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Tableau Mort Dracula
The tableau we made was ominous: five people, one dead and four in pain. Mihail sat quietly at the foot of his mother�s bed, his eyes wet with gathering tears that did not flow onto his face. He watched expectantly, waiting for her to awaken, yet conscious of her dire disapproval. He was as confused as he was devastated, silent questions filling his mind that he did not voice. The miniature corpse remained unburied in the courtyard; Mireille remained in her chamber. She had been there when I had returned to the castle in consternation, finding her the only one inside, confined to a sickbed. The breath left her body in one scandalized gasp as I shook her harshly by the shoulders. Her teeth clattered and her eyes widened in labored consciousness, flinching as I demanded severely, �Where is he?� �I do not know,� she murmured, her eyelids lowering. I shook her again. She shrank from me, fighting to form clear, concise phrases. �He�brought me something to drink.� �Foolish, ignorant girl,� I berated her. �The entire laudanum bottle disappears, and I find you half unconscious. Is this what I pay you so well for?� I knew perfectly well who the true thief was, who had administered enough of the liquid to render her useless, but the fact remained that he had fled on the darkest night of the year. Mireille was desparate to disagree, but her body would not obey her. She collapsed back on the bed, covering her face with her tiny hands and giving herself over to ragged, gasping sobs. I had no patience for her display; I forced her to sit upright, tearing her hands away from her face, making her look at me. Her inarticulate murmurs subsided; she was as anguished at Mihail�s disappearance as she was terrifed of my temper, but she faced me, governing her tremulous breathing. �Monsieur, I did not take it.� �You lie,� I said in disgust, releasing my hold on her. She pushed aside the sheets with more force than I thought her capable of, standing with unexpected command. �I would never lie to you,� she asserted, her voice strong and arresting. �Never!� Mihail stood up, breaking my reverie as he went to stand nearer Kelantha�s side. He knelt by the bed, leaning his head on her shoulder, chaffing her hand to revive her. I leaned forward, indifferently asking if he knew what night it was. He broke his childish devotion to peer at me curiously. �The thirty-first,� he answered in Romanian. �All Hallow�s Eve.� He maintained an innocent silence, turning back to gaze into his mother�s face. �She did not like the present. It frightened her.� Since the night of the fair, an unspoken understanding existed between us. We were equals, strangely, for in his way he understood, and he was conscious of this. I spread my hands out vaguely. �She did not expect it of you.� �Nor did he.� Mihail�s face clouded as he laughed. �He might have!� �Was he truly a present?� I asked him, intrigued by his sense of generosity but mindful of his deviant inclinations. He looked at me in surprise. �Of course�for Mama. It was to be a very grand secret, for she would never have thought me so clever.� Mihail�s eyes brightened at the prospect, delighted with the opportunity to flaunt his logic, a child enamored with his own reasoning. It was unraveling, piece by piece. I could only follow a thread. I thought again of the unease I had felt that night, the presentiment I had seen and heard. The night was still without quietude; the trees were bare and reached toward a barren sky, but faces of wood peered jeeringly from dim street lamps. The age-old tradition manifested itself in the visages, some blackened by death, others of demonic fury or animal likeness. One seemed the hound of hell, a three-headed dog that gazed in various directions. That was a new touch, despite the doubts that had always surrounded the meaner creatures of the earth. I gazed at the poor representation with mild amusement; it gazed back indignantly. It must have been then, I realized, that Mihail had secured his aptly named �present.� I looked at Kelantha and wondered what could have induced her to leave him alone; what could have affected her generally resolute nature. For a moment I could see her in the woods, lingering near the water, hearing the echo of a Voice � No, it was absurd. It was impossible for him. He was confined to his kingdom; he would never leave it in his true form; not since the abduction had such a thing occurred. He was restricted to other manifestations, to invitations and Circles that bound him, that limited his power. I looked at my young son, at the scene before me. One dead, four in pain. Not quite enough for a tableau vivant, by French standards, but enough for me to recognize that the impossible had cloaked itself in reality. This fan fiction is for enjoyment purposes only. You may not reproduce, duplicate, or otherwise quote the written text without written permission.
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