Dracula's Night Alone

I mainly wrote this piece to enter an interesting competition I came across. This piece displays what I, myself, think Dracula would do on a quiet evening.

He sat there. Alone. Silent. In the plush, old chair. His black silk cape hung over the crimson red back of the chair. Red was one of Dracula's favourite colours. His cold, empty eyes stared blankly into the roaring fire set infront of him, in it's brick work place. The gold carriage clock on top of the mantle piece ticked and tocked, as the rest of the large, dim room was under a shrowd of silence. Midnight. Dracula stood up.

   The quiet vampire glided effortlessly towards the grand wooden doors of the room. His icy white hand fell gently onto the silver handle, and pushed open a gap just wide enough for his slender frame to slip through. He kept walking down the long, elegant hall. Large, elaborate portaits of various women hung either side along the grey walls. These were the shortlived mistresses of the Count, himself. Beautiful, slim, lusty women, who stupidly fell for the dark haired, pale, never-aging rich man.

   Just before Dracula turned the corner, he stopped. Stared. Admired. He was looking at one, long painting, a full length portrait of a young woman with ebony black hair falling gently over her bare shoulders, with grassy green eyes that would remind one of a lush meadow in the Summer, staring out, happily, at her admirer, with plush red lips smiling beneath them. She was wearing a long, lace night gown, that complimented certain features excellently. She was utterly beautiful, and she was truly loved by the Count. But perlonged hunger had ended her life, many years ago, and Dracula would never forgive himself.

   He eventually pulled his eyes away from the painting and took the awaiting corner. He waltzed into a room at the very end of the corridor. He shut the heavy door behind him and made his way through the room, that seemed relatively untouched for years, to some elegant french doors that opened out onto a balcony. For a vampire, the man sure had a lot of thoughts to think, and one certain regret to never let go of. He thought of Francesca. He thought of the short amount of time they spent together. He thought of her touch, her warm skin slightly heating his own as they embraced. She caused something to happen that no one thought possible. She caused a vampire to love.

   So, why is she dead? Why has her portrait been added to the sadistic wall of deceased mistresses? Dracula tried his best. He tried not to feast. He tried to care, to protect, to treasure... but the forces of reality were too strong. How could a hungry vampire live with young blood circulating through the veins of a stunningly attractive woman in his midst? It was all too much, and he remembered that night all too well. When he let her fall asleep with the white cotton sheets of their bed wrapped around her nude body. When he tried to lie next to her and watch her sleep peacefully, observe the movements of her body that came with her gentle breathing....

 

And when the fire roared in his eyes and his hands dug into her skin, grasping her tightly as his sharp fangs sunk into her lucious neck with ease.

 

   The white sheets turned his favourite colour, and once there were no further movements to observe, no further breaths to listen to, regret rushed through his dead veins. There was nothing more to do but dispose of her still beautiful, ravaged body, and forget. But has still never managed to do the latter.

   Every night, when the gold carriage clock in the grand 'living' room strikes 12, and there are no footsteps to be heard in the castle, bar Dracula's, he made his way to their room, and he stood out on that balcony, and pined for Francesa.

 

The woman who changed everything.

Author's Note

All feedback is greatly appreciated, and feel free to point out any spelling or grammar mistakes, thank you! ^_^

Reviews

[Sasha]

Very interesting story. I love this line "His icy white hand fell gently onto the silver handle, and pushed open a gap just wide enough for his slender frame to slip through. "

I could totally see Dracula walking out of the room. Nice descriptions. Very well written. Makes me think of Edgar Allan Poe when I read this. :D

[DarkRainbowPie]

Wow, thanks for the great review, really, means a lot :D Glad you enjoyed it ^_^

[seath]

makes me wonder if there'd be someone who's going to come for the anti-hero.
setting the mood of the story was smoothly done through vivid images.....a sequel for this or perhaps a prequel would be equally interesting for the eyes again.

[DarkRainbowPie]

Thanks very much ^_^ May consider writing a sequel then :)

[seath]

are you a gothic artist? i find the first few lines of your writing interesting...i think i would relish the beams of darkness in your work

[DarkRainbowPie]

Well I usually write stories with a dark theme, anyways. :)

[The Nude Writer]

I think this is really well written. :) never really thought of it from this angle.

[DarkRainbowPie]

Thank you :) Yeah, I dunno, I'd like to think more of the old count than just as a regular old vampire :')