Agatha (is alive!) and wakes up in England.
Agatha awoke to a bright light, causing her to squint and frown in response. She felt weak. Tired. Hungry. Where am I? As she rubbed her forehead, in reaction to her huge headache, she opened her eyes again, now adjusting to the light, and took in her surroundings. She was in a room she didn't recognize, wearing her same clothing from the ship, full of sand, and the light source was only the sun leeching in through a slightly opened curtain.
A young doctor who walked inside the room, eyeing her as if she was some sort of…breed he had never seen before.
Have I transitioned? How did I get here?
"You're awake," said the doctor, walking up to the edge of the bed. He was skinny and tall, blonde, sharp features adorning his face. "I'm Doctor Andrew Harper. Please try not to move too much. You're still healing—"
"Where am I? How did I get here?"
"You're in England…You were dropped off here at the clinic. You were washed ashore, practically dead. The fact that you're alive right now, breathing, is nothing short of a miracle."
"Breathing?"
"Consistently?"
"Uh…breathing, yes,"
"So…I haven't transitioned yet." She gave a big smile as she felt her own pulse in her arm and looked towards the sunlight.
She noticed the confused face of the doctor and smirked.
"Oh, it's…a religious term," Agatha improvised. "I'm not dead."
"How are you feeling, Sister…?"
"Agatha. Yes, I am fine. A little bit of a headache, is all."
A knock on the door and in walked a man, dressed nicely, wearing a clean grey suit.
"I'm not sure she's in the right state yet, to be answering your questions-" said the Doctor, but the man ignored him.
"Sister…it is a delight to meet you," said the man as he walked over to Agatha and eagerly shook her hand. He was tall, a bit older than Agatha, though not by much—a handsome man by any standards. The beginnings of a well-trimmed beard on his face, and his hair was a shade of black so dark that she had only ever seen it before on Count Dracula.
"I am Detective Stefan Weber."
"Detective—" started the Doctor, but he interrupted.
"You may call me Stefan. But I come here as a journalist as well, and that is why-"
"He is an author on fiction," stated the Doctor blandly.
Detective Stefan glanced back at the Doctor and then looked back at Agatha, who briefly wondered if Detective Stefan and herself shared a mutual acquaintance here in London.
"My work is unique, he means."
"Of course, unique," said the Doctor under his breath.
"But enough about me. What may I call you?" the Detective continued.
"Agatha."
"Agatha…Sister…May I ask—Do you remember what happened? And…if I may inquire about your neck?"
"I was in a ship, I drowned, and prior to that the Devil bit me."
There was an awkward silence in the room until Agatha released a laugh, and the Doctor and Detective joined in with an uncomfortable laughter. Agatha knew telling the truth would make them uncomfortable, but well, at least she (briefly) said it out loud.
"More religious terminology," Agatha said, smiling, as she eyed the Doctor. "I do not quite remember what occurred," she lied. She couldn't take the chance that she would end up being taken to some kind of ward, and kept there, if she started talking about vampires...
"I have been investigating a terrible crime recently…At a convent in Budapest…A friend of mine is there, looking into the matter. Do you have any idea what I speak of? Were you there?"
"Yes, I was there," she said after a moment.
"Do you remember…at the convent…the wolves…? How did you survive? None of your sisters did."
"Wolves…Yes…We escaped by running into a hidden location at the convent, that I had previously used for my own studies…"
"We…meaning there was someone else with you…?"
Suddenly Agatha groaned, putting her hand to her head.
"I told you, Stefan," said the Doctor, rushing over to Agatha's side. "She needs rest. She needs-"
"I need food. And water."
Agatha hoped it was this that she needed—not blood.