It felt like she was floating in a sea of ice. Frozen at the surface, feeling the darkness around her. It was cold. It was dark… but worst of all…

It was silent.

There had been screams at first - screams in the night, the screams of thousands of the dying as they cried for help, cried in pain as the frozen ocean water took the life from their limbs - the life from their loved ones. The warmth of beating hearts holding each other could not overthrow the unyielding and freezing death that surrounded them.

The crying and screaming had faded until it was nothing but silence. The silence of the dead surrounding her in droves - bobbing in the water with ill-fated white life preservers. Blued skin, frosted lips. Dead eyes. The only thing visible in the darkness.

The life preservers had become a mockery of their intended purpose. In this case, keeping those who floated alive longer than those who drowned was a cruelty. They were a pittance of an apology from those on board the great ship that was now beneath the waves. The great unsinkable steamship, meeting its cold fate at the bottom of the Atlantic.

Sinking into the icy water would have been kinder than the life preservers that kept them suffering at the surface.

A quick death was an enviable one.

Fire and the flame - the fire licked up her flesh, turning her skin black. Her nerves were now dead, and now she could only watch as the fire curled up her skin that darkened, bubbled and flaked away. The roar of the inferno around her had taken the air from her lungs, and as darkness took her, she could only pray for her soul - and the souls of those who did this.

Hands - hands around his throat - someone was choking him. Oh god, he was dying - he couldn't be. There were people counting on him. He had to live - or else -

A quiet death - lying in a bed, surrounded by family. Feeling the darkness begin to claim him - and know that he didn't deserve the life he led.

His hands were bruised and bloody - his knuckles stung from beating his wife to death. Her brains were splattered out across the floor. She had cheated on him - the dirty fucking whore. She deserved it. But now, his life was over too. He didn't know how to hide this. A gun from the drawer, and the taste of steel in his mouth, and they weren't anybody's problem anymore.

A blade into the kidney - and from behind, no less. A coward's death.

A song sprung to her lips, one she remembered from a life she had long ago. Jackie hits the streets - she swears that all she sees is the hunger in their eyes, and the desperation in their speech. Jackie hunts the shadows with a bowie knife at her elbows. She cuts free those horrible drums that beat like bats beneath the sternum. She wears their fear around her neck…

Who hunts death? For better or worse, he wanted his blood on her hands more than a man has ever wanted anything from a woman. And I don't see what everybody sees in your sexy body… All I see is a shallow grave trapped inside a pretty face. 'Rescue me' is written on your bed. Home is where the bullet lands as it travels through your head and I believe… that all I need to set me free - is for someone, someday, somewhere to murder me…

The song finally made sense to her, and she laughed through a sob as she felt her knives tear her ribcage apart. Felt the pain of dying again - felt the pleasure, the joy as death finally granted his wish.

He wrapped the corpse in plastic he had in the back of his truck. It was 3-mil painter's plastic from a general contracting job he'd had earlier in the week, fixing some old cunt's kitchenup. It'd keep the body hidden for a while. 'A while' was all he needed until he could run. Until he could cross the border. And the scene, it turns so grisly, and the children, they are crying. You hand them black umbrellas and tell 'em that the world is dying.

-A rope tangled around her neck as the men pulled the chair out from under her. She spasmed as she was denied the quick drop of a hanging and instead felt her throat crushed against the cinch of the biting hemp against her flesh. Her eyes bulged as they screamed at her.

Witch!

Harlot!

Die, whore of Satan!

Rocks. Placed against his chest - one by one. One after another. And another. He would not beg forgiveness. He would not plead a lie. He was innocent. Another rock, and breathing was now almost impossible. Death would come for him soon. The men in black with their white collars glared - their torches lighting their eyes with fire. Plead guilty! They screamed. Plead your sins!

He had but one thing to say in response.

'More weight.'

Every droplet against her skin was another death, another life, another shattered mind filling her own, using her and leaving her as it played out its shrapnel of memories. One after another, death after death, soul after soul went through her mind.

The ghosts wanted her to see. Wanted her to know. Wanted her to feel. They didn't even know who they were anymore - but she was like a grounding rod in a thunderstorm. Their wrath was mindless as they wanted anyone to understand what they had lost.

Sleep was impossible, unconsciousness was kept from her. The stream of mercury that ran along her skin would not allow it. She shivered in the cold as they flooded her mind with endless visions.

When she had enough of a mind to her own to think she might remember where she was… she had to learn to breathe underwater. It was that, or nothingness. So she sang, quietly, to herself. Doctor I'm tellin' you, to cut open please… Doctor I'm beggin' you… to bring me to my knees. Tear out all my flesh, and all my bones… Make me a cold machine, so I can walk alone…

Isabel screamed as her sense of self was washed away - lightning striking her as the proverbial grounding rod once again as her world was taken away.

Tied to the tree - her hands were tied to the tree. Oh god, oh god - oh god - No, please! Struggling, she screamed in pain as she realized her legs wouldn't move. They hurt, oh god, they hurt.

Looking down, she screamed again as she saw why. A man was hunched over her, sawing away at her skin with a serrated army knife. Blood soaked his hands, his clothes, his face - as he sliced off a piece of her skin and… and ate it. Slurped it between bloody lips and savoring it like the finest delicacy. He moaned in pleasure as he wiped her blood along his lips - returning for more.

He looked at her, mad eyes wide with glee as the knife suddenly entered her throat. Rarely does she factor into the people he chooses to consume… he likes them big and overgrown, more meat to gristle, more muscle he can hewn. … A hessian from Florida is now a rug in his foyer - a girl from Delaware is now a high-arched-back chair. The paperboy's a paperweight, the murderer's a lampshade. The fireman's an ashtray, the DJ spins as fan blades… When will it end, all these horrible things? He asked himself nightly, voices in his head sing…

"Get up, Lyon. Don't be a fool."

Lyon stood from where he knelt on one knee in front of his Lord Dracula. The king sat upon his throne in the lavish chamber that was decorated with carvings of death and suffering. He folded his hands neatly behind his back, and waited for his king to speak. He had been summoned, after all.

"Speak."

"She is… not well."

"I know that," the dark vampire in the chair snarled. "Do you think I do not see it?! I asked for your insight, not a statement of the obvious."

Lyon didn't flinch at the outburst. He had become used to such things. But the king's mood seemed ill-suited to his statement, ill-suited to the apparent cause. So his rage belied another source of his mood. "I suspect," he began slowly. "You feel her torment."

Dracula's jaw twitched as red and angry eyes turned to meet his pale ones. Lyon remained unphased. If his lord were going to kill him for his petulance - he would have done so many aeons prior.

So it was true. Lyon had not believed Carmilla's rumblings and rumors about Dracula taking a particular notice of the young girl. If his lord shared in her suffering, as it was clear he did, then the process had begun. Dracula had begun to create a companion, after all these long years.

Lyon held back a sigh. Only his king would subject a potential bond to such suffering. Lyon understood - knew the reason behind it all, so he said nothing to that effect. His lord's madness was his own to shoulder. "I sat at the fountain for many hours. She did not once see me, though her eyes are open. I suspect she has not been allowed to rest." He paused for a long moment. "Occasionally, though - she… sings."

"What?"

Lyon raised his shoulders almost imperceptibly in a shrug. "Quietly. Different tunes - the lyrics confusing. I believe it is her attempt… to decipher what she is experiencing."

Dracula was silent, and looked away.

"Either she will lose her mind, or her body will be unable to persist in such a way."

"I am aware that mortals are fragile, Lyon."

"It was simply a reminder," Lyon said with a bow. Dracula growled low in his throat - knowing when the priest was being obstinate. "If that is all you require of me?"

"What would you have done, Priest?"

"None of what you have chosen. I fear that is why you keep me around." Lyon stood back up and smiled faintly at his old friend.

Dracula sighed deeply and gestured at him, dismissing him. Turning, Lyon made his way from the throne room. Before leaving, he stopped, and said one last thing over his shoulder. "My lord, she may not have long. Before either occurs."

Adrian found himself in the gardens. He let out a small 'huhn' in his throat. It looked familiar and unchanged since last he stepped through this place, many centuries prior. He remembered studying here - pouring over books of history and literature with his mother at his side, always humming.

Now, it was empty - silent and devoid of anyone. Just the plants, the statues… and him. He walked, his hand still hovering at the hilt of his sword. Silence was never a welcome noise in a castle that festered with the damned and the lost.

This place, although nostalgic, was uninteresting to him. He passed in front of a large fountain as he walked. Adrian pulled up sharply he was stopped by a voice.

"… Hey, chuckles…"

He whirled - and looked up at the large fountain that dominated the very center of the garden. It was called the 'Well of Souls,' if he remembered correctly. It was an ancient relic that trapped pieces of the broken souls inside of the castle and from wherever it had traveled. Remnants of those who died in the worst possible ways… ghosts, for lack of a better word, poured from the stone vessel the angels held aloft.

But it had a new feature. A young woman hung within its grasp, directly under the stream of liquid silver that poured from a stone vase. Isabel. The empath that his father had hunted and tormented. The psychic that had -

Oh.

Adrian sighed, deeply.

"Father, what have you done?"

She wasn't quite sure when she became conscious again. Waited for death - waited for some violent end that would reveal another vision. But none came. Now, she knew that she was looking at the glass ceiling of a large ornate greenhouse. She shuddered, feeling a chill rush through her - and expected her mind to empty out into another death - another broken memory. But none came.

Only silence.

The silence was somehow worse than the screaming…

She had heard that before - and her mind flashed to the frozen water of the Atlantic - to the dead like refuse floating amongst the debris from the wrecked ship.

Rolling onto her side - her limbs felt strange and detached. Like they weren't really hers. She pushed herself up to sitting, and looked down at her hands - gloved. These were her hands. She wanted to tear at her face, to tear at her own skin and see her blood flow forth. Anything to break up the visions that threatened to condemn her to madness.

Draw a line in the sand, she reminded herself. But her old mantras did no good in this situation. She had learned to tell herself apart from the ocean - not how to breathe underwater. Was she dead? She didn't know… so many deaths flooded through her mind. Every possible way a person could die… hanged, shot, stabbed, trampled, starved, frozen… eaten...

So many times over the threshold, only to be pulled back and witness another.

Every death she felt like it had been hers. Every death was fresh in her mind all at once, and she put her head in her hands. All the fear.

"Isabel, are you alright?"

Isabel - yes, that was her name, wasn't it? - looked up from where she sat. A man with long, nearly white hair sat on the edge of a fountain, his clothing starkly dated from many centuries prior. He was beautiful - as beautiful as the statues around them, and just as unfeeling.

"Stupid question," she murmured, her voice unfamiliar.

He was watching her keenly with pale eyes that matched his hair, and he seemed… he pitied her. Why?

She flicked her eyes to the fountain behind him - the three angels - two of which were now both missing a hand each - like it had been cut clean off at the wrist. An image flashed through her mind of them reaching out to her. Of them pulling her into the stream. The stream was now… gone. No liquid flowed from the stone vase that the angel held. It now clutched it to its chest, looking down at the empty jug instead of holding it aloft.

Isabel looked back to Adrian, and realized he must have cut their hands off to save her. To pull her from the fountain. Isabel had no idea how long she had been in there. Or how long it had been since he pulled her out. Had he stopped the flow of the liquid? Why had it emptied?

"Thank you.." her voice sounded foreign, and she winced. She pulled her feet under herself, curling in towards herself as if somehow she was safer if she were smaller. "Why…?"

"I could not very well leave you there." He tilted his head to the side lightly. "But that is not what you were asking."

Isabel could only nod, weakly, and she put her hand to her head. "I don't… I'm sorry, everything is… a mess…"

"What did you see?"

"I think I died."

"You still live. But you were dying."

"No-" she laughed, a harsh, spiteful laugh. "I died. Over and over. Again and again-" Adrian's perpetual frown deepened as she spoke, and she continued, her voice shaking. "I was raped to death, murdered, trampled by a cart, strung from the castle walls, nailed to a spike and left to die in the sun and felt myself pulled apart by crows.."

The memory of her eyes being pulled from their sockets made her groan and put her head in her hands. There was so much pain… so fresh in her mind that it was just… too much. Too much for her to process it it all. "I think I've gone insane…"

"Perhaps. It would not be surprising." His utter inability to sugar-coat anything was suddenly very funny, and she couldn't help but laugh. "I fail to see the humor," he commented.

That was also funny. Those were his words. "Like father, like son," she felt a twinge of hatred from him and her smile faded. "I'm sorry - No offence." She paused, realizing how hopeless this all was. "You should go. He'll be back once he realizes you cut me free…"

"It would be a welcome sight. I have wandered these castle walls fruitlessly since when we parted, until now." He stood with a sigh, and stepped towards her, reaching a hand down to her to help her stand. She placed her black-gloved hands into his white-gloved ones, and let her pull her up to her feet. Surprisingly, she stayed standing.

Adrian spoke again. "I have fought my way through scores of his creatures, but I cannot find my way to the center keep."

Isabel paused, looking up at him, and thought about his comment - that he could not find his way to the center. "He doesn't want you to find him. Not yet. He knows what'll happen when he does let you through."

"How do you know this?"

"I… it's complex." I screwed your dad and saw inside his mind. Isabel snorted in laughter despite herself. Yeah, that would not go over well. Instead, to explain her laughter, she tilted her head to the side and let him see the bite mark on her neck. "Empath. It had… weird effects."

"Ah… I am sorry."

"Not the worst thing he's done," she grumbled as she looked back to the empty and broken statue. Why was it not flowing? Maybe Adrian had truly broken it.

"What of your friends?" Adrian asked. "I have not found them."

Isabel shook her head after a moment of staring at the floor. "I can't help them… nobody can. One is a vampire, the other a… a part of the castle, now... " she didn't know how else to describe it, and she hoped he understood. "They both chose that over death. I don't think it can be undone, now."

"I am sorry for your loss."

Isabel nodded once, knowing he meant that in many more ways than just her friends. She looked up at him, and felt his sympathy, even if she did not see it on his cold features. "It's what this place does, isn't it." It was a statement. "Eat people."

"Yes."

"Why are you here? Why don't you.. Run away? Avoid all this?"

"Dracula will end the world if I do not destroy him."

"Have you tried just… talking him out of it?"

"You know not of what you speak." His harsh statement was meant to shut her up. One, she never listened to that kind of crap. And two - his darkness showed how sensitive a topic it truly was.

Isabel reached out and touched his arm, and he looked back towards her. "You have no idea what I've seen. What I've had to experience. Had to-" flashes of memories came back to her all at once, and blotted out her vision. Images of him killing Dracula. Of scores of creatures falling beneath his blade. An endless dance - an endless purgatory. For them both.

When she came back to reality, she was sitting on a bench. Adrian was kneeling in front of her, looking up at her, his gloved hands on her shoulders. "What-"

"You fainted."

Isabel let out a small breath, and fought back tears that wanted to spring to her eyes. "I'm… I'm losing my mind."

"Only if you chose to let it leave you."

Isabel looked into his pale eyes, and saw a sadness there. "You should leave here," she said to him quietly. "Go… live a life. Not like this. Not this endless cycle. If you walked out these doors, they'd let you go - I know it."

Adrian shut his eyes and sighed. "This world has changed so very much… And I cannot leave my father here to wage genocide against your people."

"The first reason is bullshit and you know it. The second one, fine. I'll take that one for now, but I'm pretty sure it's also bullshit."

"Are you this argumentative with my father?"

Isabel snorted and stood up from the bench. "Worse. Way worse."

Adrian turned and walked, and she followed. He took a long pause for replying. "I see why he put you in the fountain."

Isabel was about to shout at him before she blinked. "Wait. Chuckles, was that a joke?"

"Perhaps." A glance over his shoulder with a flicker of mischief in his eyes made her laugh despite herself.

They left the garden - walking through long hallway that was decorated with antiquated electric lights and piping. Gears behind grates in the walls were fascinating - and seemed not to do a whole lot as they whirled away, turning some giant mechanism.

Isabel walked quietly behind him. Every twenty minutes or so, she'd see a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye, and she would whirl to face it - only to see nothing.

Once, when they rounded a corner - she saw a figure standing in the center of the hallway - and she turned to get a closer look… and gone. God, it was like being in a bad horror movie. It made her incredibly jumpy.

"Get behind the column," Adrian ordered. Turning back around she saw a pack of demons down the hall from them, snarling - drool oozing from fanged teeth as glowing green eyes illuminated the hallway.

Isabel didn't argue and ducked behind a column as he charged forward, sword out. Isabel watched as he deftly avoided their attacks. He was a blur of motion as he took them down to pieces. The demons burned to ash as they died, leaving nothing but ash in their wake. Isabel walked up to him, as he put his sword back in the sheath.

"That - well - shit. Half ballet, half badass," she shook her head. She had never seen anything like it - Tex would have been entirely embarrassed at how ridiculously outclassed he would have been.

Adrian's lips quirked into a small smile, and then a grimace of pain as he hissed - his fangs showing for the first time as he doubled over in pain.

Isabel stepped forward quickly, as he reached towards his back and fell to his knees. Stepping around him - a demon's claw had made it through his defences and was now… embedded in his back.

"Oh. Fuck. Um. Hold still."

"What?!"

"I need to pull it out, right?"

"No."

"Okay, sure, asshole-" she put her hands on her hips. "I'll just leave it there, and you can pull it out yourself. Or maybe it'll just go away on its own," she grumbled. "Stubborn idiot."

The young vampire shut his eyes, realizing that no, there was no other option. Adrian let out a low, disgruntled sigh. "Try not to do more damage."

"Would you prefer I leave it in there?!" She smacked him on the back of the head, and he let out a startled 'unf' and glared up at her, shock in his eyes. "Don't be a lunk."

"I-" Adrian stammered once then stopped. Shaking his head, he looked back down at the ground. Isabel smiled to herself - greatly enjoying baffling the weird man. "Make it quick," he muttered.

"Ja wohl, mein heir," she said with a bad German accent and grabbed the end of the claw with both hands. She gave it an exploratory tug - and Adrian hissed loudly in pain. And it hadn't budged. "Sorry-sorry-" Isabel put her knee against his back, and braced herself. "Ready?"

Adrian nodded once.

"On three."

He nodded again.

"One-" She yanked on it as hard as she could, and she tore the sharpened dagger-like claw out of his back. He howled in pain, pounding his fist into the ground. Isabel staggered with the action/reaction of the motion and landed on her ass.

Adrian had one hand over his eyes, the other flat against the ground. Isabel watched, fascinated, as his skin began to stitch itself together like nothing had happened. "What happened to 'two' and 'three?'" he muttered under his breath.

"They're for pansies," Isabel chimed as she climbed back to her feet. "Always do it on one. Old rule we had."

"Who?"

"My friends and I…"

"Ah." Adrian stood up as well, and stretched his back. His clothing must have been… magic, or something - as it stitched itself back together as well. How convenient. Well, if you get torn up for a hobby, it's better than wandering around looking like a hobo…

"Next time," he added. "I believe I would like the benefit of the other numbers."

"Two jokes - one day. Are you feeling okay?"

Adrian turned to continue their trek down the hallway. "Perhaps the solitude has finally driven me insane," he said over her shoulder.

"Three!" she said with a smile. His company and their pointless banter kept the memories at bay - kept the feeling of fire boiling her flesh from rising up and pulling at her mind. Kept the shadows out of the edges of her vision.

And so, she followed him - her only hope of getting out of here 'alive.' If insane. Her heart felt heavy at the thought of what would happen to her, if the memories took hold her permanently. She had stared down that pit before, and it was a terrifying end - and that was before she had a few thousand fresh memories of vicious ends floating in her mind. "Hey, Adrian? I uh… I have a favor to ask."

"You did not call me 'Chuckles,' so I assume this is a serious request."

"You also almost smiled once, so I'm giving you a break," she quipped, avoiding the favor she wanted to ask and wanted not to at the same time. He walked in silence, not prying. Finally, she pulled the band aid off. "If this gets… bad enough. If I lose my mind, or if I do something awful…"

He stopped walking, and turned to face her in one movement, his long blond hair falling about his face, shrouding his features. He liked to do that - keep his face hidden. She wondered why? But he looked at her, intently, and placed a hand on her bare shoulder. Isabel was happy he had gloves.

"I will do what must be done…" he promised her. And left it at that. Good, she didn't really want to get into the details. He turned, and they resumed walking in silence.

"We must find another way through," Adrian commented to his forlorn companion as he peered at the strange puzzle door. The strange disks and combination of keys and locks had nearly an infinite number of potential solutions. He did not know the order, so it was pointless (and likely dangerous, as these things often triggered deadly traps) to fiddle with it in hope of stumbling across the answer.

Isabel stepped forward towards the door, and began removing her black gloves. He watched her, curiously. "What do you intend to do?"

"Find the solution."

"I wouldn't recommend-"

"My touch works on more than just people," she replied without looking at him, focused on the metal gate in front of her.

That made little sense to him. Objects did not have emotions. "I do not think-"

"'Things' have memories just as anything else does. Shush and let me do my thing. This is at least… normal for me." As her bare hands touched the metal door, she shut her eyes. She tilted her head to the side slightly, and the pained expression that she wore smoothed. Whatever she was seeing - or perhaps the act of seeing alone - was a distraction from the torment that his father had levied on the poor girl that seemed to haunt her every step.

In the silence created by what his companion was experiencing, it allowed him to ponder her nature. An empath - one that could not be touched. Whose constant existence was either lost in isolation, or a torrent of the lives of others. He pitied her. Many creatures would have chosen death over what she instead endured.

And now - with countless thousand deaths playing themselves out in her mind - perhaps death would be a kindness. Adrian could not bring himself to do the deed - at least not yet. Not when she seemed to cling to threads of sanity.

Adrian was not a sentimental creature. When he had been a child, he had been 'blessed with the coldness of the ancients' as his vampiric tutor once said. Now, he was not heartless - but he never allowed himself the luxury of 'living.'

Her plea to him to leave the castle - to turn away from this quest and save himself from this endless fate - had surprised him. In every instance of his many years, he had been begged by the humans to save them from his father. Pleas for assistance, not abandonment.

Isabel opened her eyes and smiled faintly. She covered her hands with her gloves, and deftly worked the locking mechanisms with a confidence that could have belied that she had built the machine herself. Clearly, as that was not the case, she must have… seen how to unlock it? Were those memories now part of hers as well? How many thousands of years of existence lived inside that mortal frame?

The large mechanism released with a 'ka-clunk' - and the giant metal door swung open with a rusty creak.

Isabel turned to look at him and beamed a bright smile. "Tah-dah!"

How she could find a moment of triumph in the face of what she endured was unknown to him. In the face of such resilience, he could only smile back at her.

Isabel was sitting in the corner of a library, propped up against a bookcase. They had walked for hours, fighting monsters and creatures she had no names for. Every time, she would duck out of the way. Every time, the monsters ignored her existence like she wasn't even there. Sometimes they might glance at her - but never did they come near her.

Isabel might have wondered why - she was easy prey and all - but the answer was clear. They had marching orders from the Boss himself. Nobody touch.

Adrian was asleep - she didn't even know he slept - leaning against a bookcase himself. He had cast some sort of spell that he said would keep them safe. Isabel should rest - god knows her eyes burned, she was so tired.

But the thought of closing her eyes terrified her. The thought of going back into her mind and finding what was nesting there made her want to throw up. So, she stayed awake. Something flitted around at the edge of her vision, and she looked up. This time, the movement was real - or… mostly.

A ghost hovered at the edge of the circle that Adrian had cast. It was an empty-eyed thing from a horror movie. It had once been a man - and his tattered finery hung from him like a rendition of A Christmas Carol. Isabel stood up - not sure if she wanted to run away, or approach.

The ghost reached out a hand to her - and she could feel its longing. It's emptiness. But it was a broken thing, only knowing how to wander and hunger.

Isabel stepped towards the ghost slowly, reaching the edge of the circle and not daring to take a step further.

"Isabel?" she heard from behind her. Adrian.

"Can you see it?"

"No…"

"A ghost… I don't- I don't know if it's really there, or if…" she let herself trail off, knowing the rest was pointless.

"Can you normally see them?"

"No. Maybe sense them from time to time, when they had flares of emotions. But normal doesn't count anymore. Not here." The ghost beaconed her closer, and she shook her head no. "I won't. Go away," she commanded. And to her shock, it took a step back into the darkness and faded away.

Isabel was trembling, and she looked back at the vampire who still sat with his back against the wall. "You should sleep," he advised.

She shook her head. "I don't know if I can…"

"If you are not mad already," he shut his eyes. "You will be, if you deprive yourself for long enough."

Isabel sat back down, and laid down on the ground, a book under her head, looking up at the painted scenery of the ornate ceiling. Fear and exhaustion warred through her in equal parts, and eventually, sleep won out.

Adrian awoke with a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him. He woke up quickly, his hand flying to his sword. But a hand on his chest stopped him from standing. Looking up, it was Isabel - but something about her seemed… wrong.

Her face wore an expression that he had not known her to wear. It was not strange or horrifying - but the look about her was off.

"I am sorry to wake you," she spoke in an accent that was not hers. "But it is just so good to see you again, my friend."

That voice - he knew that manner of speaking. "Sypha… no. It cannot be. You are not here."

"This place takes a piece of everyone who walks through it's doors. A piece of me - of all of us will always be here. Always be here with you."

Adrian shook his head. "You're lying. You are not her."

"No - but I remember being Sypha. It is likely, that I am a spirit who has taken on her memories… But I came to tell you something."

Adrian narrowed his eyes, his hand on the hilt of his sword. If he hurt her - he would be hurting Isabel, not the spirit who had taken control.

"I beg you to leave here. I fear this time will be different, Adrian - I fear this time you will die in these walls."

His 'friend' was long dead. And yet this poor girl echoed her voice like it was true. Adrian reached forward, and grasping the girl by both shoulders, shook her hard. "Isabel, wake up!"

That seemed to snap her out of it - and she let out a low shriek and pushed away from him, falling backwards, eyes wide with terror. She was shaking, and she wrapped her arms around herself. "Oh god… Oh god… what happened?"

"I do not know." Adrian sat up, and took his coat from the ground, and slung it around her shoulders. He left his hands there, looking down at her, concerned. "You were not… yourself."

Isabel nodded weakly. "I… felt like the backseat driver in a car. I don't… I'm so sorry."

"It is not your doing," he reminded her. Poor creature… what had his father done? Why? For his sick pleasure? "We should go… if you are able. I do not think either of us will sleep much more this night."

Isabel followed behind Adrian as they seemed to endlessly roam from wing of the castle to wing of the castle. If anything, she was getting the grand tour of Dracula's murder palace.

Adrian didn't bring up what had happened the night before - he seemed… spooked was the wrong word - put off by what had happened. Isabel remembered it, but she hadn't been driving. Something had taken over, woken her up and used her to communicate with the vampire. It hadn't seemed violent - it hadn't meant any harm, but still… Isabel didn't exactly appreciate being used like a rental car.

It was the first time anything had ever 'possessed' her - and she knew it was because of her time in the fountain. There was no way it was a coincidence. Just like all the ghosts in the god-forsaken fountain had used her to play out their last moments - this spirit had used her all the same.

One more wing, and they found themselves inside what looked like some kind of bizarre music… hall. The whole thing looked like a messed up calliope. When she was younger, she had gone to House on the Rock in Wisconsin on a vacation. But here, the twisted and tangled mess of instruments hid the danger that lurked there. Adrian seemed never off his guard, and many nightmarish creatures comprised of pieces of instruments and humans, or possessed creatures met their ends at his blade.

Another corner, and they were at a massive door with a large, intricate… cross emblazoned upon it. Isabel blinked - a cross? Here? Adrian sighed, lowered his head, and seemed reluctant to walk forward.

"What's wrong?"

"A friend resides here. I do not wish to fight him."

The priest. She remembered him - Lyon, was it? "Then let's not… We can find another way."

"I must."

"You 'must' not do anything," she pushed him in the back - it barely budged him, but the action convinced him to turn and look at her for the first time all day. "Adrian. Your sense of duty is really admirable, but you're just Sisyphus pushing a fucking rock. Don't you get it?"

"I 'get' it," he replied, pointedly using her crass use of the english language, even if it felt stunted and awkward. "But it must be done."

Isabel went to open her mouth, but she was cut off as the two giant doors swung open with a loud creak. The two turned to look into the church, and saw the tall, angular figure standing in the center aisle.

"Hello, Adrian…"

Dracula's son walked forward into the church, pulling his sword from the sheath. Isabel had a choice - stay out in the hallway, or… follow. Swearing at herself, she followed after him. The doors slammed shut behind her, and she nearly leapt out of her skin as they did.

"It has been some time," Lyon spoke from where he stood in front of the altar.

"So it has, Priest." Adrian had come to a stop ten feet in front of him, sword at the ready.

Lyon seemed uninterested in fighting him, his hands still folded behind his back like a gentleman, making his thin, tall frame look even taller. "I would kindly ask… that you continue your quest, and leave her with me."

Adrian stood his ground. "I will not."

Lyon sighed, and unfolded his arms from behind him. "We have never fought, you and I, in all these years."

"I do not enjoy the prospect."

"Neither do I." The priest held his hands in front of him, and she watched as golden armor appeared around his hands in the shape of clawed armor. He readied himself for the fight. "Please. Leave here."

"Not without her."

"You know not her fate," Lyon was almost pleading with Adrian now - a look of pain on his marble features. "You cannot save her."

"I see her fate plainly. Father hides his intentions poorly. And yet, I must try," Adrian nearly whispered back.

What happened next was hard for Isabel to track. Flurry of motion - clashing of metal on metal. A blur of violence. Adrian would land a blow, and then Lyon would land another - sending Adrian smashing through a wooden pew. Isabel tried to hide close to the wall, but nowhere seemed safe. So she kept trying to dodge their fight, unsure of where the two would land.

Lyon hurtled across the room from a blow by the younger vampire, and smashed into a stone statue. He fell, and picked himself up from the ground. "You fight well, young Master," Lyon said with a faint smile.

"As do you, old friend."

The battle resumed. A flurry of preternatural speed, whirring blades and claws. Isabel had taken up hiding in a doorway close to the front.

Lyon had torn Adrian's sword from his hand and sent it skittering across the floor, under a pew. He threw the younger vampire against the stairs, and she heard a snap as Adrian's back broke against the stone, and he snarled in pain. He was bleeding from cuts along his chest, his arms, his back... The priest was bleeding as well, but he was the one still standing.

"End it," Adrian hissed from where he lay.

Lyon walked up, sadness across his features, golden claws ready for an attack at any moment. The priest raised his hand, ready to tear Adrian's throat open. "Forgive me," he asked quietly of the man before him.

Adrian nodded once, and shut his eyes. Lyon pulled his arm back, and swung for the kill - but the blow never fell.

Isabel had run from the shadows, and stood between the two, her arms out. "Don't-" she begged.

Lyon, confused, looked down at the young girl who now stood in his path, and stilled his death blow in mid-stroke. He had nearly ended her - his golden claws hovering only inches from her. "That was foolish," he muttered.

"He saved my life… only fair I save his in return," she looked up at the pale priest intently, although her wavering voice belied her fear. She was pretty sure the vampire Priest had the reaction time to stop - but only pretty sure.

The priest lowered his hand, with a sigh. "I cannot harm you, and you know that."

"I figured."

"Lord Dracula has asked I return you to his safety. You are not well, and he wishes you under his protection."

"I'm not 'well' because of what he did," Isabel snapped angrily, then sighed. The priest hadn't done anything to her. "But, fine. Let him live… and I'll go with you."

"Isabel-" Adrian interjected, and she looked over her shoulder at him.

"I'm already as good as dead… and you're not. If you die here, you'll never leave. I can't let someone else suffer that fate."

Adrian rolled to his side, and she heard a sickening snap as he tried to put himself back together. The blond vampire gagged in pain. "I will find you… I will stop him."

Isabel winced in sympathy, and looked up at Lyon. If she didn't take the priest from here, he would kill Adrian. There was only choice in front of her. "You found me. So take me back."

Lyon sighed, deeply. He looked at her, piteous of her sacrifice, and his golden claws vanished from his hands. He reached a hand out to her. "Take my hand, let me bring you back to where you may sleep in peace." He held his hand out to her.

"Another load of bullshit. I'm afraid to close my eyes..."

"I know…"

She placed her hand in his, and she felt the feeling of the world drifting out from under her. Dracula traveled by fire - Lyon by mist, it seemed. When the world reformed, she found herself standing back in the quarters that Dracula had kept depositing her.

Isabel walked to a chair, and slumped into it, putting her head in her hands. It had felt nice, being around Adrian and feeling freedom - even if it was a false hope. Wandering around the hamster ball of a castle didn't count as freedom. Isabel finally spoke - and hoped he would know the answer to a question that had been bugging her. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course." She heard him move past her - and then a clink of glassware. She looked up as a glass hovered near her - he was handing her water. God, she was thirsty… she hadn't realize how much so, until now. Taking the crystal highball glass, she forced herself to sip the liquid and not chug it, as she had learned once the hard way how bad of an idea that was.

"How long was I… in that fountain…?

"Three days. Another day asleep after he pulled you from the fountain before you awoke."

Isabel lowered her head and ran a hand through her hair - digging her fingers in, and pulled - almost painfully so, wanting to feel the pain to bring her back to where she really was, and who she really was. Not the visions that crashed through her mind as she thought about the three days she spent living in the torment of others.

Strung out on a rack - arms and legs spread eagle - a creature that looked more machine than man, pulling away the flesh from his ribs. Pushing thin, hollow metal rods like needles into his organs. Strange liquid pumping into him - the burning, oh god… days of burning, days of crying for death, before it finally came for him.

Isabel pulled hard on her hair again, and let out a wavering breath as the vision cleared. "I don't think I'm.. I'm okay…"

"It is alright," the priest tried to console her, and moved to sit next to her. "You have every right to… be confused."

"I don't feel confused," she snapped. "I feel like I've lost my mind," she said, her voice wavering.

"The insane do not think they are so," he advised. That brought her up from her hunched over position, and turned her head to look at him. His marble countenance was unnaturally still as he sat there. "They believe their world is reality - that they are not insane. You, therefore, cannot be."

Isabel closed her eyes and felt the tears flow from her cheeks. "They're like ghosts in my mind. I keep seeing it, even though-"

He reached out to touch her - to console her, and she recoiled from him. "Don't- please." She was still in the halter top, and he had no gloves.

"Ah," he lowered his hand. "I forgot, forgive me." Lyon stood up slowly, looking down at her mildly. "Are you able to rest at all? Lord Dracula wishes-"

"I don't give a fuck-"

"-that you rest, now that you are safe," he finished.

"No. I can't. I can't pretend like-" another of flicker of motion out of the corner of her eye, and she turned. Nothing. But she felt something there - someone - hovering in the corners like fog. What did she keep seeing? More ghosts? She turned back to Lyon, who had followed her gaze but also saw nothing. "I can't pretend like he didn't do this. That I don't have these… memories. Last time I tried to sleep, I woke up possessed by a spirit."

"As absurd as this may sound, given your current condition," Lyon preambled. "I believe his intention is to keep you safe from harm."

Isabel laughed hard - a bray of laughter that she felt both as a release and a self-condemnation of her situation. "You're right. That does sound absurd." Pity crossed his sculpted features, and she felt him wish he could do something for her. "Why? Why do you care?" she burst out. Guilt hit her immediately, not having wished to throw it in his face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" she looked out at the garden and the empty fountain. "This place is unfriendly enough without making a mockery of someone who…" she trailed off.

"I take no offence, and I understand your confusion. It is my nature, I am afraid. I dislike seeing the suffering of others."

"You picked the wrong place to be."

"I had no choice in the matter."

She looked up at him, and felt his story flitter beneath the surface. It was too long, too convoluted for her to catch the details - but she knew he was trapped here, like everyone else. Part of this place… until it ceased to be, or the earth burned away.

"Does Dracula own this place? Or does it own him?"

Lyon smiled sadly in response. "I do not know. I do not believe he does, either. I must ask you something - I do not know the extent of which your gift has allowed you access to our Lord's history-"

"He's not my lord-"

He continued again, unphased. "But have you ever known him to inflict suffering without reason?"

Isabel sighed, and turned from him to glare at the wall. That flicker of movement appeared in her vision again, and she resisted the urge to look for something she knew wouldn't be there. "What I said wasn't worth this… I didn't deserve this."

"I never said you did. But that does not mean this was done without cause."

"What was the reason, then?" Isabel glared at him. "Tell me then, if you know, why he did this to me. Why I can't - I can't stop feeling like there's a rope around my neck or a knife in my ribs, or-" she trailed off again, panic forming at the edges and threatening to overtake her. Shutting her eyes, she forced herself to take a deep breath - forced those feelings away.

"I cannot tell you, my lady - that is for his disclosure, not mine." Lyon seemed honestly sorry he couldn't tell her more.

"You're ancient… you have thousands of years of memories. Thousands of years of loss, of love, of pain and happiness. How do you cope? How do any of you cope?"

"Many of us are driven mad and lack the strength to last the years. In some, all feeling drifts away and they become empty, unfeeling. Some… become tyrants, madmen wishing to wreak their pain upon the world. I myself do not know which I am. But, I persist. I try to do what I can, when allowed."

Isabel felt that it wasn't common that he spoke so much. She was somewhat flattered. "In my mind, I have.. I have countless memories that aren't mine. But they might as well be. They're as real to me as your memories are to you. We are what our context makes us. What has happened to us. 'If every moment connects the next, then every moment affects you.'" She paused, and felt panic well up in her again. There was no way to remove the memories - no way to forget them. She didn't even truly know how many there were. "I don't know what to do.."

"Rest," Lyon advised, standing from where he sat. "I will take my leave of you, with your permission, my lady. I feel as though you wish to be alone."

Isabel folded her arms across her chest, and looked down at the ground. God, she was so tired… but sleep was a terrifying notion. Either way, she was no good company. Nodding once, Lyon bowed at the waist and disappeared.

A thought occurred to her as she remembered something. There was bourbon.

Thank god for bourbon.