Transylvania, nearby Borgo Pass, 1832, autumnal equinox
...
"That's not him."
"How so? Not him? I can recognize my own descendant!"
"Vlad, really… You've lost track of all those servant girls and Gypsy women, that's what."
"It IS him, I am certain. Check thoroughly. A dragon-shaped mark, on the shoulder blade."
"He doesn't have any marks. On the shoulder blades, or anywhere else. Do you want me to make a list?"
"In that case, we have to kill him. He knows about us."
"Hey, he's mine!"
"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play with your food?"
"He owes me."
"Just get over it! He has to die!"
"Better kill Carlisle. He'll compromise our whole race one day, mark my words."
