Mrs. Dracula.

Just something I am playing with.

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.

Author's Note

Honesty my darlings x

Reviews

[Jack Isaac]

Oh no! Not another vampire story! Well... okay this is an unusual take :) This write is chock full o' sensual imagery and this sentiment for the death of the undead is delightfully contradictory. I'm left somewhat confused about what actually killed (if that's the correct term) Dracula, though I sense that's yet another story. So, yes, even though this is a revamp on a vamp theme, I must say nicley written.

[Thomas Fitzgerald]

Thank you Jack!

[Who Cares]

This was a beautiful short story kinda Poe-ish I like how you wrote Mrs. Dracula compared to others re-writing of actual Dracula. It was creative and your word play was beautiful. "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." Beautiful imagery, the reader can definitly connect to this piece it is like watching a short film. Nice job :D

[Marie]

Beautiful and dark, this chilling tale...

[Raven Starhawk]

It took me a while to read but only because I had to make time to truly grasp its well toned craft that you so easily display here. I loved this story exactly.

[Neva Flores Smith - Cha..]

delicious Thomas........wish I could write stories.