#you were vital in the Dracula battle too

[see-arcane]

No one is a visionary anymore. They don't even include Arthur's small rat-mauling terriers that he picks up one by one over the threshold smh

Honestly, the Dogs Hate Dracula factor as a whole deserves a spotlight.

Dogs howl for Jonathan and Lucy's sake, as if knowing what's coming for them. A dog tried to attack Wolf Dracula after he left the Demeter, prompting it being slain. A dog in the cemetery was set off by being too near to Dracula's hiding place. The terriers tore apart his guard rats. Hell, even the wolves don't like him--they came to attack Dracula's caleche! They had to be mind-controlled away, just like the Count has to force them into everything else.

Pair that with the Drac Attack Pack being comparable to a pack of dogs chasing the wolf from their flock, and the whole canine motif is begging to be acknowledged by any movie or book.

Much like 100000 other themes and scenes that could be utilized, but I won't hold my breath for those either

[my-fanfic-library]

Something Different {BBC Dracula x Reader} [9]

Masterlist

I just wanted to say a quick thank you to everyone sending love and condolences. I’m really honestly not doing well right now, but I am doing a little better than before. I’ve only cried once today so far and progress is progress. Sorry I took so long writing this, I hope you can all forgive me. Again, thank you all ❤️

~^*^~

Zoe’s eyes glossed over the dark bruise on Jack’s neck, unable to battle the tears that were threatening to come forth. Never in her wildest dreams could she imagine that something like this would happen. When encouraging Jack to take place in the trial, she had imagined it going a lot more smoothly.

About 24 hours had passed since the incident and up until this point, Zoe had been untraceable. She had uttered something about an appointment when she finally came to see Jack but he chose not to press.

“You know, I don’t actually have any... feelings.. like that towards her.” Jack’s hoarse voice broke the silence.

“I know. We agreed you’d do this to find out if Dracula was drinking her blood. At least we can find relief in knowing he isn’t.” Zoe plucked up the arnica cream, opening the tube and pushing some out onto her fingers, “here.”

Her cold fingers connected with his neck as she smothered the cream over his wounds.

“What the hell happened in there?”

Jack gulped. She needed to know. After all, this information would most likely be vital to learning more about Count Dracula.

~^*^~

A large hand gripped the back of his neck with so much force he lost his breath.

“Good evening, Mr. Seward. I’m afraid you’re going to have to take your hands off of what’s mine.” The voice was low and you hadn’t quite heard his voice like this before. It sent your heart into a frenzy and Jack’s face lost its colour immediately.

Before Jack could begin to utter apologies or excuses, he became weightless and within seconds, he was crashing against the wall and slumping down to the floor. He heard your voice call his name, and the slow, rhythmic thud of footsteps.

“My, oh, my... did I ruin your little... alone time?” Dracula sneered, “I suppose you both looked like you were having fun.”

His eyes interlocked with yours and the coolness of them made your heart beat even faster. How the fuck could you let yourself anger a damn vampire?! If you survived the night, you were sure there was someone up in heaven rooting for your stupid self to claw your way out of this hole you had dug.

You watched as Dracula knelt down, plucking up Jack’s face in one of his hands and inspecting him. A little of your lipstick had worked it’s way on to his lips and some of it had smudged a little past the edges. A rosy pink, easily distinguishable from his skin tone. Dracula tutted, and with no force on his behalf, pulled Jack up to his feet. Jack groaned and you finally stood, trying to work your way between the two slowly.

“Having trouble keeping your hands off of him, [First]?” Dracula inquired, his tone accusatory and clearly angry.

“I-...” What else could you say to him? It wasn’t like you meant anything to him. He was merely a child and you were the supper he wasn’t ready to eat, and so he had resorted to playing with it. You took another step towards him.

“Ah, ah, ah, you stay right where you are,” Dracula warned, “unless you want your friend here to become my meal for the night.”

“Dracula,” you warned back, eyes narrowing, “don’t you dare harm him.”

“Darling, I can hear your pulse from over here. You couldn’t intimidate me.”

You watched as Dracula inspected Jack’s face, turning it left and right, up and down. You weren’t quite sure on what he was doing, but he was too interested in Jack. And that alarmed you.

Jack was paralysed with fear. The longer Dracula held him up, kept his head spinning from the standing, the coolness spread throughout him. Right from the hand, down the neck where it burnt where he touched, down his spine, towards his fingers and his toes. He knew he was powerless. He knew this was a bad idea.

Was he going to die here tonight? He didn’t know.

“After everything I did for you, [First]... and you decide to preoccupy yourself with boys. With things that will only taint and stain you.” His low voice carried easily to your ears.

“I didn’t realise I was your property.” Your voice was a little shaky and Dracula had to admit that he loved the way you sounded in that moment.

“Wasn’t me keeping you alive a hint as to that? I thought you were smarter than this. I thought you caught on a long time ago.”

“When exactly? When you pretty much told me to my face that you wanted to eat me? When you came to my house and made it so I felt too terrified in my own home to sleep? When you disappeared for two months?!”

“Now, [First], you sent me south with your words of a promising meal. Don’t try to blame me for going after it.”

“Then why did it take you so long to return? What was I supposed to do without you here?”

“[First]-“ Jack breathed and you could tell he was struggling for breath, “don’t-“ he was cut off by Dracula tightening his grasp.

“Hush, you.” He warned Jack with a lowly voice, “you really do like to create a scene, don’t you [First]? You think life is like the pretty little scenarios shown on the TV? Trust me, I am nothing like that.”

He locked eyes with you, eyebrows furrowed in a frenzied kind of rage. You had no clue that finally moving on with your life would prompt such a response from somebody who had seemed to not care anymore. The tension in the air was almost tangiable and it tightened in your lungs and made your head spin with anxiety.

“I’m worse.”

Like throwing a rag doll, Dracula threw Jack’s body aside. The brunet tumbled into your fireplace, knocking the fire guard down and scraping his hands on the brick work.

“Jack!” You began to make a break towards him, but arms had swooped you up and with much fight, though it was easy for him to ignore, you were gone.

~^*^~

Zoe sat in slumped in her chair, pressing her forefinger and middle finger to her temple. What a mess this had all created.

“And we don’t know where she is now?” Zoe whispered. There was a pause.

“...no...” his soft voice cracked when he spoke, “I ran out of the house to follow him but... he was gone...” he looked over at Zoe, who was looking down at her feet.

“He’s going to kill her now.” She whispered, “and it’s completely my fault.”

~^*^~

In the darkness, your heart pounded. You were walking with haste, trying your damn hardest to get across the viaduct. You knew if you could just make it to the cut out behind Caedmon College, you’d be able to flee. However, being so much shorter than the male strolling along behind you meant that it was proving difficult to get away from him.

You refused to look behind you. You refused to have anything to do with him. But when your arm swung backwards, he caught your wrist and pulled you backwards so that you had to.

“Are you finished with your tantrum yet?” He inquired.

“Get off of me.” You pulled your arm from his grasp.

“Clearly not.”

“What the hell is your problem, Drac?” You crossed your arms, glaring so hardly at him it caused even the big bad vampire to very slightly flinch, “come on, tell me!”

“Now, [First],” you watched him as he looked at you, playing with the ring on his finger as he did so, “it’s not so much a problem with me but with you.”

“With me?!” You shrieked, “I never even realised that I was yours to claim! You’re the one who fucked off to London!”

“Only,” he began sharply, “because you sent me.”

“Yeah but I was thinking more like a week or two at most! You can’t just come back and demand that the only person I spend time with is you! It’s my job to do that! And I don’t want to have to work 24/7 just to appease you!”

“Why are you getting so worked up? That boy feels nothing for you and you’re acting like I just ruined your most promising love affair.” He was now glaring as well.

“And how the hell do you know how he feels? Have you been drinking his blood?” Dracula scoffed and then began to laugh a little.

“Of course not. Why would I need to when I’ve been doing my-... let’s say culling, down in London? I’ve been getting my fill, [First], that’s all.”

“That still doesn’t mean you can just come back and tell me what I can and can’t do.”

“I think you’ll find that I can. After all, it’s me who’s the dangerous one here.”

And it clicked. The realisation that you were alive because of his mercy, that you had let him in so deeply into your life that he could - if he chose to - snatch the life away from you in a heartbeat. You were in a position now that you were at the mercy of a beast.

You had no choice.

You were going to have to obey him.

“Your heartbeat...” he trailed off, strolling closer and lifting your head with his index finger, “why does it do leaps and bounds for me? Why didn’t it for him?”

“Like you said, you’re dangerous. Jack isn’t.”

“I think we proved that back there.” He chuckled, “my gracious, any other man would’ve gotten straight back up after something like that.”

“Yeah, well...”

There was a silence. The wind took place in your conversation and below the bubbling and the rush of the river helped to conceal the silence even more. You could hear Jack below screaming your name.

“Leave him.” Dracula commanded.

“I need to go home, Drac.”

“No you don’t.”

~^*^~

The next night passed and neither Zoe nor Jack found themselves at the mercy of much sleep. They were both fretting over your well-being and seeing as you weren’t answering your phone, it felt like a cause for concern. The night dragged.

When morning came and people began to flood back into the foundation, Zoe found herself perched on a chair in the reception watching every person who walked in. Jack had to go and busy himself in the hopes you’d just appear by his side like you usually did on a work day. 8:36 arrived and when you waltzed through the door with a coffee in hand, you were not prepared for the barrage that was Zoe Van Helsing.

“Where the hell were you?! Do you have any idea how I- how worried both me and Jack were?!”

Her eyes washed over you with relief, however. Your hair was tied up, out of your face and she could see no mark on your neck. Thank God. He hadn’t hurt you yet.

“[First]?!” The force that hit you was undoubtedly Jack and you found yourself being pushed backwards a few paces. His scent filled your lungs and you couldn’t hold back your relieved laugh. He pulled away, “it’s not funny.” He scolded, “it’s really not funny.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Your smile slowly faded and you looked between them. Zoe looked nothing short of exhausted and Jack now had a large bruised bloomed on his neck and a bandage on his temple.

“Seriously, [First], where were you? You didn’t pick up- we thought that- we thought... Count Dracula...” Zoe found herself trailing off. She couldn’t bare to think about what could have happened to you.

“Well I just... took a train.” You shrugged.

“Where to?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters. Where did you go?” Zoe challenged.

“Fine. We went to Goathland.”

“Goathland?” Jack raised an eyebrow at you, “there’s nothing there.”

“I suppose not.” You mumbled.

“Is that where he’s staying...?” Zoe asked you softly.

“It really doesn’t matter-“

“I can’t believe you’d be so stupid.” Zoe bit her lip.

“It wasn’t like I had the choice, Zoe. He’s the one in control and I’ve dug myself a hole too deep now. I’m literally going to have to spend the rest of my life doing whatever he wants.”

“Yeah,” Jack locked eyes with you, “until he kills you.”

“What did you even do there?” Zoe asked.

~^*^~

Lolling on the plush satin sofa, your eyes wandered over to the tall male who was tinkering with the statues on the fireplace. He wasn’t really paying any attention to you, but then again, he hadn’t since you’d boarded the last train into Goathland. He’d been quiet and collected.

Not that you were minding, after your eventful evening, some solace was very much needed. Even if you were in his company, the silence was much appreciated for even a moment. Every now and again, his feet would potter around the room, inspecting items here and there. This went on for a good fifteen minutes before he finally sat down in the cushiony chair opposite you. His fingers curled around the edges of the arm rests and he looked at you. You were sprawled out. You were half asleep. He smirked.

“[First]?” His lips turned upwards a little.

“Mhm...” you replied tiredly.

“You aren’t going to fall asleep on me are you?” He lightly teased.

“...no...”

“It seems to me that you are.”

“Well... ‘m’not...”

“Sit up, [First], we have much to discuss.”

“Like what?” You yawned, finally pulling yourself up and stretching your arms out.

“Let’s make a deal, darling.” His wicked eyes set on you and you looked at him with a puzzled expression painting over your tired features.

“On what?” Your short answers proved your exhaustion and although he was tempted to show some mercy and let you sleep, he wanted to get this out of the way.

“Well... I’ll propose my end of the deal first. I have to go back to London, you see. For certain reasons. Now, my end of the deal is that I promise you I’ll check in, make sure you’re behaving yourself up here.”

“Right...?”

“And in return, all you need to do is keep yourself to yourself.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Obviously I understand that you have to work and that requires a degree of socialisation, however, I’d prefer it if you didn’t do any of those- date things.”

“Are you really that jealous?”

“I’m not jealous, I’m merely trying to protect you, [First].”

“Whatever.” You yawned. You stretched out once more and let your body relax once more.

~^*^~

You looked between Zoe and Jack. Both were waiting for an answer.

“Nothing. We didn’t do anything.”

You smiled and finally pushed your way past the two. Jack turned his head to watch you walk away and Zoe sighed.

“She’s lying.”

~^taglist^~

@vampiregirl1797 @avalanet @bunnyreese12 @nerdonpluto @teamceleries @grifffins @hitbythunder @winterseoul @mymagicsuitcase @angeli-fucking-cat @benedictethegoddess @bloodhon3yx @nifflersravenclaw @writteninthestars288 @labelladrama @frankcastlesgrunts @angelicdestieldemon @quakerlasss @aliisa-jones @wolverinexmenn @clairedragonessbaker @voidxngel @mitsukatsu @piratewhore @your-pixels-are-showing @tardisnesss @ladydovahkiin180 @catwomom @god-of-dramatic-death-scenes @th3rah @viper-queen @mephdcosplay @greghouse7 @faeprinces @kokoro-no-yami @trishaferdream @therealmoni @crazytxgradstudent @sansthelonelypunster @crowley-needs-a-hug @girlonfireice @wasntpriscilla @ivanna6026 @greeniemoon @blueinkblot @tefymorgan

When your taglist is almost as long as the fic itself Oof thank you all so much❤️

[simulacrumcfp]

CALL FOR PAPERS: MYTHS

Two mermaids, from Apocalypse, Prophecy of the Tiburtine Sibyl, Harley MS 4972 f. 20r, 1275-1325.

He placed one hand upon my shoulder and, holding me tight, bared my throat with the other, saying as he did so: “First, a little refreshment to reward my exertions. You may as well be quiet; it is not the first time, or the second, that your veins have appeased my thirst!” 

Lucy’s eyes were unclean […], instead of pure.

Poor Lucy finds herself tainted by the bite of Count Dracula, an aristocratic Transylvanian vampire that is thirsty for blood, out to export his barbaric ways to Victorian England. In his Dracula (1897), Bram Stoker utilises the myth of the vampire to warn the Victorian reader of the Eastern threat, by portraying Eastern Europe as a place of backwardness and barbaric – vampiristic – rituals. Myths about vampires have been around since the medieval period, when they were commonly linked to profanity. Stoker’s Dracula is the resurrection of a mythological figure, one that can be guided in all sorts of directions, for what was once the myth of the undead has come to represent the fears and threats of the time in which they are resurrected. 

Since ancient times, myths have spoken of the how’s and why’s located at the limits of human understanding, designating that place where intellect fails. There, where knowers stop knowing, we story. In The World of Myth (1990) David Leeming writes that ‘human beings have traditionally used stories to describe or explain things they could not otherwise,’ pointing to the timeless human tendency to grapple with the unknown through story. The myth functions as the means by which we relate to the unknown, embodying our wonderings of the worlds beyond human ratio. 

These stories are then conveyed through artworks, literature, history, or religion. Myths, however, do not just function as a source of inspiration for the arts, but often find their origin in art, spreading, evolving, and growing with different art forms and styles. The Venus Anadyomene, for example, first emerged from the sea in the Theogony – a poem by Hesiod from the 8th century BC. This specific depiction of Venus, daughter of Jupiter and Dione, as birthed by the sea was then made famous by the painting by Apelles (4th century BC). Although this painting has long been lost, it was described by Pliny in his Naturalis Historia (1st century AD), which served as an iconological guidebook for artists. From the orators who tell and retell their stories throughout generations, to the poets who write them down, to the sculptors who carve them out, stories are kept alive. To this day, Venus is most commonly known as the goddess who rose from the sea. 

In the Danish fairytale Den Lille Havfrue (1837) by Hans Christian Andersen, sea foam is not where love is born, but where love goes to die. In the Walt Disney adaptation of the fairytale, The Little Mermaid (1989), mermaid princess Ariel, daughter of king Triton, falls in love with a human prince and gives up her tail to be with him. In the original, quite grim, fairytale by Andersen, the little mermaid finds her prince lying with another. She refuses to stab the lovers to death, as her sisters urge her to, and as a result of her broken heart she dissolves in the foam of the waves. 

In Japan, ancient folklore is being retold to a modern audience through the films by Hayao Miyazaki. His Sen to Chihiro no Kamikakushi (Spirited Away, 2001) animates kami, spirits, washing themselves in a bathhouse as a result of pollution and human activity. This mirrors the Shinto belief that both gods and nature have to be respected and kept clean, and serves as a modern warning. Their demonic counterparts, the oni, take form in the character of Yubaba, who is based on the archetype of the mountain witch, or yumuaba. By taking Japanese mythology as a starting point, Miyazaki is able to create a fantasy-scape: a place where the unthinkable becomes possible. 

Perhaps our first association with mythology brings us back to Ancient Greece. But for them, μῦθος simply meant a story – whether a true or false one, gossip, a historical tale or one of faeries, even a dream. Mῦθος and λόγος, two seemingly opposite terms, fantasy and reason, come together in mythology: the analysing and explaining of stories. There are several ways in which a myth can be explained, and therefore one can also speak of several mythologies. In Creative Mythology (1968) for example, American mythologist Joseph Campbell describes how literary figures such as Thomas Mann or James Joyce managed to make themselves into “living myths,” by translating individual experiences through the correct signs. Shakespeare, with his plays, even managed to create myths around historical figures such as King Henry IV, attracting audiences that were eager to learn about history. History has made other figures into myths as well, such as Louis XIV, known as the Sun King, or Marie Antoinnete.  

In his Mythologies (1957) Roland Barthes explains the creation and circulation of myths through signs and language. According to Barthes, myths are a societal necessity created on the basis of contemporary social value systems, whereby myth formation should mainly be seen as a semiological process, partly as an ideological one. In the essay “Myth Today,” Barthes examines French bourgeois myths that are deeply rooted in society, yet often go unnoticed or taken as fact. By deconstructing modern myths that are spread through advertisements and propaganda, Barthes is able to get to the core of the societal value system of his time. Most famously, he deconstructs the myths around France’s two national products: steak frites and red wine. Both serve as metaphors for blood which, in French society, equals vitality and virility, which equals masculinity, which equals superiority. Equating France with steak frites and red wine then means equating France with virility, masculinity, superiority. 

In “The Double Standard of Aging” (1972), Susan Sontag tackles another modern myth that is deeply-rooted in society, concerning women and age. In the essay, she explains how and why women “of a certain age” are deemed physically undesirable, noting that this differentiates per country. She explains that urbanised societies allow two standards of male beauty, the man and the boy, but only one of female beauty: the girl. This societal judgement of beauty mirrors the evolutionary myth that the value of women is based on their ability for procreation. As a woman’s fertility decreases with age, so does her societal worth.

As the myth moves beyond the human, outside the world as we know it, it writes a strange universe.  It points to that which is not completely explainable according to our current structures for categorising the world. The enchanted world of the supernatural, with its gods, witches, and vampires, perhaps writes of a darker, less knowable reality. Their magic, spells, and strange rituals trouble the disenchanted story of Enlightenment, which tells of reason, control, and certainty – a myth in itself. But even though these supernatural entities tell of the incredible and unbelievable, they remain somewhat explainable. Vampires, gods, and witches, for example, are familiar figures based on a set of commonly understood fictions, differing ever so slightly from the human. ‘In many ways, a natural phenomenon such as a black hole is more weird than a vampire,’ writes Mark Fisher in The Weird and The Eerie (2016). We understand where to place and how to interpret the vampire as a fictional entity. A black hole actually exists, yet we do not understand its strange ways of bending space and time. Science Fiction balances on this thin line between fiction and reality. Perhaps the biggest myths, strangest entities, and weirdest monsters are not necessarily found within the fictional realm of the supernatural but right here in ‘the natural.’ 

‘Coral reefs are monsters.’ In the Arts of Living on a Damaged Planet (2017), Anna Tsing equates this natural phenomenon to the supernatural. Like the mythical chimeras of ancient Greece – beasts made up of the head of a lion, the body of a goat, and the tail of a snake – coral reefs are made of mismatched parts. They embody a strange species encounter as their polyps grow from both animal, plant, and more. Symbiosis, the interaction between two different organisms living in close physical association, might point to some monstrous truth essential to our current epoch of living with the world. In all our vulnerable entanglements with more than human life – we humans too are monsters. 

There are literary differences to be found between myths, fairy tales, sagas, lores, fables, and legends. Fairy tales, for example, often take place in a fantastical world, in which magical creatures roam, and battles between Good and Evil take place. Myths, on the other hand, often have a basis in religion and tell stories about gods or divine creators. Both contain supernatural elements, sometimes these have a basis in history, sometimes in religion, and sometimes in fantasy. For this issue of Simulacrum, we have therefore chosen to soften the boundaries between these ways of storytelling, in order to be open to multiple mythologies, their meanings, and interpretations.

Fancy yourself a modern mythologist? Write an article of 1.000, 1.400, or 1.800 words for our upcoming issue, Mythologies. The deadline for first drafts is the 15th of November, 2020. Would you rather write a column, an interview, fiction, poetry, or do you know an artist whose work fits with this theme? Email us at info@simulacrum.nl. Please send articles as .doc or .docx and portfolio’s as PDF.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

CALL FOR PAPERS: Mythologieën

Hij legde een hand op mijn schouder, hield me stevig vast, ontblootte mijn keel met de andere en zei daarbij: ‘Eerst een beetje verfrissing om mijn inspanningen te belonen. U kunt net zo goed stil zijn; het is niet de eerste keer, of de tweede, dat je aderen mijn dorst hebben gestild!’

Lucy’s ogen waren onrein [...], in plaats van puur

Lucy wordt gebeten door de bloeddorstige Graaf Dracula, een aristocratische vampier uit Transsylvanië, die er op uit is om zijn zondige en barbaarse levensstijl naar Victoriaans Engeland over te brengen. In zijn roman Dracula (1897) zet Bram Stoker de mythische vampier in om de Victoriaanse lezers te waarschuwen voor de opkomende ‘dreiging van het Oosten’ door Oost-Europa af te schilderen als een plek van barbaarse – vampiristische – rituelen. Mythes over vampieren gaan al rond sinds de middeleeuwen en werden toen vooral gelinkt aan godslastering. Met Dracula wekt Stoker dit mythologische figuur op uit de dood en blaast deze nieuw leven in. De vampier, eens de mythe van de ondoden, vertegenwoordigt voortaan de angsten en bedreigingen van de tijd waarin ze herrijst.

Sinds de oudheid gaan mythen over het hoe en het waarom. Daarmee bevinden ze zich aan de grenzen van het menselijk begrip – daar waar het intellect faalt, wordt er verhaald. In The World of Myth (1990) schrijft David Leeming dat ‘mensen van oudsher verhalen hebben gebruikt om dingen te beschrijven of uit te leggen die ze zonder niet zouden kunnen,’ duidend op een tijdloze menselijke neiging om door middel van verhaal door het onbekende te navigeren. Zo functioneert de mythe als het middel waarmee we ons verhouden tot het onbekende, en belichaamt deze onze verwondering over de werelden buiten de menselijke ratio.

Deze verhalen leven vervolgens door via de kunst, literatuur, geschiedenis of religie. Mythen gelden echter niet alleen als inspiratiebron voor de kunsten, maar vinden ook vaak hun oorsprong in de kunst, en verspreiden, evolueren en groeien met verschillende kunstvormen en -stijlen mee. Zo verrees de Venus Anadyomene voor het eerst uit de zee in de Theogonie - een gedicht van Hesiodus uit de 8e eeuw BC. Deze specifieke weergave van Venus, dochter van Jupiter en Dione, als geboren uit de zee werd vervolgens beroemd gemaakt door het schilderij van Apelles (4e eeuw BC). Hoewel het schilderij verloren is geraakt, werd de Venus Anadyomene door Plinius beschreven in de Naturalis Historia (1e eeuw AD), dat diende als iconologische handboek voor volgende generaties kunstenaars. Van de redenaars die generaties lang hun verhalen vertellen, tot de dichters die ze opschrijven en de beeldhouwers die ze uithakken, worden verhalen levend gehouden. Zo staat Venus tot op de dag van vandaag bekend als de godin die uit de zee verrees.

In het Deense sprookje Den Lille Havfrue (1837) van Hans Christian Andersen is zeeschuim niet waar de liefde wordt geboren, maar waar liefde sterft. In de Walt Disney-bewerking van het sprookje, De Kleine Zeemeermin (1989), wordt zeemeermin prinses Ariel, dochter van koning Triton, verliefd op een menselijke prins en geeft ze haar schubben op om bij hem te zijn. In de originele, aanzienlijk grimmigere versie van Andersen treft de kleine zeemeermin haar beminde in bed bij een ander aan. Ze weigert de twee geliefden dood te steken, zoals haar zussen haar toe aanzetten, en als gevolg van haar gebroken hart lost ze op in het schuim van de golven.

In Japan wordt oude folklore voorgedragen aan een modern publiek door de films van Hayao Miyazaki. De geanimeerde Sen to Chihiro no kamikakushi (De reis van Chihiro, 2001) brengt kami, geesten, tot leven. Ten gevolge van menselijke vervuiling moeten de kami zich wassen in badhuizen om zichzelf weer schoon te krijgen. Deze moderne interpretatie weerspiegelt het Shinto-geloof dat zowel goden als de natuur moeten worden gerespecteerd door ze schoon te houden. De demonische tegenhangers, de oni, krijgen vorm in het karakter van Yubaba, die is gebaseerd op het archetype van de bergheks, de yumuaba. Door de Japanse mythologie als uitgangspunt te nemen, is Miyazaki in staat een ‘fantasyscape’ te creëren: een plek waar het ondenkbare mogelijk wordt.

Wellicht brengt een eerste associatie met mythologie ons terug naar de Klassieke Oudheid. Voor de Grieken betekende μῦθος echter simpelweg een verhaal – of dit nu een waar of een onwaar verhaal was; roddels, geschiedenis of een sprookje, zelfs dromen werden gezien als mythe. Mῦθος en λόγος, twee ogenschijnlijk tegengestelde termen, de fantasie en de rede, komen samen in de mythologie: het analyseren en verklaren van verhalen. Er zijn verschillende manieren waarop een mythe verklaard kan worden, en daarom kan er ook sprake zijn van meerdere mythologieën. In Creative Mythology (1968) beschrijft de Amerikaanse mytholoog Joseph Campbell bijvoorbeeld hoe literaire figuren als Thomas Mann of James Joyce erin slaagden om 'levende mythen' van zichzelf te maken door individuele ervaringen met de juiste tekens te vertalen. Shakespeare slaagde er met zijn toneelstukken in mythen te creëren rondom historische figuren zoals koning Hendrik IV, en trok daarmee een publiek aan dat graag over de geschiedenis wilde leren. Zo ook zijn andere figuren zoals Lodewijk XIV, beter bekend als de Zonnekoning, of Marie Antoinette, binnen de historie tot mythen geraakt.

In Mythologies (1975) analyseert Roland Barthes het ontstaan en de circulatie van mythen aan de hand van semiotiek en taal. Volgens Barthes zijn mythen onmisbaar in de maatschappij en baseren zij zich op hedendaagse sociale waardesystemen, waarbij de formatie van de mythe voornamelijk gezien moet worden als een semiologisch process en deels ideologisch. In het essay “Myth Today,” onderzoekt Barthes diepgewortelde Franse mythen die nochtans onopgemerkt blijven of als feit worden beschouwd. Door de deconstructie van moderne mythen, verspreid door reclame en propaganda, komt Barthes tot de kern van zijn eigentijdse sociale waardesysteem. Meest bekend is de deconstructie van de mythe rondom twee nationale Franse producten: biefstuk en rode wijn. Beide dienen als metafoor voor bloed, dat in de Franse maatschappij rijmt met vitaliteit en moed, die rijmen met mannelijkheid, dat rijmt met superioriteit. Het gelijkstellen van Frankrijk aan biefstuk en rode wijn betekent het gelijkstellen van Frankrijk aan moed, mannelijkheid en superioriteit.

In The Double Standard of Aging (1972) pakt Susan Sontag een andere diepgewortelde mythe aan, een omtrent vrouwen en leeftijd. In haar essay zet ze uit een hoe en waarom vrouwen vanaf een bepaalde leeftijd fysiek niet begeerbaar worden geacht, en merkt hierbij op dat dit per land verschilt. Ze legt uit dat verstedelijkte samenlevingen twee normen voor mannelijke schoonheid kennen, die van de man en die van de jongen, en maar een voor vrouwen, die van het meisje. Dit maatschappelijke schoonheidsoordeel weerspiegeld de evolutaire mythe die stelt dat de waarde van een vrouw gelijk staat aan haar voortplantingsvermogen. Net zoals de vruchtbaarheid van een vrouw  verminderd naarmate zij verjaard, verminderd ook haar maatschappelijke waarde. 

Naarmate de mythe de mens passeert, buiten de wereld zoals wij haar kennen treedt, schept ze een vreemd universum. Ze wijst naar dat wat we nog niet kunnen verklaren met onze huidige structuren voor het categoriseren van de wereld. Het betoverde rijk van het bovennatuurlijke, met haar goden, heksen en vampiers, schetst wellicht een donkerdere realiteit die zich minder goed laat kennen. Hun magie, spreuken en vreemde rituelen zetten zich af tegen het onttoverde narratief van de verlichting, welk van rede, controle en verstand spreekt – een mythe an sich. Maar hoewel deze bovennatuurlijke entiteiten verhalen vertellen over het ongelofelijke, blijven ze enigszins verklaarbaar. Vampiers, goden en heksen bijvoorbeeld, zijn vertrouwde figuren gebaseerd op een verzameling van collectieve fictie, die net afwijken van het menselijke. ‘In many ways, a natural phenomenon such as a black hole is more weird than a vampire,’ schreef Mark Fisher in The Weird and the Eerie (2016). We begrijpen hoe we vampiers als fictionele entiteit moeten plaatsen en interpreteren. Zwarte gaten bestaan echter wél, terwijl wij hun vreemde manieren in het buigen van tijd en ruimte niet bevatten. Science-fiction balanceert op deze dunne lijn tussen fictie en realiteit. Misschien zijn de grootste mythen, raarste entiteiten en meest vervreemdende monsters wel niet te vinden in het fictionele landschap van het bovennatuurlijke maar juist pal hier in het ‘natuurlijke.’

‘Coral reefs are monsters.’ In Arts of Living on a Dying Planet (2017), stelt Anna Tsing dit natuurlijke fenomeen gelijk aan het bovennatuurlijke. Zoals de mythische chimeras uit de Griekse oudheid – beesten met het hoofd van een leeuw, het lichaam van een geit en de staart van een slang – bestaan koraalriffen uit mismatched onderdelen. Met hun poliepen die zowel dierlijk als plantaardig kunnen zijn, belichamen ze een vreemde ontmoeting tussen de soorten. Symbiose, de interactie tussen twee verschillende organismen die in nauw contact met elkaar leven, wijzen ons wellicht naar een bepaalde, monsterlijke waarheid die essentieel is aan ons huidige tijdperk van leven met de aarde. In al onze kwetsbare verstrengelingen met meer dan menselijk leven, zijn ook wij mensen monsters.

Er zijn literaire verschillen te vinden tussen mythen, sprookjes, sagen, fabels en legenden. Sprookjes, bijvoorbeeld, vinden vaak plaats in een fantasiewereld, waar magische figuren rondzwerven en een strijd tussen goed en kwaad plaatsvindt. Mythes, aan de andere kant, vinden vaak hun oorsprong in religie en vertellen over goden en hemelse scheppers. Beiden bevatten bovennatuurlijke elementen. Soms ligt de basis daarvan in geschiedenis, soms in religie, soms in fantasie. Voor deze uitgave van Simulacrum hebben we er daarom voor gekozen de grenzen tussen deze literaire genres te vervagen, om ons open te stellen voor verschillende mythologieën, hun betekenissen en interpretaties.

Waan je jezelf een moderne mytholoog? Schrijf een artikel van 1.000, 1.400 of 1.800 woorden voor ons komende nummer Mythologieën. De deadline voor de eerste versies is op 15 november 2020. Schrijf je liever een column, interview, fictie of poëzie, of ken je een kunstenaar wiens werk in dit thema ligt? Email naar info@simulacrum.nl. Voeg artikelen s.v.p. bij als .doc of .docx en portfolio’s als PDF.

[erickadracula]

The Legacy continues - Second & Final part

   Van Helsing was in his room, he just woke up a few minutes ago and he had been informed that they were waiting for him.

   To Ericka, this notion of meeting them up in his rooms and not in his library or his study or in any other part of the house and the fact that he did not met up with them immediately when they arrived was very strange. Her great-grandfather was a man of customs and oddities.

   That room was completely disorganized, with the curtains completely shut, books and artifacts placed in no specific order on the floor, furniture here and there, boxes, it was as if he were moving out. That space was easily triple of the room her parents had and there was a heavy atmosphere, and despite the size, it was as if the air did not circulate.

   In the midst of all that chaos were three desks, in the middle, in the largest solid wood carved with oriental motifs, he was there among mountains of papers and notebooks.

   "I brought you here, because I made a decision. In these documents that are classified by properties, accounts, investments, funds, and the inventory of what is in this, and other properties, such as works of art, airplanes, cars and of course, in a separate folder, everything related to the cruise that I know it is what matters the most to you. As you well know, you are my universal heir. I fixed things so that it is easier for you to manage everything and for you not having to come continuously. You will be able to realize that my secretary and my lawyer will be present to advise you.”

   She turned quickly to see those gentlemen in dark suits, who were in the other two desks, Ericka had only been able to have a few moments alone with her great-grandfather when they came to take their places. After many months without seeing him and wanting to talk to him, her expectations fell to the ground when her great-grandfather sent for them and began talking about all that in the coldest way possible.

   "What is happening?. I’m asking for an explanation, I’m not asking it, I’m demanding it from you. You make me come here and you are not happy to see me, without wanting to tell me anything, very typical of you, but still ... without telling me you give me all this, I do not know why I’m still surprised with your attitudes " astonished by that bombing of information, while making a sign with her hand so that the lawyer would stop putting those folders in front of her.

   Drac had noticed Van Helsing tired and with little vitality, even his voice was much lower and he looked much more emaciated and pale than when he had last seen him. According to his wife, he acted erratic and he also believed it, this man had persecuted him for years and had been anything but erratic and less regarding the elaboration of his plans, if he had not been a vampire, he accepted that Abraham's strategies would have been lethal .

   “You may leave us alone”

   The gentlemen immediately got up and started making their exit, Drac considered that it might be appropriate if he left too and let them talk with more privacy.

   "No, not you Dracula, you are my great-granddaughter's husband and she is going to need you"

   Van Helsing had agreed that the two would get married, he had even gone to the castle a few times and had stopped making inappropriate comments about him, but what he had never done was to accept his position until that day "

   Dracula, still very surprised at those words could see what was going on, clairvoyance was not necessary at this time and he was holding Ericka's hand, he had to let her know that she was not alone anymore.

   "Ericka" he cleared his throat to get more clarity "I know that our relationship has not been easy but I want you to know that everything I have done is for your own good and even so ... if I have made a mistake I apologize, I did not with a bad intention "

   "What is your intention with all this, I come to this house for the first time, where I was born and where my parents lived, maybe looking for something more than your answers, maybe affection, surprised even that you have my room exactly as it was and you…"

   "Ericka" Drac interrupted her as he interlaced his fingers even more with hers "let him talk, I ask you, please"

   Seeing his seriousness and the he had intervened for her great grandfather, made her even more confused, she did not understand what that was about and because even he seemed to be aware of what was happening, everyone in this place, except her. Breathing deeply, trying to hold back, she heeded the vampire’s words.

   "Thank you" seeing him with a look of complicity "Now I see you as a fulfilled, happy, successful woman and even making a career in hospitality and starting your own family, as I was saying I have made a decision and I can take it with a complete peace of mind because I finally feel that I’m leaving you in good hands" looking directly at Dracula and without any kind of grudge in his eyes.

   Walking through the Hall of the Honorable, named like that because there were portraits of all the Van Helsing throughout history, Ericka and her great-grandfather were having a moment alone.

   She looked visibly affected and her eyes were red, she had finished crying and Abraham had too. Ericka had knelt at his height, giving him her hand and listening intently.

   "I'm going to tell you the story of our family again, so that you won’t forget it, remember it and learn from it."

   In that hall, there were easily dozens of paintings but only three stood out.

   The first portrait on the left was of an elderly man with a fearsome face dressed in a traditional red suit, dating from the time of Ivan the Terrible, the first Russian monarch to adopt the title of Czar. On his shoulders was the skin of a black bear and he was holding a saber. His ancestor had commanded the troops of the czar himself and it is believed that thanks to his tactics they conquered more territories for the Russian Empire, including Siberia, then he decided to form a select group of monster hunters trained by himself. He was known as “the terrible one” by his own troops for his bloodthirsty methods.

   On the portrait on the right , which bore a striking resemblance to Abraham as a young man, dressed in full gala uniform, had been the first of the Van Helsing’s to formally settle in the Netherlands at that time known as the 17 provinces, thanks to his intervention in the 80 years war the Netherlands obtained their independence from the Spanish Crown. Following the legacy of his ancestors he continued with research and development of new types of firearms to be used against the monsters.

   The portrait in the middle, of the only woman who was there and was part of the outstanding Van Helsings, was the one that caught her attention the most, and it was one of the oldest. She had never seen a look as terrifying as that woman's, who wore a heavy armor from head to toe and wielded a sword. She was the most prominent of all, the one who had managed to cause the most terror and had proclaimed herself to be the first vampire hunter. The legends told that after days in an arduous crusade against vampires, of a massacre, almost ending with everyone, and she being one of the few survivors, the leader of them arrived and seeing his subordinates massacred instead of lashing out against the person in charge, he congratulated her, for her braveness, she without fear knowing that she was going to die, confronted him and he spared her life, because of the great battle she had given, even being a simple human, from that day they knew her as the “Queen of Steel”.

   Dumbfounded about that fact, had she not been the first Van Helsings to which a vampire had spared its life it made her see that in one way or another her life was always going to be linked to them.

   "Ericka, for days she fought against them without caring for her life, with only a fixed idea, that she was doing good" it was hard for him to breathe, with a weak complexion, visibly agitated.

   "Great-grandfather, you want us to go back to your room?, being here is getting bad for you" standing up in order to go ask for help and looking around if Drac or the butler were close.

   "Now I can see it well, it was no coincidence that this happened, the vampire she faced was Vlad" holding his hands together as his eyes fell on that imposing painting, looking at it searching for the right words.

   The mention of that made her feel dazed

   "That's already in the past, you do not have to get upset” she was worried that internally, he could continue feeling resentment against the vampires, he did not want his husband to listen to him, not when everything seemed going better between the two of them.

   "She could not stand it, for years she tried to survive with that and decided to commit suicide, it was a more honorable death than to continue living because a vampire took pity on her and what I mean ..."

   Never in her life had she seen her great-grandfather like that, so helpless, confessing those things and looking so miserable and somehow, she also felt anger.

   "There's no point in telling me all that right now" she wiped some tears from her eyes trying that him wouldn’t notice them "I think we talked enough about this, it's better to go back"

   “It really is the whole point, little one" looking at her tenderly "you are the only one who deserves to be here, the one who could see the truth, strong enough to see her mistakes"

   All this caused a lot of confusion in her head, first he was telling her about their ancestors in such a proud way, that at the time, when she was young, her breast also swelled with pride and today, she could only feel pity and some shame to belong to a family that had lashed out against innocent monsters for centuries and then he ended up saying that he was proud of her, when the only thing she had done was to defect, and she had not had any outstanding achievements as those characters.

   "Your courage and your heart, Ericka, have left me a lesson that I will never forget" Approaching the only painting covered with a canvas, of the same dimensions as the previous ones. "You can come out now, Dracula"

   Ericka, surprised turned to see both directions of the hall, when she saw that from the top of one of the walls, emerged a very familiar bat.

   Transfiguring, leaving a trail of purple fog behind, he stood next to the platinum blonde woman, seeing her with a little guilt.

   “Drac, what are you doing here?”

   “I asked him dear, you need him by your side besides, what I have to show you also involves him" seeing him gratefully . "Do me the honor”

   Drac nodded his head, uncovered the painting with a single pull.

   She, without words seeing that oil, could recognize herself in her captain attire and next to her was Drac, both holding hands with an expression of happiness.

   "What ... is ... this"  she found it hard to pronounce the words while Drac and his great-grandfather smiled at her.

   "Your own legacy, I do not think it deserves to be in this place, it should be somewhere better"

   "Thank you very much, Abraham" moved by that detail while Ericka collapsed and he held her wrapping his arms around her.

   It had been two days since Abraham had decided to take his life support and die with dignity. He died peacefully, taking the hand of the person he always adored and with a smile on his lips and after many years, being completely him. In his other hand was his diary full of photos and memories of those who had left and with whom he would soon be reunited.

   “Live 10, 100 or 1000 years, but lived them being happy”

[words-writ-in-starlight]

*obligatory soulmates saying first words to each other castlevania prompt*

Bless your BEAUTIFUL SOUL Amuse.  Honestly there’s No fic for this so I guess I’ll just do a canon soulmate thing because it probably hasn’t happened yet.  And also I’m standing by Alucard/Trevor because I’m almost 100% sure that the show will be doing Sypha/Trevor, so strike while the canon is limited, right?

“So, vampire--”

“I have a name, Belmont.  If we’re going to be traveling together, you might care to use it.”

“Alucard, then."  Trevor stretched both legs out, propped against a tree.  He still looked mildly beaten to hell from Gresit and Alucard looked like--well, like Alucard, which was to say perfect to the point of being infuriating and entirely unsubtle, and Sypha had announced plainly that neither of them would be any use at buying supplies in a civilized village.  Leaving them a few minutes outside the village limits, she had marched away like she was going into battle.

Alucard was sitting cross-legged in the darkest part of another tree’s shadow, his sword across his lap and his eyes on the roof line of the village.  Looking for trouble.

“So,” Trevor repeated, and Alucard tipped his head toward him, only slightly, but enough to make it clear that he was listening.  “You don’t burn in the sun, and your sword has silver worked on the hilt.  Can you cross running water?  Hold a cross?”

“Yes, I’ve never tried, and before you ask, I’ve never developed a taste for garlic, although I can touch it.  And I don’t catch fire in the sun, but that doesn’t make it a pleasant experience.”  Alucard made a gesture to his own face, to his sharp inhuman eyes.  “It’s--bright."

“Huh,” Trevor said.  He wound Vampire Killer through his hands, taking pains to look idle.  It must have been easy to be a vampire, he thought a little irritably, with that perfect stony unconcern carved into one’s face all the time.  Then again, it was entirely possible that Alucard was unreadable simply because he was Alucard.  “So, you’re more human than vampire.”

“It’s not a clean division,” Alucard said.  There was a moment’s hesitation in his voice, something that Trevor tentatively identified as wariness.  “I can walk in the sun, and I am mostly immune to the majority of weapons against vampires, but I still require blood, and from what I can tell a consecrated item will still hurt me.  Your whip, for example.”  Another moment, longer this time, as Alucard turned his eyes back to the village.  “I have a soulmate.  Full-blooded vampires, like my father, do not.”

The niggling itch of knowledge at Trevor’s left wrist turned into a steady burn, as impossible to ignore as having a match held to his skin.  His bracers covered the four words of neat black script, written in thin, spidery letters over the blue lines of his veins, but the impulse to cover them with his other hand was overwhelming.

Trevor usually got through life just fine without thinking about his mark.  Why are you here?  He was a Belmont.  He got greeted with why are you here all the time, it was only barely more useful than good morning.

But then there was Alucard.

And Alucard’s mark stood out like charcoal on paper, half-ruined by the scar that bisected his chest but the last word still legible where it curved under his collarbone.

“What about your mother?”  Trevor realized, once he’d asked the question, that it was probably rude.  He might have punched someone out, for asking about his dead family’s soulmarks--they weren’t necessarily taboo, but they were personal, not to be bandied around for the public.

Alucard didn’t twitch, as stony as ever as he sat under his tree and didn’t look at Trevor.

“My mother’s mark matched my father’s first words to her.  She was glad that I had one."

Trevor had stopped coiling Vampire Killer, giving up on looking casual in exchange for studying Alucard closely.  “I didn’t have a mark for five years, when I was born.  For a while there, my family was worried I’d never get one.”

“The Belmonts care about soulmates?”  Alucard’s lips tipped up minutely.  “I imagined that they had elaborate genealogies to breed for strength and speed and bad tempers.”

“Fuck you too,” Trevor said, but it was a good-natured response, not the sharp tone he meant to put behind the words.  Alucard looked amused, a proper smile curving his lips.

Trevor wondered what Alucard’s mouth looked like when he laughed.  Then he recoiled from the thought in shock, like he’d been handed a live snake instead of an apple, and shut his mouth tight.

The silence that settled over the pair of them was thick and smothering.  More so because there had been a moment, brief but surprisingly easy, of camaraderie, Trevor thought.  The contrast made the silence press on his ears and try to wriggle down his throat, and his arm itched under his bracer, the black words demanding his attention again.

Trevor closed his eyes and let out a slow breath, trying to push the itch away.  When he opened his eyes again, he almost cracked the back of his skull open against the tree, startling back from Alucard, who had moved to sit in front of him.

“Holy fucking Christ,” Trevor hissed between his teeth.

“My apologies,” Alucard said, looking entirely unapologetic.  “You’re usually very difficult to sneak up on, I assumed that you knew I was here.”

“Well, congratulations on reaching a new level of just--obnoxiously quiet, I guess.  What did you want?”

For the first time in Trevor’s life--hell, maybe the first time in anyone’s life, ever--Trevor had the dubious pleasure of seeing a vampire look at him with what looked almost like nerves.  It was...heady, really, a little intoxicating, and didn’t that just give a lot more insight into the woman whose death had precipitated all this than Trevor ever wanted to have.

“What does your soulmark say?”  

Alucard’s question was as unadorned and direct as being punched in the fucking face, and twice as disorienting.  Trevor throttled down his first response, which was it says ‘none of your fucking business, now back off before we see just how vulnerable you are to consecrated objects’, and gave Alucard a look that he hoped wasn’t too much like a rabbit eyeing over a fox.

“Why do you want to know?”

Alucard sighed, the sigh of someone putting up with the insufferable day after day--as if that wasn’t absolutely Trevor’s prerogative at the moment.  Then delicate fingers rose to his throat, loosened the laces at the collar of his shirt, pulled the cloth down and aside.

The scar, Trevor remembered, started just inside Alucard’s left shoulder and slanted down to his hip, an attempt to rip out his heart or something else vital that, frankly, Trevor was shocked he had walked away from.  Alucard’s mark was two short lines of text under his collarbone, over his heart, and all but the first letter and the last word had been mangled by Dracula’s claws.  It took some doing to damage a soulmark--they were stubborn things that tended to write themselves over scar tissue if possible--but it looked like some of Alucard’s skin had been very nearly flayed off all together, and the mark had gone with it.

All that was left was the letter I, the suggestion of a few more words, and the word hole.

“You can’t read it anymore,” Alucard said, releasing his collar.  “But it used to say ‘I fell down a hole.’  I’ll admit that I expected something...else.”

Trevor snorted.  “Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly braced for the hole either.  Your castle has some fucking structural integrity problems.  Hire an architect.”

“It’s--”  Alucard shook his head.  “It’s a trap, Belmont, and the structural integrity of the city of Gresit is not my responsibility.  What does your mark say?”  This close, the liquid gold color of Alucard’s eyes was impossible to ignore, a steady and inhuman stare that seemed to lance through Trevor’s skull and rummage around in his head.  Alucard didn’t blink enough.  An inane thing to notice, at a moment like this, but Trevor couldn’t seem to stop noticing inane things.  Inane things like how, of all the things that he ever imagined doing with a vampire--even a half-blooded one--a sit-down chat about soulmarks fell significantly below Hell freezing over.

Then again, Hell had declined to freeze over in return for coming to visit Earth, so Trevor imagined that a lot of people were reevaluating their expectations.

Reluctantly, as slowly as he could manage, Trevor unlaced his left bracer, and held out his arm without a word.

Alucard’s touch, one uncalloused finger tracing over the line of the words, was cool.  Not quite as warm as the air around him, and it was starting to be cold.  For once, though, Alucard was neither stony nor unreadable--his lips were parted, his eyes fixed on Trevor’s wrist, and his face looked open, almost wondering, like a child.

It turned his marble beauty into something fit to stop the heart.

Trevor let out a breath, slow and careful to keep it from trembling.  He’d never given much thought to who his soulmate would be, or what they would be like, except to hope that they wouldn’t mind being paired with a Belmont, wouldn’t want him to give up his family’s work.  Then, after the fire, he hadn’t thought of them at all.  He had expected, in all honesty, that the world would end before they met, or at the very least that he would go the way of the rest of his family and that someone, somewhere, would have their words go scarred white without explanation.

He wondered what his family would have said now, to know that the last son of House Belmont was soulmates with the son of Dracula Tepes.

[chibioniyuri]

Touch the Dark Reread: Chapters 1-5

OK, so we’ve got two weeks before Ride the Storm comes out (yay!), so I’m finally making time to the the series reread. I should be moving, but who cares?

It’s time to delve into the first of the series!

I haven’t read this since the first time, honestly. I was browsing in Barnes and Noble and happened to pick it up. The blurb was ok, and the first chapter pulled me in, so I took it home and read it. The next day, I went back and purchased the next two (or three? I can’t remember if Curse the Dawn was out at the time) books because they were out at the time. And if I’ve ever felt like rereading any of them, I always start with the second. The first was great for world-building, but I’ve always been a Pritkin fangirl, and there’s just not enough of him in this installment.

That being said, I’m stoked to be starting from the beginning, and with only 14 chapters, it shouldn’t take too long to get through. Let’s get to this.

I had a lot more to say about this than I thought and got pretty long-winded. Have a cut.

Chapter 1

What kind of opening line if “I knew I was in trouble as soon as I saw the obituary”? Karen Chance, opening stories with wild lines since the beginning.

I saw a post during the CVGR that asked how old Cassie is, and best I can tell is around 24? She mentions buying her gun/matching purses on “recommendation of a Fed named Jerry Sydell” four years ago and that she’ll never know how he explained away a 20-year-old orphan knowing the inner workings of a major crime family.

Ooh, moon count the first. Maybe I’ll keep track of these for fun as we go along. Maybe rain too, cause here’s our first sighting of rain as well, as she’s talking to Portia. I miss Portia. And ghosts in general. She doesn’t interact with ghosts as frequently in the more recent books.

Oh ho ho, here’s the card for the book: The Tower. Huge cataclysmic change, life completely altered. Read to Mike, the bar owner that we never see again.

As an aside, I never understand boots. Cassie’s wearing over the knee boots with four-inch heels. Tomas is wearing boots that reach mid-thigh. I can’t even fit my foot in most boots. How is this possible? I’m calling shenanigans.

Even in the beginning, I remember thinking Tomas’s entrance to Cassie’s life suspicious. The shelter manager introducing them, Cassie being so intrigued by his personality that she mentions him to her boss and invites him into her home as a roommate, and Mike hiring him immediately after a short interview. How much vampire compulsion was used to orchestrate this?

Chapter 2

I’d forgotten how it feels to read a Karen Chance action scene. Holy cow, that was a rush!

I know Cassie doesn’t use ghosts in battle, for obvious reasons. But how wicked would it be, from the POV of the person being attacked? Body parts falling off for no good reason, suddenly freezing, both temperature wise and motion wise, before finally bursting into pieces. No wonder her dad has such a wicked reputation, if he was a well-known necromancer. I’m sure he himself cultivated some of that reputation, all the better to scare people away from his - wife? lover? goddess? I don’t know how to define their relationship - and child.

I felt so badly for Cassie, this chapter. She tries so hard to balance her visions and perceived sins with the good of helping others. She even goes out on an emotional limb with Tomas. The betrayal she feels when his true identity is revealed really, really hurts.

One thing I don’t remember much from the more recent installments - master vamp auras. She feels Tomas’s like a hot wind, and the Consul’s soon. Does she become more accustomed to them in the future, or do they hold back around her? Something to keep an eye out for because I don’t remember her being quite as affected later.

Chapter 3

Wall sconces with knives! I don’t know why I’m pointing these out.

I wonder if there’s anything to that Crystal Gazing article about Martians kidnapping witches. It more than likely refers to the witch-trafficking operation smuggling viable females to the Fae world, but I’ll keep an eye on this too.

I’m surprised how quickly Cassie switches from thinking Tomas was hired by Tony to “Senate spy.” I mean, it’s true, he’s a spy for Louis-Cesar, but I’m used to her train of thought being more laid out than this.

Ooh, Tomas talks to the guard prior to the attack! If I’m remembering the plot correctly, he winds up being a mole. I wonder what this conversation was about.

Again with the master aura. This time, the Consul’s voice overflows with such power that Cassie shivers. And when talking with Pritkin, it’s like a warm summer breeze carrying acid. And when she’s attacking, it’s like a sandstorm. Master vampire auras are scary.

I love the Consul’s description, too. Eloquent enough with contextual clues that we don’t actually need her name mentioned to understand exactly in who’s presence Cassie is standing.

OK, Senate seats. Let’s go. 12 seats, aside from the Consul’s. Dark-haired woman with the scarred neck, Mircea, the lookalikes that are not related. Jack. Two hovering on the edge of the abyss, which is later revealed to be Marlowe and Ismitta. And then Augusta, one of the missing. Since only two survived and they’re named, we’ll assume Augusta died for now. And the Consul’s second, Mei Ling. Four dead. Ok. This may be relevant later on?

Pritkin spotting! I’ve always wondered how he sees Cassie here. A bloody, torn smiley dace shirt, a leather micromini with leather over-the-knee boots, cradled protectively in a vampire’s arms. Probably an intimidating sight, since he recoils later on when she makes eye contact with him. Doesn’t help that he thinks she’s either a demon or possessed, iirc.

I find it incredibly funny that Cassie mentions wanting “someone whose specialty was more in the guns and knives line.” She’ll get that person soon =D

I noticed this time that, even when the guards physically block Pritkin’s way, they’re still more concerned with watching Cassie than Pritkin. Another small hint that Cassie is a target? I’ll have to keep vigilant for small, throwaway lines like this. They’re not so throwaway after all.

Geez, Pritkin, you’re so over the top here. I was giggle-snorting through this exchange because it’s not exactly the most flattering intro to his character, with him throwing around comments about war and who can best “deal” with Cassie, but it is pretty accurate when you consider his repertoire tends to go more bold proclamations with the ability to back them up.

Every time I read his description though, my mind boggles. How in the world can he carry that many weapons? How is it not incredibly inconvenient to carry so many blades and projectile weapons? How does a simple trench coat manage to make him blend in in later books? I need answers to these very important questions.

Chapter 4

Werewolf named Sebastian, never seen again? Was he just a location setter, so Cassie learn she’s at MAGIC, or will he be relevant later on? Find out next time, or maybe never because we still don’t know.

Why does Cassie react so very, very strongly to Louis-Cesar? Is it like some sort of inner-Pythia senses tingling at someone whose timeline is being interfered with? Or is it her inner clairvoyance tingling at someone with such a dark, dark history, warning her to stay away? I can’t remember if that ever gets resolved. I think it’s a shame because he’s trying so hard to set her at ease here, which makes me think he’s a good person.

I don’t have much to comment on about the excursion into the past. Except to say that maybe since Cassie is experiencing this is Louis-Cesar’s body, she isn’t aware of the level of hauntings in this place, but she’s still experiencing the chill from a non-sensitive’s awareness?

Oh ho ho, the Tears are mentioned. Who knew they would become such a god-damned vital piece in future books? Barely mentioned here and probably not again this book? I don’t remember. But geez... hide your plot points early and in an offhanded manner, and it’ll likely squeak past your reader’s noses.

Chapter 5

Billy Joe! How I’ve missed this son-of-a-gun. Though he does seem pretty unreliable, at least in his intro. Detouring to Las Vegas instead of finding Cassie when he’s pretty sure she’s in trouble?

I love how easily Karen Chance weaves big-name people into her narrative. So far, we have Cleopatra, Dracula’s older brother, Kit Marlowe, and now Rasputin. I wonder how much research she puts in to make these stories work so well?

And now we’re starting to get to the meat of the plot. We’ve got Rasputin, challenging Senate seats and winning. Somehow, he turns their own vampires against them, and we have unknown vampires showing up, which should be impossible. This was so intriguing the first time I read it. Confusing, but intriguing.

And more background on vampires and how order is kept. It is a pretty simple system, but there’s so much room for intrigue and challenges, as we see later.

The Fey lost a noble in the crossfire between Rasputin and the Senate? Did we ever find out who this person is? Now that we’re getting more heavily into the Fae storyline, maybe this will become more relevant?

Oh ho ho. “The mage’s circle is pissed, too, though I don’t know why, and are calling for Rasputin’s head on a platter.” Maybe because he’s working with their runaway heir?

And now, here’s Jimmy the Rat. His name is incredibly funny to me because it just sounds like a description of his character, but it’s so much more, as we find out later.

I’m still really disgusted with someone warding Cassie’s energy from her so she can’t escape. Vampires have been manipulating her into situations favorable to them since the beginning, and this was probably the start of my bias against Mircea. He doesn’t fare very well in the rest of the book (or the series, let’s be honest).

Hehe, I love our introduction to magic here, with this ward on the window. I wonder why it’s called a Marley?

[sp00kworm]

Resurgence (Castlevania:LoS fanfiction) Chapter Two

Summary:  The infected and followers of Satan have all been extinguished. Monsters are a rarity and the world seems to teeter on the thin line of peace. The world has rebuilt itself after the night of chaos and death, and life has returned to some sort of normality with people having long since returned to work and running through the daily routine of life. The Prince of Darkness, however, has been cooped up in his Castle, slowly falling between the lines of reality and memory as he looses his grip on his own mind. What will the finding of a chest amongst the rubble do for his sanity? Perhaps a revelation is what he needs in order to regain his grip on the reality of the world.

A03 Link

Chapter 1   Chapter 3  

Nought but an Illusion

Dracula watched his first born coil like a cobra against the plush cushions of the seat, stiff and tense, his body rigid. Alucard slowly turned his gaze to peer at the ceiling, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes closed in something akin to exasperation. The vampire lord found himself grinding his teeth as his son looked at him with pity filled golden eyes, his lithe body still tightly strung and tension filled as he battled internally with his own feelings. Alucard pushed himself up into a sitting position and curled his claws into the plush stuffing of the high backed sofa, in an attempt to quell his violent outburst of anger, and to reign in the patience, he had spent a millennia honing.

“Father...you-you can't have seen her, the real woman you loved. She's been dead well over a thousand years now and not to mention, she was gone after-” Dracula growled, slumping back into the arm chair, his red eyes dangerous as he mulled over the vision he had just witnessed. He knew what he had seen. It may not have been his love, but she was extraordinarily like her, damnably so. The woman's face was a perfect picture of what he remembered, what he had been plagued by for years in his fortress- alone. Meeting Alucard's wet eyes he grumbled lowly before replying.

“I know what I saw, boy. She's dead. I know that more than any. I saw her ascend to the heavens without me that day. But, Alucard, I know that face. And the face of this woman...it was just like her. It was like looking at an exact replica of Marie.” The words slowly died on his tongue as he peered at the dark, night sky that hung over the city. “I know what I saw...I know...” Alucard sighed and rubbed his face gently, trying to take what his father was saying seriously.

The delusions his father had been having had grown increasingly common. He didn't know what was true when Dracula spoke anymore. So, of course, he had doubts about the truth of this relic's power. His golden eyes stared at the crystal orb, still perched on top of the dusty silk pillow. The bright blue light had dimmed to a weak glow due to the two powerful figures in the room, but the see through properties of the crystal were diminished, as it was clouded with swirling, blue tinged mist. His father was slumped in the large arm chair, brooding, falling into the twisted spiral of his own depression all over again. Eyes hard, Alucard raised his head to peer into his father's haunted eyes.

“You speak the truth, do you not, father?” Dracula met his gaze, his face a definition of anguish. Abruptly, he turned away,  heaving himself up and onto his feet in a swift, graceful movement before he swept his hand across the table across the room, sending the chalices, books and papers flying into the air to try and spend some pent up anger.

“I do not need to sit here and be questioned by you. You think I have lost my wits- lost my mind?! I have not, son! What I saw was real!” Alucard's lips tightened into a thin line, his brows furrowed low as he forced himself to be silent. Retaliation, he had found, only fuelled his father's rage. Dracula growled at his silence and whipped around before he stalked across the room and to the door. Alucard stood and disappeared in a cloud of bats before he reappeared in front of his father, blocking the exit out of the room.

Dracula growled, stalking ever closer to his son, until they were toe to toe, their noses almost touching. His fangs clicked against his bottom teeth and his breath fanned out across Alucard's cheeks as he spoke.

“Out of my way, boy.” The prince's voice was low and dangerous, but Alucard merely blinked, holding steadfast in the face of the power of his maker. He shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest, adjusting his stance so his weight was leant more on his right leg.

“Father you need to calm yourself. You can't have seen her. She ascended back to heaven long ago, after you defeated Satan.”

“You think me crazy do you not?” Dracula spat out venomously from between gritted teeth, his fangs glinting in the low light. Alucard did not need to reply, but lowered his gaze to his heeled boots. His father laughed, a few short, harsh bursts of air, that echoed off the stone walls, “Then if you think me deranged...” he took three steps backwards, before spreading his legs in a lower, fighting stance, “Put. Me. Down.”.

Alucard was quick to shift his weight backwards as Dracula launched himself forward with an inhuman burst of speed. The claws of the vampire lord skimmed over the bone of his cheek, the air whipping Alucard's white hair around as the hand withdrew and was sent forwards again in a flurry of punches. Dracula growled in anger as his son sped rgiht in a ray of blue light, effectively dodging the blows aimed for his vitals. Alucard skidded to a stop,before he reached to his left hip and flicked his fingers out in a sign, opening the small pocket dimension he controlled. Quickly, he reached in and withdrew his fabled weapon in a flash of light. Dracula only watched as his son pointed the sword at him, his sword arm extended out, and his hold on the grip tight with anger.

“Father, please, don't make me do this.” Dracula merely flicked his wrist, the Void Sword materialising from his palm in a burst of cold blue light. The sword glowed, the runes on the blade rippling with pulses of energy as its master swung it out, in a large arc, to his side. A sadistic grin curled his lips upwards, revealing his predatory fangs.

“Its too late for that now, son.” He spat the word in disgust, meeting Alucard's eyes before gripping the cold blade harder and launching himself forwards.

The void blade met with the Crissaegrim emitting a resounding clang, as they slid across each other. The metal of the Crissaegrim was unaffected by the freezing power of the Void Sword and Alucard shook slightly against the sheer brute strength of his father. Dracula's blade slid down to the cross guard of the Crissaegrim. He flicked his wrist, forcing the power upwards onto the underside of the sword. Anticipating this move, Alucard drew his blade backwards and pirouetted around his father before taking the grip in two hands and forcefully pushing the weapon forwards, through the air in a rapid succession of brutal strikes. Dracula growled parrying the quick blows with swipes of the Void Sword, from left to right and right to left, which pushed the Crissaegrim's blows aside. He was quick to burst into mist and whirled around the other vampire before reappearing and jumping into the air. The cold creation sliced through the air in a downwards arc, a blur of blue light as it headed for Alucard's exposed back. Before the blade could meet flesh Alucard spun and raised the Crissaegrim, holding it horizontally to meet with the Void Sword in another clang of unnatural metal and energy. The blades scrapped against each other as both vampires pushed forward with unnatural strength. Alucard withdrew backwards slightly lowering his stance a little, and, as he predicted, his father fell for the opportunity to get in a blow and was met with a quick flick of the wrist, sending his sword to the side, and then a swipe across the chest. Dracula hissed in pain, but drew his sword up to defend himself from another cunning blow. The wound on his chest dripped with thick blood but quickly began healing itself over slowly. Dracula flicked the Void Sword upwards in a swooping arc and flew through the air. Again the blow was met, Alucard's arms shaking with the effort of blocking the point of the sword. The blade slid atop the Crissaegrim and sliced into the flesh of Alucard's shoulder.

Both vampires dodged backwards, blood dripping from their wounds. Alucard growled and held his sword by his side.

“Father! Come to your senses! Stop this!” Dracula growled raising the Void Sword to strike once more, but faltered. His pupils dilated as he drew closer to Alucard. His grip on his sword loosened as the image of his little son appeared before him. Trevor smiled with warm eyes, his toys in hand and held them behind his back. With a sudden flash of light, the sword vanished and Dracula took a few steps back, clenching his pale hands into fists as he turned away from his son. Alucard let out a small sigh of relief and sheathed the Crissaegrim back in his pocket dimension. He then stepped closer to his father, but the right words to say eluded him. Dracula's claws ripped into the flesh of his palms and gloopy dark coloured blood dripped from the small tears in his skin, onto the cobbles beneath them.

“Father, please, what-” Alucard's voice was sympathetic but he was cut off by a low growl.

“Don't.” His father held up a clawed, pale palm, the skin of it slowly healing over the wounds, “I don't need your pity.” Alucard was quick to move in an attempt to block his exit, but the Prince of Darkness anticipated the movement, evaporating into a cloud of mist and dodging to the other side of the room. The red and black cloud swirled and reformed into the dark image of the vampire lord, his eyes glowing red. Alucard followed his gaze to the window and moved quickly in a cloud of bats towards the glass pane. He was too late as Dracula had already evaporated into mist and moved through the bats and around him, as he reformed himself in front of the window. Alucard shivered  as the cold mist caressed his limbs and swivelled to see his father reform, the window already open wide. He frowned and watched as Dracula turned and launched himself out of the window, his dark wings flapping as he rose over the city.

The castle loomed in the distance. Dracula had made sure he'd flown as far away as possible. He needed to clear his mind, and the presence of his son amidst the endless tricks of the castle meant that was nigh on impossible to achieve. The city had recovered from the ruin and chaos caused by Satan and his acolytes that fateful evening, and a sense of normality had been achieved. The buildings had been repaired and the dead buried, and the humans beneath him bustled around in metal canisters that moved on four wheels, larger ones on up to twelve. He had learnt the names of these contraptions from Zobek and his lieutenant, also known as his son is disguise, when they had been on a mission to save the world. Apparently they were a much more efficient way to get around than questing for months on end to the other side of the globe. People roamed the streets beneath him, darkness having just fallen, with phones and bags, heading here and there, all seemingly in a hurry to get somewhere or another. His sensitive ears caught snippets of conversations from the roof top he was stood upon. Some bumped into each other, but no one apologised, they only gave each other disgusted looks as they walked away. This new, modern world was strange and so unlike the world he grew up in, killing dark forces, questing for glory, and, to fulfil his destiny and his fate. This world had no belief in the things he fought and did. It was a strange yet blissfully ignorant world. But he supposed that made his life a little easier. No one would suspect a vampire of killing people, it would just be the fault of another murderer, like the thousands already out there in the world.

Dropping down, unnoticed, into a small alleyway, he became aware that his attire in this age was not exactly inconspicuous. Tight leather and armour would probably arouse suspicion amongst the mortals wearing t-shirts and trousers. After watching a few humans walk past, with very strange and vibrant hair colours, he focused, the blood forming his clothes pulling apart and whipping around to form more reserved, and frankly, more covering garments. A dark black shirt covered his chest, fastened up a little more than half way, the lacy cuffs falling over the backs of his hands, clipped in place with small ruby cuff links. The long red coat he donned shifted shape a little, the shoulder guards disappeared and most of the gold embellishments vanished, reappearing as golden buttons down the front. His leather breaches became looser and his metal plated boots only leather, the plates became patterns near the knee. Opening his eyes he sighed and looked down at himself. It would have to do, though it meant that feeding was probably out of the question, cleaning the blood out of his shirt would probably be a little more trouble than it was worth. He walked slowly out of the alley and paused for a moment before striding into the crowds, weaving between people as he began a languid nightly stroll.

The city was extremely busy. People ran, walked and jogged in every direction, bags in hand. It was  a strange site compared to the chaos, and it had a stunning effect on him. Compared to what he knew, the small village markets and set days for every aspect of life. Church on a Sunday, markets for specific items on separate days- there were no routines like those he grew up with anymore. Dracula pondered as he walked down the black tarmac paths, and turned to peer up at a large sign for a shopping district. The enormous TV flashed vibrant colours and phrases scrolled across the screen about the various sales and the shops they were in. A large metal sign was hung a few metres over the revolving doors. 'White Wolf Centre' He rolled his eyes. Of course they still hoped to see the legendary white wolf appear on the hill top to howl at the full moon. Many claimed to have seen his son voicing his protests about Dracula's own actions against the children of God. Alucard also claimed to have done it once, when they had fought and Dracula had been, or they had thought he had been, vanquished. Unluckily for them, he was very much alive, but bided his time before his return to the world of men. The siege they had sent against him had been very fun to tear apart, but he quelled his blood lust and continued walking, past the strange rotating doors. At least when he had been a man, doors only opened and closed- why did they need to rotate?

The hustle and bustle only grew more intense as he reached the edge of the Downtown district of Castlevania City. The office blocks grew taller and taller as he strolled along. More and more men and women dressed in shirts, blouses, trousers and skirts walked along side him and passed him in the street. They paid him little attention, most looking as though they had not slept for a few days, dragging their feet as they plodded on, homeward bound. Dracula's eyes flickered from left to right, discreetly, as he watched the people pass him, wary about each and everyone of them. Humans could not be trusted, but, in hindsight, nor could he. For all they knew, he could be another axe-murderer prowling the streets for fresh meat. No one knew anyone, and the suspicious nature that everyone carried seemed to have not changed. Even when he was a man, on the road to complete a journey for glory and honour, no one had trusted anyone they met on the long roads, though few travelled the dark paths, the small amount of, non-bloodthirsty creatures he met along the way did not trust him, just as he did not trust them. He was glad that at least a few things had remained the same in the long period he had been asleep. Dracula moved to the left of the large crowds and turned the corner again, heading left towards a large intersection. Cars ambled along behind each other as the traffic lights turned from red, to amber, and finally to green, before whizzing across the open road and veering left or right, or zooming straight ahead. When the lights changed again the cars rolled to a halt once more. People then strode across the tarmac, their shoes, clicking and thumping monotonously as they moved as a herd across the road.

Dracula watched for a moment as the mortals crossed, some jogging, others walking, before he made a move, pushing himself off of the wall to join the crowd that had gathered again, waiting to cross the road. A few of the people surrounding him gave him a strange look. A woman eyed him from the corner of her eyes, fighting off a blush as she tapped at her phone, also waiting for the lights to change to red. He found himself smirking a little and his gaze slipped to the side, eyeing the young girl as she typed a message on her screen. Her bright blue eyes crawled slowly away from her typing and she peeked at him again, not realising she'd been discovered. Her eyes met his own red ones and her cheeks lit up with a bright pink blush as she gapped slightly. His smirk only widened as she nervously tucked her hair behind her ear and removed it, only to repeat the habit again, glancing from left to right, unsure where to aim her gaze. Dracula found himself chuckling despite himself and he quickly dodged through the people around him, twisting left and right quicker than the human eye could comprehend.

Eventually, the girl's eyes dragged back to the spot where he once was and she was shocked to not see him surrounded by the men and women on their phones. The girl turned her head rapidly, trying to find a glimpse of him again. She jumped, her elbows knocking into his chest as he laid a cool hand on her shoulder. Her skin was warm beneath his palm and a sudden urge to rip into the flesh overwhelmed him for a moment, until he recollected himself. She turned her head, peering over her shoulder, and gave out a meek squeak as she came face to face with the handsome man she had been eyeing up through the crowd. Her heels clicked as she turned to face him, once again tucking hair behind her ear and removing it, before repeating the action. Her other hand fiddled with the strap of her bag on her shoulder. A grin curled his lips upwards as her eyes flickered and roamed over the bulges of his shirt over his chest and abdomen. His eyes dimmed, trying to take on a more steely tone, as he addressed the shy girl.

“I haven't been flattered with a lady's gaze in quite some time.” A chuckle rumbled deep in his chest and the poor girl shuffled slightly on the balls of her feet, her cheeks pink with a bright and prominent blush.

“Well ah- I didn't- I wasn't...” She quickly became even more flustered and Dracula smiled at her, his teeth a bright white, slicing through the air.

“I'm not offended, merely flattered, calm yourself.” She cocked her head to the side, but didn't question him, bowing her head low before backing away slightly.

“Well, I'm sorry sir, and well, ah, um- I'll just be going now!” A cool hand on her waist made her pause before she whirled around and shoved at him, red in the face, and made a quick escape through the crowd of closely packed bodies. He chuckled. The shy types always managed to get away from him, even as a young man. At least his age had not diminished his looks. Well, its not like he could age or wither- he was a vampire after all.

The lights quickly changed to red and he found himself moving across the street with the herd of people. His dark, ink coloured hair clung to his jaw as the breeze blew it askew. Dracula raked a hand through his hair as he walked along side the mass of humans, his coat billowing behind him as he strode forwards. A sudden wave of uncertainty took over him as he slowed his pace, walking with small steps, forwards. The people around him moved too fast for him to register faces and Dracula's eyebrows furrowed as he kept moving with a warier edge. As he reached the middle of the road he managed to pull his line of sight up from his black leather boots and locked his heavy gaze upon the woman he had dreaded to face, smack in front of him. Her dark brown, almost black hair, was looped backwards at the nape of her neck and twisted into a practical braid, a gold metal band held it in place more than half way down her back. A phone was held to her ear and the blouse, skirt, tights, blazer and small heeled shoes made it more than obvious he was some sort of office worker. As she clicked the button on her phone, her deep hazel, almost golden eyes, looked up at him for a moment before turning her attention to her bag which was clutched in her hand, the other holding a large portfolio. Dracula found himself utterly mesmerised, and unable to stop gawking at the woman, the memory, walking straight towards him. She didn't see him until her forehead met his chest.

She bounced off the solid muscle a little and pinched her eyes shut, adjusting her bags to rub at the small red mark where the skin had made contact with a golden button of his jacket. The button, embellished with a small dragon head, had left a nice mark, right in the middle of her forehead. She huffed, rubbing at the spot, and it was then that Dracula found his voice.

“Forgive me, I was not looking where I was going.” Brows still furrowed she looked up at him, cracking a small, gentle smile.

“Don't worry. It's fine. I seem to be a little bit of an airhead today anyway.” She chuckled at him before quickly dodging around his imposing figure, so much taller than her own. “Well, I'll be on my way. Sorry again.” And with that, she was gone, across the road and striding down the paths with the grace of a swan. His mouth was dry. He did not think that what he had seen could possibly have been true, but as he watched her braided hair gently sway behind her as she moved further and further away from him, he found a strange emptiness took over his heart.

It was cold and strange. The icy layers he had built many years ago seemed to have thawed in a second, and it left a gaping hole that he had plugged upon his vow of vengeance. A hole that demanded his love. The hole that sometimes drove him to the brink of madness, and made him contemplate his own demise. It was the desperation to be with his love, his true love, in the heavens...But now, he found it longing for something else. It was pulling him towards that woman. And for the moment, he didn't know why. But he was surely going to find out. And so, as the cars around him honked their horns, he turned on his heel, shooting them all snarls, and resolved to follow her.

[readbookywooks]

DR. SEWARD'S DIARY

30 September. - I got home at five o'clock, and found that Godalming and Morris had not only arrived, but had already studied the transcript of the various diaries and letters which Harker had not yet returned from his visit to the carriers' men, of whom Dr. Hennessey had written to me. Mrs. Harker gave us a cup of tea, and I can honestly say that, for the first time since I have lived in it, this old house seemed like home. When we had finished, Mrs. Harker said, "Dr. Seward, may I ask a favor? I want to see your patient, Mr. Renfield. Do let me see him. What you have said of him in your diary interests me so much!" She looked so appealing and so pretty that I could not refuse her, and there was no possible reason why I should, so I took her with me. When I went into the room, I told the man that a lady would like to see him, to which he simply answered, "Why?" "She is going through the house, and wants to see every one in it," I answered. "Oh, very well," he said, "let her come in, by all means, but just wait a minute till I tidy up the place." His method of tidying was peculiar, he simply swallowed all the flies and spiders in the boxes before I could stop him. It was quite evident that he feared, or was jealous of, some interference. When he had got through his disgusting task, he said cheerfully, "Let the lady come in," and sat down on the edge of his bed with his head down, but with his eyelids raised so that he could see her as she entered. For a moment I thought that he might have some homicidal intent. I remembered how quiet he had been just before he attacked me in my own study, and I took care to stand where I could seize him at once if he attempted to make a spring at her. She came into the room with an easy gracefulness which would at once command the respect of any lunatic, for easiness is one of the qualities mad people most respect. She walked over to him, smiling pleasantly, and held out her hand. "Good evening, Mr. Renfield," said she. "You see, I know you, for Dr. Seward has told me of you." He made no immediate reply, but eyed her all over intently with a set frown on his face. This look gave way to one of wonder, which merged in doubt, then to my intense astonishment he said, "You're not the girl the doctor wanted to marry, are you? You can't be, you know, for she's dead." Mrs. Harker smiled sweetly as she replied, "Oh no! I have a husband of my own, to whom I was married before I ever saw Dr. Seward, or he me. I am Mrs. Harker." "Then what are you doing here?" "My husband and I are staying on a visit with Dr. Seward." "Then don't stay." "But why not?" I thought that this style of conversation might not be pleasant to Mrs. Harker, any more than it was to me, so I joined in, "How did you know I wanted to marry anyone?" His reply was simply contemptuous, given in a pause in which he turned his eyes from Mrs. Harker to me, instantly turning them back again, "What an asinine question!" "I don't see that at all, Mr. Renfield," said Mrs. Harker, at once championing me. He replied to her with as much courtesy and respect as he had shown contempt to me, "You will, of course, understand, Mrs. Harker, that when a man is so loved and honored as our host is, everything regarding him is of interest in our little community. Dr. Seward is loved not only by his household and his friends, but even by his patients, who, being some of them hardly in mental equilibrium, are apt to distort causes and effects. Since I myself have been an inmate of a lunatic asylum, I cannot but notice that the sophistic tendencies of some of its inmates lean towards the errors of non causa and ignoratio elenche." I positively opened my eyes at this new development. Here was my own pet lunatic, the most pronounced of his type that I had ever met with, talking elemental philosophy, and with the manner of a polished gentleman. I wonder if it was Mrs. Harker's presence which had touched some chord in his memory. If this new phase was spontaneous, or in any way due to her unconscious influence, she must have some rare gift or power. We continued to talk for some time, and seeing that he was seemingly quite reasonable, she ventured, looking at me questioningly as she began, to lead him to his favorite topic. I was again astonished, for he addressed himself to the question with the impartiality of the completest sanity. He even took himself as an example when he mentioned certain things. "Why, I myself am an instance of a man who had a strange belief. Indeed, it was no wonder that my friends were alarmed, and insisted on my being put under control. I used to fancy that life was a positive and perpetual entity, and that by consuming a multitude of live things, no matter how low in the scale of creation, one might indefinitely prolong life. At times I held the belief so strongly that I actually tried to take human life. The doctor here will bear me out that on one occasion I tried to kill him for the purpose of strengthening my vital powers by the assimilation with my own body of his life through the medium of his blood, relying of course, upon the Scriptural phrase, `For the blood is the life.' Though, indeed, the vendor of a certain nostrum has vulgarized the truism to the very point of contempt. Isn't that true, doctor?" I nodded assent, for I was so amazed that I hardly knew what to either think or say, it was hard to imagine that I had seen him eat up his spiders and flies not five minutes before. Looking at my watch, I saw that I should go to the station to meet Van Helsing, so I told Mrs. Harker that it was time to leave. She came at once, after saying pleasantly to Mr. Renfield, "Goodbye, and I hope I may see you often, under auspices pleasanter to yourself." To which, to my astonishment, he replied, "Goodbye, my dear. I pray God I may never see your sweet face again. May He bless and keep you!" When I went to the station to meet Van Helsing I left the boys behind me. Poor Art seemed more cheerful than he has been since Lucy first took ill, and Quincey is more like his own bright self than he has been for many a long day. Van Helsing stepped from the carriage with the eager nimbleness of a boy. He saw me at once, and rushed up to me, saying, "Ah, friend John, how goes all? Well? So! I have been busy, for I come here to stay if need be. All affairs are settled with me, and I have much to tell. Madam Mina is with you? Yes. And her so fine husband? And Arthur and my friend Quincey, they are with you, too? Good!" As I drove to the house I told him of what had passed, and of how my own diary had come to be of some use through Mrs. Harker's suggestion, at which the Professor interrupted me. "Ah, that wonderful Madam Mina! She has man's brain, a brain that a man should have were he much gifted, and a woman's heart. The good God fashioned her for a purpose, believe me, when He made that so good combination. Friend John, up to now fortune has made that woman of help to us, after tonight she must not have to do with this so terrible affair. It is not good that she run a risk so great. We men are determined, nay, are we not pledged, to destroy this monster? But it is no part for a woman. Even if she be not harmed, her heart may fail her in so much and so many horrors and hereafter she may suffer, both in waking, from her nerves, and in sleep, from her dreams. And, besides, she is young woman and not so long married, there may be other things to think of some time, if not now. You tell me she has wrote all, then she must consult with us, but tomorrow she say goodbye to this work, and we go alone." I agreed heartily with him, and then I told him what we had found in his absence, that the house which Dracula had bought was the very next one to my own. He was amazed, and a great concern seemed to come on him. "Oh that we had known it before!" he said, "for then we might have reached him in time to save poor Lucy. However, `the milk that is spilt cries not out afterwards,'as you say. We shall not think of that, but go on our way to the end." Then he fell into a silence that lasted till we entered my own gateway. Before we went to prepare for dinner he said to Mrs. Harker, "I am told, Madam Mina, by my friend John that you and your husband have put up in exact order all things that have been, up to this moment." "Not up to this moment, Professor," she said impulsively, "but up to this morning." "But why not up to now? We have seen hitherto how good light all the little things have made. We have told our secrets, and yet no one who has told is the worse for it." Mrs. Harker began to blush, and taking a paper from her pockets, she said, "Dr. Van Helsing, will you read this, and tell me if it must go in. It is my record of today. I too have seen the need of putting down at present everything, however trivial, but there is little in this except what is personal. Must it go in?" The Professor read it over gravely, and handed it back, saying, "It need not go in if you do not wish it, but I pray that it may. It can but make your husband love you the more, and all us, your friends, more honor you, as well as more esteem and love." She took it back with another blush and a bright smile. And so now, up to this very hour, all the records we have are complete and in order. The Professor took away one copy to study after dinner, and before our meeting, which is fixed for nine o'clock. The rest of us have already read everything, so when we meet in the study we shall all be informed as to facts, and can arrange our plan of battle with this terrible and mysterious enemy. MINA HARKER'S JOURNAL 30 September. - When we met in Dr. Seward's study two hours after dinner, which had been at six o'clock, we unconsciously formed a sort of board or committee. Professor Van Helsing took the head of the table, to which Dr. Seward motioned him as he came into the room. He made me sit next to him on his right, and asked me to act as secretary. Jonathan sat next to me. Opposite us were Lord Godalming, Dr. Seward, and Mr. Morris, Lord Godalming being next the Professor, and Dr. Seward in the center. The Professor said, "I may, I suppose, take it that we are all acquainted with the facts that are in these papers." We all expressed assent, and he went on, "Then it were, I think, good that I tell you something of the kind of enemy with which we have to deal. I shall then make known to you something of the history of this man, which has been ascertained for me. So we then can discuss how we shall act, and can take our measure according. "There are such beings as vampires, some of us have evidence that they exist. Even had we not the proof of our own unhappy experience, the teachings and the records of the past give proof enough for sane peoples. I admit that at the first I was sceptic. Were it not that through long years I have trained myself to keep an open mind, I could not have believed until such time as that fact thunder on my ear.`See! See! I prove, I prove.' Alas! Had I known at first what now I know, nay, had I even guess at him, one so precious life had been spared to many of us who did love her. But that is gone, and we must so work, that other poor souls perish not, whilst we can save. The nosferatu do not die like the bee when he sting once. He is only stronger, and being stronger, have yet more power to work evil. This vampire which is amongst us is of himself so strong in person as twenty men, he is of cunning more than mortal, for his cunning be the growth of ages, he have still the aids of necromancy, which is, as his etymology imply, the divination by the dead, and all the dead that he can come nigh to are for him at command, he is brute, and more than brute, he is devil in callous, and the heart of him is not, he can, within his range, direct the elements, the storm, the fog, the thunder, he can command all the meaner things, the rat, and the owl, and the bat, the moth, and the fox, and the wolf, he can grow and become small, and he can at times vanish and come unknown. How then are we to begin our strike to destroy him? How shall we find his where, and having found it, how can we destroy? My friends, this is much, it is a terrible task that we undertake, and there may be consequence to make the brave shudder. For if we fail in this our fight he must surely win, and then where end we? Life is nothings, I heed him not. But to fail here, is not mere life or death. It is that we become as him, that we henceforward become foul things of the night like him, without heart or conscience, preying on the bodies and the souls of those we love best. To us forever are the gates of heaven shut, for who shall open them to us again? We go on for all time abhorred by all, a blot on the face of God's sunshine, an arrow in the side of Him who died for man. But we are face to face with duty, and in such case must we shrink? For me, I say no, but then I am old, and life, with his sunshine, his fair places, his song of birds, his music and his love, lie far behind. You others are young. Some have seen sorrow, but there are fair days yet in store. What say you?" Whilst he was speaking, Jonathan had taken my hand. I feared, oh so much, that the appalling nature of our danger was overcoming him when I saw his hand stretch out, but it was life to me to feel its touch, so strong, so self reliant, so resolute. A brave man's hand can speak for itself, it does not even need a woman's love to hear its music. When the Professor had done speaking my husband looked in my eyes, and I in his, there was no need for speaking between us. "I answer for Mina and myself," he said. "Count me in, Professor," said Mr. Quincey Morris, laconically as usual. "I am with you," said Lord Godalming, "for Lucy's sake, if for no other reason." Dr. Seward simply nodded. The Professor stood up and, after laying his golden crucifix on the table, held out his hand on either side. I took his right hand, and Lord Godalming his left, Jonathan held my right with his left and stretched across to Mr. Morris. So as we all took hands our solemn compact was made. I felt my heart icy cold, but it did not even occur to me to draw back. We resumed our places, and Dr. Van Helsing went on with a sort of cheerfulness which showed that the serious work had begun. It was to be taken as gravely, and in as businesslike a way, as any other transaction of life. "Well, you know what we have to contend against, but we too, are not without strength. We have on our side power of combination, a power denied to the vampire kind, we have sources of science, we are free to act and think, and the hours of the day and the night are ours equally. In fact, so far as our powers extend, they are unfettered, and we are free to use them. We have self devotion in a cause and an end to achieve which is not a selfish one. These things are much. "Now let us see how far the general powers arrayed against us are restrict, and how the individual cannot. In fine, let us consider the limitations of the vampire in general, and of this one in particular. "All we have to go upon are traditions and superstitions. These do not at the first appear much, when the matter is one of life and death, nay of more than either life or death. Yet must we be satisfied, in the first place because we have to be, no other means is at our control, and secondly, because, after all these things, tradition and superstition, are everything. Does not the belief in vampires rest for others, though not, alas! for us, on them! A year ago which of us would have received such a possibility, in the midst of our scientific, sceptical, matter-of-fact nineteenth century? We even scouted a belief that we saw justified under our very eyes. Take it, then, that the vampire, and the belief in his limitations and his cure, rest for the moment on the same base. For, let me tell you, he is known everywhere that men have been. In old Greece, in old Rome, he flourish in Germany all over, in France, in India, even in the Chermosese, and in China, so far from us in all ways, there even is he, and the peoples for him at this day. He have follow the wake of the berserker Icelander, the devil-begotten Hun, the Slav, the Saxon, the Magyar. "So far, then, we have all we may act upon, and let me tell you that very much of the beliefs are justified by what we have seen in our own so unhappy experience. The vampire live on, and cannot die by mere passing of the time, he can flourish when that he can fatten on the blood of the living. Even more, we have seen amongst us that he can even grow younger, that his vital faculties grow strenuous, and seem as though they refresh themselves when his special pabulum is plenty. "But he cannot flourish without this diet, he eat not as others. Even friend Jonathan, who lived with him for weeks, did never see him eat, never! He throws no shadow, he make in the mirror no reflect, as again Jonathan observe. He has the strength of many of his hand, witness again Jonathan when he shut the door against the wolves, and when he help him from the diligence too. He can transform himself to wolf, as we gather from the ship arrival in Whitby, when he tear open the dog, he can be as bat, as Madam Mina saw him on the window at Whitby, and as friend John saw him fly from this so near house, and as my friend Quincey saw him at the window of Miss Lucy. "He can come in mist which he create, that noble ship's captain proved him of this, but, from what we know, the distance he can make this mist is limited, and it can only be round himself. "He come on moonlight rays as elemental dust, as again Jonathan saw those sisters in the castle of Dracula. He become so small, we ourselves saw Miss Lucy, ere she was at peace, slip through a hairbreadth space at the tomb door. He can, when once he find his way, come out from anything or into anything, no matter how close it be bound or even fused up with fire, solder you call it. He can see in the dark, no small power this, in a world which is one half shut from the light. Ah, but hear me through. "He can do all these things, yet he is not free. Nay, he is even more prisoner than the slave of the galley, than the madman in his cell. He cannot go where he lists, he who is not of nature has yet to obey some of nature's laws, why we know not. He may not enter anywhere at the first, unless there be some one of the household who bid him to come, though afterwards he can come as he please. His power ceases, as does that of all evil things, at the coming of the day. "Only at certain times can he have limited freedom. If he be not at the place whither he is bound, he can only change himself at noon or at exact sunrise or sunset. These things we are told, and in this record of ours we have proof by inference. Thus, whereas he can do as he will within his limit, when he have his earth-home, his coffin-home, his hell-home, the place unhallowed, as we saw when he went to the grave of the suicide at Whitby, still at other time he can only change when the time come. It is said, too, that he can only pass running water at the slack or the flood of the tide. Then there are things which so afflict him that he has no power, as the garlic that we know of, and as for things sacred, as this symbol, my crucifix, that was amongst us even now when we resolve, to them he is nothing, but in their presence he take his place far off and silent with respect. There are others, too, which I shall tell you of, lest in our seeking we may need them. "The branch of wild rose on his coffin keep him that he move not from it, a sacred bullet fired into the coffin kill him so that he be true dead, and as for the stake through him, we know already of its peace, or the cut off head that giveth rest. We have seen it with our eyes. "Thus when we find the habitation of this man-that-was, we can confine him to his coffin and destroy him, if we obey what we know. But he is clever. I have asked my friend Arminius, of Buda-Pesth University, to make his record, and from all the means that are, he tell me of what he has been. He must, indeed, have been that Voivode Dracula who won his name against the Turk, over the great river on the very frontier of Turkeyland. If it be so, then was he no common man, for in that time, and for centuries after, he was spoken of as the cleverest and the most cunning, as well as the bravest of the sons of the `land beyond the forest.' That mighty brain and that iron resolution went with him to his grave, and are even now arrayed against us. The Draculas were, says Arminius, a great and noble race, though now and again were scions who were held by their coevals to have had dealings with the Evil One. They learned his secrets in the Scholomance, amongst the mountains over Lake Hermanstadt, where the devil claims the tenth scholar as his due. In the records are such words as `stregoica' witch, `ordog' and `pokol' Satan and hell, and in one manuscript this very Dracula is spoken of as `wampyr,'which we all understand too well. There have been from the loins of this very one great men and good women, and their graves make sacred the earth where alone this foulness can dwell. For it is not the least of its terrors that this evil thing is rooted deep in all good, in soil barren of holy memories it cannot rest." Whilst they were talking Mr. Morris was looking steadily at the window, and he now got up quietly, and went out of the room. There was a little pause, and then the Professor went on. "And now we must settle what we do. We have here much data, and we must proceed to lay out our campaign. We know from the inquiry of Jonathan that from the castle to Whitby came fifty boxes of earth, all of which were delivered at Carfax, we also know that at least some of these boxes have been removed. It seems to me, that our first step should be to ascertain whether all the rest remain in the house beyond that wall where we look today, or whether any more have been removed. If the latter, we must trace. . ." Here we were interrupted in a very startling way. Outside the house came the sound of a pistol shot, the glass of the window was shattered with a bullet, which ricochetting from the top of the embrasure, struck the far wall of the room. I am afraid I am at heart a coward, for I shrieked out. The men all jumped to their feet, Lord Godalming flew over to the window and threw up the sash. As he did so we heard Mr. Morris' voice without, "Sorry! I fear I have alarmed you. I shall come in and tell you about it." A minute later he came in and said, "It was an idiotic thing of me to do, and I ask your pardon, Mrs. Harker, most sincerely, I fear I must have frightened you terribly. But the fact is that whilst the Professor was talking there came a big bat and sat on the window sill. I have got such a horror of the damned brutes from recent events that I cannot stand them, and I went out to have a shot, as I have been doing of late of evenings, whenever I have seen one. You used to laugh at me for it then, Art." "Did you hit it?" asked Dr. Van Helsing. "I don't know, I fancy not, for it flew away into the wood." Without saying any more he took his seat, and the Professor began to resume his statement. "We must trace each of these boxes, and when we are ready, we must either capture or kill this monster in his lair, or we must, so to speak, sterilize the earth, so that no more he can seek safety in it. Thus in the end we may find him in his form of man between the hours of noon and sunset, and so engage with him when he is at his most weak. "And now for you, Madam Mina, this night is the end until all be well. You are too precious to us to have such risk. When we part tonight, you no more must question. We shall tell you all in good time. We are men and are able to bear, but you must be our star and our hope, and we shall act all the more free that you are not in the danger, such as we are." All the men, even Jonathan, seemed relieved, but it did not seem to me good that they should brave danger and, perhaps lessen their safety, strength being the best safety, through care of me, but their minds were made up, and though it was a bitter pill for me to swallow, I could say nothing, save to accept their chivalrous care of me. Mr. Morris resumed the discussion, "As there is no time to lose, I vote we have a look at his house right now. Time is everything with him, and swift action on our part may save another victim." I own that my heart began to fail me when the time for action came so close, but I did not say anything, for I had a greater fear that if I appeared as a drag or a hindrance to their work, they might even leave me out of their counsels altogether. They have now gone off to Carfax, with means to get into the house. Manlike, they had told me to go to bed and sleep, as if a woman can sleep when those she loves are in danger! I shall lie down, and pretend to sleep, lest Jonathan have added anxiety about me when he returns. DR. SEWARD'S DIARY 1 October, 4 A.M. - Just as we were about to leave the house, an urgent message was brought to me from Renfield to know if I would see him at once, as he had something of the utmost importance to say to me. I told the messenger to say that I would attend to his wishes in the morning, I was busy just at the moment. The attendant added, "He seems very importunate, sir. I have never seen him so eager. I don't know but what, if you don't see him soon, he will have one of his violent fits." I knew the man would not have said this without some cause, so I said, "All right, I'll go now," and I asked the others to wait a few minutes for me, as I had to go and see my patient. "Take me with you, friend John," said the Professor."His case in your diary interest me much, and it had bearing, too, now and again on our case. I should much like to see him, and especial when his mind is disturbed." "May I come also?" asked Lord Godalming. "Me too?" said Quincey Morris. "May I come?" said Harker. I nodded, and we all went down the passage together. We found him in a state of considerable excitement, but far more rational in his speech and manner than I had ever seen him. There was an unusual understanding of himself, which was unlike anything I had ever met with in a lunatic, and he took it for granted that his reasons would prevail with others entirely sane. We all five went into the room, but none of the others at first said anything. His request was that I would at once release him from the asylum and send him home. This he backed up with arguments regarding his complete recovery, and adduced his own existing sanity. "I appeal to your friends, "he said, "they will, perhaps, not mind sitting in judgement on my case. By the way, you have not introduced me." I was so much astonished, that the oddness of introducing a madman in an asylum did not strike me at the moment, and besides, there was a certain dignity in the man's manner, so much of the habit of equality, that I at once made the introduction, "Lord Godalming, Professor Van Helsing, Mr. Quincey Morris, of Texas, Mr. Jonathan Harker, Mr. Renfield." He shook hands with each of them, saying in turn, "Lord Godalming, I had the honor of seconding your father at the Windham, I grieve to know, by your holding the title, that he is no more. He was a man loved and honored by all who knew him, and in his youth was, I have heard, the inventor of a burnt rum punch, much patronized on Derby night. Mr. Morris, you should be proud of your great state. Its reception into the Union was a precedent which may have far-reaching effects hereafter, when the Pole and the Tropics may hold alliance to the Stars and Stripes. The power of Treaty may yet prove a vast engine of enlargement, when the Monroe doctrine takes its true place as a political fable. What shall any man say of his pleasure at meeting Van Helsing? Sir, I make no apology for dropping all forms of conventional prefix. When an individual has revolutionized therapeutics by his discovery of the continuous evolution of brain matter, conventional forms are unfitting, since they would seem to limit him to one of a class. You, gentlemen, who by nationality, by heredity, or by the possession of natural gifts, are fitted to hold your respective places in the moving world, I take to witness that I am as sane as at least the majority of men who are in full possession of their liberties. And I am sure that you, Dr. Seward, humanitarian and medico-jurist as well as scientist, will deem it a moral duty to deal with me as one to be considered as under exceptional circumstances."He made this last appeal with a courtly air of conviction which was not without its own charm. I think we were all staggered. For my own part, I was under the conviction, despite my knowledge of the man's character and history, that his reason had been restored, and I felt under a strong impulse to tell him that I was satisfied as to his sanity, and would see about the necessary formalities for his release in the morning. I thought it better to wait, however, before making so grave a statement, for of old I knew the sudden changes to which this particular patient was liable. So I contented myself with making a general statement that he appeared to be improving very rapidly, that I would have a longer chat with him in the morning, and would then see what I could do in the direction of meeting his wishes. This did not at all satisfy him, for he said quickly, "But I fear, Dr. Seward, that you hardly apprehend my wish. I desire to go at once, here, now, this very hour, this very moment, if I may. Time presses, and in our implied agreement with the old scytheman it is of the essence of the contract. I am sure it is only necessary to put before so admirable a practitioner as Dr. Seward so simple, yet so momentous a wish, to ensure its fulfilment." He looked at me keenly, and seeing the negative in my face, turned to the others, and scrutinized them closely. Not meeting any sufficient response, he went on, "Is it possible that I have erred in my supposition?" "You have," I said frankly, but at the same time, as I felt, brutally. There was a considerable pause, and then he said slowly, "Then I suppose I must only shift my ground of request. Let me ask for this concession, boon, privilege, what you will. I am content to implore in such a case, not on personal grounds, but for the sake of others. I am not at liberty to give you the whole of my reasons, but you may, I assure you, take it from me that they are good ones, sound and unselfish, and spring from the highest sense of duty. "Could you look, sir, into my heart, you would approve to the full the sentiments which animate me. Nay, more, you would count me amongst the best and truest of your friends." Again he looked at us all keenly. I had a growing conviction that this sudden change of his entire intellectual method was but yet another phase of his madness, and so determined to let him go on a little longer, knowing from experience that he would, like all lunatics, give himself away in the end. Van Helsing was gazing at him with a look of utmost intensity, his bushy eyebrows almost meeting with the fixed concentration of his look. He said to Renfield in a tone which did not surprise me at the time, but only when I thought of it afterwards, for it was as of one addressing an equal, "Can you not tell frankly your real reason for wishing to be free tonight? I will undertake that if you will satisfy even me, a stranger, without prejudice, and with the habit of keeping an open mind, Dr. Seward will give you, at his own risk and on his own responsibility, the privilege you seek." He shook his head sadly, and with a look of poignant regret on his face. The Professor went on, "Come, sir, bethink yourself. You claim the privilege of reason in the highest degree, since you seek to impress us with your complete reasonableness. You do this, whose sanity we have reason to doubt, since you are not yet released from medical treatment for this very defect. If you will not help us in our effort to choose the wisest course, how can we perform the duty which you yourself put upon us? Be wise, and help us, and if we can we shall aid you to achieve your wish." He still shook his head as he said, "Dr. Van Helsing, I have nothing to say. Your argument is complete, and if I were free to speak I should not hesitate a moment, but I am not my own master in the matter. I can only ask you to trust me. If I am refused, the responsibility does not rest with me." I thought it was now time to end the scene, which was becoming too comically grave, so I went towards the door, simply saying, "Come, my friends, we have work to do. Goodnight." As, however, I got near the door, a new change came over the patient. He moved towards me so quickly that for the moment I feared that he was about to make another homicidal attack. My fears, however, were groundless, for he held up his two hands imploringly, and made his petition in a moving manner. As he saw that the very excess of his emotion was militating against him, by restoring us more to our old relations, he became still more demonstrative. I glanced at Van Helsing, and saw my conviction reflected in his eyes, so I became a little more fixed in my manner, if not more stern, and motioned to him that his efforts were unavailing. I had previously seen something of the same constantly growing excitement in him when he had to make some request of which at the time he had thought much, such for instance, as when he wanted a cat, and I was prepared to see the collapse into the same sullen acquiescence on this occasion. My expectation was not realized, for when he found that his appeal would not be successful, he got into quite a frantic condition. He threw himself on his knees, and held up his hands, wringing them in plaintive supplication, and poured forth a torrent of entreaty, with the tears rolling down his cheeks, and his whole face and form expressive of the deepest emotion. "Let me entreat you, Dr. Seward, oh, let me implore you, to let me out of this house at once. Send me away how you will and where you will, send keepers with me with whips and chains, let them take me in a strait waistcoat, manacled and leg-ironed, even to gaol, but let me go out of this. You don't know what you do by keeping me here. I am speaking from the depths of my heart, of my very soul. You don't know whom you wrong, or how, and I may not tell. Woe is me! I may not tell. By all you hold sacred, by all you hold dear, by your love that is lost, by your hope that lives, for the sake of the Almighty, take me out of this and save my soul from guilt! Can't you hear me, man? Can't you understand? Will you never learn? Don't you know that I am sane and earnest now, that I am no lunatic in a mad fit, but a sane man fighting for his soul? Oh, hear me! Hear me! Let me go, let me go, let me go!" I thought that the longer this went on the wilder he would get, and so would bring on a fit, so I took him by the hand and raised him up. "Come," I said sternly, "no more of this, we have had quite enough already. Get to your bed and try to behave more discreetly." He suddenly stopped and looked at me intently for several moments. Then, without a word, he rose and moving over, sat down on the side of the bed. The collapse had come, as on former occasions, just as I had expected. When I was leaving the room, last of our party, he said to me in a quiet, well-bred voice, "You will, I trust, Dr. Seward, do me the justice to bear in mind, later on, that I did what I could to convince you tonight."

[penny-dreadful-widow]

Let it end

Well, it’s the first time I’m writing something in English. I can read it and understand it very well, but I don’t write anything since High School (ages ago).

So, I wrote a fanfic a couple of years ago, but in Portuguese and now I’m translating it. If you’d like to read all the story in English let me know. I’ll post it somewhere. In Portuguese you can read it on Spirit (here’s the link: https://www.spiritfanfiction.com/historia/apos-a-escuridao-abencoada-7769252).

I still love Ethanessa and I think they deserved better. I couldn’t get over the end of 3rd season so I wrote another end.

Let me know if you like it.

  VANESSA: It hurts me more than I thought it would... seeing you.

ETHAN: You need to come with me...now.

VANESSA: And go where? They will hunt me to the end of days.

ETHAN: I can protect you

VANESSA: No, you can’t. No one can.

ETHAN: Then we’ll fight him.

VANESSA: It’s not him, it’s me. Look at me. This is what I am. And this is what I’ve done. Brought this terrible darkness to the world.

ETHAN: Vanessa. Please. Vanessa.

VANESSA: And where is she? When did we lose her, Ethan? She was standing in a quiet room, gazing upa t a cross. She reached out, took it from the wall... and put it in the fire. And then she was lost. And so alone.

ETHAN: You are not alone. You never were. I have stood at the very edge. I have looked into the abyss. If I’d taken one more step, I would have fallen. But no mare how far I ran away from God, he was still waiting ahead.

VANESSA: Not for me.

ETHAN: For us all.

VANESSA: My battle must end. You know that. Or there will never be peace on Earth. Let it end.

ETHAN: Don’t ask it.

VANESSA: I don’t have to. You know you have a destiny. It’s why we first met. It’s why you’re here now. You must help me defeat the forces of darkness and deny them their prize for all time.

ETHAN: No!

VANESSA: Please... Ethan. – sobbing softly. – Let it end.

ETHAN: With a kiss.

VANESSA: with a kiss.

ETHAN: with love.

VANESSA: with love. ETHAN: Our Father, who art in Heaven, Hallowed by thy name. The Kingdom come... Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses. As we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us no tinto temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the Kingdom, and the Power and the Glory, for ever and ever. Amen.

SWEET: You don’t mean anything to her anymore. Where’s your God now, Wolf?

ETHAN: Here.

Ethan turns and shoot against Dr. Sweet. A fatal shoot hits him in the heart and he falls.

SWEET: You can’t kill me. – he says gasping.

ETHAN: Maybe I can.

SWEET: I’ll be back. – says in a weak voice.

ETHAN: And I’ll be here.

Dr. Sweet dies. As soon as he takes the final breath all the creatures that are attacking Sir Malcolm, Catriona, Victor e Dr. Seward desappear. The darkness dissipates and Vanessa falls down.

Ethan holds her and carries her back to Sir Malcolm’s mansion.

They lay Vanessa on her bed, her vital signs are too weak. “Barely alive”, says Victor, in some kind of a deep coma.

SEWARD: After all she’s been through nor medicine, nor religion can explain. We shall wait.

ETHAN: How long?

VICTOR: We don’t know.

Etahn seats besides Vanessa’s bed and stand by her side all the time. While she’s unconscious he tells her all the adventures he lived in America. He talks about his father and about the apaches, he tells her his true history and secrets. He doesn’t know if she can hears him, but it keeps him calm.

The days go on and Vanessa remains unconscious, she doesn’t react to any external stimulus.

The full moon approaches. Ethan needs to be gone all night, even he doesn’t want to leave Vanessa.

Ethan goes to Sir Malcolm’s bedroom. Sir Malcolm is staring at a picture of his children, it’s another one, a new one, in this picture there are Mina, Peter and Vanessa.

ETHAN: Sir Malcolm, sorry to bother you, but I need a favor. I’m going out tonight, could you...

MALCOLM: Stay with her?

Ethan nods.

MALCOLM: Sure, she is my daughter now.

Ethan goes out for the night.

In Vanessa’s bedroom, Sir Malcolm hangs a new cross on the wall, in the same place she used to have one. He fluffes her pillow and start to walk around the bedroom. He finds out the box with all letters Vanessa wrote to Mina. He reads the recipient's name on the envelopes and strokes it gently.

Vanessa slowly open her eyes. Sir Malcolm approches the bed with tears in his eyes. She open her eyes and looks confused. He hugs her. “Thank God!”.

He touches her hair and look into her eyes.

VANESSA: Ethan?

MALCOLM: He needed to go out, but he’ll be back in the morning. – he takes a deep breath, controlling his emotions. – Do you mind if I leave you alone for a while? I’m going to get Victor.

Vanessa nods still confused.

A few moments later, Victor arrives to examine her. He checks her heart, her pulse and if she responds to visual commands.

VICTOR: Miss Ives, do you remember what happened?

VANESSA: I don’t know

VICTOR: What’s the last thing you remember?

VANESSA: I don’t know

VICTOR: Try to

VANESSA: I should be dead... Ethan... do you?

VICTOR: No. – he coughs – We just brought you home.

VANESSA: Dracula?

VICTOR: I think he won’t be a problem for a while, Miss Ives.

VANESSA: He will be back, you know... they always do.

VICTOR: I believe that at the moment, the best thing you should do is to rest, Miss Ives. We will discuss this with Sir Malcolm later. You just went through a deep trauma. Take a rest.

Victor leaves the room and let her alone to rest. She notices the new cross hanging on the wall and stares at ir for a while.

[see-arcane]

something tells me you have two immediate wants: write gothic romance, write a proper subversion of the reincarnation plot device. decide what you want first. if it's the romance pour it out on barking harker even if you're on completely different plothreads right now, but draft it. go ham. make jane austen blush make st.t gibson wish she were you. if it's the reincarnation aspect you desire most then work of the new project first.

The trouble is that so many of my Dracula-based ideas have very similar ingredients, but depending on the recipe (plot/emphasis), I get such extremely different results. But I still need those ingredients to make those stories work and trying to juggle them all risks me pulling a Stephen King and having too many lookalike tropes happening. Barking Harker has the benefit of being a story that's completely out of left field compared to any spinoff I've seen, with very few repeatable tropes in play for other stories I have in mind. It's safe! No copycat risk! (And, spoilers, while romance is 100% the impetus for Jonathan and Mina's predicaments, it's not the sole spotlight. It's very much Horror drama > Loving drama there.)

But for the gothic romance with Vampiric Jonathan and Reincarnated Mina, the prospect of the whole cast getting reincarnated out of guilt, and the meta commentary Dracula VS Dracula battle in modern day all require 'Jonathan Harker being the New Dracula' as their main foundation. Without that premise, no version of the story can happen.

No Mina 2.0 finding herself trapped and discovering impossible truths about her smitten host.

No reborn heroes wondering at why they all seem so familiar to each other, and why they're so uneasy about the white-haired stranger lurking in the shadows and paying them far too much attention. A stranger who is not a stranger, but a mastermind who has bided his time for a century to bring them back, to give them new lives in apology, to collect Mina for himself for eternity. And if they get in his way? Well. What's another hundred years if he's forced to make another red mess?

No epic ultimate confrontation between Classic Dracula, the Pop Cultural Protagonist Role Usurper, versus Jonathan the Dracula, proving he is the better character as a hero, as a lover, and as a monster, finally kicking the Count down a peg and permanently into Hell. All this, plus the added pleasure of justice for Lucy, Renfield, and Quincey and the rest of the cast, with Jonathan refusing to let Dracula sink his teeth into their lives again--resulting in his own comprehension and disgust with himself, alongside his redemption.

They all need Jonathan the Dracula, but they all need a slightly (if vitally!) different iteration of him. Which means I can't play all of them out. Not without repeating myself, but an inch to the left. And I will not Stephen King myself. Which brings me back to the three-way tie issue. 🙃

I think the safest bet is to start with the compact Jonathan and Mina in the Castle premise. It's shorter in theory, taking less time and energy to burn on it if it doesn't come out right. But B and C will still be gnawing at me all the while. So ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[swipestream]

A Vital, Overlooked Quality in Fantasy Games (Hint: It’s NOT Story)

As I mentioned in a previous article, Castlevania is my favorite game franchise, of which I’ve played almost every title.  Which one is my absolute favorite? Is it the fantastic Symphony of the Night? Or is it perhaps one of the later Metroidvanias that improved upon the formula, like the superb Portrait of Ruin?  Maybe it’s an old-school action platforming classic, like Castlevania III, Super Castlevania IV, or the Japan-only Rondo of Blood?  Could it possibly be the overlooked Genesis title, Bloodlines?  

While I loved all of those, many are shocked to learn my favorite is actually the first Castlevania 64.  Yes, the “clunky” early 3D action platformer with supposedly awful camera angles and awkward jumping.  I like the game on a purely mechanic level; I think it’s an outstanding early example of the genre, and I never understood the camera complaints considering that the beloved Super Mario 64, released a couple years earlier, was a thousand times worse in that regard.

Yet, what really makes the game special and stand out even compared to all the other outstanding games in the franchise?  It’s the immersion, a critical element often overlooked in the fantasy genre.

Immersion is very different than story, and isn’t benefited by the latter at all.  In fact, I daresay that if less attention was paid to story and more on immersion, fantasy games would generally improve.  CV64, for instance, has a typically forgettable, crappy story.  You play as either a Belmont descendant, oddly called Reinhardt Schneider, who goes forth and kills Dracula with a whip, or a Sypha Belnades descendant, oddly called Carrie Fernandez, who goes forth and kills Dracula…with glowing homing orbs.

However, none of this affected how vivid, exciting, and alive the world of the game felt.  How much I really felt like I was participating in an adventure, as opposed to amusing myself with a video game.

How did the game achieve such a singular feat?  It wasn’t the quality of the graphics.  The large, blocky 3D-models were very dated when I played the game in the late 2000’s, and weren’t impressive even when the game first came out in early 1999.  Graphics can help with immersion, but they’re not essential, which is one reason why examining older titles is particularly revealing.

Rather, it was the all the little details.  For instance, there is a charming villa in the game with splendid Gothic architecture, including a spiral staircase, chandeliers, and photos alongside tastefully done crimson walls.  Naturally, the path to this igoes along a charming garden, with lush greens, gorgeous gates and imposing mythological statues.  Inside, at the center of the villa is a fountain with a beautiful circular design, and its own small rose garden. That none of this was crisply animated was immaterial.  My own imagination filled in the gaps.

All these nuances, one on top of the other, gradually immersed me into the world of the game.

And these details meshed seamlessly with the action itself.  None of the stages felt like stages for their own sake, a major difference with the CV 64 re-make/sequel that came out a year later in 2000, Castlevania 64: Legacy of Darkness, that I didn’t care nearly as much for.  For instance, those mythological statues turn into Cerberus that attack the player.  One’s first sight of the glorious villa and the staircase also has one discovering a vampire climbing the ceiling, the first in the game.  And that odd circular room with the rose garden is where one finds the vampire character Rosa, important to the later story and endings.

This all culminates with the game’s final phase, where one climbs up a series of seemingly never-ending steps into the clouds themselves, with stirring, Gregorian chant-inspired music thundering in the background.  I can’t think of any other time in a video game where I have been so awestruck and excited at the tremendous adventure and battle I was about to encounter.  All this, in a game with skeletons on motorcycles in the 1800s and fetch quests!

Of course, there are other ways to achieve immersion, and it need not even be a 3D game.  Possibly my favorite game ever is Demon’s Crest for the Super Nintendo.  One plays as Firebrand/Red Arremer, originally an enemy from Ghosts N’ Goblins, fighting other demons and monstrosities to obtain powerful crests, each of which changes the character into a different form and has other mechanical effects.

The game has nice details, but nothing exceptional.  And yet, through a combination of its music, visuals, and the stages themselves, one eventually becomes immersed in this dark demon world.  One of the most memorable moments is the player’s hauntingly lonely passage through the overall map, flying through what looks like a dead, mostly deserted world, with only powerful evil populating it in hidden strongholds.  The player feels all alone, with only stirring sadness to accompany him.

The wide variety of rich, lush mythological monsters helps, too.

The very first screen of the game has one taking on an enormous skeleton dragon which is too gigantic to be displayed in full.  This is the type of monster one might expect to encounter as a final boss of the game, but here, it’s the first enemy of any kind.  He is relatively easy to defeat, but successive enemies become harder and harder.  Thus, the difficulty is immersive, as how late in the game a boss is actually IS a sign of how challenging he is.

Not bad for the game’s first enemy!

This is perfectly illustrated with the secret, hidden final boss of the game, the Dark Demon.  Ordinarily, there are 3 endings in the game; one bad, one middling, and the final, true, good ending.  However, after the latter, if one waits on the final screen, a secret code will reveal itself.  Entering it will allow the player to face one of the most gorgeously evil, well-designed bosses I’ve ever seen in a 2D game to this day.  And his awesome look goes hand-in-hand with his brutal difficulty, complex phases, and varied attack patterns, beating down the player again and again.

Demon’s Crest managed to create deep immersion in the most unlikely genre, 2D action-adventure, turning what was an excellent game into a masterpiece.

Fantasy is a staple genre of video games, and lends itself particularly well to the medium.  Rather than focusing so heavily on story, which either suck or are still inferior to a generic 1970’s paperback fantasy title, designers should focus on an element unique to games.  Namely, the possibility of immersing the player through a combination of visuals, music, and the mechanics themselves.

A Vital, Overlooked Quality in Fantasy Games (Hint: It’s NOT Story) published first on https://medium.com/@ReloadedPCGames