"Skye, Psst! Here, boy!" I whispered. Today my tutor, Sir Gabriel desired to take me somewhere. The field trip was more than I could dream of, being trapped in our mansion. I repeated Skye's name in my head, hoping he'd hear my thoughts.
Skye is an energetic copper-colored dragon with golden eyes. As a child, raised by the clergy, I was friendless. No mother would allow me near her children, as she herded them together like a mother hen, clucking and nagging at them—though strange action it was, since I came from St. Catherine's church. (I have decided, for that reason, I am glad I have no mother.) One evening, in the midst of being shooed away from joining a group of schoolgirls my age, I fell down into a ravine. As I raised myself from the moss, I discovered a half-cracked dragon egg. A scarlet dragon lay staring at me, calculating the danger from behind its shell. When I kneeled next to the creature, the heat hit me and my hand seared in pain. I shrieked, but immediately ceased for it reminded me of a fairytale; the star on my palm, however has since healed. I suppose Skye's breath was too cool and the burn didn't scar as hoped.
Life with Skye is as I imagine it would be with a brother. Skye teases and pokes as one and I prank him as a sister, or so I have observed from the neighborhood children. In school, though I enjoy sharing my lessons, Skye prefers joining me in presence—by hiding in the compartment of my desk-chair. Dragons, according to lore and my research, know more than known to man—though perhaps 'tis due to all the Shakespeare he reads. I delight in frustrating the little winged-lizard by practicing the flute as he naps or reads the archived scrolls. His nostrils flare and he sits in a flameless huff, a moue that is ill-suited for him. Though today, as on many days lately, Skye found a hiding spot far from my pranks.
As I hurried down the long hall, I glanced behind me, watching the table I just missed. As I turned to look forward once more, I ran into a leather wall. I started as did the victim of my negligence. Sir Gabriel's already arched eyebrows grew to bigger heights as he looked askance at me.
"Pardon me, Sir," stepping back, I blushed and looked to the floor. Sir Gabriel patiently took my hand, kissed it and forgave me. I stood aside as he passed, taking off once more to look for my friend.
I'm Clara, an orphaned 14 year old teen who knows nothing (according to Skye). We live at a boarding school in Transylvania, Romania and love to go outside on nights that Dracula would most likely come out. Skye and I's favorite spot to hang out is the old church I've mentioned before. I have heard lots of strange rumors saying I was the daughter of lady who was blooded by the vamps in 'Frankenstein's Castle' (The old abandoned castle on the hill next to our little town) or that I was hidden from the vampires as a young child; I get frustrated every time someone accuses me of these and many more.
Mr. Gabriel was tall and brunette, he always was spotted dressed up and with dark above-the-shoulder hair that looked like the black ink he used to write inscriptions with. He practically lived here at the school, not leaving until at least 10:00pm; in other words, he was there every day, tidying up and practicing scaring us with pop quizzes. I suppose all the rumors of him being the legendary Gabriel Van Helsing aren't true and he sure doesn't seem like the type, but I know very little like Skye says. It is also rumored that he lost a girl he loved and it just so happens that Van Helsing had that happen too, she was Dracula's great-niece, Anna; though I don't know her last name, I love to think of her as Mr. Gabriel's description of the most beautiful woman in the world.