To anyone who still reads this story, I appreciate you having continued faith in reading this tale, for I am still very interested in how it ends. College and laziness are my unexcused excuses, and I can't promise frequent updates this summer. But as always, enjoy the read and reviews/criticism is very much welcome.

"The soul that can speak through the eyes can also kiss with a gaze." -Gustavo Adolfo Becquer

"Dear sister, whatever is the matter? You look as if you were a corpse!" exclaimed Aldric, resting his hands on Adela's shoulders in as much mustered sympathy he could manage. "You should be rejoicing with me for tonight's celebratory party in honor of my engagement… but you look unhappy." Her brother's eyes faltered in vigor, drooping to a narrowed state of concern for Adela—the question, in truth, is whether or not this concern was feigned in order to tie up loose ends, or as they say, frayed nerves before the night festivities were to begin.

Adela, however apprehensive she felt knowing that once again she must present herself to the world as an eligible young flower for the taking, removed any trace of a crestfallen demeanor from her features and simply smiled at Aldric.

"I am merely anxious for this evening, Aldric, that is all. Mama has told me several times this week that I must be resolute in my selection of a potential husband. All the fun and games you played at my age when it came to suitors are over," winked Adela. "My fate rests in the hands of our guests tonight."

Aldric's features lightened considerably and he couldn't help but laugh at the sound of Adela wording her matrimonial troubles so intensely. "Ah, Adela, why are you investing so much of your worries on a party? Mama has given me the same lecture for years, and as you already know my future is safely set. Jackie tells me you have every intention of bewitching the entire ballroom with your pleasant eye." Her brother turned sideways to give additional commands to two servants helping with the décor of the ballroom, before he turned to face Adela once again. "Do as you intend, and take my advice, sister: keep mama's words out of that pretty little head of yours. She always tends to ruin the fun before the entertainment begins." At a sudden crash resounding in the room adjacent to them, Aldric started off at a fast gait in the direction of the accident, bidding Adela a quick farewell and good wishes before his other preoccupations consumed him.

A sort of fear began to stir within her at the thought of this night once she was left to her thoughts. Excitement also lingered there, both emotions waiting to be ignited the moment she steps two feet into the ballroom on this forthcoming evening. Her dreams had grown more vivid, heavier in tension and emotion that she could practically see the energy emanating off of her body in those visions. The man she had seen twice in her life and countless of times in her dreams would now whisper unintelligible things to her, and on sleepless nights Adela spent hours deciphering what he could possibly be saying. Among those hours laying wide awake and breathless from the sequence of images repeating in her mind, she could come up with three words, "Come to me." The words, as simplistic as they were, haunted her in her waking hours. The way he stressed every accent, every syllable uttered from his beautiful lips wrought everlasting chills through her body when she thought about them. She could not think about such a man tonight—not once and not ever again as she finds her husband-to-be among the hundreds of suitors attending the celebration.

Over a week's time her mother had been able to pull together and direct every statue, plant, crystal cutlery and plating into the manor without hearing a thundering crash or shriek echo through the crowded halls. The tapestries had been dusted, the floors polished numerous times, and the rooms cleaned extensively for overnight guests wishing to spend a few additional days in lieu of the celebration. A stage had been set, and it was up to Adela to play the part and look her most glorious. Parties like this one had not been very different from the manifold others she attended in the not-so-distant past. The only stark difference now versus then was that it was out of necessity for her to acquire a man and not tease him with her mystery and deception as she had done so on countless occasions.

The night drew nearer by the hour, and with each passing tick of the clocks dispersed throughout her home came the inevitable clenching of Adela's stomach, for she couldn't help but fear for the worst. Was it supposed to be a relieving thought when Aldric mentioned he had been lectured numerous times by their mother about marriage, and here he was with his destined-to-be under the neatly pinned veils strung up for his engagement party? It would take a fool to know one; Adela and Aldric shared similar tastes in their methods of flirtation, not to mention their appeal to lazing about life until it slapped their cheeks in discourse. Perhaps fate would be in her favor tonight—perhaps on the eve of Aldric's affirmation of engagement Adela could ensure her mother's happiness with a man of some foreign land. She dared let her mind wander momentarily to the exotic shores of Italy, the thick foliage of India, and even the mystery the thirteen colonies brought in their wake.

Every pull and tug of the strings of her stay symbolized her unwillingness to become enclosed in the throngs of society. She wished to belong in the recesses of her happiness, to be free and changing in a long lost love several women aspire to imagine. Society in general and even the strict infrastructure of the French court struck an acrid taste on her tongue. Grant me a gypsy man of some mysterious country. A refined one, yet savagely witty, she prayed. Fold after fold of her manner of dress flew over her head, increasingly securing her destiny in a world she felt not a part of. The rouge and coal applied to her artificially pale skin, the curling of her glossy chestnut locks into perfected disarray, and the glimmering jewels fastened to her delicate figure denoted the finished chef-d'oeuvre of her person. Adela was ready to face her audience head-on, with the help of the true stars of this evening's celebration, of course.

Jacqueline met her at the top of the grand stairs, taking Adela's hand in her own to comfort the wired nerves of her sister.

"Come, come, dear Adela. Tu es belle. You will steal every man's heart tonight. They will all think they have come in celebration of your beauty rather than our foolish brother's betrothal." Jacqueline's mouth curved upwards, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, I cannot wait until I am your age to take part in this excitement! Go on, sister, I will be watching you from afar." With a light push, Jacqueline nudged Adela around the corner to link arms with their father, Grégoire Reneau. The moment had been timed perfectly, for the pronouncement of titles for the residents of Reneau manor had just begun.

"How is my little bonbon this evening? I hope your mother has treated you well this past week with all the preparations in order. She can become a little unreasonable when hosting," he stated, patting his daughter's hand affectionately as they descended the staircase one step at a time. Adela smiled back at her father, eyes shining with warmth at the comfort Grégoire brought to her whenever concerns crept up her spine unsuspectingly.

"I am well, Papa. Isn't it exciting watching your first-born marry at a young age? Mama says Aldric has already established quite the partnership with the eldest son of the Chevalier family." Adela looked ahead, her cheeks burning once she realized the massive number of guests that filled the ballroom, all silent in their anticipation of becoming reacquainted with the members of the host family.

Grégoire Reneau snuck a sideways glance at his daughter, eyes softening when he noticed her bottom lip shook with unease at the sight of the numerous court nobles and families making way for introductions.

"Yes, it is exciting to see Aldric find a bride that suits his… changing personality. However, this occasion is also saddening, for it means I may lose you as my lovely daughter in the process. You can find your husband tonight."

"Oh, don't become disheartened so quickly, father. There is no man in this very room as I can see that holds my interest. There will be a few years ahead of me before I am able to—"

Adela's statement unfinished, she watched the spectacle ahead of her, color draining from her face in an instant. A man stood not twenty feet away in the path her feet would eventually carry her, staring as intensely as she in identical direction. She swallowed the lump that began to form in her throat, for all things impossible in that moment became unimaginably possible. The smooth porcelain face proved exact to the face she had brushed her fingers against in her dreams, the deep bottomless ocean of his eyes she'd gazed into on limitless nights seemed to smile at her as she reached the base of the staircase, and his hair—the smooth ebony locks Adela ran her long fingers through shone off the candlelight in a beautiful blue hue. It wasn't possible.

She blinked several times to clear the vision she thought had run a tad cloudy in the past five minutes, beseeching her maker that this was not merely a mirage spun to her desires. As soon as the man appeared, he was gone, blending into the massive crowd of guests until she could see him no more.

"Adela, dear? You were saying?" inquired her father after they had unlinked arms at the announcement of their titles.

Adela closed her eyes a moment, wishing for her sanity to be in check this evening. "Sorry, Papa. My thoughts took me away a moment. I meant it would be another couple of years before a man ever took my hand in marriage."

"Nonsense! You are the gem of the evening. It may be a celebration for your brother and his betrothed, but all eyes will fall to you because of your eligibility. Haven't you noticed the selection of men at the party tonight? They are both foreign and domestic, a variety from which you can pick at your whim. I want my daughter to be smitten with her husband, just as your mother and I are happy in our union." Grégoire beamed as he parted from his daughter. Teary-eyed at his wishes, Adela whispered a brief thank you and walked in the opposite direction to greet her brother and his fiancée before le dîner commenced.
They were huddled in the center of the entrance hall trying to politely accept congratulations from a number of people as Adela approached. Aldric's fiancée, Brigitte, looked quite relieved at the sight of his sister intervening. "Brigitte! How very lovely it is to see you!" Adela welcomed, pulling her future sister-in-law's hands into hers and kissing her rosy cheeks cordially.

"It's always a pleasure to see you, Adela. You look quite ravishing this evening, my dear!" Brigitte's smile, genuine every time, grew wider when her eyes fell to Adela. Always the sweet girl who never refrained from sharing a kindness, Adela wondered what brought the young woman into the clutches of her brother. Her soft, ivory features reflected the embodiment of innocence, while her brother's hardened, chiseled mien foiled that innocence with corruption. She would have expected a woman with a lust for gold to have married Aldric, though she found quite the opposite standing in front of her.

"Nonsense, Brie. You are the jewel of Aldric's eye, and I'm sure he intends to show you off as the treasure you are to our guests. Keep him in check with the spirits, will you?" she added in for good measure. "We can't have your fiancé blabbering rubbish to future business consorts."

Aldric put a hand to his chest in mock pain, causing Adela and Brigitte to giggle at his accusatory stare. "I would never!"

Brigitte scoffed and took Aldric's arm around hers, taunting lightly, "Now, now, dear, you know how you get when they pop open the champagne at supper. Sisters like to joke." Steering him away from his mischievous sister and taking a brief moment to wink at Adela in assurance, they, too, disappeared into the crowd.

It was a brief second so quick that Adela wouldn't catch it, but she never noticed how Brigitte's left hand brushed faintly against her not-yet-swollen abdomen as the couple walked away.

The true festivities began twenty minutes after a series of a hundred reintroductions that passed by in a blur, giving Adela both a headache and a serious appetite for sugary pastries to keep her feet on the ground. Traditional dancing arrived before the banquet could be served as custom, and she discovered that she was not only starving and light-headed, but also incredibly thirsty. Having not seen her family members since the beginning of the evening, with the servers of wine-filled goblets nowhere in sight to sate her thirst, Adela submitted to the next hour of dance. After five or six twirls with aristocrats across the globe, her wits took a toll on her as per usual when the conversations grew dull and the men all looked the same. Germany, Spain, and minor countries alike have beat other nations to a dance with the bachelorette; three of them did not speak a word of French, and two had little to enquire about since her voice fell on ears that did not listen. As the music went from a moderate tempo to a slow waltz, Adela turned just in time to meet the dark eyes of a French marquis. He smiled kindly at her, to her surprise, dropping into a low bow with his hand extended toward her own, waiting.
"May I?"

Blinking with curiosity, her hand settled in the crook of his. "You may," she sniffed, allowing him to sweep her across the ballroom floor. Her gown twirled about her ankles as they turned, his smooth footing appealing rather impressively to her tastes. "What is your name, monsieur, so that I can compliment you for suave manner and notable dancing technique?" Adela inquired out of need to make small talk with her dance partners.

"I am Christoph, Mademoiselle Reneau. Christoph Fortescue." He was rather dark-skinned for his status, sporting a golden tan physique from many hours in the sun. Tall, with curls the color of sand. It was his eyes that made him distinctly French: heavy-lidded and dark, and Adela couldn't help but release a sigh of relief at her findings.
Charming, she thought. A possibility, too.

"It is a pleasure to meet a man who shares my native land, Christoph. Tell me, monsieur. What sort of gentleman attends a celebratory engagement party without a lady on his arm, hmm?" she smirked, pressing her right palm against his left as they spun in circle adjacent to other couples. "I am told that this party is a ploy to find me a proper suitor to court. Have you not heard stories of my flirtations before you made the decision to respond to the invitation? I am a trickster in the ways of men, and yet you continue to dance with me in hopes of pleasing my eye."

Christoph returned a smirk of his own, curling Adela toward his body in the finale of the dance; his hands brushed momentarily against the curves of her waist, bearing upwards until both were palm-to-palm and finishing with a bow. "Rumors can be falsified, my lady. I suspect you are not as much of a faerie as most believe. You create an image of yourself that you wish others to see." He brought her hand up to his lips and pressed a parting kiss into her palm, his eyes burning into her own as he released her hand. "I, for one, see the woman behind the image and would like to know her as she is now, not as others prefer to imagine her. Bonsoir, Adela. Shall I see you again?"

"Only if you can properly seek me out, Christoph," she teased. "Bonsoir."

He excited her, she'll give him that. Maybe that is enough for a marriage, to keep it going. Christoph has wit and confidence, which is something that primarily lacks in the French court. Surely he would be filled to the brim with stories of old, tales of lands her eyes would never see in this lifetime. He would sate her thirst for adventure and match her breadth of knowledge only a nobleman's daughter can acquire. Then, yes. That is enough.

Dwelling on the miniscule thoughts of her new interest distracted Adela from a heavy presence in the room. The energy felt powerful, mysterious, and dangerous all at once… and familiar. It took only a minute to pass by before she recognized a shift in the air, causing her arms to shake with trepidation.

"Excuse me, mademoiselle, but I believe we haven't yet been introduced to each other this evening." Adela knew who he was before she turned around. She recognized the rich accent of his voice and how it seemed like he was inwardly laughing about some undiscovered secret she did not know of. He had been a figment from her dreams in passing, a threat to her clouded version of reality. It continued to amaze her that such a thing existed as a man she had known, but never met, since she was a child. One thing was certain in this fateful meeting, she knew of: Adela can finally connect the thresholds of reality and fantasy and know his name as it is in this world. Even if he did not know her, even if she could be truly insane, she would be able to get to know this man for how the world shaped him, and not how her mind knew of him. She turned, hesitant to face him.

He was breathtaking to look at. It took all of her to gather her skirts in her hands and curtsy to him, this figure of lust and mystery and darkness that blossomed her white rose into a deep crimson in her nightly visions. "Adela Reneau," she pronounced, eyelids fluttering closed out of fear at what he would see if he stared into them.

"Count Vladislaus Dracul. It is a pleasure to meet the second eldest of the Reneau family." Very similar to Christoph, Vladislaus bent over to kiss her hand in greeting. These lips, when put conversely against Christoph's warmth, felt like ice on her skin, and she quivered in response to the slightest touch. "May I have this final dance, Adela?" She averted her eyes when his azures dared to gaze.

It was that hope of learning him; hope to find out any similarity between the man before her and the man in her dreams that thrust Adela into his attentions to accept his dance. "Certainly."

His hands were even colder than his lips.

Mouth sealed in stitches of fretfulness and amazement, Adela merely glanced about the ballroom to distract herself, and judging in the way the Count carefully spun and dipped her in the ways of the dance, she could sense her distraction added to his unforeseen interest. Not a friendly soul in sight, she decided making conversation with him would comfort her better than saying nothing at all. The Count's efforts had only gone so far as to ask her to dance, and Adela felt unimaginably rude for not meeting up with her etiquette.

"Have we ever met before, monsieur?" she asked falsely. "You look rather familiar. Were we perhaps acquainted at one of my father's political soirees?"

He laughed in response, a deep and magnetizing laugh that drew her in, and she found herself leaning closer into the proximity of space left between them, until he uttered, "Perhaps, once upon a dream." A joke, of course? But then, as he chanced a look at her startled reaction, he added in recompense, "Surely, I would remember a face of such enchanting beauty as yours if we had met before. I am afraid this is our first, and may I hope not our last, encounter."

Adela blinked back the fire he had ignited in her eyes, for he had managed to embarrass and flatter her in a matter of a minute. "If I didn't know better, I would say you were trying to trifle with my looks and insult my intelligence all in the same statement, Monsieur Dracul. No man has dared to speak so boldly to a woman lest it be behind her back."

"Men and women of my homeland are free to share their opinions unless they are given precaution otherwise. I am well aware that women prefer the chatter of courtly gossip in France rather than the politics of the old worlds—"

"There you go again, monsieur!" Adela shouted at the most polite octave she could muster without disturbing other guests. "We women of France are educated in numerous subjects, far more refined than the English. Gossip is a pastime I do not take enjoyment in."

"Then, if you will have it, I would greatly appreciate your company at a later date, and perchance we may battle our wits at politics or whatever subject you wish to debate on, my lady." Count Dracul separated himself from Adela at the height of their rising argument, detecting the passion in her voice as a sign that their dance must end. Releasing her waist and hand from his grasp, he politely tipped his head in her direction to dismiss himself.

For he thrilled and haunted her, and she had only known him for less than an hour. He had successfully beat her at her own game of flirtation and scorn, and she hadn't known it. Her remembrances of their touches in her dreams, their insatiable hungers that filled her not fully matured appetite, knowing that he was not this phantom of her own intimate visions; it all pained her mind enough to not hold a stable conversation with him.

What was he doing to her? Can she fall into a more twisted style of insanity than she had already created? He looked at her like he knew her, yet he denied any trace of recognizance when words blazed like wildfire from their lips. She wasn't even dancing, for the love of god.

"We shall see," she retorted in reply, but it had been minutes since he left her standing in the center of the couples swaying in their unified bows and curtsies, a sign that dinner had just begun.

June 10th, 1665
London, Nightfall

Our first encounter that night was the beginning of my end. I loved him before we had the chance to speak. I hated him, too. I hate him, still.

Adela