The Countess' Reflection

Kelantha's Diary

His words imbibed my soul with both empathy and loathing, for in a single reprisal I�d glimpsed the very best and worst nature of Dracula: his murderous intentions, his loathing for the cross, the dark secret concealed in his breast, that he�d been banished from goodness and light, condemned by Rome to dwell an eternity in darkness. To my Catholic soul it was incomprehensible, but deep within I found stirrings of pride, for it was to this legendary force I was bound. I had come into submission, bearing my own legacy of blood, and now was ensnared eternally in the damning cycle of retribution. We were creatures of the night, he and I. He born and I bitten, transformed into lore of which only the superstitious spoke, eternally divided from the heavens and all that reigned above.

The many pages were carefully read and placed in my wooden box, that which had formerly held the scribes of my mother. Diligent passages of scripture were torn into shreds and cast into the fire as I locked away the history of my heart�s desire. I knew he awaited a response but could not rise from the fireside, gripping the nearest chair in pallid fingers. I was weak, for I had not yet fed, but I had no desire to emerge into the starlight. I stared into the golden tongues of fire senseless of time or account, only stirring when his voice filtered through the shadows behind me. He�d come on silent feet, passing through the empty halls and into my room like a vapor of mist. �The lady disapproves of my embittered tale,� he surmised, his voice toneless and without condemnation. It was acceptance in the face of opposition, a knowing candor that fully understood our bond. Loathe or love him, I had no choice but to remain at his side, a reluctant bride slowly becoming accustomed to a bitter, harsh reality.

I turned to appraise him, finding he moved with subtle grace. I�d always been in awe of his languid stride and cat like movements, but only now realized their subtly. It was the stride of a vampyre, the sweet seduction of a figment of darkness accustomed to having his way. I was drawn to him as a moth to a lantern, unmoving as he came to the chair nearest me and sank into it. �Not disapproving,� said I, �but curious. If you have lived these many ages alone, why have you not sought companionship until now? How has the world not known of you, beyond the four walls of this castle of stone, and the terrified villagers below?�

�The strongest force lies in secrecy. I have not desired companionship until now, for I found one who shares my ambition for knowledge.� His hand caressed the side of my face, the coldness of our skin melting together in rhythm. �Only once in a century does opportunity present itself. I am fortunate that a cold wind brought you from London, and the promise of reward allowed you to remain.� He leaned toward me, enveloping me with his scent, of earth and death and all that is wonderful in morbid twilight, and I hesitated with my lips a breath from his. I longed for his caress but stifled it, my desire to know too great for impulse.

�Are there others, Dracula, or are we entirely alone in the world?�

�There is solitude in the mountains of Transylvania,� said he, �for you and I are the last to dwell in these fair mountains, but beyond the sea are others. They conceal in shadow and use frivolity and impulse as their sheltering cloak. They dwell in Budapest, Paris, and Spain. You may have passed them in the streets unknowingly when twilight falls and the moon is full, as a child or a woman grown, yet they never touched you.� His hand was caressing my dark locks now, his eyes alive and deep. I might have become lost in them easily. �They knew you were meant for greatness,� he whispered. �For one day, ours will be the race that rules empires, and you shall be my queen.�

I did not know the depth of his meaning then, only that my will was torn between ambition and desire. Darkness welcomed us as eagerly as a child embraces its mother�s parting caress and I learned much of the ways of Dracula in the times that followed. Change did not overcome me all at once, but issued forth like a whisper from the north, borne of bitter cold with winter�s first breath. My hands, worn with toil and task, softened and grew radiant nails all too eager to rake forth blood when enraged but gentle enough to lend womanly distinction to my actions. Dracula was proud of me, for all too soon I undertook the wiles that vampiric charm presented. I did not need his companionship to hunt, and approached my victims in an entirely different means from his subtlety. Throughout the territories it became known to stay weary of a beautiful woman on the high road in darkness. I would lure them with charm and mystery, making them think me a ghost borne of mist and chill. They felt no pain and I did not over-indulge, allowing them to live to return home and speak faintly of powerful radiance that had drained them of all natural light. Doctors suspected and men spoke of delirium, but there was no evidence beyond two delicate pinpricks on their soft skin. To most I was a figment of their blackest imagination, and to Dracula I was his pride.

With explorations in my newfound powers I�d given very little thought to what I�d lost and the world left behind. Ages might have passed that were in reality only a few days, and one night as I reposed on the divan sleepy after satisfying my thirst, he came to me bearing quill and parchment. �You are weeks overdue in London,� said he, �and their concern for you will have mounted. You must write all, my dear, and set their fears to rest.�

Drowsily my thoughts turned to those in the past, faces I�d endured scorn from throughout my studies. Deep in the most innermost corners of my mind dwelled my family, who would have to be placated with time. Resentment began to dwell in my breast and I took the paper unhappily, noting how frail it seemed when held against my palm. I could see the silhouette of my hand through it, and every word would be displayed for the world to see. The envelope was equally thin and I looked at my companion calculatingly, wondering at his intentions. He kept eye contact as he sank into a chair nearby and crossed his legs, allowing his head to drift listlessly back against the rest. �You are cunning,� he said in response to my unasked inquiry; �you will come up with a satisfactory explanation.�

That I did, and with much vigor. I wrote to my professors in London, stating that I�d taken to study abroad and would not be returning. I asked that my trunks be forwarded to the station indicated under my surname. I then turned to the task of writing my parents and here hesitated. I remembered my mother�s religious inclinations and the wishes she would undoubtedly bestow, the caution sent if I followed a similar course of explanation. It would not do well to conceal truth from her, yet I could not tell all. I frankly wrote that I�d been studying abroad and married a foreigner, an older man with wealth and distinction but a quiet temperament. We now lived remotely in Transylvania and were in want of nothing. I knew it would both vex my mother and please her, for throughout my childhood I�d railed against the evils of men. To have her daughter now wed would console ruffled feathers, but to know I�d gone against her in making such a decision would also enrage her.

Without allowing the count to read what I�d written, I folded the letter, marked the envelope, and gave it to him. He glanced down at the thin parchment and smiled. He left me then, falling out into the blackness beyond the windowpane, no doubt to impress the letter upon his band of gypsies. I was left alone in the house and restlessly wandered, following the passages that days before had been flooded with sunlight whenever I traversed them. Now shadows ebbed heavily across my path and assurance was in my stride. I laid hold of a familiar pair of handles and found myself in the hall of mirrors. The stretched lonely on either side, reflecting endlessly gold adornments and scarlet draperies, bathed in moonlight from the skylight above. I stepped onto the marble tile and walked forth, hearing only the sound of my faint footsteps. I surveyed the mirror and all that lay beyond.

It was a full instant before I realized that I carried no reflection, that the glass looked through me as if I were nothing, an unseen ghost on the wind. Disbelief written into every movement, I stretched my hand forward. It met the smooth polished surface, but no corresponding glimmer appeared to indicate my presence. I could not see my angular features, the shapely form, the long dark hair falling below my shoulders, the penetrating gaze of my eyes. I did not exist. The room was empty behind me. It was peculiar and terrifying all at once. My hand lingered on the glass, searching in vain for reality. It did not exist. I was a figment of imaginary realism, not hampered by time or mortality.

For the sake of immortality I had sacrificed eternally the pleasure of observing my own face, for it would not appear in the rippling stream nor the polish of a silver pitcher. It was as if I�d died and not entered into eternity, but was a vapor caught between two worlds, neither living nor dead. I felt a deathly cold enter into me, flowing through the blood coursing in my veins. This was why I�d never seen him approaching behind me, why he dared not enter this room in my presence. I would have never known had I not stumbled into the room wreathed in silver mist. My head dropped against the glass, the palm of my hand creating a layer of steam on the flat surface.

His reflection did not come to the mirror, but his hand fell on my shoulder and turned me to face him.

�What have you made of me?� I asked again, shaken after those many months of surreal normality. �What hellish fate shall I suffer, not to see my own reflection?�

�Mirrors are deceptive things,� said Dracula, taking up my hand and caressing its perfection. �They show only humanity, the palest glimpse of mortality. Those who are immortal have no reflection, for they neither need nor desire it. You are far more beautiful than you ever were in life, and will only become more so with the passing of time. Do not lament its loss, dearest Kelantha, for in subjecting pride you have earned higher powers. Come, and we shall rule the world together.�

He stepped forth into the mist and shadows and held out his hand, unfurling his fingers delicately in an unspoken invitation. My eyes never left his as I accepted, and was drawn with him into eternity.

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