The light faded with the sun falling behind the western sky.  The winds were transferring the cool air across the desolate land, moving leaves along the rugged terrain that shaped the grounds on which it lay.  Tucked away in a nook on the side of the Southern Carpathian, also known as the Transylvanian Alps, was a castle built with dark stone.  They placed there it as if someone had carved the mountain halfway down with an ice cream scoop to place this oversized gloomy residence.  They made the castle’s walls from a dark stone, a shade lighter than obsidian.  Darkness came earlier in this blackened atmosphere than it did in the world surrounding this shadow-filled abyss.  The evening wind rustled the leaves with its mellow gusts.  It moved them along the ground, giving the earth’s floor motion.   The black-haired prince of darkness hardly took notice to the mellow air stream as he stood erect on his second-story balcony.  His shoulder-length locks lashed his sculptured face with feather-like force.  He drew in a deep breath to slow release.  “How could I do this?” He thought to himself.  Dracula was going over his course of actions he took last night.  He stood, still uncertain if he made the right choice.  He drew in another exaggerated breath, turned and walked through the double doors leading to the master suite.  The room had a warm glow to it, surprising considering the black-colored stone walls that surrounded the occupied space.  The room was immense.  They furnished it with mahogany dressers, chairs, nightstands, armoire, and tables.  Each handmade piece of furniture surrounded a king-size four-post bed.  Bold colors were rich, making them a contrast reflecting off each other, creating a strong and daring visual effect.  The white candles that lined the stone walls offset the wood furniture, flickering a soft glow bouncing through tiny bits of light.  Each white wax stick in contrast with the room and themselves cradled with silver fixtures.  There was a shelf built beside the dresser lined with small crystal bottles filled with oils and fragrant flower scents. The wash basin was clean crisp white porcelain.  There were a few standing pieces of art carved from ivory and stone.  The room was pure, a far cry from the curse that had just been bestowed upon the Count, his wife, and children.  His bargain with the Devil had given him eternity on this earth with the horrifying constant thirst for blood. Dracula walked over to the bed, gently pulling back the oversized comforter.  Underneath a small framed girl lay with hair the color of onyx, and skin the color of a porcelain doll.  The girl looked up at the dark prince and smiled.  The Count sat in bed beside the frail girl.  “Good morning, my love.  Ready to begin your journey in your new life?” The Count’s wife smiled, looked up at him, “What do you mean, my love?” The Count drew his wife close to him, whispering in her ear, “Linda, my love please forgive me.”