Herbert Papillon was a french man unlike any other with a taste in macabre that very few could understand. He was not flamboyant, charismatic or handsome but he was incredibly loyal and although it didn't seem so, his heart was in the right place.
Papillon was the one that Mrs. Eastorwine approached in regard to a possible wedding between his master and her daughter. His answer arrived a few days later and it was a favourable one for both of them. You see, what Papillon wanted was a woman that was not really a woman; a person mature enough not to search for love from his master or have any kind of pretensions and Helena proved to be perfect. She was independent in every way: socially, emotionally and monetarily, and he was happy with her ignorance towards the Lair. As long as she posed as Mrs. Greyheart in social gatherings, she could be whoever she wanted inside the Lair. And yet, Papillon never took in consideration that Helena was a young woman and the outside world could affect her physically if not emotionally.
"What happened?" asked Erika as soon as she walked downstairs and saw Papillon holding the body of Mrs. Greyheart in his arms.
"Go and prepare a bowl of cold water and bring it in Mrs. Greyheart's room." he ordered, passing her up to the first floor.
The servant girl couldn't move at first. She couldn't shrug the image that she saw; such a fiery and proud woman as Helena, a woman that not once has shown any sign of weakness was barely breathing in Papillon's cold hands.
"Quickly, Erika!" The butler shouted seeing how he was halfway to the room and the servant girl was in the same spot.
All he could think of was his own naivety. How could he not have thought she would want to leave earlier? How could he not tell Frantz to keep an eye on her? It was frustrating and it was his fault.
Helena was a lot lighter than he expected, her dress was thoroughly torn and he could only guess what happened. He barged inside her room and placed her gently on the bed. One artificial look at her overall aspect and he shivered in anger.
"Here's the water! I brought some towels and- oh my God," Erika's expression contorted into a horrid frown. "Poor thing, it looks like she didn't stand a chance in front of those dogs."
Her dark hair was sticky and her face was smudged with tears and blood. The same red substance was found all over the remnants of her dress and her hands looked like they have been drenched in the red liquid. She had scratches all over her chest, her wrists and her legs but the most horrible sight was the one Papillon did not want to see.
"Clean her up softly. I'll prepare her a bath." he whispered, retreating before he had the chance to see the real wound.
Erika sighed and drenched a towel in the cold water before starting to clean Helena. Once she got to the inner parts, her eyes widened at how swollen it was. It looked like someone plunged a thick iron bar through. It was dirty and messy and the bud was in such a state that Erika was amazed how Mrs. Greyheart could still move enough to get home.
When the servant girl applied pressure on the bud, Helena's legs jolted but she didn't open her eyes. Erika continued with slow and careful rubs and when she finished she was sure to take out a special German ointment that she brought with her from her last visit to her mother. Once that was done, she took a few steps back and sighed pitifully.
"A week only and being Mrs. Greyheart already proves to be a curse." She mumbled to herself and left.
Far from the maddening crowd, from lively interactions and petty disputes, in a land across the continent that was still a mystery for most of the British high society, was a castle. Bran Castle in Transylvania was famous even at that time because of all the rumours that surrounded it. The legend said that an immortal lived in those lands, one that could mesmerize the youth into following him in his quest for darkness. If anyone dared to defy him, he would bite them thus sentencing them to a slow and painful death.
"They say it's only one and my daughter's been bitten by something when she was here last month." A foreign gentleman started the discussion as soon as he sat down.
The pub itself was rustic but very well maintained although it smelled rotten. There were very few people inside, all locals from what he could hear. They all spoke Romanian to each other and he couldn't understand one word so he hoped he could find someone to answer to his questions in English if not his mother language.
"You're not from around here, are you? Curious to find if your daughter had met with the infamous son of Dracul?" The bartender asked with a laugh.
"There used to be somebody like that, a very long time ago, that survived because people let him alone. But it's been years since then and most of us believe he left." an old hag added eavesdropping into the conversation.
"Left? Not died?" the middle aged man asked curiously, his Italian accent slipping through his words.
"That cannot happen. He killed only those that asked for it and our country was safe thanks to him. He was truth to himself and to us and he never murdered aimlessly." The old hag answered having every man and woman in the pub nod along to her words.
"He kept us alive and in return, we kept him hidden." A woman whispered, her wide green eyes looking into the depths of the Italian's soul.
"But he was a monster. He lurked in the darkness and drank innocent blood."
"Nonsense." The bartender said with a huff. "He never bit anybody."
"It doesn't matter anymore. He left so you can go run back to your country and tell them whatever you want, bad or good. But the real Vlad is a hero to his people and will remain so." The old hag replied before she chugged down a glass of whisky.
The Italian gentleman sighed helplessly and took a long look at the people inside the pub. They shrugged him off in the same spontaneous manner as they paid him attention when he entered and none seemed to take him seriously. The door opened, letting the cold breeze slip inside the pub, and a ragged man in his 40's sat next to the Italian. He asked for a drink and the 'usual', which the bartender seemed to understand because he went through a back door in the search of the 'usual'.
"Ay, you're not from here." The rugged man said, tasting his drink before smelling it in an odd way. "Ce pocircă." he added, which was probably a comment about the liquor. "So, what brings you here? The legend?" the man added visibly mocking the foreigner.
"It seems people completely avoid talking about the legend. They say he left."
"He did. But that doesn't mean the rest followed him."
The Italian gentleman was shocked. He couldn't help but think about those words and analyze them over and over again in his mind. By the time he found his voice, the bartender returned and gave the man his package. The peculiar human being gave him a laugh and a pat on the shoulder and left.
"Who was that?"
"Oh. Him. Don't mind him, he's a lost cause."The bartender replied with nonchalance, and filled his glass.
Bran Castle was itself an imposing building with numerous halls and rooms and secret cellars that nobody knew where they led. This odd local man had the answers but he chose the path of a seclude life.
Heavy hog descended and the forest looked like the Centaur's labyrinth from the mythology. And yet the man continued on his path, not afraid by the sounds and cracks around him. No, those were not bothering him. As he approached his destination, he couldn't help but check if anybody had followed him. It was in his blood to be paranoid and that saved his life repeatedly. Smirking to himself at the loneliness he was surrounded by, he walked towards a head stone. It looked like somebody meticulously prepared this spot for when he was going to die but the headstone was empty, which meant nobody died yet. Even so, something was visibly scratched onto the white stone. The ragged man chuckled to himself at the scratches, which had dried blood all over and then he took the casket off and uncovered stairs that led in the hole. Once in, there were two tunnels dug, one on the left that led deeper into the forest and one on the right that led back to the castle. He chose the latter and walked for approximately half an hour before he came into this large cellar. There was no light coming through because there were no windows but he heard somebody breathing heavily.
"Got you dinner," he said and approached the spot where the noise was coming from. As he approached, he placed the package down and lit a candle. Light illuminated his face. "Oh, you're hungry, huh?"
Two bloody hands gripped the bars of a cell made of stone. His face was a mess and he couldn't even stand straight because of the beatings and torture he had gone through. His eyes were big and they were sparkling with raw emotions. The ragged man smiled contently and kicked the food into the cell.
"Come now, Toma. Eat."
Toma glanced at the food spread on the ground from the corner of his eye before he looked at his torturer with a blank expression.
"You're going to lose all your strength if you continue to disobey me. You'll become a corpse."
But Toma didn't say anything nor did he move.
"There was a guy in the city, asking about vampires. Well, Vlad to be exact. It proves that rumours have gone as far as crossing the boundaries of our country. Who would have known, huh? My father didn't expect it either or else he would have told the truth all these years ago, God bless his soul." He said and leaned in. "You only need to tell me where are the rest and I'll kill you like that," he said and snapped his finger. "Fast and painless."
"You will go to Hell." Toma said calmly.
The ragged man expressed his disapproval with a 'tsk' sound. He shook his head and sighed as if he was about to scold his son, only he didn't; he moved a bit to the left and took something that was hanging on the wall. Toma's eyes narrowed as he watched the man unlock the door to his cell and enter with a whip in his hand.
"You're barely holding on, boy. You should just spill the beans and everything will end."
Toma swallowed nervously as he took a few steps back. He didn't utter a word and only stared cautiously at his enemy. Those blue eyes brightened as in the darkness of his imprisonment he realized this was the one chance he has been praying for. He was in a very poor state but the adrenaline of the moment kept him on his feet.
"Come on, Toma. You know you want to die. You've been locked in here ever since I was a little boy. Vlad left you to rot so why not give me the location of the rest? They would have already. Vampires are not loyal."
"You're wrong." Toma whispered.
Those blue eyes turned completely red and he hissed, like a pissed off cat. Since he knew this was his only chance, he went with the flow of events. When the ragged man tried to whip him, Toma grabbed it and used it to throw the human against the wall with all the force he had left. Afterwards, he ran. His energy was close to nothing and he knew that if he couldn't make it up, he was going to die.
"Come back, Toma! There's no place for you out there!" he heard the man scream angrily after him. He could hear him following closely although his moves were chaotic. He probably hit his head when he fell against the wall and yet he could still stand and move.
"How can he be so persistent?" Toma asked himself, also stumbling through the tunnel.
He was almost at the hole when he had the urge to duck. The man was handling a gun, a problem he didn't even consider. The vampire used every bit of power in his legs to quicken his pace and he finally did it. He was going up the stairs and felt the wind on his face. Toma was out after years! He smiled to himself in joy when his feet felt the muddy ground of the forest. Unfortunately, while growing excited of his achievement, he ignored the sounds down in the tunnel. The man shot twice while being on the stairs which surprised the vampire. He caught one bullet and threw it back, hitting the man in his chest but the other hit him in the leg. It hurt but not as much as being tortured for more than ten years. And now...now Toma was free and he was going to follow the example of his master.
Water. Water usually wouldn't scare anybody, but bring a soothing feeling upon those that gaze at it. People need water in order to live and yet dozens die at sea. It's so odd how one element of nature can bring both salvation and disaster and instead of being wary, humans take it for granted. Humans always take everything for granted, especially life.
It is said that drowning is not painful, quite peaceful actually. As you float underwater, you know that death is near and yet it looks as if it calms you down and shows you that it is not as terrible as it sounds. The corners of your vision slowly blacken; your eyes aren’t burning anymore, and you feel more sleepy. You sink to the bottom, and you can feel every part of your body just flowing with the current.
"If you sleep, you die." Was the voice of her consciousness whispering to her, warning her of her fate. "Death only comes once."
"Not to me," she whispered.
A tremor from below alarmed her and the tranquility changed into pure fear. Suddenly, she was not drowning in the lake but in blood. It came in her mouth and in her eyes and all she could hear were groans and yells of men in pain.
A long black tentacle rose from the darkness below and grabbed her ankle. She squirmed and tried to reach the above, where light was still glimmering but the tentacle pulled her under.
Helena opened her eyes and gasped. She rose herself and realized she had slipped underwater for a few brief moments. She gasped for air and rubbed her face, her heartbeats still very low compared to a human being. She glanced around and sighed at the emptiness. After waking up, Papillon helped her into the bathtub and left her to relax, if that could even be possible. He was probably blaming himself for not acting properly, whatever that meant to him, and he was most definitely going to do it now. It was such a fuss and she was not searching for pity.
"Are you alright in there, miss?" she heard the servant ask in worry.
Helena looked down at her hands and chuckled. She rubbed her face once more and pulled her hair back. There was not an ounce of shame in what happened, not an ounce of self hatred or feeling dirty. She already took her revenge; she killed them in cold blood and she took care to cut everything that was important to men. She could even say that she was satisfied with it.
"Miss?" Erika persisted, opening the door enough to catch a glimpse of her mistress.
"You don't have to worry. I'm fine."
The answer did not seem to match the sight, at least not in Erika's eyes. The voice and tone were nonchalant but Helena's body was still tense, still in pain that seemed not to be acknowledged by its owner. Helena was trying to act like nothing happened and Erika could understand that.
"If you want something-anything- just call for me, alright?"
Helena nodded and turned her head to the servant. She placed one hand on the arm of the bathtub and leaned her chin on it.
"Alright."
Erika frowned. There was no real reason why, she just did. Those eyes she had seen a week ago were colder than the ones she saw just now and it sent a chill down her spine. The calmness around her was going to break as soon as Mr. Greyheart was going to arrive.
Once Erika left, Helena got up and walked to grab a towel off the countertop. Next to it was a mirror where you could see your entire form and unconsciously her eyes dropped to her lower region. Her hands covered her belly and caressed it gently before one hand dropped even lower. Her chin tensed as she remembered those brutes forcing themselves on her, using her for their sexual needs, not even bothering to ask if she was indeed a prostitute or she was just lost. And then her head raised and she looked into her own eyes. She would have expected to see two big blue eyes, radiant and defiant, but she could only see one blue eye. The other was covered in white fog, as if she were blind or she had drowned. She blinked several times for it to return to normal, just in time for her husband's arrival.233Please respect copyright.PENANAfJoL4TD2uR