Chapter Three

Dr. Van Helsing's Journal (Kept alongside his medical notes)

I must confess that though my new patient's case is most intriguing, his daughter fascinates me more. She is beautiful and intelligent, but there is some silent understanding about her which I have not encountered before.

God knows I have never been one for aesthetics, but she is beautiful. Her hair is the colour of autumn leaves, and her eyes- oh! Her eyes! They shone as dark blue as the sky at twilight. Her skin was as pale as marble. Oh! That I could but touch it! But is she truly perfection? Or is it my heart clouding my vision? Making her an angelic phantom, a false vision of perfection?

Oh! But i do love her already! But she whom my heart longs for know not of my affection! It must be remedied! I must call on her tomorrow- No. That would be without the bounds of propriety. I must call on her father and hope to God she is there.

Isolde's Journal

Later

I have mastery of my mind once more. I shall attempt to convey all that happened that night. My father and I arrived at La Scala precisely thirty minutes before the start of the performance, as we always do. Father and I weaved through the crowd in the lobby to the small hallway leading to our private box. I set my father near to the railing of the box and spoke with him for a few minutes before he urged me to, as he called it, "mingle in society." No doubt he meant for me to find a suitor to my liking somewhere in the mass of well-dressed gently and nobility that make up Milan's music-lovers.

Almost as soon as I returned to the throng of impeccably dressed patrons, husbands and wives with unmarried sons inquired after my health. The young men in question were gathered together in a group along with several young women around my age. They, noticing my presence, quickly began whispering amongst themselves. It would not be long before they began to approach me. Oh, how I loath this frustration society! Too many of these young socialites only attend to meet prospective suitors and appear intelligent and cultured. Most of them in fact have no taste for music. There are, of course, exceptions, most of which I am at least acquaintances. The others, though gentlemanly or lady-like, only associate with me to the point of acquiring my father's wealth and power.

It was not long before I saw a foppish, young man weaving his way through the crowd toward me. This was what I have dreaded: John Lestrade. He is, of course, rich, handsome, and very genteel. However, his company is so very irksome, despite the opinion he has of his charm and wit. I am happy to say it took but a minute's effort to lose him in the crowd.

Unfortunately in the process of evading him, I bumped into someone. It was a man: Count Dracula from Romania. He was the one I described earlier. In manner and address, he was charming and courteous. I could not ask for a better gentleman.

He steadied me before I could fall before going on to apologize to me. I attempted to stop him and apologize myself, but he would not allow me. He assured me in the most intriguing Eastern European accept that the fault was entirely his and that had he been paying attention, he would have noticed a lady as beautiful as I. I attempted to deny it, but he quickly assured my "an image of perfection cannot be refuted by any on Earth." I thanked him.

"What is your name, or shall I simply call you Aphrodite?" he asked.

"I am Isolde Sforza, and who, may I ask, are you?"

"I am Count Dracula," he said with a bow.

"I look forward to seeing you again, Count." I smiled at him before turning to walk away. As I walked back to my father's box, I could not help but feel that someone was watching me, though I dared not look back to find out.

When I entered my father's box, a young gentleman sat beside my father. I presumed it to be Dr. Van Helsing, which quickly proved true as my father introduced us. Van Helsing was quite courteous and intelligent, but I could not stop thinking of Count Dracula. My father noticed my wistfulness, but he only saw fit to recall me from my thoughts once before the overture began, and that was only to if I had met anyone in the lobby. I answered that I had met no one other than the usual. Even now as I think about it, I cannot for the life of me see why I did not wish to tell my father of the Count. In fact, I still have the oddest urge to keep my new acquaintance secret.

I was able to recall myself from my thoughts enough to enjoy the opera, that is until I again felt that someone was watching me. I looked around at the audience before spotted the very same man that had been occupying my thoughts staring at me from a box on the opposite of the Grand Tier. Even when it was clear that I saw him, he did not turn away. If anything, his gaze intensified. He was clearly studying me, though to what purpose I still must ask myself. If he was so shameless in his observation, I at least decided I should be able to do the same. This was how I was able to have such a complete description earlier.

I studied him unabashedly, the corners of his mouth tilted upwards in a smile of understanding and acknowledgement. He then nodded before looking pointedly down at the stage. Only then did I notice that the performers were on the final scene. For the rest of the performance, I kept my eyes on the stage, even though I soon felt the same feeling of being watched. I did not give in.

I did not see the Count again until Dr. Van Helsing helped me into my coat, and then he simply stood there staring whilst the crowd swarmed around him.

At the end of the evening, I could hardly remember a thing this new doctor had said or done. My mind was, and regrettably still is, filled with the Count. Or perhaps it is not so regrettable...Perhaps he will be a great friend to me, but is that really what I want?

I am anxious to attend the opera again and perhaps meet this mysterious Count Dracula once more.