I am so sorry about the year + long delay. I will try and keep updating this far more regularly.


Sleep was blessed and cursed relief for Erik. He was thoroughly exhausted, his body weary and too heavy to move, but his instincts were begging him not to succumb to the sweet lull. Crumbs littered his frock and bedding, the roll provided much relief to his sour stomach. A content belly, a hole the curl up in, and a thick quilt provided all the safety requirements Erik's body craved.

However, with the blissful unawareness of sleep came the torrential storm of nightmares.

He was standing on a stage, dozens of lights focused on him. He was singing, the song effortless rising from his throat to the amazement of a crowded audience. A flaxen beauty accompanied him, her voice swirling and curling around his in a duet. Each time he tried to look at her, his eyes burned, her body glowing with all the brilliance of the sun. She was familiar, he knew her, but only his subconscious knew her. He had never seen her and yet he had seen her everywhere, all the time. She reached out to kiss him. He welcomed her embrace only for her to strike him. She was his mother, screaming and beating him, ripping his mask away from his face. Every blow of her fists rattled his bones. The audience was no longer in rapture, they were screaming, they were laughing, they were pointing at Erik. He scrambled away from her and suddenly the stage was longer there. In its stead, the beams of light turned into dark and narrow trees. He scrambled away, pushing and running, but only to slip further and further back. He looked behind him, to see the distance he had covered to put between his mother and in her stead, he found a snarling black wolf, flanked by two others. The ground was slick with ice, and Erik kept sliding backwards, despite his hard running. In desperation, he looked back at the wolves only to see Dracula flanked by two women, their mouths still filled with the wolves' teeth.

He slipped, the ground crumbling to dust underneath his feet, screaming as he plummeted down.

His body jolted in the bed and Erik woke with a scream at the edge of his throat, wanting to tear out. His body was moist with a layer of chilled sweat, but he had hardly moved within the bed. His heart hammered against his chest and he inhaled sharply, swallowing his cries and remaining silent.

A figure cloaked in shadows stood at the foot of his bed.

Erik sat up with the unexpected intrusion, cold adrenaline coursing through his body, ready to bolt away by any means necessary.

"Sleep," Dracula commanded. A pale hand reached toward Erik and gently lowered. Erik's body followed the demand, crumpling back down onto the bed. His eyes rolled back and lids were down even before his head hit the pillow. The flood of anxiety seeped away and crippling numbness was its replacement.

His rest was mercifully dreamless.


The Church bells echoed through the village, loud and demanding. Erzsebet secured a scarf around her head to protect her from the biting cold and donned her finger-less gloves. She left her humble room, pausing hesitantly at the door to look toward Ima, busy stoking the flames of the oven. She was humming softly to herself, slapping her hands off of one another, shaking the excess flour off as she moved to work more dough. She watched the older woman work, a knot of guilt in her stomach knowing she needed her help, but was leaving for several hours.

"I'm leaving," she called to her. Ima nodded as she continued to knead bread dough and hummed in acknowledgment.

"I'll need you to work the pastry dough for the kürtőskalács when you come back. It's resting now, but you'll need to roll it out in the chimney shape." Ima didn't' look up, but continued aggressively kneading. Perhaps, she was a little too involved with the dough.

Erzsebet nodded with a soft, "I will," and quietly closed the door behind her. She exhaled deeply, not realizing she was holding her breath. She marched along with the other villagers to the Church that commanded their attention. She clutched at a small golden cross that hung on a necklace around her neck, her steps hurried. Being late to church was societal suicide, not going at all was worse.

She wondered how Ima could do it.

Every Sunday, the process would repeat itself. Ima was distant in the morning, agonizingly quiet to where she seemed to ignore Erzsebet, or snappish, sending out biting criticisms over the small things. It was a routine they were used to, and it made Erzsebet's heart ache for the woman. She could only imagine the frustrations Ima must have, being ostracized so readily every week, to be constantly reminded of her otherness.

Father Popescu stood at the doors of the Church, nodding his head to everyone who passed by inside. Every so often, a soft hello passed his lips to individuals. Erzsebet tried to brush past without being noticed, but he held his hand out and stopped her, as he did every Sunday.

"She is still too stubborn to join you?" His question was gentle but tinged with accusation.

"It's not her belief," she told him firmly.

"And you allow her to not believe in Christ, knowing full well it will damn her?"

Erzsebet clenched her teeth and looked down, unable to argue.

"Try harder next time, hmm?"

He patted her on the back, Erzsebet lurching forward from the unexpected and unwanted touch. She hurried herself inside to get the service finished as quickly as possible.

The wooden pews were nearly full by the time she trickled in with the rest of the stragglers into the Church. Erzsebet eased herself a few rows in, seated at the edge. It provided more accessibility to leave when the service was over, but not too far back where she seemed too eager to leave the sanctuary. To her, it was an exhausting dance of ensuring you were seen, but don't be too ostentatious. Don't do anything to stand out from everyone else. Don't do anything to draw attention to yourself, but you must be with everyone else. Be present, but keep your head bowed. Follow the crowd, do not be distracting, and obey, obey, obey. These were less the rules of the Church and more of the laws of the community.

In that moment, she bowed her head with the congregation in silent prayer. They moved in unison, all the rituals practiced weekly.

Erzsebet's mind wandered as she thought of Ima at home. How much simpler she must have had it, not going to this Church every week. Her heart clenched to think of the expense, though.

Was it worth it?

Ima had turned a little corner of her house into her own place of worship. There wasn't a Jewish section in the town, nor was there ones for several towns away. Otherwise, she might have a synagogue to attend.

Erzsebet fell to her knees as the congregation was commanded to pray together. Words spilled from her mouth, but she paid them no heed. She could recite the prayers in her sleep, but they brought her no comfort. Her stomach clenched as a small boy beside her murmured his prayers. A memory of her little brother caught a gasp in her throat and her sickened feeling intensified. The words were meaningless and superficial. The crouching on the wooden floor gave her sore and bruised knees, a stiffness that would linger long after the service.

She danced through the rituals, feeling a sense of resentment take root in her stomach. Her mind felt vacant as she no longer wished to hear the sermon, something full of venom and spite under the guise of godly goodliness.

"-and in these winter months, we must consider the safety of our own families. We must take heed of the storms that will be upon us, to ration our good fortune and maintain it before the coming spring. Let no window be open, let no door be unlocked, for thieves and demons will leech on your good charity, or worse." He allowed the words to hang in the air as the room seem to give a collective shudder. "Keep a steady light with you and your family closer. Now is the time when the others can prey on good Christians, so never falter in your love for Christ. His symbol must be with you always. Always! Lest you fall like the wickedness in those who do not Believe."

Erzsebet kept her eyes staring down at the stone floor. Her mouth remained closed against the protests that bubbled in her heart. Her body lurched slightly, the impulse to speak out trying to escape. The injustices ran through her and it physically caused her to ache.

Nevertheless, she remained silent against the non-explicit verbal beating against Ima.

Her shoulders slumped as she continued to gaze at the floor, no longer aware of the people around her.

"-and in Jesus's name, we say, Amen."

A chorus of "amen" murmured back to the pulpit from the pews and everyone slowly rose together to exit the Church. Erzsebet moved mechanically with the rest of the bodies, caught in the exiting flow.

Snow was steadily falling now, yet still patchy on the ground. Whiteness began to clump in corners, but the wind blew through, scattering the flakes around. Erzsebet shrugged her shoulders closer to her ears and bowed her head to try and keep the cold out; the scarf provided only little protection when the wind chilled to the bone. Her strides were purposeful and angry, heading straight back to the bakery, not wanting to linger in the Church anymore than she had to.

The cross around her neck felt like it was blistering her skin, absorbing all the freezing air and directing it to her skin. She clutched at it, instinctively, warming the metal with her hands until it rested easy on her once again. She stood by the door of the bakery, kicking off crusted dirt and snow from her shoes. She gazed at the little container on the doorframe, no bigger than her finger. Ima's mezuzah was small and simple, the inscription in Hebrew letters etched in hastily to the carved wood. She may as well have painted her door bright red because of how it marked her as a Jewish home, but in its simplicity, Erzsebet saw its elegance. She lightly touched the holder, her finger brushing the curled paper inside with the words she could not read.

Erzsebet clutched at the handle as the wind pushed against her. She struggled to open the door until it swung open with a mighty burst.

"IIiiimaaa," she called breathlessly, "I'm home!"

"Good, you foolish bat! Get inside before you let the heat out. Go! Wash your hands, I need you to knead the dough while I get these in the oven. We have a big order and it isn't going to wait!"

Erzsebet shrugged off her scarf and inhaled the yeasty smells that filled her lungs and belly. "All right, all right," she replied, equally exasperated, plucking her gloves off and tossing them aside.

"-In your room!" Ima snapped her fingers and pointed at Erzsebet's outerwear she haphazardly discarded. She balanced one tray of proofed rolls with tiny crosses on them and was able to command with her free hand.

"All RIGHT!" She snapped back, scooping up her items and huffed away, dropping them on the floor behind the door. Erzsebet grabbed her awaiting apron off of the hook next to her door and simultaneously kicked it closed with a swipe from her booted ankle.

"Where do you pick up these habits!" Ima shook her head, shoving another tray of rolls forcefully into the oven.

Erzsebet rolled her eyes and bit back her tongue, knowing the winter months were always just a bit too hard on the older woman.


Erik's eyes opened with a start. An unnatural silence engulfed him, the noiselessness suffocating him. He was always surrounded by noise, by music, but the stillness upset him.

Silence met his mother was upset and there would no longer be silence.

His senses flooded back to him as his body began to remove itself from slumber. No, he was not a little boy anymore, fearful of his Maman. He was not in his room in the attic. He sat up in his bed, back propped against the frigid stone walls.

No clocks adorned the room, nor were there any windows. Silence and darkness, often something he craved, seemed repugnant to him now, though he could not remember why. He scratched his head in thought, hoping to etch some memory of why he felt so groggy.

"What happened last night?" he muttered to himself. His mouth slow to move, as though cotton had been there all night. The stale taste of copper lingered, Erik running his tongue over his teeth, searching for any cuts.

In that moment, the wave of gut-clenching disgust drew back to him when he remember the goblet of blood, the flickering fireplace, and the Count, standing at the foot of his bed.

In an instant, Erik was on his feet, the blanket fluttering helplessly down. He reached out with his left hand to grab his mask, always in arm's reach, only to find his violin case missing.

Someone indeed had been in his room.

Clasping his right hand over the hole in his face, his fingers spread wide like a starfish for a to cover the worst of his deformity, he blindly searched for any trace of his belongings.

His outreached hand brushed up against last night's candle, and he held it tightly in his grasp. His fingers edged down to hook inside the arm of the holder and he removed his palm from his face to sweep alongside the bedside table. He found a match and stuck it sharply against the stone wall. It hissed to life and he quickly lit his candle, and then the others around his room for proper illumination.

His violin case was nowhere to be seen.

He did, however, spy his crude strip of cloth he had torn the night before. He tied the loose edges behind his ears securely, but it did little to cover anything, only his lack of nose was shielded away.

Erik gritted his teeth in frustration, looking more like a frightful skeleton. He wanted to leave this horrible place at daybreak, but who could tell the hour? And now that his violin and collection of other masks were missing…

He could not leave them behind. They were the only possessions he cared about.

His fist collided with the hidden door, perhaps more aggressively than he initially intended. It slid open unencumbered and Erik stormed out of his room.

"COUNT, I-" He interrupted himself, discovering he was alone. He had assumed the Count would be there, looming as he did the night previous.

Contrary to the last evening's activities, the castle was devoid of sound.

Erik stood dumbfounded at the vastness of the silence. Surely there had to be someone in the castle. A servant, a cook, someone to wait on the Count.

He stood rooted to the spot, the Count's stern warning from the night prior: never walk these halls unaccompanied. Erik rolled his eyes and let out a sputtering, exasperated scoff.

"He lives a solitary life. I am probably the worst monstrosity that has even been inside this castle," Erik said to himself, taking heedless steps outside of his room and into the darkened hallway.

Echoes of mocking laughter reverberated throughout the chambers.