Death, Rebirthed
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Steven Sommer's wonderful work, if I did, do you think I'd be writing this?
He was gone. Finally gone. Dracula did not know how much longer he could have held on. They had left the dead Princess on the broken settee. Perfect. The once proud, suave and arrogant man crawled with his remaining strength to the sad little settee. He looked at the Princess for a moment, put a finger to the gaping wound at his throat, and carefully dropped two drops of his black, ancient blood on her slightly parted lips.
"Save me," he whispered in her pale ear, "and know the truth."
He looked at the beautiful pale face one last time, sighed, and fell to ashes.
"En requiem sachem pace. En nominus Deum. Amen."
Wait. What did that mean? She knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, but with all her efforts she could not bring it to the front. Where…? She tried to look around but her eyes would not obey her commands.
What is going on?
Suddenly there was a bright light and warmth that tickled her dulled senses. This calmed her agitated mind and she quietly slipped back into darkness.