In the year 1394, a great warlord and count named Vladmirious Draculia rose to power. He was a strong ruler, perhaps too strong, for he was far harsher than his predecessors.

When in his prime, he returned from a war to find his lover dead from suicide. In his rage at the title "damned" the clergy had placed upon her, he pierced the cross in the church and drank the blood that gushed from it. He was later sentenced to death for crimes against his own people and his church.

They didn't realize that he never died.

Two years after the incident, 1403, Count Draculia returned, assumably from the dead, to take revenge. He was often injured - what would have been fatal to a normal human - and survived, always escaping before dawn. His people tried for generations to find out his secrets to immortality, to discover his weakness, but they continually failed. Finally, after ten generations, Dracula simply disappeared. The citizens of Transylvania came to believe that they had won. They wove epic tales of Dracula's defeat and told them to their children before bed.

But they never knew the truth.

Away in his castle, Dracula was finding the one person related to him by blood. His damned blood. He knew that the legendary Van Helsing had taken his blood and created an offspring. He had supposedly raised this child and taught it to feed cautiously off of animals and willing humans who promised not to talk. The very thought annoyed Dracula. He knew whatever demonic power had given a bit of itself to him would not be so easily overcome. Training control was just the start.

For 600 years, Dracula traced his bloodline until he found a match on a DNA test site. Though the woman subsequently died, her daughter, a girl named Leila Sarikma, was a direct descendant.

"I think I'll have to pay her a visit." Dracula mused to himself.

He smiled and made his way to the city of Samoilacry.

Dracula soon found himself in the large city, the barely rising sun burning his eyes. As he watched it, he thought about humans' misconceptions, how they had somehow confused light sensitivity with burning into a pile of ashes. But he shook the thought, remembering that he was there for a reason.

According to his information, which was rarely wrong, Leila worked as a writer and part-time actress. She was in the middle of a play run and scheduled to visit Dracula's castle to gather information and get a feel for a new story she was writing, but he couldn't help but want to see this born vampire before then.

He ventured to Leila's apartment and found that, despite the early hour, she was up and typing furiously on her old, beat up computer. She had it set up on an equally shabby black plastic desk and was sitting, slightly hunched, in a matching chair of the same condition. She was wearing jeans and a black tank top that disappeared under the flow of long black hair that had a slight curl. It was obvious that she was inside a lot by looking at her white skin and the thickness of her constantly moving hands was emphasized by her purposely short cut nails and large gold watch she wore with the face on the inside of her wrist.

What struck Dracula the most, though, was her face. She had his fair features; a gentle nose, full lips, almond-shaped eyes, high eyebrows and an oval face - a spitting female image of himself - but eyes of a gold-green shade that held an inhuman depth. She was obviously tired, judging by her drooping eyelids and the light bags under her eyes, but she continued typing at the same insane pace, pausing occasionally when searching for words.

Suddenly, she whirled to face the window. Her brows furrowed, mouth in a straight line, she studied the sunrise, not seeing Dracula. Then she started typing again, not even having to look at the keyboard. Then she turned back, a worried look on her face.

"That's odd..." Dracula heard her whisper to herself.

Her voice was beautiful. It was mellow, dark, but still recognizably female and had just a hint of the softness of a Dalmatian accent. He loved the sweet bite of the sound, laced with a touch of fear and worry.

(Leila's POV)

I could have sworn I saw someone out there. A figure clothed in black, staring in intently, but when I turned, nothing was there. I stared, continuing to type. Then I remembered what floor I was on.

Twelfth floor, idiot. No one would climb that high. I must be really tired... I thought to myself, returning all my attention to the screen.

For some reason, though, I couldn't seem to shake the feeling that someone was watching me. I tried to put it from my mind, but I kept shivering. I then realized that my window was open. I walked over, closed it, then went to get my sweatshirt. I really felt something was wrong now.

I didn't remember opening the window.

(Dracula's POV)

I was careful to wait until her typing got louder, then slipped inside. I wasn't able to close it since she now looked directly at where I stood. She couldn't see me, though. I appeared as nothingness, air to her. She closed the window and left the room. I glided over to her desk and read what she wrote.

"The pain was excruciating. Rhea writhed and screamed in agony as the blood of the damned crawled through her veins like poison. She could feel her life slipping away, even under the mask of pain. She grabbed for something- anything that might anchor her to the life she had. She found a hand and clung to it like a drowning child, but when the pain receded and she looked up, she flung herself away in horror."

I chuckled inwardly. Such dark writing for this woman who had never experienced such pain. I find humans so terribly amusing. They think they know everything, so that automatically gives them the right to show off how little they do know. At least she was right about one thing; the turning could be painful. Some died and others had their hair turn pure white from the shock of the blood that recomposed their entire system.

Leila walked in with a large black sweatshirt on. I pulled away as she sat down and continued typing. She went back and read the last page she typed, making adjustments here and there, then looked at the time, yawned, and went to bed. I smiled and left.