There was nothing I could do, standing there in that
unmarked crypt, blood ruby and gold burned against the delicate finger once
kept for a love unknown. A dark priest, although at the time I didn’t know he
was merely a slave to my husband, smirked as he said she does.
I wept for what felt like centuries, but was mere decades in
this now lifeless body. Tears that never stained the fine cloths of my gowns,
cries never heard by his deaf ears, not man but demon, this Dracula, this
nightmare, this forced love of mine.
One night, pick any night, there are all the same I stare
after him. Blood runs cold between my now weak and torn thighs. You see making
love to a demon is not a thing of pleasure. His power must be doled out at all
given chances. Slithering between my legs, he kisses me hard against my blue
lips. His touch and torment I've grown accustomed to over the millennia,
however it's his whispered words that leave fresh marks against my stolen soul.
"My Catherine, my love, my wife. You know I feel your
pain a fresh each time I come to you, I can't be without your green eyes, the
scream the words you won’t say, they are your tell my sweet w***e, you loathe
me. I rip you from your mothers’ breast and married you, a mere slip of a girl
of all your 14 years, now hundreds, but are you not grateful I left you to a
woman’s body and then sealed within this gaol of flesh. Your beauty will never
know the disease of age, you breast still plump for my teeth, and ah, no seed
will ever power your womb to give life. You are mine, forever; remember it’s
the love I have for you that keeps your weak spirit tied forever to me, Mrs
Dracula"
Leaving me, bleeding and broke once again, he screamed in
laughter as he flew to his next meal, more than likely a substitute for the
Catherine he once knew, a warm Catherine, a Catherine that coward against his
evil.
This gaol however, is not without escape, as my Mother once
told me, men are stupid creature, driven by desire - give them nothing of your
soul. I smiled for the first time in years, that funny little thought; Dracula
- The widow - wood released me from my torment, simple oak! My only regret in
my action would be his face, the grimace as he fished that blood ruby and gold
ring from the ashes of his teenage bride.
One always hears that our life’s pass before our eyes, I was
soon to know that the same is for the already dead. The newly sharp bed post
pierced my breast bone and made haste for my willing heart, when time suddenly
had meaning again, and stopped for the dead to ponder.
My mind, as tortured as it was laid heavy on a century
before, when Wilde laid with Boise. Memory fails details, but in that one
moment of clarity, I remember that sweet girl. My dear husband had pulled her
from the nunnery and made her mad with demonic vision. He had her chained in
our dining room, yes; even creatures such as us must keep pretence.
Her naked body, all eighteen years of hit hung heavy against
the steel shackles. Perfectly, if not tainted a little with sweat and fear,
blonde hair, in the fashion of the day but begging to leave her clips. Milky
skin clung to that liquid fire that lay beneath �" purples and greens, reds and
pinks and number of veins for the taking. N****e s hardened by the cold, in his
mind of course it was for yearning of his throbbing body, but I knew better. I
refused to take part in his kills, the one luxury he afforded me, however
flaunting this delectable meal; I savoured her scent in the air.
I needed to taste, just taste �" my lips searched her with
urgency, her breath like some fantastic farm animal, I could take no longer.
Laying my ice hands against her collar I lapped at the untainted skin of her
neck, then pain followed. His nails dug into the back of my head, the felt like
nails dragging against cotton, flying against the fire, not lit, I looked into
her eyes as he danced around our coffins. “Not for you my sweet Catherine, Not
for you!”
The point pieced the black flesh that never beat beneath my
bosom, will he laugh at the ashes now staining his bed.
Watching him gave me the ultimate high, the blood that
flowed truly was for me, albeit the ash that displayed my form perfectly. The
oak of the frame held him against his own weight. The mistress he used for an
age now gone.
The peace that now filled my mind was only sweetened by his
pink stained cheeks, the first colour I've ever noticed on his icy expression.
If anybody was watching this scene, would presume he loved the wretched
creature he created.
Good-bye my sweet prince, spend your years alone, your Mrs
Dracula.
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