I do not own NBC's Dracula.
But if I did, I would totally bring it back for a second season!
Scent of Roses and Words of Devotion
Chapter 1: Voices in the Dark
I drifted through my waking dream state. My world was dark and without form. Sounds and smells of the hospital floated through me though none of them garnered my interest or attention. Feelings drifted in a haze over me as well. Sadness, loneliness, depression, hope.
I do not know how long I have been here. Time comes and goes, as do other more ambulatory, more conscious people. I linger on and no one can ascertain why. Sometimes I sleep. Sometimes I wake. Sometimes I move. Sometimes I am still.
The quiet, soothing voices of the nurses speaking to each other fed me the knowledge that a new patient lay in the bed next to mine. A Miss Mina Murray.
Ah, yes. I know of her. Her lovely pale face framed by dark wavy hair swam through my dim memories. She made rounds with the physicians. She wished to, one day, work as one of them. A female doctor, what a fantastic ambition.
Two gentile male voices drifted in from the left of me. Their voices revealed the care and affection they felt love for this woman as they stood watch over her repose.
An older man, I assumed to be her father. A familiar voice, it was. Perhaps a physician within the hospital? He smelled of pipe tobacco and gentlemanly mannerisms. He radiated protective love toward the woman in the bed.
A younger, less self-assured voice there was as well. It very nearly trembled with weight of his emotions but some of them were wrong. Care for the woman, yes, but also an undercurrent of concern for himself and his own affairs. His emotions were less constant, less committed. His spirit conflicted. This one I did not care for so much.
The two voices conversed in hushed tones as to the condition of their lady. Injuries which appeared to be superficial and would easily heal. The older man reassured the younger of her complete recovery with time. They exchanged a brief discourse as to who could have attacked her.
My interactions with her had been limited due to my wavering state. Enough so that I had observed her manners and poise exceptional, her compassion evident in her gentle eyes. Who ever could wish her harm?
Those keeping watch over her apparently could not ascertain the answer to that query any more than I in my forlorn condition.
Sharp, tapping steps of a gentleman's shoes cut through the ministrations of her present guardians in the room, advancing quickly and with purpose.
"Will she recover?"
My mind instantly latched onto this third male voice. It was different. It spoke quietly and calmly as had the others while also wrought with sweeping concern and undying devotion for her in the bed.
The moment I heard it, I knew. This was the one who loved her the most. Deeply, fully, absolutely. This was the one who would raze all of Heaven and Earth for her in the bed.
The father voice reassured this newcomer as well. Yet there was also a slight withdrawal from the father voice. But why? This new voice was of he who truly loved her, was it not?
And the tension emanating from the presence of him with the younger voice intensified until I nearly choked on the acerbic thickness of it.
A quiet exhalation of delicate breath marked the awakening of the woman in the bed. And a deluge of relief flooded out from all the men keeping watch over her. A tidal wave of it flowed from he who truly loved her. It spread over me as the warmth of the sun peeking out from the clouds on a chilly day.
The younger voice, the conflicted one, spoke her name first. His murmur whispered relief and perhaps an undercurrent of guilt.
The voice of he who truly loved her inquired softly, "Who did this?"
But why would he ask a question to which he already knew the answer? And he did know. It was there, in his voice.
"Mina, it's important. You must tell us everything," he gently demanded of her.
So that he may exact terrible vengeance upon them. Yes, he would. They would rue the day they had been born. His love for her would destroy them all.
The younger presence threw an intense lemon shard of bitter jealousy toward he who truly loved her. But so adamantly focused was he on her plight and well-being that the absinthian dagger was rendered harmless in the face of his fealty. Should not the younger man have been so devoted as well? Why waste such precious energy on jealousy when his real focus should have been to her in the bed?
Quietly, she spoke of her ordeal. Three men attacking her. Restraining her on a table. A bottle of acid. A man with a birthmark. The choking tendrils of her lingering fear crept down the edges of bed and out across the room. Her ability to calmly recount the details of her attack was most impressive. If ever I recovered from my debilitating malady, I resolved to live as strong and bravely as her, this courageous young woman.
Wet, dripping, red rage pulsed within the heart of he who truly loved her. He would gift the miscreants responsible with a painful death in exchange for this traumatizing experience. I harbored no doubt. There would be no reprieve, no mercy for them. None whatsoever.
Crushing realization and penitent grief flooded out in waves of nauseating green sickness from the younger voice as it whispered 'police'. Detaching himself from her, he exited the room quickly.
Much to her trembling dismay. Why was he abandoning her? She needed him. Well, not really. Not with the comforting presence of the one who truly loved her. But she must have thought she did because her voice called out heartbreakingly to the departing man. But he was gone.
The presence of the one who truly loved her departed abruptly as well. But I felt no concern. He would return to her and care for her. No matter the cost.
The voices of the arguing men echoed faintly in the hall as my spirit reached out to the woman in the bed. I desired nothing more that to awaken and speak to her. Tell her the one who truly loved her would return. Reassure her that he would always return to her.
But I could not. My waking dream state left me helpless to comfort her. It must fall to him.
And he would return for her. He would always return for her.
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