Okay, so I got obsessed with Van Helsing. It could happen to anyone.

Except for the fact that I was highly infatuated with Dracula, not Van Helsing himself. So, here is the product of my imagination after watching the movie five times in the course of three days. This is the first fanfiction I've done for something like this. Every other one I've ever done has been for anime. So, I don't know if this is technically good or not. If you like it, could you maybe tell me? Please?

Anyway, enjoy.

It isn't an innate desire to do wicked that makes humans evil. People aren't born good or bad, and their personality doesn't shape them as villains or heroes. Other people make them what they are. This is especially true where I live. There is evidence of it everywhere. My village is the product of what monsters have done to us, and its residents results of the frequent death and chaos we suffer through.

I especially am an example of this. I have been shaped by others. Am I evil? Maybe.

Transylvania is a horrid place to grow up an orphan. In my village, no one is even bothered to care for abandoned children. And who can blame them, when we are plagued by the creatures that supposedly exist in only myth? Werewolves and vampires prey upon us, though vampire attacks are far more frequent. No one knows where they come from or where they drag their victims.

Four centuries ago, a Transylvanian king, Valerius the Elder, made a deal with God. Until Dracula, the man's own son, who is in fact the vampire of legend, was killed, neither he nor any of the rest of his family would enter Heaven.

Three of his ancestors, our royalty, remain: Boris Valerius, our king, and his children, Princess Anna and Prince Velkan. Dracula is still not dead. He and his three wives, Aleera, Verona, and Marishka, thrive.

His wives attack the village once a month or so, sometimes more, taking with them one to three victims a raid. Usually they prey upon middle-aged men, but if they can snatch a child, they will. I am convinced they choose their prey according to the potency of their victims' blood.

A raid is a tragic event, but an accepted part of life in this village. There is nothing that thrills the undertaker more. Personally, I hope one of these days the wives carry him off. He's by far the most frightening man I've ever met. He knows each person's coffin measurements by heart, and he takes particular pleasure in calling mine to me when I pass, and asking me what sentiment I want him to carve on my headstone.

However, he's probably too old for his blood to be any good to the wives. Maybe a werewolf will get him. We haven't seen one of those here in years, but there's always the possibility.

Werewolves, though far less frequent, show up every few years or so. They are widely known to serve Dracula. No one knows why.

Living in this village is like living in Hell.

When you grow up an orphan, there is literally no one in the world who cares about you. My mother died in childbirth. My dad was killed by the last werewolf spotted in these parts, a part of an expedition to kill it that departed with twenty men and returned with three. I was seven years old. It has been nine years since his death.

Orphans must fend for themselves, which typically means orphans don't last long. I am one of the lucky ones. I took refuge in a dilapidated old barn at the edge of the village, a building no one else would come near. It was too big a risk. It could cave in at any minute. But, it being the best I could do, I took it for my home and lived and slept only on the bottom level, never the top. My weight would surely be too much for the rotting boards to hold, no matter how tiny I am.

I haven't grown an inch since I was twelve. I stand at a proud 5'2", which I wouldn't have known without the undertaker's constant heckling, and am practically a skeleton, especially in the winter, when food is hard enough to find if you do have money and almost impossible if, like me, you don't. Money and food are easier to find in the summer and autumn seasons, when the harvest is being reaped and new seeds being planted.

The one truly dangerous thing about this town is that it doesn't care much for outsiders. Almost every foreigner we've had in my sixteen years of living here has been killed, much to the undertaker's delight. I think maybe two we released, weaponless, into the woods. No one knows of their fates.

Therefore, it was no surprise that when a rich scientist moved into the castle about a mile outside of town when I was fifteen, the people of the village were uneasy. I was the one sent to find out his name and purpose, and paid well for it, a pleasant influx of cash in the middle of winter.

I never got beyond the enormous front doors, which were answered by a gruesome man who called for his master. His master was a young, handsome man with brown hair and a thin mustache, who spoke with the accent of the British. His introduced himself as Dr. Victor Frankenstein, and he would only tell me he was a scientist. He had chosen this location for its isolation, so he could work in peace.

I went back to the village, relayed the information, and was paid. We began to call the castle "Castle Frankenstein" and were advised not to go near it.

About a quarter of a year later, the undertaker discovered that the graves of our dead were being robbed for bits and pieces. Arms, legs, eyes, intestines. A plethora of parts were taken from the deceased, and we blamed the outsider.

A boy, another orphan who had beaten the odds, much like myself, and survived to the age of fifteen, was selected to investigate. He was promised a much more tempting payment than I was, and he departed for Castle Frankenstein without protest. We presumed him dead when he had still not returned three days later, but he came back the fourth day, ghostly white, and choked out to King Boris that Frankenstein was making a monster, using human parts to do so.

And then he keeled over, dead. The undertaker gleefully proclaimed that the boy had literally died of fright.

It took a few days to assemble an angry mob, led by the undertaker. They stormed Castle Frankenstein on the most awful night I've ever lived through, a night when the sky was cloaked in black clouds and lightning flashed ever few seconds, but there was no rain. The lightning struck my barn and it crumbled at once as it caught fire.

I did not think to join the mob, not once. It was a foolish errand. I followed them for my entertainment, however, climbing trees and leaping from branch to branch to keep up with them. I was high enough to see what they couldn't, and it was incredible. Frankenstein was making a monster. It was made of human parts, strapped to an operating table with electrodes everywhere to attract the lightning, and attract lightning it did. The body, composed of at least seven of our dead men, jolted, seizing with thousands of volts of pure electricity.

I heard the creature scream. Holy crow, the damned thing was alive.

I watched the men of the village, their faces lit with flickering light from the torches they carried, as they ran onto the bridge over the castle's moat and began to attempt to break down the front doors. It took them over a dozen attempts before the doors even began to splinter, and just as they seemed ready to give way I heard a hideous roar. "Dr. Frankenstein!"

Every head turned to the left, where Frankenstein's gruesome servant stood, watching an enormous, man-shaped figure limping towards the windmill, carrying a limp body in his arms. The grave-robbing scientist, I presumed.

"He's headed for the windmill!" the undertaker roared, and the mob surged for the forest, away from the castle, racing after the monster towards the windmill.

The monster disappeared inside before the mob, now doubled in size after what seemed like every other member of the village had joined, women and children alike. Rather than storm in after it, the undertaker yelled, "Burn it down!"

The windmill was at once showered with the torches, catching fire immediately. The flames spread rapidly, engulfing the building. I could feel the pulsating heat from my perch on a tree branch, high above the others.

The monster appeared on the outer rim of the windmill, cradling what appeared to be the dead body of Victor Frankenstein in his arms. The crowd began shouting slanders at it, screaming at it with pure rage. Something in my chest flared. I felt so alive, watching this scene unfold.

Half the monster's face was covered in cloth bandages, not unlike a mummy. I watched, horrifically enthralled, as it opened its mouth a let out a guttural, mournful wail. "Why?!"

The crowd's angry exclamations slowly died down. I was as equally shocked, though also somewhat delighted. Who knew the thing could speak? How incredible!

The monster moaned again, the anguish in its voice so apparent it sent a shiver down my spine. "Why?!" The torment in its eyes was amazing. The thing even had emotions.

A woman in the crowd fainted.

In the brief silence, an epiphany hit me with the impact of a lunging werewolf. There was nothing left for me anymore. After this night, when the thrill of chasing a monster had ended and the angry mob had dissipated, I would be returning to the village, returning to nothing. My home – if you could even call it that – was in ashen ruins. There was nobody waiting for me. It was late Autumn; the harvest was coming to an end and I didn't have nearly enough money to survive the winter, and without shelter I was as good as dead.

And, quite suddenly, it hit me. I hated the village. I even hated living. I'd gone through life with so much resentment, so much hatred towards everyone and everything, that I was nothing but a bitter slip of a girl, practically a ghost. No one would care if I died. I didn't even care if I died. I even welcomed the idea of death. That had to be, at the very least, exciting.

I was so absorbed in my abrupt depression that I didn't notice the four figures in the sky, cutting through the air towards us, until a villager screamed, "It's the vampires!"

"Run!" another voice screeched. Just like that, the angry mob transformed into a terrified pack of scrawny humans, little more than prey for the vampires. They were scared out of their wits. I didn't even flinch. There were four figures in the sky. There were only three wives. That meant Dracula himself was coming, and I for one was curious to see what this dark lord of the night looked like.

While I awaited the arrival of the vampires, the monster looked down at Frankenstein and croaked out a pitiful, "Father?"

I guess it hadn't realized its creator was already dead. I wonder how the grave-robber died. Maybe his creation even killed him.

The windmill collapsed and I heard the monster let out one final scream before the entire building went up in flames, crumbling to the ground. That show having reached its inevitable end, I turned my attention to the vampires approaching rapidly through the sky.

One figure led the others. It was much larger, much darker. Dracula. The brides' bat forms are white and small, more aerodynamic. They landed behind him.

I saw the bat creatures for only an instant before they transformed. The wives were all heart-crushingly beautiful. Aleera is a small redhead with wildly curly hair and a frightening, high-pitched voice. She seems to be the most devoted to Dracula. Marishka is the cruelest of the wives, a curly-haired blond with a talent for taunting her prey, playing games with them, before she attacks. Verona has long, perfectly straight black hair and a knack for choosing those of us villagers who have the most potent blood.

The wives watched the windmill as it burned, clutching at each other and moaning as though it was the saddest thing any of them had ever seen. Verona seemed to be in far more anguish than her sister brides, and they screamed and cried and reached towards the flames hopelessly, sobbing, over what I didn't know. All there was to cry over was a dead scientist, a monster, and a windmill.

Dracula did nothing but stand there, watching as it burned. I saw his face for the first time and gasped.

He was, to put it simply, the most beautiful man I have ever laid eyes upon. Our Prince Velkan is handsome, certainly, but Dracula… the way he held himself with such a regal air of dignity attracted me far more than the warrior-like demeanor Prince Velkan adopts. Dracula had long black hair tied back in a fashion that has long since died out, and had black eyes I could lose myself in. His lips were perfect.

The only thing that came close to ruining the illusion was the expression on Dracula's face, one of rather forced sorrow, like he'd just lost something he had wanted very dearly.

A smile crept across my lips before I could stop it. My ideas are usually delusional, but this one I wanted to carry out. I had nothing to return to and more or less wanted to die. I decided that it would be a privilege to be killed by him, a delight to feel my life drain out of my body as Count Dracula took it into him, drinking every lost drop of blood that I had to offer.

Dracula turned his head slowly in my direction. My breath caught in my chest. He was staring straight at me. "A human girl," he said tonelessly, his voice laced with a thick Romanian accent that made a shiver of pleasure run up the back of my spine. "How odd to find one lurking in the trees like a beast."

If I had been spotted, I may as well crawl down and present my offer. I dropped out of the tree with what little grace I have, putting too much weight on my left ankle as I landed. I winced as pain shot through my body.

The wives had stopped moaning. They were staring directly at me.

"You did not run with your fellow villagers," Dracula said to me. I could feel his eyes scanning my body. Perhaps he was trying to sense the flow of my blood. "You are either very foolish or very brave."

It took me a while to find my voice. I was mesmerized by his gaze. "I have a proposition for you," I said breathlessly, using up too much air at the beginning on my sentence so the last word was almost indistinct.

The wives glanced curiously at each other. It was Verona who spoke first, her voice also holding the thick accent the Romanians are famed for. I know my voice is accented too, though not quite so deeply. "And what offer could a human make to us?"

"Not to you," I whispered. It took more courage than I thought it would to speak those words. I looked back to Dracula. "Just to him."

I held my head high, waiting for his answer. I seemed to have caught him slightly off guard, though the signs of shock he was showing were subtle. "I'm intrigued," he told me, nodding to make me aware I had his permission to continue. "Go on."

I swallowed hard. "I want to die," I said. My voice trembled. "And you need blood. Please… I want you to take mine. Take it all."

Marishka began to laugh, a cruel noise. "You think yourself noble?" she cackled. "One girl's life won't prevent your village from being attacked again, Dearie. We need blood more than once."

"This isn't me being noble," I said, more firmly. "But I'm as good as dead anyway." I looked to Dracula pleadingly. "And I want to die. I want you to kill me! Take my life to sustain yours!"

When did I turn into this? A creature who will beg a vampire to eat her? I never dreamed that I would be here, standing before the king of darkness and his brides, pleading to be killed. Suddenly embarrassed, I lowered my head.

I felt a strand of my brown hair lifted from my shoulder. I looked up and suppressed a gasp. Dracula stood before me, twirling the strand of my hair in his fingers. "You are quite a beautiful creature," he said quietly.

"Am I?" I asked bashfully. I never imagined I would hear those words spoken to me. "I've never even seen my reflection."

He seemed amused by this. "What is your name?"

It had been a long time since I'd spoken it. Sometimes I would even have to try hard to remember it. No one ever asked for my name, and I didn't make a habit of speaking it aloud to myself. I barely talked at all. I found no pleasure in hearing the sound of my voice, and people so infrequently spoke to me. "Luminitia."

"Luminitia," Dracula repeated thoughtfully. "Little light." This was a loose translation of my name. He smiled. "How appropriate."

Maybe he meant I had such a tiny life force, so insignificant I was practically invisible. Maybe it was a metaphor for Transylvania itself, in which the sun is rarely seen, perpetually hidden behind clouds. Or maybe he was discussing himself, as a creature who cannot survive in sunlight.

"My lord," Aleera spoke softly. "You don't mean…"

"Such a tragedy it would be to let such an enticing creature slip into nonexistence. So beautiful and lithe… can you imagine what she could do with immortality? A human whose heartbeat does not falter even as she stands facing four vampires?"

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. I didn't quite understand. Was he letting me go? Rejecting my proposal?

"How old are you?" Dracula breathed as he dropped my hair and began to stroke my face. His fingers were cool.

"I'll be seventeen come All Hallows Eve," I replied, feeling rather winded. How could my heart not be racing?

Dracula smiled again. "Perhaps too young," he said contemplatively, though he didn't look as though he was reconsidering whatever he was thinking of doing with me. Maybe I was getting eaten after all. His hands rested on my neck. His fingers brushed against the spot where he could feel my pulse, the blood rushing through my veins. "Now your heart is racing," he informed me amusedly. "Although I do not sense you are frightened."

"That's because I'm not," I said at once. The words just slipped out.

Dracula made a small noise of amusement. "Oh, my brides," he said, looking back at them with a delighted gleam in his eye. "What a fine addition she will make to our kind."

It hit me in that moment. He did want to bite me, but he didn't want to drain me of my blood. He liked me. Enough so that he wanted me to become one of his brides. "You're going to make me one of you?" I asked, exhilarated. What a turn of events! What an excitement! If I was one of them… I could have my revenge on the village that scorned me for so many years. I would be able to fly. I would become a dangerous, beautiful creature. And, the fact that delighted me the most, I could spend the rest of forever with Dracula.

He smiled. "Not tonight."

I felt tricked. "Wait… you mean you're going to leave me here after all? I hate it here! If you're planning on doing that I'd rather you sucked my blood out of me right now!" I meant it this time. I'd seen a brief chance at escape, at everything I could want, and now I had none of it. With the loss of that hope, I'd lost any will to live I had left in me.

That made him laugh. Sort of. He never actually laughed, but he was grinning so that it looked like he could have been. "Oh, no. If what you say is true, and you are as good as dead remaining here, I prefer to have you near us, where you would be assuredly safe until the day you turn eighteen. Then," he smiled. "I shall make you immortal. We will be wed, and you can join my brides as one of them."

Marishka didn't seem too enthralled, but Aleera and Verona were looking at me with much kinder eyes all of a sudden.

"My brides!" Dracula said commandingly, turning to them. "Return to Castle Dracula. We shall join you shortly."

"Yes, my lord," Aleera crooned as she and the other wives leapt into the air, soaring a comfortable distance away before they twisted into their bat forms.

"We aren't going with them?" I asked, suddenly worried. I yelped when he picked me up like a princess in a storybook.

"Our travel will be slower," he smiled, almost dangerously. "We can't have you getting scared off if I transform, can we?" With that, he leapt into the night, and, for fear of falling, I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed my eyes shut.

This had to be a dream. I was flying in the arms of a vampire, and not just any vampire. This was Dracula. In a little over a year, I would be immortal. I would be his bride.

For the first time in years, I felt truly happy.

I must say, this was long… but worth it. I've got some of that pent-up infatuation out of my system, though I haven't quite exhausted all of it. If you want to see more of Luminitia's crazy story, drop me a review! I seriously love every review I get.

Thanks for reading!

Phantom, out!