(Author's Note: This takes place 5 years before the movie. This is one of Van Helsing's previous missions.)
Snow was quietly falling, covering the distant Carpathians in a blanket of white. A carriage ambled along the windy paths that sliced through the thick Romanian forest. The cabbie driver coughed and shivered slightly. He regretted that he had forgotten to remind his wife to mend his coat before he embarked. In addition, Old Man Winter had shown no sign of relenting, only lashing out even more aggressively with his icy fingers. The two passengers inside, although covered in a heavy mink blanket, didn't seem to be faring any better. The woman, who was seated next to the window, was watching the snow with her lackluster gray eyes. She pulled her shawl more snugly around her thin shoulders, but it did little to keep out the omnipresent chill that seem to have taken up permanent residence in her bones.
It was obvious to anyone that Moira DeCicco did not look well. Her companion, a handsome lad in his mid twenties, offered her his coat, which Moira declined with a polite smile and a gentle shake of her head. Viktor shrugged and sighed heavily. He picked up his novel again and kept one eye on the current page and the other on Moira. She looked so fragile....like a baby bird. Of course, she had not always been this way. Viktor had known Moira since practically infancy. She was the closest thing he had to a sister, growing up in a family with 3 brothers and no sisters and he thought of Moira as the balance in the raucous mix. Moira, a few weeks ago, had confided in him her condition. It was medically diagnosed as schizophrenia. What Moira heard tortured her mind and crushed her spirit. Worst of all, she knew nothing of peaceful moments of silence.
She'd been using the excuse of a chest cold at first. To explain her late confinement to her friends. Then she switched to the guise of scarlet fever as her condition worsened. He had agreed to accompany her on their journey. This whole journey was also a lie. It became perfectly clear that they had fumbled for an excuse when they had told Moira's friends that they were traveling to Italy, now that Moira had recovered. It wasn't the best lie, but surprisingly her friends didn't ask questions. Sure, there was probably bound to be tons of gossip and speculation, but there were too many more pressing matters to attend to.
The reason for their visit to frigid Romania was that they had heard of a Transylvanian monk who had a cure for her "ailment". Well, Viktor knew there was none. However, he wanted to humor her, and he would take any alternative to putting her in an asylum. Viktor hated seeing her like this, always looking around wide eyed as if some distant ominous shadow were hiding someplace only she could see, or sitting placidly, staring blankly ahead, and saying nothing at all. The voices had starting speaking to her about a month ago, after her parents had been killed in a mysterious train wreck. They all blamed her, and she believed them.
Viktor couldn't help but pity her, but, sometimes her condition was a bit irksome. As much as he loved and cared about Moira, he couldn't always be there to take care of her. She was an orphan, but also a legal adult. At 24, she should be able to stand on her own. By society's standards she should be married, pregnant, with a rosy glow in her cheeks and a husband by her side Viktor had thought about proposing to her numerous times...but his cowardice always won in the end.
Moira's personality was as much a contributing factor to her illness as it was to her reaction to it. Moira was a bit of an apathetic person. She was quick to make irrational decisions, and then to regret them later. She had a habit of taking things far too seriously, and could never, no matter how hard she tried, push past them. Moira had taken parents' deaths to heart far more than a normal person should, and had dwelled upon them for so long that that dark day had become permanently imprinted on her memory. Now, her whole body was caught up in a whirlwind of excitement and it depressed her and made her more and more ill with each passing day. Her body had lost the will to try and restore itself back to health, and her mind had lost the will to convince her to get help on her own, and now Viktor was the one who had to seek help for her. Moira's condition, was partly her own fault, and as much as Viktor hated to admit it, he couldn't just ignore the awful truth that was glaring him in the face.
//
Marishka and Aleera were taking an idle stroll around Castle Dracula. Both had the sourest of expressions plastered to their faces.
"This is so utterly unfair!" Aleera whined, stamping her foot childishly. Marishka gave her a bitter half-smile. "First of all, please, please don't whine. It's extremely unattractive. Second of all, I understand your annoyance. We were here first after all."
"Why does he need another bride?" Aleera asked sulkily, not even noticing that Marishka had chided her. "Aren't we good enough?" Marishka shook her head. "Of course not Aleera, we're never enough. Nothing is good enough for the Master." Aleera stopped walking. "I hear he's going to choose a mortal bride by some sick sort of trial." Marishka nodded. "I too, have heard that rumor. Something involving cyanide. If this is truly what he plans to do, it should turn out to be a very interesting spectacle indeed."
"I do feel a bit sorry for the mortal girl who has to undergo the transformation. I have vivid, awful memories of mine." Aleera said coldly. "Yes, but you're forgetting the Master will do anything to get what he wants. Even if it means putting someone else through a painful punishment." Marishka replied truthfully. Aleera couldn't argue with that, and bit her lip, falling silent. Marishka flicked the small, silver fluer de lys charm that hung from a red ribbon around her neck. "Nothing can be done. We must simply wait and see." She said, and headed off in the direction of her room. "Oh, how I loathe waiting." Aleera said, running her hand across a tapestry, as she meandered down the corridor, making sure to let her sharp nails catch on each and every thread. Marishka turned around and smirked at her. "Patience is a virtue, dear Aleera. One that you do well to put into practice." Aleera scowled and removed her hand from the tapestry. She despised Marishka's elitist attitude.
//
Three hours later, the carriage ride had gradually grown rougher. The gently falling snow had escalated into a blizzard. The wind whistled shrilly and whipped against the side of the carriage, startling Moira.
Victor tucked the blanket more closely around her and peered out the window. Every inch of formerly green forest was covered in a blanket of white. This did not look promising. "Are we nearly there yet?" Moira asked weakly. "No." Viktor replied. "We still have quite a ways to go my dear. This blizzard isn't making things any easier." Moira sighed. "Oh dear....it always seems that our plans have some way of backfiring on us." Viktor smiled at her. "Don't despair Moira. We will probably reach the monastery before nightfall. We did get a very early start after all." Moira nodded and managed a tiny smile. "Yes, of course. We mustn't give up hope." She yawned, closed her eyes, and fell asleep learning against Viktor, who didn't mind in the least.