Chapter 4: The Storm Among the Wolves

The war council was unraveling quicker than he'd thought possible.

From his place in the near center of the throng, Bernadotte's sole eye narrowed as the hushed voices around him began to escalate in volume and intensity. One second, all was whispers and hissed quarrels, and then a scathing and petty remark from Sharma soon had the congregation in an uproar of shouts and angry gestures. For his part, the Librarian was almost sympathetic to the vampires' turmoil; it wasn't everyday a gaggle of humans like the ones at Gresit were able to drive off otherworldy forces and the defeat had everyone rattled. Half of them wanted to send more forces to the defiant city and obliterate it from the map, and the other half had cast doubt on the forge masters' skills. Raman did not hesitate to pile on in support of her countryman.

If Isaac or Hector had more command of the inner politics of vampire aristocracy, they in turn wouldn't have hesitated in exploiting the Rajah and Maharani's disdain for each other within their homeland and driven a wedge between this sham alliance. If Isaac and Hector disliked each other a little less, or tolerated each other a little more, they'd have formed a united front if only to stand against the scorn of the immortals. Instead, Bernadotte noted with no small degree of chagrin, Isaac and Hector reacted in the only way half-broken children knew how: lash out and make threats.

Hector upheld and defended his steadfast belief in mercy.

Isaac was only angry. Isaac was always angry.

As for Bernadotte, he wanted to pull the feckless brats aside by their ears and knock their heads together until they saw sense. Or was he just getting old? "That's enough!" he shouted above the din. "This senseless infighting is getting us nowhere, so everyone be silent and let's speak civilly!"

"You," Raman hissed and extended her long forefinger toward him, her countenance twisted in an ugly snarl. "Do not give commands! You are a mere archivist."

"But he is right," said Dragoslav in a bid for peace, which only infuriated Raman. She called him a human lover and a hypocrite, slamming her hand into his chest. In the corner of his limited vision, Bernadotte saw Cho-hime snarl at the Berserkr Draugr, God only knew why, and he shook his head in exasperation. For the love of…

"Enough!" Another voice took up his cry for silence, and the Librarian raised his head to see Dracula himself had appeared by his throne, parting his fangs and ordering them all to stop their petulant squabbling. The command went largely unheard, or ignored, and the vampire roared, "Cease!" But in the end, it was the opening of the great doors that ultimately brought silence to the rabble and everyone's head turned in the direction of the approaching footsteps. Bernadotte took a discreet step to one side in order to see around Zufall's great height, eyebrow raised when he saw the figure making its way through the lesser vampire ranks.

Carmilla, he thought, had the cold and dispassionate beauty of a glacier as she strode at a leisurely pace into the throne room, her pale eyes aloof and her gait as smooth as a panther's. No, a cobra. She looked at no one, acknowledged no one, and the vampires of the court fixed each other with wary glances as she drifted past them, the hollow click of her heels echoing in the vast chamber. When she had gone by him, Bernadotte smiled and dipped his head in what might have passed for reverence. It was thrilling.

"I am Carmilla," the vampire lady said with a bow. "Come from far Styria to join the war council."

Behind her, Cho narrowed her eyes, as did the Indian pair, but Dracula said nothing of the Countess's choice of words and instead took a seat on his throne. "You were summoned some time ago, Carmilla of Styria."

The lady's smile was saccharine and cold. "Indeed," she said in a voice to match. "But your mighty castle keep moves around, my lord, and with such fine Generals already prosecuting the war and assisting you, what use could you have for a mere regional ruler such as myself? But…your forces appear to have been repelled by a single city and your Generals are in disarray, so I feel that, perhaps, it is right and proper that I now offer my own insights to your great and noble cause."

"And what insights have you?

The Librarian held his breath as Carmilla took a calculated pause, and then. "Why was this new wife of yours never turned?"

He widened his lone, green eye. Feu en enfer…

"What did you say?"

"You married," Carmilla continued in her bemused, honeyed voice. "You had a child. And yet you did not make her a vampire. Why was that? Were you simply keeping a human pet?"

Bernadotte saw their lord and master clench his hands until clawmarks were carved into the ebony arms of his throne. He saw Hector break out in a sweat while Isaac trembled in his usual rage.

"And if so, why is vampire society going to war with the world over it?"

The fury that emanated from the dais would have been more than enough for Bernadotte to draw a weapon had Dracula been any other vampire. Instead, the Librarian waited for the king to rise, to descend upon this insolent serpent woman and remind her exactly why he ruled the night. He even took a step back as though that alone would protect him from the spray of vampiress blood such as the case may be. A quick succession of nervous heartbeats filled his ears and his throat felt tight when he swallowed, and still Dracula only waited. Carmilla herself had gone quiet, her lips curled in smug triumph. Did the fool really not see the rope she'd wound around her slender neck? The door at her feet? The imminent drop? Bernadotte grabbed Isaac by the wrist as the younger man stepped forward, shaking his head in warning. Do not interfere. Let the matter run its course.

For a moment more, silence pervaded the chamber, and then…

"We go," the forbidding voice slithered into the hall like black mist and dread chilled the hearts of all before the throne, immortal or otherwise. No one, not even brazen Carmilla, dared move as they gradually took heed of the figure among them, veiled in shadow and almost imperceptible against the darkness there. The vampires bared their fangs and backed away. The forge masters were silent. The Librarian's lips parted in a wicked smile.

And Draculina stepped forward. "Because our master commands it."

As she approached the foot of the dais, the shadow pall about her person waned and faded the further she stepped into the light until she was standing in her favorite dress of bloody crimson, a smile painted across her pale, pretty cheeks, and her eyes alight with boundless pride and absolute loathing. "Does this offend you, my lady Carmilla?"

There was no answer from the Countess, although her complacent smile had slipped and was replaced by an impassive, almost bored, face. However, Bernadotte did not fail to notice the arm that hung by her side was now tense, as was the lily-white hand that rested on the svelte curve of her hip. As she failed to secure a response from the elder vampiress, Draculina took an inaudible step forward, eyes stretching to their unnervingly wide state, and parted her lips to show her fangs. Both rows of sharpened points as opposed to the four, neat canines the rest of her kind possessed.

"Seras."

When Dracula spoke, his daughter's smile softened and she turned to him in casual askance.

"Tell me," said her master. "What news of Wallachia?"

"Yes, Master," Carmilla forgotten, the Daughter of the Dragon waved her hand and the columns of black robes and red eyes parted. Four of the lesser vampires came forward, bearing the corners of a long table over which was spread a map of the principality and her surrounding lands. Human borders, Bernadotte noted as the parchment was smoothed out and weighted down by stone blocks carved in the form of gruesome beasts. Not vampire territories. The choice in cartography was not lost on the Generals, for they all exchanged quizzical glances and frowned at the unfamiliar markings. All except Carmilla who had withdrawn to the outskirts of the council to consider her next move. Her placid expression was still in place, but Bernadotte knew from a glance the arrival of a second queen on the board had unsettled the Styrian Countess. For a brief moment, she caught Godbrand's eye in a malicious glare, to which the Viking shrugged and turned to focus on the council.

I was right. Bernadotte noted. He has been sending her information.

"What, no chairs?" the Grand General snapped at the lesser vampires. "Are we all to stand about like sheep in a paddock?"

The cloaked figures flinched at her scathing tone and scurried off, and a long, midnight blue braid spilled from one's cowl as she ran, marking her for Rip van Winkle. Bernadotte watched them disappear down the darkened corridors, then returned his gaze to where the vampire lady was bent over the table, hands planted against its flat surface as her red eyes slid back and forth in concentrated examination. Seras looked…spent. Where her hands were steady, the Librarian caught minute tremors in her fingers, her eyes were now heavy lidded, and he'd never heard her speak so callously to her own staff before. Alarmed, he tried to catch her eye in hopes of discerning what had occured in her travels, but the vampiress abruptly shook her head as though to clear it and paid him no mind. "Walter."

Another of the lessers stepped into the Generals' inner circle, pulling back the hood of his cloak to indeed reveal the sinister young man who had once been Walter Bernhard, Lord of the Forest of Eternal Night, now simply Walter Dornez, humble steward of Poenari Castle. "Yes, my lady?"

"Would you bring blood and beer and wine, please?" Seras asked in a low voice. "For our guests."

"It had better be proper human blood," growled Godbrand. "And not that pig swill."

Walter's black eyes flashed. "How dare—"

But Seras cut him off, fixing the draugr with an even stare and bitter smile. "I wouldn't presume to do you the dishonor, Godbrand," she said. "I recall how it affects your delicate constitution."

Amid Godbrand's snarling, bemused chuckles could be heard among the other Generals, but they were subdued and guarded. Walter's appearance, as well as the others of Poenari had upended the already shaky balance among them. How long, Bernadotte could hear them wondering, had Draculina's household been integrated, invisible, among the lesser ranks? Watching, listening, reporting every word back to their mistress?

The Poenari vampires returned in short order, each carrying grand but dusty chairs from the banquet hall in the east wing that hadn't been used since…well, Bernadotte had certainly never seen the family dine there. He'd been through it a number of times whilse Adrian had been a child and they'd been engaged in some hiding game or other, but the dhampir had been to old for such entertainments long before the world went to hell. And judging from those trailing cobwebs van Winkle and company hastily swatted away with their hands, he could safely assume no one had been in that part of the castle in some time. There was a chorus of legs scraping against the stone floor, and as soon as one of the taller lessers, who might have been Zorin, slammed one last chair down at the head of the table, Seras bid them all sit.

Everyone did, reluctantly resigning themselves to picking old spiderwebs from their collective asses later. All except for Draculina. She remained at her place over the map, reaching out to draw a tight circle around a tiny space on the map. "This is where we are now, yes? Midway between Brașov and Targoviste, here in the Făgăraș Mountains?"

"Oui, Madame," Bernadotte answered.

Draculina nodded and then, in a series of brisk and clinical movements, swept both her pale hands across the map, each simultaneously and coldly striking out the names of cities as she went: Targoviste was first, then Piteşti, then Buzău, Râmnicu Vâlcea, Târgșor, the capital Bucharest, and dozens more. By the time she had finished, nearly every major city and fortress that Bernadotte could see had been targeted. Jesus…

"These are the fallen cities," said the vampiress, her arms spread. "Any others are, as we speak, on the verge of collapse or are desperately fortifying their walls against the Horde. Travel between them has dwindled for fear of attacks on now dangerous roads. Isaac and Hector's creatures have Wallachia divided and in terror, sir."

"And yet?" Dracula asked from his throne.

His fledgling slipped neatly into the chair the Nameless Werewolf, or at least Bernadotte thought it was the Chien d'Attaque, pulled out for her. "It's not a bad start, and it will no doubt grab the world's attention. But are we prepared for that?"

Hector lifted his head. "You have a concern, S—Grand General?"

"I fear," Draculina paused as Walter, aided by two lessers, reappeared from the shadows with the refreshments she'd asked for, declining to take any herself with a polite wave of her hand. "That we lack the forces for what is to come. I ask you all to draw your attention to the human borders."

"What of them?" asked Dragoslav as Walter skillfully poured blood into the glass he set at his side. "The arbitrary lines by which humans define their territories have never concerned us before. Why should they now?"

"It's not the borders she's concerned about. It's the neighbors." Everyone turned in surprise as Godbrand rose to his feet and circled Wallachia with his finger. "This is the principality the livestock call Wallachia. A little spit of land trapped between two greater powers. Hungarians to the north and Ottomans to the south."

Draculina nodded. "Exactly. Here and now, word of our doings is only rumors to these two nations; however, once rumors become fact, as they surely will, the King of Hungary and the Sultan will become nervous. Both have coveted Wallachia for their own for over a century and are therefore very invested in the happenings within the country, but in the face of Hell demons…"

Sharma put a hand to his chin and took up the glass of wine Walter had spirited by his elbow. "I see. You are concerned these two rulers will take action against us, if only to prevent the Night Horde from spreading into their domains like a cancer."

"Yes." The vampire lady folded her hands thoughtfully. "The Ottomans boast one of the greatest military forces of the human race, refusing to crumble even when the rest of Europe batters them with endless crusades. So I ask again, forge masters, in all frankness…have we the numbers to sustain the threat we face?"

Everyone turned to Isaac and Hector, the majority of the vampires with contempt, the Librarian with interest, and Draculina with an encouraging nod. Like a mother urging her shy children to speak.

"A two-front war would be a disaster," Zufall said over his beer. "Even humans, as we have seen in Gresit, have the capacity to overwhelm night creatures when given sufficient numbers and a presumably competent commander at the helm."

"And nothing drives mortal enemies closer together than a bigger and more powerful enemy," Godbrand sneered at the Grand General. "That's a tactic you rather enjoy, don't you, Draculina? I'm not surprised you caught this."

She smiled balefully but addressed the table. "Do we yet know what happened in Gresit? Clearly, this was an organized resistance."

"What we've gleaned from the surviving night creatures, those that could speak anyway," Isaac began. "Was that our forces were repelled by an infantry of pikemen, aided by the skills of a Speaker magician and a Christian priest."

"Interesting," said Bernadotte. "That isn't the sort of fellowship one sees on the regular. Speakers are generally disliked wherever they go, and a priest…well, I'm more likely to see one fall to his knees in terrified prayer than standing up to beasts."

"We're given to understand he blessed the well water of the city and distributed it among the fighters," Hector explain.

"Was this just a coincidence, then?" asked Carmilla, speaking for the first time since she was called out before the council. She eyed the table in regal disdain and waved a dismissive hand. "A simple, spontaneous moment of rebellion and nothing more?"

"If so, then all the more reason to crush Gresit underfoot!" Sharma snapped. "If we allow the humans to realize that victory can be secured against us, we allow them hope. And hope brings more resistance and more obstacles!"

"I agree," said Zufall and turned to Draculina. "My lady, Gresit should be dealt with post-haste. Before word of our defeat gets out."

The vampiress at the table did not answer, her subtle frown indicating deep thought as she tapped her fingers against the arm of her chair. After a brief pause, she lifted her head and again addressed the forge masters. "Well, Isaac? Hector? Have we the means to retain what has been taken from the humans and defend against the north and south?"

"I think not," Isaac answered. "The bodies we procured from Gresit and the other cities may be enough for a garrison or two, but for the scale you describe…it would be a grave risk."

"I see. So expansion is unwise, at least until we can consolidate what we have." Seras rose to her feet. "I propose we seal the borders. Cut off communication to and from the outside as much as we can. Work to corral the humans within Wallachia."

"And Gresit?" said Dragoslav. "What do you intend to do there, Lady Seras?"

Again, Draculina considered the question, and in the silence, Carmilla asked, "Did you retrieve all the dead bodies from the city?"

Startled by the question, Hector answered, "That would be like dragging an entire river from its bed single handedly. There would have been far too many dead for the Horde to transport in a single night.

The glacial vampiress smiled her placid smile and turned to Draculina. "Then I say we've no need to worry about the wayward city. I imagine the streets will be swollen with so many corpses, the humans will know naught what to do with them. Disease will eventually take its toll and devastate the remaining populace.

"Disgusting," hissed Raman and Cho wrinkled her pale nose in revulsion.

Seras nodded her agreement. "Very well. Leave Gresit be. See to the borders. Round up the humans that remain. Adjourned?"

"Adjourned," the Generals chorused and rose to their feet.

Bernadotte looked to Dracula, who had said nothing throughout the proceedings, and found the old vampire looked neither pleased nor dissatisfied. When the council began to dissipate, he rose from his throne, nodded a wordless thanks to his fledgling, who smiled back, and then he was gone. Back to his fire in the study.

The Librarian sighed and turned away, only to stop and frown when he saw Carmilla standing at the table, her shrewd eyes fixed on their master's vanishing form.

-0-0-0-

It wasn't until she retreated to the privacy of her own chamber that it truly struck Seras how exhausted she was.

The moment Walter closed the door behind her, her knees buckled of their own accord and her steward hastened forward to catch her before she collapsed. "What are you thinking, my lady!" he scolded. "You've gone too long without blood."

Without blood, without sleep, without everything. Seras shuddered as Walter scooped her up, as though she were a young and scared fledgling again, and deposited her on the divan by the fire van Winkle had built up prior to her arrival. As a living corpse, Seras was generally unbothered by the winter cold…but the flames felt wonderful anyway. Wearily, she held out her hand and let the warmth of the hearth run through her fingers with all the tenderness of a heartbeat.

The last time she had worn herself down this far…piss and vinegar, how long had it been since she'd surveyed her entire homeland in one stint?

Running in her wolf form or human guise, riding on the back of some night creature or other, or flying through the brisk air, she had traversed all of Wallachia to obtain the intel her master needed for the war effort. As well as carry out the opening crescendo of this deadly symphony. Dracula set down the first sparks weeks ago in Targoviste, and then she was tasked with spreading the blaze. Every demon the Librarian pulled up from Hell, every monster forged by Isaac and Hector, they were all given unto her command and she'd scattered them to the four winds of the principality.

She didn't think it was possible for her to be this tired.

And no doubt once she'd rested and recovered from this first offense, Dracula would send her out again. Or perhaps she would be directed to sit on the council with the rest of her kin should the forge masters require more clout in being obeyed. Seras grimaced. She'd warned her sire of what would happen if he named the two forge masters the tactical officers of the war, and from what she'd seen, she had been right to worry. No vampire would suffer the indignity of serving under a mortal; their pride would never allow it. Nor were either of them even up to the business of warfare. She was fond of them both, but Hector was far too soft-hearted and gentle to consider the brutal methods needed to secure victory, and Isaac lacked perspective.

The Generals were in disarray, Carmilla had correctly observed that much at least.

Seras started as Walter suddenly shoved a chalice in her outstretched hand. "Drink," he commanded, his eyes thunderous with anger.

She raised the chalice to her pale lips and let the liquid copper run over her tongue, and having tasted the vital lifeblood, the beast in her awoke and she promptly drained it dry. Walter poured her another, and that one was finished in moments as well. By the time she'd consumed half of a third glass, she felt her limbs and joints begin to ache as her strength gradually returned to her, and she blinked as though in confusion. "Shit, I…"

"To think I would be sitting here babying you after all these years," Walter snapped. The relief in his demeanor did not go unnoticed, though Seras did not think it wise to tease him at this moment. "Really, Seras, I thought I had taught you better than this."

She sighed. "I'm sorry. I guess I was travelling so much I neglected to take care of myself."

"I'm surprised you made it through the council in one piece. Had you provoked any one of the Generals tonight—"

"You and everyone else from Castle Poenari wouldn't have let anything happen. Nor would my master for that matter." Not to mention I did provoke a couple of them. She groaned and rocked her neck from side to side. "How have things been since I've been away?"

Walter narrowed his eyes at her neat dodging of his reprimand, but he answered, "About as well as you would expect. Our lord and master grieves for the Lady Lisa, the Generals are at odds, the forge masters are ineffective, and Master Librarian is…well, he's still Master Librarian."

"Brilliant." Seras shook her head. "Anything else I should know?"

"Yes. It would appear we have all the more reason to believe our suspicions about Godbrand playing informant to Carmilla."

"Hmm." Seras brought the chalice to her lips and swallowed another mouthful of blood. "And Pip? Has he said anything about…"

Walter shook his head. "No, my lady. But he is still looking."

She sighed again and leaned back against the divan. "Very well," she murmured as her eyes drifted closed. The blood had revitalized her, but the strain of her journey and tonight's council had run her ragged. Spending yet another day without sleep was out of the question, and the sun was close to rising. A hot bath was probably in order as well, given the only personal care she'd exerted before meeting with the Generals was to wash her face and change into a clean dress.

Seras yawned and was about to ask Walter to send for van Winkle to draw said bath when a hollow knock came at the door. Both vampires raised their heads in surprise and, at a brief nod from his lady, Walter called out, "Enter."

It was Luke Valentine, spectacles glinting in the firelight as he stood in the open doorway. "The Lady Carmilla, Madame," he announced. "She seeks an audience.

Seras set down the chalice in amazement. "Well, now." She glanced at her steward. "She certainly doesn't waste time."

Walter and Luke both smiled smoothly, their eyes as sly as foxes.

"Might as well send her in then." Seras shrugged in resignation.

"No, my lady. I think it would be best if you were to sleep first."

"Oh, stop fussing, Walter. I'm feeling quite well enough to indulge a comrade with a conversation. Send her in, Luke." She nodded to the vampire in the doorway. "I want to know what business the Blood Countess of Styria has with me."

Luke respectfully inclined his head and returned to the antechamber where Seras could hear him exchanging words with whichever servant the Styrian lady had sent ahead to call on her. In the silence that followed, Walter thankfully did not protest further to her decision to meet Carmilla. Rather, he hastened to retrieve another decanter of blood as well as a second chalice for their unforseen guest.

"Carmilla…" she mused aloud. "This will be my third time meeting her, I believe."

Walter said nothing.

Styria was a regional territory, inconsequential compared to her father's other great domains. The previous count—what was his name again?—had been ancient. To Seras' knowledge, he pre-dated Dracula, Godbrand, Walter, and even Cho-hime. Old, mad, violent, the immortal sands of time had eroded him into a creature far removed from his former human self and indeed from any sort of vampire he might have been before. He was cruel and troublesome, and whenever a Belmont or two ventured west into his lands, Seras had happily wished them luck and looked the other way.

She met the Count only once during a progress through her sire's territories. The majority of her household had accompanied her on the journey, and in the halls of that desolate and lonely castle, Seras had never been more glad of them. The Styrian fortress felt like a tomb, its inhabitants little more than wraiths, and the Count who presided over the dead court constantly hurled her memory back to a lonely hill under a full moon in a village known as Cașcaval. Schrödinger never left her side, and throughout the entire visit, either Walter or the Nameless Werewolf were always nearby, as though assassination was imminent.

The wraith's themselves were the Count's fledglings. He had two, but where Seras had been her master's daughter, Carmilla and Morana were the Count's brides. Whatever circumstances had brought those women to Styria, Seras could not guess, but the unhappiness in their demeanors sickened her. Where was their will? Where was their vitality? All through meals and the occasions she chanced upon them in the corridors, they rarely spoke to her and always kept their eyes down. Those poor women in white, reduced to these silent shadows that only spoke when addressed. Dracula had treated her harshly, even cruelly, in the early years of her immortal life, but Seras could not recall having ever been this broken. Submissive, yes, and eventually defiant, but never empty.

When word reached her that the Styrian Count had been murdered by his own fledgling, she had been shocked. At first, she thought the old man had turned some new human who had not hesitated in retaliating violently against his or her mistreatment, not even considering Carmilla or Morana could have done this brutal, if necessary, deed. When word reached her that it had been Carmilla to commit murder, she had been further astounded. That wan-faced, shrunken ghost of a vampiress a killer? She would have been more likely to believe van Winkle had gone rogue and massacred half of Poenari.

Even so, when she made her second visit to the Styrian castle, she found said wraith the new mistress of it, her and Morana both. A joint sovereignty of two sisters.

Although neither of them would show it, Seras could tell they were reluctant to show submission to Dracula. However, he had been the Count's liege lord and Styria was a part of his commonwealth. Fledglings killing their masters and carving up his territories like a meat pie was a precedent he was not about to set, and Seras was there to ensure his will was carried out. "Think of it as a greater alliance rather than subservience," she'd said to the sisters. "Dracula is not a bad master, not at all, and he willingly permits and respects the independence and whims of his Generals so long as they don't clash with each other overmuch."

"We would still be expected to obey a vampire half a continent away," Morana told her in an accent Seras had never been able to place.

"And that was the lot you drew when you designed to slay your own master." Seras made a sweeping motion with her hand. "Behold, sister countesses! Styria…and everything that comes with it. You killed its lord, now you fill his shoes."

Neither of them liked it, she knew. The hatred in Carmilla's eyes was evident. She'd been so sure, so confident that killing their master would bring her and Morana the freedom and power they both desired, taking back their world, their very identities. It did not give Seras any pleasure to stand in the way of that. She remembered how it was to be helpless, after all. However, in Morana's eyes, she saw wisdom and concern for the sister whose hand she was gripping beneath the table.

"You understand," Seras addressed her. "I deny you nothing."

"We swore that never again would we be ruled," Carmilla snarled. "You deny us that."

"Say we agree I leave you here," Seras countered. "Say I go back to Wallachia and tell my master, 'Father dearest, leave well enough alone in Styria. The Count's brides have endured much and wish to be left in peace. Say he agrees and takes no further action against you, all's well and right with the world."

Morana lowered her eyes. "But Dracula is not the only vampire lord. There are others who would take Styria for their own. And with the state we are in now, we would be powerless to stop them."

"Yes. You will be slain or enslaved and your newfound kingdom will be taken anyway, and what will you have gained then?" She folded her hands and leaned forward in her chair. "Hear my advice: cleave to Dracula's demands of fealty. That's all he wants. Not taxes or tribute or even a steady supply of humans to fill the blood larders of our homeland. Just loyalty. In return, you may rule Styria as you like. Expand your territory to your hearts' content. Knock this castle down and build a greater one if it will snuff out the memories. Do what you will."

Carmilla was sullen, but Seras knew she would relent. For her sister Morana's sake if nothing else.

"What do you think, sisters? It's not a bad lot, now is it?"

There was no vampire battle in Styria that night. Morana put a placating hand on Carmilla's shoulder and told her, smiling, that an alliance with Dracula would suit them very well.

"Shall we draw up a treaty then?"

Seras opened her eyes as a second but just as hollow knock was heard at her door.

"Come in."

-0-0-0-

Author's Notes: Playing the characters of Carmilla and Seras against each other is something I've been looking forward to doing for a long while, so I hope I won't disappoint in the coming chapters.

Personally, I really enjoy Carmilla. She's written beautifully as an abuse victim who draws on the hardships of her past for negative reasons. She's manipulative and a bully and all this ultimately adds to the tragedy of her character: a sad, pitiful creature who was mistreated so long that in her refusal to be controlled again, she achieves this by asserting herself. Her first appearance is grand and intimidating, but she later reveals she does it 'to unsettle a room full of men.' Her interactions with Morana, Striga, and Lenore in Season 3 show her to be a confusing mix of affectionate and manipulative, meaning that she does not even feel secure among those closest to her.

Netflix Castlevania has a fantastic arrangment of characters who have experienced different types of hardship and have different reactions to it. I'd love to go into it more, but then this author's note would be an essay and nobody came here to read an essay.

Summing up, I can't wait to see where everyone's story arc goes in the next season.

I own neither of these series.