My latest Re-Animator story takes a different turn blending with Gothic horror and inspired by "There's a Head in the Box" by The Smiling Shadow, one of my favorite Re-Animator fics of all time found on this very website. :) The idea of headless Herbert was both delicious and heartwrenching at the same time, because after I first read the story to my boyfriend, he said "No one, not even our enemies, deserves a hell like that." It dawned on me to do a fic of my own of headless Herbert and Dan being alive for some years before love comes a long way, and Dan comes love again after losing Meg while Herbert's head is rescued by his own special woman - and surprisingly enough, he falls easily enough for her despite his loathing of physical and emotional relationships. I was also inspired by Twilight and Dracula, just a little bit, for the two new leading ladies in this story.
The story goes AU after the crypt collapses at the end of Bride of Re-Animator, with a twist: Herbert is dying from his injuries and beheaded before being re-animated, and his head kept alive and intact. Dan manages to save Herbert's head and get away with both the head and himself, spending all the time searching for a new body before encountered by the beautiful vampires Mirela and Celeste - and things go beyond the scientific horrors the men have faced.
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me except my two main OC's. And the title of the story is named after an instrumental composed by BrunuhVille on YouTube. :)
Prologue
Moldavia, Romania - 1848
Her country was suffering in a civil war, and this was not how she wanted life to be. She wanted peace and beauty, always living without the fear of death, but life was never meant to be that way. Her life had been starvation, losing patients every day, religious fanatics persecuted and so forth. The simple people's lives did not matter as they should be. People die, and then they don't matter anymore, just like that.
Suffering should not be tolerable - only it is.
Houses were being burnt, women and children screaming as the country tore itself apart because the government let them down in all forms. The people rebelled as a result, divided brother against brother, best friend against best friend, father against son and so on.
And Mirela Vãduva was in the middle of it all on that fateful day.
The humble daughter of farmers, she was eighteen years old when she was arranged to marry the village physician who had been her mentor and a father to her when her own wasn't the most caring and understanding of fathers. No sons were born in the family, and young Mirela was ignored by her father most of her life unless she married a man of good status - a common trait in older times and various countries.
However, there was always something so mysterious about her mentor and husband, Cristian Alexandrescu. Despite his middle years, he was pale - unnaturally so - with hair black as the darkest night, eyes even the same, and very seductive that he sparked the young woman's heart in a manner that scared her. However, he never left his home or the medical cottage while the sun was out, which many found strange but never questioned - even Mirela herself. He was a man who stood out amongst the rest of the men in the village that he was both feared and respected, and many women flocked him long before he took his apprentice as his bride.
Mirela had never seen herself as a suitable candidate for a bride despite her daring will, ivory skin and wild raven hair. Dr. Alexandrescu, however, took her seriously and treated her like a human being despite her parents' willingness to marry her off because she was the only hope for their family's survival. The marriage was, blessedly enough, happy for her if lacking in the intimacy department. But as time went on, Mirela loved him with all the passion burning like the sun, and he loved her in return. She had wanted to give herself to him on their wedding night, but Cristian had mysteriously refused her advances. "Now is not the time, or for some time to come," he'd told her. "We do not wish to start a family, but one day when the time is right." He'd left it there, and that was four years ago.
Now things were worse than ever, now that their homeland was being burned by angry people who did not like how they were under the rule of the Ottoman Empire. Civil war, it seemed, was the only option. But in Mirela's heart, violence solved nothing.
It was in the winter of 1848 that the life as she knew it would come to an end, and winter would be eternal for her from then on.
"Mama! Tata!" she screamed in her native language over the screams of horror at the village being destroyed. This had been her home from her birth until now. All her life was sacrifice and dedication to helping those in need, so what would happen now?
Her parents were never close to her, but their well-being was her priority. They resided outside town and on the hillside. Galloping on horse, Mirela rode the grassy plains, leaving behind amber flames on rooftops and howling cries of pain and death; blood was staining the earth by now.
Where had her husband been in all of this?
Her parents' cottage finally came into view. "Mama! Tata!" she cried, not bothering to knock first and throwing the door open -
- only to find the bodies of her parents sprawled on the floor, throats bitten into and the meat chewed ravenously. Blood pooled in a malevolent mixture of black and red. And towering over them was a beautiful but malicious figure in a regal blue velvet gown, long red hair flaming like the fires burning her village to the ground. Her skin was shiny and pearlescent like Cristian's was, and her eyes were the same color as his was, filled with demonic savagery, something that should not exist amongst the evils of the world - it belonged in another world which was feared in nightmares and folklore alike.
Blood dripped from the woman's mouth, bright red against stark white, and her teeth were bared in a feral grin when her hunter's eyes laid on Mirela in the doorway.
Mirela turned on her heels and began to run for her horse outside the house, but she never stood a chance and found herself grabbed and hauled back into the house - how did the woman manage with such impressive, inhuman speed? - and Mirela was pinned to the wall, looking deep into the woman's eyes. Now she had time to look deeper despite the frightening desire to eat, now that she knew what this woman was, because the oldest legends told in this part of Romania were never to be forgotten or taken lightly.
Glistening white teeth were bared, letting loose a hiss of unquenched longing. And her blood was not the only thing.
Her hands were grabbed and held above her head with one hand and unbreakable strength. Mirela barely had time to process what was happening before the front of her corset was torn open so her right breast bounced out for the savage female's eyes. She wanted to piece together why she was doing this to her instead of going straight for her neck like in the stories - and then the slimy feel of a tongue snaked over her chest and the globe of her breast made her shiver violently and internally shriek at the mild violation...until an enormous pain shot through her breast as razor sharp teeth pierced the skin of her nipple and tore it all off with great speed. Mirela screamed in uncontrollable agony. Her chest was burning and throbbing so viciously she thought she was going to die right away, but the red-haired female had more in store for her...
"Ioana, let her go!"
Her mind was in a haze now, losing sight of reality as she tried to look over to see the tall figure in the doorway, a dark silhouette to prevent identification of the face, but oh she knew that voice...
~o~
Her body was light and heavy at the same time when she finally came to. Darkness had spared her any more pain, but when she returned to consciousness, her vision was clear as a crystal, her senses higher than she expected, and she heard the voices just as sharply.
"Sire, she's awake."
"Of course she is, Grigore, my old friend. Mirela?"
She recognized her husband's voice, and he was leaning over her, handsome face full of concern. She looked into those eyes again, seeing the black eyes again...and remembered everything that happened to her. Everything from bursting into her parents' cottage to find their bodies mutilated, that fiery-haired creature who semi-violated her and bit her breast - she would have asked why do that to her, but these creatures were devoid of absolute reason - and her husband's voice being the last thing she heard before darkness temporarily claimed her. "Cristian...how long was I...?" she asked softly, sitting up slowly and finding no need to pop her bones.
He gave her a soft smile. Looking down, she glimpsed clothing of much higher grandeur, of nobility instead of a common village physician. Frowning, Mirela found that they were both in a room washed with ivory and gold, finished with red wallpaper, and she was sitting up in a bed of red brocade and silk fit for royalty. "My dear, we are home, where we truly belong."
"H-home?" Mirela lowered her eyes again and saw that she was naked, her body wrapped in a clean white sheet; she boldly lifted the right side over for her own eyes to see the wound where her nipple had been chewed off had healed, now a soft purple-lavender concave never to be replaced.
"Castle Dracula, child."
That other, unrecognizeable voice made her glance up again. The man was dark-haired like Cristian, almost the same age as he was, and he, too, was dressed in rich garments of a nobleman. He was icy-skinned and black-eyed, as well. "Who are you?" Mirela asked, drawing back and a shrot distance from Cristian. The strange man laughed.
"No need to fear me, my dear. My name is Grigore Dragomir, and I am your husband's most trusted advisor."
So all of the stories were true. Vampires truly existed. She'd been attacked by the one which killed her family, but where was she now? And Castle Dracula? That did not sound like any castle to reside in Moldavia, and she'd been born and grew up there. "Mirela, I am truly known as Vlad III, but to many, I am known as Dracula."
Dracula...the dragon...Vlad the Impaler...
All of the stories from four hundred years ago regarding the fight to preserve Christianity in this country - the Order of the Dragon - came rushing back to her. The son of Vlad II - and the man with the notorious reputation - was alive and right beside her. Masquerading as a well-respected doctor and had taken her as his wife...and the very same man who saved her life from that demon.
And that meant Mirela, too, was now just like him.
"Give me a mirror," she said, looking up at Grigore Dragomir, who nodded and walked over to the opulent vanity and picked up a silver hand-held mirror. Mirela accepted it and gasped at her reflection which now possessed the qualities her husband did. She had expected her heart to start beating with overwhelming sensation at her face which was both old and new at the same time, but Cristian - Vlad Dracul, or Dracula - leaned into her ear, pressing a kiss there and whispered.
"Your life is changed forever, my love. I saved your life, and we have a lot to talk about. But for now, I wish to welcome you into my world with no more secrets to hide." He looked up at his advisor, whom Mirela knew she liked in the first moment. Grigore bowed his head and turned to leave them. "I regret deceiving you all these years, my dear," her husband said softly, shifting back so she turned around to face him, "but surely you must understand why I could not."
"Yes." He would have been hunted down and burned, or worse. "Vlad...Cristian...what can I call you now?"
His chuckle reverberated through her system even though nothing inside her was alive any longer. "Alas, Vlad is who I always have been. It would be strange for you to call me by that name when you have always called me Cristian." He sighed. "And now I have condemned you when I should have protected you."
He was blaming himself for the she-beast that murdered her family. "V-Vlad..." To say his name was an incredible foreign taste on her tongue. Mirela smiled softly and reached out to cup his silken-smooth, marble-hard chin. "...you have done what you could. You saved my life, and for that, I am grateful." She looked around the grand room again; sadly, although she could smell eternal life together without separation, what would she be doing now if she could no longer be a doctor in the village and save innocent lives? Preserving life was her passion, and Vlad had dedicated service for years ever since she'd been a young girl and taught her everything she knew now. It now made sense that they were destined to be the moment they met. He protected her as a child and always intended to continue to do so; now she was what he was, and her path had taken another turn.
"Now, can we consummate our marriage after the long wait?" she asked, sure that because she was now an immortal, she would never bear a child. And Vlad was looking down at her, his smile becoming sly.
"Mirela, I abstained from making love to you because I would never take your life with the pain of bearing a half-vampire, half-human breed. But how can I hurt you now that the time has come?" His speech wasn't the best she ever heard from him, but it was enough for her to lie back against the bed, knowing Grigore wouldn't return anytime soon. She allowed her husband to draw the sheet apart to bare her to his eyes for the first time, and she reached up to open his doublet and undershirt, exposing a strong marble chest and abdomen. He leaned down and captured her lips with his, her body shivering with pleasure without the natural elements of a living woman's sexual stimulation - including the liquid heat which would pool below. There was no need to rush and no need to slow down either; Vlad made love to her for however long it would take throughout the night, leaving the worry about the details for the next day, and Mirela savored every bit of her first night as an immortal.
I'd done some reading on the history of Romania in the nineteenth century, just decades before Bram Stoker's epic novel "Dracula" came into existence. That story has always been a cherished, as well as various film adaptations, that I thought it a wonderful idea to blend vampires and zombies with a twist. Although realistically, a regular human being can have the traits of sensitivity to sunlight, naturally adaptable to nighttime and so on, which applies to Mirela, her husband and the other vampires who will appear later.
In case anyone didn't understand, Vlad the Impaler (Vlad III) was the son of Vlad II, who founded the Order of the Dragon in Wallachia, Romania, when Christianity was in danger during the mid-fifteenth century. Vlad III was the inspiration for Count Dracula in Bram Stoker's tale, because of his apparent thirst for blood and the patronymic of his family name Dracul which means either "the dragon" or "the devil", the latter used today.
In Romanian, Tata means "father", in case no one figured it out.