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Fields of Thorns Dracula
She wove her way through the ivy-covered columns, miniature fields turned to silver in the moonlight. Bruised roses, bleached by the moon, scattered as ashes. I watched her play out her role, softly spoken offers intermingling with lavish smiles. Travesty and triumph combined in a single tryst. Thorns and flowers, moonlight and ashes. The sound of her laughter echoed lightly, prompting a responsive smile in turn. It was deceptive, that rare laugh, yet how much more welcomed? Sheer curiosity held me to my perch on the roof as I observed, strangely fascinated with the scene that resembled so many others. It was a sham, a very prettily executed farce, a blend of seamless tones and flawless gestures intended to captivate. There was a difference in the subtlest of movements, a sincerity in the deceit. She was thriving off of the enraptured responses he readily supplied her with, using them to fortify the web she increasingly spun about him. She was radiant with the success of her carefully calculated plans. His fate was fastened with all possible deliberation, and she flourished. A wordless bargain sealed us: I, who knew her motives and limitations, had arrangements to make, my own adieux to finalize. The view of the city stretched before me, but I preferred to be in it, and left the rooftop for the winding streets. It had changed her, this city of her birth. Its familiarity, its unchanged scenes had made her reluctant to return, but she complied with my insistence. It had granted her nothing�nothing but the incentive to exceed her potential, to completed assertion. A child of gleam bathed in twilight. A light of the dawn marked by midnight�s kiss. She was entirely lost to past remnants but inextricably bound to the rising future. For I could know her only in winter, and now, at last, the capture of summer�s daughter was complete. She
emerged then, leaving the shadows and pausing, certain that I would come
to her. No words passed
between us, nothing to interrupt the nocturnal rhythm of the city.
Her stride matched mine effortlessly as we walked, neither of us
truly leading, two immortals who anticipated each other�s thoughts and
intent too well, a symmetry that was both natural and immaculate.
There were none of the emotional displays she had used so
skillfully earlier, yet in her own confidence, she was contented.
I could sense it, an ease and comfort that made words unnecessary.
It was a gradually deepening revelation that left me with a greater
sense of tranquility than I had known in quite some time. And
then it came, the Voice of interruption that begrudged me even that. Happy?
Why should you be happy? What
gives you the right? I
fought for her, I found
myself replying. I have
bonded her. Any happiness I
have, I won with my own hands. You
risk her hatred. I
need her, I said simply,
almost petulantly. More
than anyone else is capable of having need of her.
She has no right to resent me. Not
a very generous attitude. I
doubt either of us is to be commended for generosity. Kelantha
moved away from me in that moment, smoothly approaching the orphan with
her pitiful box of matches, placing the wares on the street corner calmly.
Not once did she look away, nor did she miss a single beat as she
used the same care and precision to dip the child slightly back, stroking
her hair just before she drove her teeth into the small, olive-toned neck.
You are equally capable of destroying that happiness, the Voice returned. You will tear it to pieces with your own hands.
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