She is an old woman. Magnificently lush crimson and lavender and rose recur in her castle and in her appearance; their dazzling cleanliness, their purity is her pride.
"I am Countess Dracula," she says to the Englishwoman. "Virágszál."
"I don´t speak Romanian…" Mina begins, sounding confused.
"It is not Romanian. It is Hungarian, language of us Székelys." Countess is still holding Mina´s hand, staring to her eyes. "I called you Golden flower."
She sees other guests staring at her. People always dislike her old age, her strangeness. She does not care. Humans love to concoct filthy sewer fetishes of old "witches".
She releases Mina´s hand. For now.