

Flora doubted his capacity for such emotions. “Can someone like you feel earthly passion?”

“Why not?”

“Love seems too heavenly or earthly for one like you.”

“No, Flora, no! This feeling may stem from pity. I aim to save you from ongoing horrors.”

“May heaven show you mercy in your time of need.”

“Amen.”

“May you find peace and joy.”

“A faint hope, but your spirit, Flora, stirs a desire in my heart for unselfish deeds.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“That desire will guide you. Heaven’s mercy knows no bounds.”

“For your sake, I’ll believe that, Flora. If you consent to be mine, you’ll free me from my doom, and perhaps find heavenly happiness for us both. Will you?”

A moonbeam revealed Lazarus’s ghastly visage, reminiscent of a creature risen from the dead, poised to shatter beauty and sanity.

“No, never!” Flora’s voice rang out.

“Enough,” Lazarus conceded. “I’m a vampire still.”

“Spare me!”

“Blood!”

Flora begged for mercy as Lazarus’s true nature surfaced, his fangs exposed. “Mercy!”

“Blood, Flora Bennett,” Lazarus’s voice echoed, chilling to the bone. “I offered love; now, face the consequences.”

“No, no!” Flora’s voice echoed with defiance. “Can it truly be that even you, who have shown clarity and precision in your words, can be so unjust? You must realize that I’ve been a victim without cause, a sufferer with no reason; tortured not for my faults or shortcomings but because you deemed it necessary for your own monstrous survival to torment me as you have. How can I be blamed for rejecting an option beyond human control? I cannot love you.”

“Then prepare to endure,” Lazarus urged, his tone dark and insistent. “Flora Bennett, won’t you, even briefly, save yourself and me by becoming mine?”

“A horrifying proposal!”

“Then I’m condemned to perpetuate misery for many cycles, yet I love you with gratitude and selflessness rarely found in my heart. I wish to serve you, though you cannot save me. There may still be a chance for you to escape my presence.”

“A miraculous chance!” Flora exclaimed. “How can it come? Tell me, and whatever gratitude a grieving heart can offer to one who rescues her from affliction, it shall be yours.”

“Listen, Flora Bennett,” Lazarus began, his demeanor grave as he shared details of a mysterious existence never revealed to mortal ears.

Flora listened intently as he explained the physiology of his kind, shrouded in mystery and terror.

“It’s not that I cherish an existence sustained by such dreadful means,” Lazarus confessed. “If my victims suffer due to my thirst for blood, I, the vampyre, suffer too. As the time nears for me to seek sustenance, the desire to live intensifies until, in a frenzy of madness, I seek a victim.”

“A dreadful existence!” Flora murmured.

“It is,” Lazarus agreed. “After the feeding, calmness returns, but with it comes horror and agony. We suffer more than words can convey.”

“You have my sympathy,” Flora said softly. “Even you deserve pity.”

“I might ask for it if such compassion resided in your heart,” Lazarus responded. “For no wretch on this earth is as pitiable as I.”

“Continue,” Flora urged.

“After attacking a human, we feel an impulsive desire to seek that person again,” Lazarus explained. “But I love you, Flora. I sense in you a pure spirit. I want to save you.”

“Tell me how to escape this ordeal,” Flora pleaded.

“Only through flight,” Lazarus implored. “Leave this place swiftly, without looking back. I’ll stay here for years but won’t pursue you. Circumstances force me to remain, but you can avoid the same fate.”

“Tell me,” Flora asked after a moment, steeling herself for a fearful question. “Is it true that those attacked by a vampyre become one of that dreadful race after death?”

“Yes,” Lazarus confirmed. “That’s how the brood grows, but time and circumstances shape the transformation. However, you are safe.”

“Safe! Say that word again.”

“Yes, safe,” Lazarus reiterated, his voice tinged with a grim assurance. “The vampyre’s influence won’t turn you into one of us unless the attacks are frequent, leading to the inevitable termination of your mortal life directly from those assaults.”

“I understand,” Flora replied, her tone a mixture of fear and comprehension.

“If I continued to feed on you year after year, your life would slowly dwindle until the faintest spark would extinguish it,” Lazarus explained. “Then, Flora Bennett, you might become a vampyre.”

“Horrifying! Utterly horrifying!”

“If, by chance or design, moonlight touches your lifeless form, you’ll rise again as one of us—a terror to yourself and all around.”

“I’ll flee from here,” Flora declared. “The hope of escaping such a dreadful fate will drive me onward. If flight can save me—from Bennett Hall—I won’t stop until oceans divide us.”

“That’s wise,” Lazarus nodded, able now to reason calmly. “In a few months, I’ll feel death creeping over me. Then, in a frenzy, I might seek you again despite any barriers, drawn to you for sustenance and terror.”

“I don’t need reminders of the past to spur me,” Flora shuddered. “I’m ready to leave.”

“You’ll leave Bennett Hall?”

“Yes, yes!” Flora affirmed. “Its halls are haunted by memories of horror. I’ll urge my family to leave too. In a distant land, we’ll find peace and safety. Perhaps then, I’ll think of you with pity, sorrow, and curiosity, rather than anger or loathing.”

“Agreed,” Lazarus said, clasping his hands as if relieved to bring peace to one tormented by his actions. “Perhaps my efforts to bring peace will plead for me to Heaven.”

“It will,” Flora said, hopeful. “I believe it will.”

“Do you truly think so?”

“I do. I’ll pray for it.”

Lazarus seemed moved by her words. “Flora, do you recall the tragic event that stained your family’s history on this very spot?”

“I do,” Flora replied, sadness creeping into her voice. “It’s a painful memory I’d rather not dwell on.”

“I won’t burden you with it,” Lazarus assured her. “But I’m curious. Did you see your father before his final act?”

“No, he secluded himself in a chamber,” Flora recalled.

“Ah, that chamber with the portrait,” Lazarus remarked. “The one with eyes that seem to challenge anyone who enters.”

“Yes, that one.”

“He spent hours there,” Lazarus continued, lost in thought. “Then he went to the garden, where he met his end in this summer house?”

“That’s how it happened.”

“Before I bid you farewell—”

Lazarus’s words were interrupted by hurried footsteps. Henry Bennett burst into the summer house, brandishing a sword. “Now, for revenge! Foul creature, if mortal arm can harm you, you’ll die!”

Flora screamed, throwing herself past Lazarus to cling to her brother. Lazarus, quick to react, vaulted over the seat and broke through the back of the summer house, escaping into the darkness before Henry could strike.