Dracula's Mistress Prologue

Part One

I remember exactly when I was changed…when, and why.

I was born in 1867 in London, England. I was a strong woman with an iron will even as a child. Be this as it may, being such an independent woman, I hated being forced into the fragile, delicate role that the Victorian society pushed me into. So I rebelled. In every way I could I undermined society. I wore my hair long and wild instead of pulled back in the conservative fashion, I wore dark and intimidating colors instead of fresh, light and happy shades, I refused to use a fan, I vehemently spurned the feminine arts, picking and choosing what I would learn and utilize.
And I rebelled in another way. I became obsessed with the Night, her dark wonders and her beautiful children.
As a child, I had always dreamed of vampires. They haunted my daytime thoughts and glowed in my nighttime fantasies. Their dark beauty and seductive grace entranced me, ensnared me, and inspired me. I wrote stories, poured out my desire in poems, read all I could about the creatures. I researched vampires, the legend of vampires, vampires in literature and the media.
I loved every vampire I read about, every vampire I researched, but one and only one truly intoxicated me. Count Dracula, from Bram Stoker's classic novel. The original, true master of darkness, the classic vampire. Of all the creatures of the night that haunted me, he haunted me the most.
Every story I wrote, he was there, every poem I composed was about him. When I drew, I drew him; he appeared as doodles in the margins of my diary entries. I dreamed about him, thought about him, hoped for him, longed for the knowledge that he was real.
Once, and only once did I make the mistake of telling another mortal about my love for the Count. She was my best friend, we were closer than sisters and she laughed in my face. She told me, 'Count Dracula? He is a book character, Abigail, he's not real!' 'How can you love something that does not exist?' 'Grow up! Vampires aren't real!' 'How can you love someone who's not real?' 'You are so naive, Abby! You always have your head in the clouds! You will never change will you?' Then she turned her back on me and walked away.
I was brokenhearted. I had told her my secret, my one passion, and she had laughed at me! Spurned me and stabbed me, she crushed my dreams, then walked away. Oh, I found more friends, plenty more, but I never made the mistake of confessing to my love again.
As I grew, I changed. I matured and grew into myself. I moved on to other things, other people, but I never forgot Count Dracula. He still haunted me. But, I had come to terms with the fact that he was a literature character, and didn't exist.
Or so I thought.
One night, I was sitting in my room, writing as usual when I heard a slight tap on my window. I ignored it thinking that it was one of my many admirers, who never left me alone, no matter how many times I had told them that I did not love any of them. But when the tapping continued I grew angry. I stood up and crossed to the window and threw open the sash. The wind howled into my room, whirling around the small chamber and whipping my hair around my face. The night was cold, dark and empty. There was no one outside my window. My eyes narrowed as I closed the window and turned back to my desk.
The only light on was the small lamp on my desk, the rest of my room was filled with bold, dark shadows. Irritated, I sat back down and picked up my pen. I began reading over what I had written, trying to get my train of thought back. I set my pen to the paper and was just about to write, when a honeyed voice spoke, "My, my, up a tad late aren't we?" I gasped and the pen fell from my fingers. I looked up into the mirror that hung over my desk. My room was empty.
Unnerved, I closed my notebook and stood up, only to feel a slight pressure on my shoulder. I looked down and a white hand was there. Once more, I looked in the mirror. I was alone.
"Please, do not me alarmed." The voice spoke again and I whipped around. "Allow me to introduce myself," The man in the shadows said, "I am Count Vladislaus Dragulia, born 1422, murdered 1462." He stepped out of the shadows and bowed to me.
It was him.
The best example I have found of Count Dracula in the hundred years I have been alive is the Dracula "created" by Stephen Sommers' movie Van Helsing. With his gold embroidered black coat and the signature strands of hair hanging in his face, those deep eyes and the ponytail held in place by the silver hairclip, it was really him.
"Count Dracula." I breathed, my eyes wide, breathless. He smiled, "You know me." His Transylvanian accent transformed his words into a sensual purr. "How could I not?" I murmured, backing away slightly. "No," he said, his face twisted in pain, "Please, do not fear me! Everybody else fears me. Not you." "No," I said, stepping closer, "Not me."
Some small part of me was frantic, screaming that this was not right, this could not be happening, but a larger part of me was content. I had been right, he did exist. I entwined my fingers in his and breathed, "How could I fear you?" I pressed closer to my beloved, my eyes half closed in joy at being this close to him. "I love you." His blue eyes were hypnotic, I couldn't tear myself away.
"I want you," He murmured, his cold hands pulling me closer, "I don't even know your name, but I want you." I smiled against his shoulder and pulled his face closer to mine, nuzzling his cheek slightly. He turned his face to kiss me, but I pulled away. "Do you know who I am?" I asked, turning away from him. "I don't know who you are, but I was lead here for a reason. I want you as a Bride." I laughed quietly, then turned to face him. The moon shone through the window to illuminate part of the room, in fact, the part of the room where I was standing. My naturally pale skin glowed and shimmered in the moonlight. I stared at the two points of shining blue light in the shadows that were his beautiful eyes.
"My name is Abigail Gray. I am eighteen years old." I pulled my silk robe closer around my body, my dark hair brushing my bare shoulders, "I am oppressed and commanded to be the frail, dainty woman of the times that I am not. No, I am not!" My head held high, I glared defiantly back at him, my voice rising slowly but surely, "I cannot be what I want to become! I am being told what I can eat, how I must look and whom I can be seen with! It makes me sick! I want to be in control of myself! I refuse to be told what to do!" My voice had risen to a shout and the door to my room burst open. "Abigail!" Thomas, my guardian, burst in looking suspiciously around my room. "Are you alright? I heard you scream." "No Thomas," I replied coldly, my eyes hard as ice. "I did not scream, I was merely reading aloud one of the numerous plays which you have so…thoughtfully provided me." "Ah, I see." Thomas smiled at me and I forced myself to smile back. "Very well, if you need anything, anything at all, please do not hesitate to call me. I wouldn't want my delicate flower of a daughter over exerting herself." I smiled again as he kissed me on the forehead, but I could feel that the smile did not reach my icy eyes.
Thomas closed the door gently behind him and the smile immediately slid from my face to be replaced by a stormy countenance. I turned back to face my beloved Count and gasped, he was much much closer than he had been. In fact he left barely a centimeter between us.
Regaining my composure, I looked up at his lovely pale face and whispered, "Don't you see? Do you understand how trapped I feel?" "Yes." He breathed, grasping my arms with his cold hands, "I understand exactly how you feel." He turned away from me and swept around my room as he spoke. "I know how you feel because that is how I felt also. While I lived, I was caged and yearned for my freedom as well." He turned to face me suddenly, "But when I was granted a new life, I was given my wings as well. Now I can fly anywhere and my freedom is never challenged." He slunk closer to me, "I can give you that freedom, Abigail." His Transylvanian accent turned my name into "Aby-gael". "What do you mean?" I asked, meeting his gaze questioningly, "Join me." He smiled, his eyes hypnotic once more, "Come with me and you can gain your wings as well. Just one brief moment of pain," He pulled me close to him, "And we could be together forever."
I had to admit, it sounded promising. Living forever with the man I love, ruling the darkness together, an undefeatable, perfect pair. The image was intoxicating. "Wait," I said, pulling away against my better judgment, "I need time. Time to prepare, time to ready myself for the change. You can still visit me, but please," I said, still in his arms but serious as I met his eyes, "Don't bring up the transformation until I do. Alright?" "Anything for you." He breathed.
I kissed him slowly, sweetly. I broke the embrace first, "Now go," I whispered, "Come back tomorrow night, and the next and the next. I'll wait for you."
For weeks, then months I lived a double life, seeing suitors I did not love during the day, and staying awake far into the night to spend time with the Count I truly adored.
One day, Thomas and I were seated in the library, in front of the fire, sharing in some companionable silence, drinking tea, absorbed in our books. The titles of our various books displayed our varying tastes. While Thomas was reading Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky, I was re-reading Bram Stoker's Dracula. I had just reached the part in the novel where Jonathan Harker realizes that the Count has left him in the castle with the three women and is desperately attempting to escape. When I read, I became so engrossed within the novels that I began feeling Jonathan's fear, his desperate, inescapable feeling of being caged with no way to flee. Suddenly, the door bell broke through the silence, causing me to jump. Thomas, however, turned his page and said absently, "Go see who that is, love." I carefully marked my page, stood and said, "Yes, Thomas." I silently glided from the room and down the staircase, hoping that it wasn't yet another of my incessant admirers.
The doorbell rang again and I took a deep breath, arranging my face into a carefully composed smile. With my hand on the knob, I sent a silent prayer, and opened the door.
I gasped. It was Vladislaus.