Despite Ericka's presence at family dinners, nobody ever discussed the elephant in the room. Not the prospect of whose turn it was to babysit Dennis, or whether Griffin wore clothes at the table. Nothing like that. Not compared to the twelve-foot oil painting of the Lady Lubov - Drac's deceased wife.

She couldn't lie about the two opposing sides within her mind. Martha was beautiful. It was her who made the man that Drac became - sweet, loyal, and romantic. Yet, something pierced her heart every time someone mentioned her. The awkwardness snuck into the atmosphere, showering Ericka with that familiar anxiety of whether she was accepted into the family or not.

But, no matter how hard her insecurities hit, Drac would reassure that she's his soulmate. The woman who makes him awaken with a large beam on his face every evening. And Ericka would feel that charming heat spread across her chest, making her feel loved. That's why she decided it was unhealthy to keep this secret from him. They were soon to be married; Ericka didn't want anything spoiling her confidence within the union between them.

Cleaning the non-existent substance of food around her lips, Ericka settled the napkin on the table with a heavy breath. She rehearsed the question a million times over within her mind, before turning towards her fiancè.

"Drac?" Ericka lay her palm across his wrist, speaking with a tone stitched with silk, "Can I talk to you about something?"

Beaming at his wife-to-be, Drac settled his goblet of blood onto the coaster. He returned her tight grip, stroking the back of her palm with his thumb.

"Anything, my love," he smiled.

Ericka couldn't help but flush at his endearing response. Goddamnit, she thought, not a great time for my heart right now.

Shaking her head to clear the thoughts, Ericka bit her lip. "I...I wanted to ask about," her voice quietened, "the painting."

As expected, his expression dropped. That charming smile vanished; transferred for a frown.

"Oh?" Drac tilted his head, "What about the painting...?"

Dread boiled inside her chest, recognising that suspicious yet protective tone. As long as the conversation wouldn't dissolve her mood into outright frustration, Ericka felt confident in her motives.

Or did she?

Ericka swirled the scarlet liquid inside her wine glass, watching it rise against the sides like waves against a ship's body. She gulped, "It's just...no, don't worry."

She shook her head, sipping the alcohol to clear her system. God, she felt like a drama queen. Yet, there was no need to start drama within the family room. Maybe later. Or tomorrow. Or next week. Or never.

Drac squeezed her palm, attempting to retain eye-contact. "No, tell me..."

Something heavy settled within her chest. She closed her eyes, cursing herself for touching upon the subject. Goddamnit, he's gonna want to know.

"I was only thinking that," she gestured towards the painting with a quivering hand, "we could have a group portrait there, with all of us together, and move that portrait somewhere else."

He furrowed his brows; the grip lessened, yet their hands remained entangled. "What makes you say that?"

"I-It's just that," Ericka pursed his lips, "it's a family room, so I thought..."

Her hands flailed awkwardly in the air, attempting to support her argument through silence. In the end, she bit her lip and rested her hands on her lap. God, it was so awkward.

"But, what's wrong about that portrait?" Drac frowned, "It's a fine piece of art."

"N-Nothing! " Ericka cried, maybe a little too loud. She licked her lips, before suggesting, "I just don't think it's...appropriate to have it there, don't you think?"

Ericka's heart raced when the expected reply never came. Instead, her fiancé stared with distracted pupils, flying around the room in order to dodge the question.

"Sorry, Frank," Drac cleared his throat, "did you say something?"

Ericka furrowed her brows.

Frank cocked his brow, swallowing his consumption and replied with a gesture towards his plate, "I've been eating."

"I swear you just-"

"No, Frank didn't say anything," Ericka snapped. Noticing his attempts to avoid eye-contact, she questioned, "Why are you trying to avoid me? You asked what was wrong, and I told you."

Drac twiddled his fingers together, eyes flickering between his fiancée and the table before him. "I-I didn't avoid you..."

Ericka shook her head in disbelief. Burying her face with her palms, she let out a short, sardonic laugh. "Fucking hell, you just did."

Drac sighed, yet felt that terrible dread within his mind. There wasn't a positive conclusion to this conversation. "Honeybat, I don't understand why you don't want that portrait in the family room. Martha is still part of our family, so why would you want to-"

"Because it makes me feel uncomfortable!" Ericka cried, before realising that everyone in the room had stopped talking. Their sight directed towards her, who appeared as if she'd burst into tears.

Although she'd announced in front of large crowds before - monster and human - there wasn't any other method of embarrassment other than being stared at by her family.

Biting her lip, Ericka bowed her head. "Listen, I respect Martha and your marriage with her, I really do. But, when I sit in here and face that portrait every day, it makes me feel devalued. I don't want that to affect anything, because I love you so much. I'm going to marry you, for goodness sake, yet looking at you so happy with her makes me question if...if I even belong in this family."

Maybe she revealed too much that'd been bottled up for longer than she could remember. She hated the heartbroken expression that he responded with, as he cradled both of her palms within his lap. "Ericka, why would you even think that? I love you, you're my Zing. That painting shouldn't make you think like that, when you know that I want to marry you."

"It just does, Drac," Ericka sighed, "you wouldn't understand."

Irritation seemed evident within his tone, despite shuddering inwardly at the concept of being annoyed with his Zing. No, not annoyed - disappointed. "I don't need to understand, but you need to understand that I respect her highly, and that you should too."

A lump wedged itself within her throat, threatening her to release the tears that brimmed within her eyes. Ericka snatched her hands away, ending the conversation with a blunt, "Okay."

Drac stared. He watched his fiancée pretend to eat. Absorbing unwanted silence. He wondered how could she have the audacity to argue about Martha; the portrait that lived on that wall for over a century.

So, without thought, he suddenly snapped, "Ericka, she's the love of my life, what do you want me to do about it?!"

Although the silence seeped in a moment ago, it wasn't until now that everyone acknowledged it. Yet, it wasn't welcomed. Frank exchanged bug-eyed glances at Eunice, Murray, and Griffin, who mirrored him. Wayne and Wanda winced. As for Mavis, she was speechless. What could she say? Glancing between the couple, she wasn't sure whether to disagree with Ericka or her own father. It was only when Ericka leaned back into her chair, seemingly fighting back a stream of tears, that she emphasised with her.

Drac pressed his face into his hands, shaking his head. The regret poured into his mind, as his fiancée's torn expression made him feel like the worst man in her life. "Honey, I-I didn't mean..."

She shoved herself away from the table, causing the ornaments to shudder due to her strength. Rising from her chair, Ericka stormed towards the door.

Feeling all of his limbs quacking, Drac stops from his chair and reached after her. "No, please don't–"

The door slammed before he could finish his sentence.

It didn't sound viable for a Vampire's pale face to drain any more colour. Yet, as Drac stood frozen for a long moment, staring at the door in hopes that his fiancée would return, it seemed it was possible. He glanced towards the Pack, who stared in bewilderment.

He focused primarily on his precious daughter, who frowned at him. There must've been some telepathic communication between them, as Drac understood by her simple glance towards the door that she encouraged him to chase after her.

And so he did, with reluctance. What could he say after the dreadful comment that escaped from his mouth just seconds ago?