#the weird sisters

[moonsun2010]

16 May - The weird sisters are here!

these are part of an animatic summarising Dracula, which you can watch here (new readers beware; it has spoilers for the entire book!)

[the-illustrative-interloper]

[tytolito]

some STRANGE ladies...

[weirdlookindog]

Richard Westall (1765–1836) - "The weird sisters, hand in hand", 1798

William Shakespeare's 'Macbeth' Act I Scene III: The Three Witches

engraved by James Stow (1770–1823)

[thegoatsongs]

Dracula book illustration by Fernando Vicente

[see-arcane]

Honestly, I wonder how the girlies are doing now that they probably knows that Dracula is coming back to Transylvania. They had the castle, and the land for themselves for like, 3 months? And the fucker wants to come back already???? They are probably searching through ancient texts, and dusty tomes how to make the castle not His House anymore so the Count can't enter, and they can laugh at him in return.

Who needs ancient texts when they have up-to-date 19th century sorcery?

Dracula, trapped outside the threshold: "What did you do."

The Weird Sisters: "Do we know you, sir?" :) :) :)

Dracula: "After 400 years you ought to."

The Weird Sisters: "Sorry, the only ancient pain in the ass we knew disappeared. Died, in fact. We have the death certificate framed and everything. A tragic loss. But at least we have this castle property to remember him by." :) :) :)

Dracula: "You didn't."

The Weird Sisters: "We did. May Count Dracula rest in pieces." :) :) :)

Dracula: "How did you even--since when do you even know the property laws of the territory?"

The Weird Sisters: "Modern tomes." :) :) :)

Dracula: "Modern--?"

The Weird Sisters: ;) ;) ;)

Dracula: "...You went through Harker's law books."

The Weird Sisters: "Maybe." :) :) :)

Dracula: "Let me in, you ingrates."

The Weird Sisters: "Hmmmmmmmmm nah. Tell Bloodbag Boytoy thanks for the legal texts. You know, before the beheading ensues." :) :) :)

Dracula: "LET ME IN YOU FU--"

The Weird Sisters, slamming the door: "Bye." :) :) :)

[georgiacooked]

The three vampire ladies in the three weed-smoking girlfriends pose-

SKETCH REQUESTS

The things I do for sketch requests...

[thefugitivesaint]

Norman Price (1877-1951), ''A Day with Richard Wagner'', 1911

Source

[immediatebreakfast]

Happy shovel day!

POV: you are one of the Weird Sisters, and you see the Snacky snack Blood bag Boytoy turn Dracula's face into dough for plăcintă du cartofi.

[thedupshadove]

Perhaps I'm the odd one out here, but I really did take "Yes, I too can love; you yourselves can tell it from the past. Is it not so?" as Dracula trying to insist to the women that he loves them; especially considering he follows it with a promise to let them have Jonathan after the solicitor has served his purpose.

[bluecatwriter]

I got a request please. Also been a fan of Drac's brides, so could you draw on of them just milling around in a room but in a supernatural way like one's on a couch, one's on a wall, one on a ceiling, etc.

This was a lot of fun to draw! I made two versions, one with Drac and one without.

[ID in Alt]

(I'm still taking art requests— feel free to drop an ask or comment with suggestions!)

[arinewman7]

The Weird Sisters

‘Macbeth', Act I, Scene 3

Henry Fuseli

1783

[3y3-see-you]

rip bram stoker you would have loved using the word “cunty” to describe the weird sisters

[weirdlookindog]

Macbeth (1948)

[thegoatsongs]

This man is popular with vampires and they all wanna kiss him

[see-arcane]

The idea of one of the Weird Sisters being a romani girl or a slovak girl that was in the wrong place at the wrong time is horrible, and a great way to showcase the kind of power (both social, and supernatural) that Dracula forces upon the humans around him.

Wrong place, wrong time, wrong state of being, social, supernatural or otherwise. Dracula could have taken anyone from any station in Transylvania. Rich or poor, friend or foe. But I think none of the Weird Sisters were noblewomen while alive. They were, like Jonathan, sniffed out among the chattel. Dracula is their superior in every regard that way; and more, the servile classes do one thing better than any aristocrat.

It is their wont to make their ruler happy.

The eldest, a young fair girl, was a drop of sunshine and laughter in a threadbare village. Someone who uplifted and charmed whoever she crossed. Dracula, after some unknown breaking point in the mad red fog as he skulked up the mountains into his broken castle to wrestle with inhuman instincts and hold to something like a man's sanity, was alone. A monster made raw with slaughtering, with his people only fearing and fleeing around him. His halls are quiet. He crawls and lopes through them, snapping at himself, knowing he is reducing night by night into a Thing more than a man, let alone a conqueror.

So he goes hunting. He finds the fair girl who makes others happy and holds their hearts. He steals her. Wrings out months of playacting from her; in turn, he has reason to force himself into behaving like a man. The castle has no visitors in that era. When she cries and calls from her window, she hears only her own echoes as a pleading choir. And then it is back to making her monster happy. So happy that he loves her. She must stay.

The next girl was taken back when ties were first forged between the Count and the early generations of Slovaks he would come to entrust with his errands. There was trust on the human side too. Yes, he was a monster, but he was their monster. Their benefactor. He speaks to them like kin and pays a dragon's ransom for their work. They are allies! He calls them friends!

So it goes until his attention falls on one of the girls. A daughter. A sister. A new wife. She knows their Count, their kind monster. 'A friend of the family.' And perhaps she is not even afraid when he asks her, cordial as a lord, to aid him with something in the castle. A small matter, my dear, but something he would not trust the coarse handling of the men to do. She goes in. The door locks.

Does she go to that same room, that same window? Does she weep and call for her family? Does anyone try to come for her, to plead with their friend-master-owner, or to--ha--raise a weapon against him?

If so, it is a small matter. Quick. Bloody.

She charms him while alive. For she must. She thought, just as her new-ancient Sister thought, that she might find a way out. A chance to flee. But she makes him so happy. So happy that he loves her. She must stay.

And the Slovaks learn a lesson that is shared through centuries. They warn all those they work with in the future of the same. The locals, the nomads, the strangers. No women. No girls.

The third girl has no warning. She is Romani, but she has run from her people too. Or else she was trying to find them. Times have always been grim, but especially when the mania over witchcraft was at its height. She lost friends and family to...what? Sham trials and tortured deaths? A scattering to the winds as they fled the self-assigned hunters? Running further, higher, steeper. God's soldiers will not bother with their mission if it means galloping up the cliffs.

Up, up, up.

There are wolves. There is cold. She has no room in her to care.

And then, a fairy tale happening:

A man appears on the moonlit mountain. His eyes are fire. Are you lost, my dear?

She is. She thinks herself already dead or dreaming when he leads her into the castle. When there is food, warmth, and sympathy from this smiling noble perched in the crags of the Carpathians. And for one month, maybe two, even after she smells something worse than death on him, even after every liberty is plucked from her like petals from a rose, even after she has her first glimpse of her grinning Sisters, even after she sees strangers--Living people! Her own people among them! Look, look, I am trapped here! Please! Please, do not go, do not leave me with him...--she clings to charm. To smiles. She makes him happy.

So happy that he loves her. She must stay.

And now there is a young man. Such a winsome thing, young and strong. He makes their monster so happy.

His waiting Sisters think their monster may just love him.

And as they hear him shout from the hand-me-down window, they laugh along with the living in their coffins.