In this one: Agatha reminisces on a dream.

Agatha drifted asleep finally after what felt like too many days and nights without it. She was dreaming of one of her own memories, this time one of theirs, which she had been avoiding, but could not always be helped.

It was another time she had 'awoken' to find herself at his castle. Agatha had been wandering around, her curiosity never completely satisfied by the place. There was always some new place hall to discover, a new room unexplored. She could picture Jonathan here, lost, trying to keep his sanity.

As usual, Dracula found her, reminding her that she may get lost if she did too much of her solitary exploring. It was by then a normal situation, as they both had become accustomed to these meetings.

At some point in their conversation, the subject had come around to food (not surprising at all). Agatha asked the Count if he wished he could eat something besides blood. But it seemed he didn't.

"The bloodlust never ends," he had told her. It was much too strong for him to want anything else.

Agatha mentioned something about one of the dinners the Detective had once brought her, and the meals she sometimes cooked at the convent. Somehow after this they had ended up at the kitchen with Dracula intending to cook for her and teach her a new meal, something Romanian. Some sort of soup, or stew.

She helped him, but he did most of the work. He cooked up chicken, some appetizers, and even made desserts. Agatha recognized Dracula's need to boast and prove himself excelled in nearly everything, and if it weren't for this, she would've thought he was hosting a party with all the food he was preparing.

"Are we having a ball of some sort?" she said, and she imagined what this castle must have looked like once, lively, full of music and brimming with lights. "I'm not going to be able to eat all of this."

"No, I imagine not," he chuckled. "But I insist you try a little of everything. You'll like it."

Agatha took a sip of the wine, watching him continue his cooking. She had been uncharacteristically distracted, not taking many mental notes, more interested in observing his actions to satisfy the deep assessment of him she constantly sought out.

He indeed had a sharp mind to remember these recipes when he rarely cooked, except when he had his doomed visitors over. Dracula cut the ingredients with precision, pouring vegetables little by little into a pan. Control and precision, she thought.

He cleaned up well, looking like the man he strove to be, once maybe even was. Seemingly physical perfection in the way he presented himself. He seemed like someone who had not ever had a care in the world, had never been touched or affected by anything. It seemed nothing could touch him. It made her wonder-He had known violence his entire life, but had it- or anything ever truly affected him?

If she had met the Count years ago, when she was younger and much less wise, and without an inkling of who or what he was, she may have even been fooled and charmed by him. How many had come here for him… and ended up killed or worse-becoming something else?

One would never guess at first glance that he was a monster.

Agatha glanced over his hands and the fabric tugging at his forearms, then back to his face when he looked at her.

"Here. Try a little," he leaned forward and smiled.

Agatha almost moved back. When Dracula looked at her it felt as if he was trying to uncover layers of her thoughts and it was startling. Something she only encountered with him. A problem of this bond unintentionally created.

She noticed he intended to feed her himself with a spoon he held. She immediately took hold of his wrist, and gently took the silverware from him, before trying some of the food. The name of the recipe came to her mind suddenly as she tried it. Ciorba de Burta. That's what it was.

"It's good," she said, placing down the silverware. "I didn't know you knew how to cook so well, but I should not be surprised. What's next? After the carrots, the onions, I presume…?"

"You've been paying attention," he smiled.

"I'm trying to keep up with you," she smirked. "Tell me, have you always been careful with what you eat?"

"Always, Agatha."

"Is any garlic needed? I believe the recipe requires it," she said, joking and maybe hoping to get another answer out of him, something that could reveal a weakness. But he avoided it superbly.

"We can do without it," he smiled again. "After this, maybe you can show me what you nuns keep in your kitchen. I can teach you more, even with limited ingredients."

"We'll see."

She felt oddly suspicious of his intentions, but at that time she wasn't sure why. Dreams were only dreams, after all. If she was to spend time with him, it wouldn't hurt to be back where at least she was familiar with her surroundings.

Agatha turned her attention back to the counter to finish chopping the onions. She took the knife in her hand, and momentarily the thought crossed her mind of how he would react if she accidentally cut herself with it. She looked at the Count for a moment and smiled, somehow feeling the thought crossed his mind as well. The mutual feeling and recognition of it was both gravely terrible and amusing at the same time. She looked back down and got to work, quickly chopping the vegetable without incident.

"I wonder what this castle of yours must have been like in its past. Many parties, I presume, and less cobwebs I hope?"

"Not as many parties as you'd think. But they were quite grand."

"I can imagine. And you with your admirers."

Dracula looked at her as she said it, dark eyes brimming with amusement, but she didn't notice much nor think it bold of herself. It was the truth, and instead she thought to ask her next question.

"Did you kill them all?" she inquired, avoiding his gaze.

"No," he replied. "Some needed a few years to grow a little more…tender."

"You deliver as always a wonderfully morbid answer to my question."

"And you love to ask questions, Agatha," he responded. "It is an endearing quality. But you do remember our deal?"

"Yes. I have nothing to hide."

He looked down and laughed, moving closer to her. She stood in place, placing one hand on the counter.

"Interesting you'd say that. I believe everyone has something to hide."

"Again, even if I did, you know almost everything about me by now, don't you," she admitted.

"Maybe more than most. Have you ever thought of leaving the convent?"

"Of course," she answered immediately. "Not as a serious thought to take into consideration, but it has crossed my mind."

"So it has."

"It's easy to picture life outside of it when you look out a window and see so much going on in the world," she said.

Agatha moved past him and placed the last of the ingredients in the soup as the fire warmed it up. It smelled delicious. Little did she know it would be one of the last times enjoying any human food. Soon it would be all blood…

Agatha jolted awake, frustrated that she had been dreaming about her memories with him in the first place. Whatever connection she had with the vampire, it had taken root deep inside her, and she could feel it constantly tugging at her. Or maybe it was Dracula using his power over her again.

Stefan must have gone out again, and she opened the blinds, hoping for some sunlight but it had gotten dark already. Agatha tried to fight away her irritability, which had been far too prominent lately, by trying to cook. She looked to see what food Stefan had around the place and managed to make a less flavorful version of the soup along with some chicken for the Detective to enjoy. Making use of otherwise useless memories.