How lush the world is,
how full of things that don't
belong to me—
Louise Glück
Dawn saw her hands stained in unholy blood. Those other three had been an easy kill. Terrifyingly easy. Bonnie wielded her knife like a clumsy but determined butcher. She imagined herself Judith, hacking at the thick cords of Holofernes' neck.
But these were women, their throats soft as doves, their breasts tender and full beneath rosy bodices.
(No, not women , she reminded herself as their heads rolled viscous like rotten fruit. Undead. Nosferatu . And their mistress still lay sleeping.)
Bonnie approached the Countess' casket and raised her knife.
I had a name once.
The knife gleamed, but her hand faltered. Bonnie sank to her knees by the gilded tomb as the sun climbed higher in the sky. Heaven and earth, blood and gold.
Rebekah.
She was not of earth, nor did she belong to Heaven. The first time Bonnie laid eyes on the Countess she realized the priests who sent her had erred: they had spoken of sin and demonic power, they had said nothing of beauty.
"Another little church mouse," the Countess scoffed, eyeing Bonnie's drab black gown, "tell me, why does your church give you grain sacks for garment and yet deck their priests in the finest gold?"
"Those of us clothed in God's grace," Bonnie replied, "have no need for earthly luxury." She let her gaze crawl scornfully over the lush palace, the rich wood and marble, soft curtains pooling on the floor, and the Countess herself, draped in crimson silk bright and wet as blood. She had never seen so much rich color, such saturated textures.
"And no desire either, I imagine," the Countess' smile was cold as pearl. A promise of something wicked gleamed there. Suddenly, Bonnie was cold.
"Come, I suppose you want to rest."
But there was no rest for her that night or the many nights that followed. Her dreams flowed like silk on skin, belying her pious words.
By day she was alone, by night the Countess watched her dine from silver plates and cups, never touching the rich food herself.
"Typical," her hostess snorted one evening as Bonnie folded her hands in prayer over the food, "as if God would ever provide you such a meal."
"God provides everything," Bonnie declared vehemently. ( The juices gleaming on meat made her stomach twist with both revulsion and hunger. In all her time with the nuns she had never dined on such richness. Cubes of sugar melted on her tongue here. This is my body, this is my blood . She clung to prayer in the midst of decadent repast.)
"Does he? Is that why orphans die in the street and their mothers cover their breasts with rags?"
"Why do you not give to the poor then," she challenged, "if you are so charitable? Death is God's protection for the weak who will one day inherit the earth."
"Indeed? That eager to die are we?"
"If...if God wills it," Bonnie lied.
In a sweep of gleaming shadow, the Countess stood beside her, stooping at her shoulder. "Pretty dreams," her lips were cool and soft as evening flowers on Bonnie's neck, "pretty, pretty dreams...,"
What manner of woman was this?
There was a low growl, as if her hostess was displeased. Then, a laugh like velvet -
"Do not put your faith in God, darling. Or any man. Their promises are hollow, their strength an illusion."
-the crucifx around Bonnie's neck, the one she never removed, her most valuable possession, melted on her skin. A rivulet of gold like blood.
She wrote letter after letter back to the convent and received no answer.
The Countess does not want my prayers, or my teachings. She only wants to blaspheme. She never eats. Why does she never eat?
She disobeyed the Countess' command to keep to her rooms. She wanted answers.
The castle led her deeper and deeper, until she had no sense of time or place. She found herself in a room full of dresses, each one more splendid than the last.
What use could one woman have for so many garments?
Her hands hovered over liquid silks and decadent satins, velvets plush as night, brocades emblazoned with jewels. Colors that made her mouth water.
"Try one on," the Countess had appeared in the doorway.
The candle fell from Bonnie's hand-
-her hostess glided forward, saved it from the floor.
She rose with the flame flickering over a face as beautiful and implacable as marble, "I insist."
There was no request in her voice.
Bonnie chose the simplest gown there was, a resplendent garment green as the sea.
She did not recognize herself in the mirror. Had her skin always been so smooth and golden? Her eyes so catlike? She raised a hand to her mouth as though seeing it for the first time -
- she tugged the bodice off, struggling out of the cloth like from a slippery net.
The Countess laughed and laughed. Bonnie fled.
It was only later she recalled there had only been one reflection.
There was still no answer from the nuns.
Bonnie determined to escape on her own. Torch in hand, she braved the winding stairs and passageways. Voices called to her from below.
Come to us, beautiful one.
Sweet voices like golden bells. She stumbled in the dark and found herself in a dungeon -
-no, a bedchamber, lavish with silks and pillows.
(Had she dreamed the instruments of torture on the walls?)
Firm hands grasped her, carried her to the bed. She fell on blankets softer than clouds. Three figures hovered over her, red mouths and indolent eyes. Jewels gleamed in their hair. Soft gauzy cloth barely covered their ripe breasts and curving hips.
Beautiful one, we have waited for you.
They spoke without words, echoing in her head. Bonnie could not move while they stroked her with their hard, smooth fingers and wet mouths, while their perfume wove around her senses. Her body was afire with fear and longing. She tried to scream, but it came out a moan.
When their teeth pierced her skin, she saw their faces clear in her mind's eye. Names floated into her consciousness.
Rosalind. Elizabeth. Viola.
Girls, sent by the convents. Girls like her.
Bonnie tried to shake them off but they held her in a vice like grip. Her heart galloped like a horse, straining to keep pace with their hunger -
"How dare you touch her!"
- just as suddenly they were gone, snatched off her supine form.
"Please, please -,"
"She belongs to me, you impudent harlots."
The Countess was there, her expression terrifying to behold. The other three gathered at her feet, mewling and pawing. She handed them a small offering wrapped in cloth. A child's cry filled the air.
"She is ill, poor thing," the Countess purred, "rock her to sleep. Gently now."
Greedy hands took hold of the child.
This time, Bonnie screamed true and pure.
"Some I send to their deaths, others I turn and they stay with me."
"You- have no right-,"
"But your nuns and priests do?"
In the silence, the Countess slid a hand up her neck, stroking the vein there. "They sent you here, just as they have sent girls before, just as they will send girls long after. I give them gold, they send me blood."
"You're a liar-,"
"Then why do they not answer your letters?"
"There must be some-,"
"To them, my darling, you are as good as dead."
Her prayers go unanswered as do her letters. Bonnie cannot remember the taste of Holy Communion, her tongue too drenched with richer, more sinful flavors.
"If it's church you want," the Countess said one night after supper, "I have just the thing."
She led Bonnie outside, through the tangled moonlit garden, until they stood in front of a small yet beautiful stone chapel.
The inside was all decay and silvery light, like a shipwreck at the bottom of the ocean. There was a sadness here and a peace too.
"This is where my family tried to sell me to a man old enough to be my grandfather."
In the half-light the Countess looked almost like a girl. "I never wanted to marry. I wanted to travel, to make my mark upon the world. But they sent away my friends, locked me in my room. I pleaded with my mother and father, but they would not hear me."
Bonnie ran her hand over a pew, it came away wrapped in cobwebs.
"And on my wedding day, they brought me here draped in flowers and virgin white. They wanted me to kneel before God and man and pledge my eternal loyalty to both. I refused."
"How did you-,"
"I had a knife, a gift from a foolish suitor. I concealed it beneath my dress, and when the moment came, I buried it in my fiance's heart and watched his blood run down the aisle. The priest screamed, so I killed him too. I licked his blood from the blade, sweeter than any wine."
Bonnie could see it, rivers and rivers of blood over the golden altar. Prayers turned to dust in her throat.
"I had a name once," the Countess spoke in the shadows. "Rebekah."
The echo shivered through Bonnie. She was afraid to look up at Heaven.
Blood congealed on the gold of her knife and yet Bonnie could not strike.
I won't kill her as a coward. I want her to see me when I drive the blade into her heart.
The blade she had found buried beneath the chapel stones. The same blade with which Rebekah - the Countess- had first tasted blood.
And so she sat until the sun slunk away. Until the eyes fluttered open.
She expected Rebekah would be angry to find her sitting there covered in the other girls' blood.
But the Countess only smiled, "I knew you were a jealous little mouse."
"I am going to kill you," Bonnie said, simply, "and be free of this place."
"And the ones who sent you here, will you be free of them too?"
She gripped the knife handle, "They are none of your concern."
She would go far away, the nuns would never know. She could live a quiet life somewhere -
"Such pretty dreams," Rebekah stroked her cheek, and suddenly her grip turned iron, grasped Bonnie by the neck, "such pretty lies -,"
She gasped when Bonnie slashed at her breast. Dark blood bubbled over the rich bodice. And suddenly, Bonnie was seized into her arms, pulled down into the tomb. She kicked and struggled but it was no use. She was drowning in silk and blood and gold.
Rebekah's teeth pierced her neck. A stinging pleasure. A blasphemous joy.
"I will kill you," Bonnie whispered, hands tangling in blonde tresses, "God help me, I will ."
There was that laugh again, alluring enough to melt any ascetic. A hand curled around Bonnie's nape, pressed her to the flowing wound on a milky bosom.
This is my body, this is my blood.
The taste of copper and sugar and molten gold. The taste of forbidden longings, of stifled prayers.
Bonnie ceased to struggle -
God is not here. There is no help save this.
-she drank and drank, and drank some more. The knife slipped from her hands.
(Soon, she would have other weapons.)
I will kill you, and God too.
A/N: Thank you to the Anon who sent me this prompt on Tumblr. Admittedly, this is based more on the Francis Ford Coppola movie than the novel per se, but I hope the Dracula and Bonbekah fans among you still enjoyed it. R&R if you can!