Twilight Is Not Good For Maidens
Author's Note: Ah, another pretty speedy update from me. I'm so proud of myself! Of course, maybe it'll get a bit slower when I begin writing the original scenes, but I don't think I'll be too slow or anything. Well, I'll just have to wait and see. Sorry for giving you half of the scene here (I couldn't resist ending it on that particular note, though). I'll have another one up very soon. Also, my warm thanks go out to all the kind people who've given me reviews, especially Kate, for being Most Excellent! ::wink:: Anyway, enjoy the chapter!
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TWILIGHT IS NOT GOOD FOR MAIDENS
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Chapter 2: The Cinematograph
The machines made a faint whirring sound as the film rolled. The light flickered across the screen, the moving pictures shakily displaying themselves for public awe. There was something for everyone: images of the countryside stillness, images of the more familiar city surroundings, films featuring people, films featuring moving objects or vehicles, there were even brief attempts at creating coherent scenes, mostly of a comical nature. Audiences gathered, astonished at the technological feats, the images created on the screen firing bold imaginings into their minds. People came and went, but always hungered for more of the marvel, always thirsted to know how it would advance, what the future would bring for such a medium.
The rooms were all swathed in curtains and smoke. The curtains were to separate each film and to keep the hall mostly dark, and the smoke was due to the men who frequented the cinematograph, insisting on having a cigarette as they sat and watched the array of moving pictures. Mina crinkled her nose, thinking it a filthy habit. Then she tried to mask the action. Habits aside, she was certain that breathing in such pungent fumes could not be healthy.
She looked at Vlad, who was standing beside her, who seemed both acutely aware of her, lost in his own thoughts and paying close attention to the film currently playing. He seemed to observe everything with equal intensity and distance. She thought it a strange quality, but at the same time found it admirable.
She took a moment to study him. From the side profile, it was easier to see his eyes. Mina noticed that there was something very old about them, almost ancient. Of course, they were the eyes of a man in his prime, and yet there was something ageless and eternal about them. Perhaps it was the soul behind the eyes she was seeing. Looking again, it slowly dawned on her that it was not just interest and fascination she was seeing as she watched him look at the film. There was contentedness there too, as if standing with her, watching a simple filmed scene gave him satisfaction. And somehow it appeared that he hadn't been so content for a very long time. She understood.
It was strange, but when she looked at him, he felt an overwhelming rush of loss that she combated as best she could with sensibility. But being near this stranger reminded her of an old ache, an old loneliness, and old loss...feelings that had lurked in the secret corners of her heart and dreams for as long as she could remember. She had long drowned out such discontent but now she felt that abstract pain return to her.
She had been observing him for a while, ever since the end of their first meeting. All the while she had sneaked looks at him, her eyes lingering on him a little longer than perhaps they ought. She was desperate to know what about him was so familiar to her. Had she seen him somewhere before? Impossible, if she had met him before, she would definitely have remembered. She knew that she should remember.
They had taken the brief walk to the cinematograph, sharing some polite conversation. Mina had tried to use it, in the guise of harmless questions and comments, to try and unravel some of his mystery, to try and make sense of him, but she couldn't. There was something so strange about him; it wasn't just his foreignness but something deeper, hidden.
She originally had no intention of visiting the cinematograph with him. She'd planned just to lead him there, perhaps talk with him, and then be on her way. But as she turned to leave, something made her regret it. He didn't try to coax her in any way, yet somehow she felt as though he was asking her to accompany him, without words.
Well, what harm could it possibly do? she had thought to herself. She had been full of anxiety all day, perhaps spending a small amount of time in distraction was exactly what she needed. It couldn't hurt to only spend a little more time with him. A part of her wanted to get to know him, because he seemed so alive but so sad.
As they spoke, she had thought of slipping in a few questions about his heritage, to see if he was genuine or not. Her reason was not that his supposed royalty mattered to her; what mattered was whether or not he was lying to her. But the want to test him in such a way had left her very quickly. There was something unconsciously regal about him, not just in his speech and manners, but something beyond that. Every gesture, every movement seemed different to the gestures and movements of every other man she knew. He wasn't lying to her. She could sense something hidden, something kept away, but she knew that he wasn't lying to her. There was no question about it. Something inside her knew it. She trusted him. She knew it was ridiculous to give her trust to a complete stranger, but she only trusted him on this small matter.
She could almost hear her own voice tell her, Yes...he is a prince, and you know it. He would never lie to you. It wasn't like the voice of another person in her mind, but it wasn't exactly like her own mental voice, either.
Remembering her anger at him, she felt that she was terribly insensitive. But her pride was a prickly thing and he had offended it. She was still uneasy about him. She could feel him watch her, as if he was trying to draw her towards an answer to all her inner-questions and it frightened her more than she cared to admit. Something about him drew her and her recognition of that made her want to be very far away from him, but minute by minute, she was softening.
But there was something else about him, something that had warnings ringing through her. He was a man whose every gesture showed he was a hunter. He was searching ravenously for something, she could tell. He had longed for something for so long, she thought.
Vlad knew that she was looking at him, he could even sense her thinking about him. He felt her understanding him. If ever he turned to look back at her, she would modestly look away. She was highly perceptive, he sensed, and yet she never tried to make anyone aware of it – which was what, in his vast experience, everyone used their perception for.
She was his beloved Elisabeta but she was Mina too. He felt a soul-connection to her, that bond that joined their souls together. When they were happy and living, that connection had kept their days full of love and light. Without her, he still felt linked to her soul, wherever it was, but felt only loneliness because she was not there. He was incomplete and alone. No matter how real and tangible their bond seemed, he couldn't follow it to her any more than he could pull at it to bring her back.
Perhaps that was what had happened. These four centuries, he had longed for her and mourned her, unable to live without her. Perhaps in his grief, he had pulled at their spiritual bond, and after so long waiting and pulling, the thread of their love had finally returned her to him. Mina...
Already he could see that she was intelligent, passionate and yet streaked with piety and propriety. But beneath any coolness of demeanour, he could see a soul full of sensitivity and love. Yet, she seemed haunted and longing, beneath all her defences. She seemed lost, as though she had been drifting alone forever without realising it. He knew it was his own fault that she was so alone. He should have been there, he should never have left her side. He knew he was a monster but her love, her light would redeem him and they would be truly happy for eternity.
Seeing her again in the photograph had been maddening. Seeing her in flesh and blood was another experience entirely. Every time she looked at him, with eyes he knew so well, shock coursed through him. To remember her features, her expressions, however keenly, was different. To see them again, to see their radiant reality, so close to him, was something he believed he could never hope for. He had thought for so long that she had been lost forever. He could barely believe it to be true. To see all the differing, subtle expressions cross her face was so marvellous and yet unbearable at the same time. He loved her and he burned to show it.
It hurt him that she had no memory of him at all. To have her look at him and at the same time never truly see him, never look on him with love was painful. But he could see recognition cloud her features with confusion, he knew she remembered him, that her memory of their love still existed within her spirit, waiting to be unearthed.
A part of him longed to not have to restrain himself. He longed to be able to take her in his arms and spirit her away, carrying her off into the night, holding her close to his heart, taking her to some secret place where nobody could ever find her or hurt her. But she deserved better than that and he could never do anything that might harm her. He would never risk that.
A new clip of film was shown. A train. He looked upon not only the film with interest, but also the train.
"Astounding..." he said. "There are no limits to science."
"How can you call this science? Do you think Madame Curie would invite such comparisons? Really!" She hadn't said it with unkindness, she only hoped to draw him into a discussion on the subject, perhaps – though she did resent the fuss people were making about the cinematograph and all it had to offer.
She waited for a reply, an argument, an opinion but none came. He only turned to look at her deeply, seemingly focusing not only on her words, but the meaning behind them. Her thin smile began to falter.
Vlad was in fact thinking how she so bridged the old world and the new, the old world dwelt in her memories, her past, her dreams, whilst she also embodied the spirit of her age. She was both a medieval princess and a modern Victorian lady. But, he noticed as her words gently challenged him, her heart had remained unchanged.
Mina's nervousness returned to her. What on earth was she doing here, spending time in the cinematograph with a stranger? It boggled the mind. She felt uncomfortable and wanted to be far away from such an overwhelming presence.
"I...I shouldn't have come here. I must go." She said faintly.
She moved away, glancing through the crowds for the exit. Quick as the night air, he was beside her, his arm faintly touching her shoulder. He realised that she was afraid of him.
"Do not fear me." He said, his voice seeming to grab her and hold her still.
His touch had startled her, awoke her. The tiny contact coupled with the closeness of his face, the emotions burning in those familiar eyes, the need and reassurance in his voice... She was sure she recognised him. From where, she almost knew – it was on the tip of her tongue, her mind was almost ready to unlock whatever secret it held. He held her and his voice compelled her. She felt as though she were falling. Her gaze fell briefly from his eyes to his lips before meeting his eyes again, her own eyes wide with unspoken questions. She was bound in chains of mist and forgetfulness. She had the dizzying feeling that fate had caught up with her.
She lurched herself out of the moment and continued to walk away.
He could not let her go. By her petit waist, he pulled her small-boned body towards him, crushing her against his chest. There could be no two ways about it. He had journeyed to England to make her his forever and now he had an opportunity. When she had decided to leave him, he realised that he could be losing his second chance.
Mina gasped in shock, but was too stunned to do anything. She barely had time to think before he moved, still holding her to him, steering her towards one of the back rooms, out of sight. She could only wonder desperately why no passers-by had thought to help her. They seemed so far away, as though a thick veil prevented them from seeing what was happening. Mina realised now that she and the prince were quite alone in this invisible mist, separated from the world around them. She was trembling violently and had to put pressure on her knees to keep standing. All she could do was stare hopelessly at him, her eyes voicing her protests, pained by how the feeling of being in his arms seemed to be more memory than new sensation. The loss of control was unbearable.
What was happening to her? The world was changing around her and it was the most disorienting thing she'd ever experienced. She could feel her heart beating in her throat. Why wasn't she running? Not only didn't she believe that her legs would physically support her but also she couldn't stop looking at him. Alarms were ringing in her mind.
She forced her mind to work again. You are in danger, she told herself firmly. You must do something – help yourself! Fully herself again, she began struggling in his arms to pull away. But she was too late. All she could do was cry out useless protests as he carefully forced her to lie down on a couch as she tried to wrench herself away. Purpose and determination glittered in his eyes.
He leaned over her, his grip intensifying without injuring her. Panic coursed through her as one hand strayed up to her throat. She became frantic with fear. She fumbled, trying to bat away his hand, not fully understanding what was happening, but at the same time believing she knew only too well. Despite her fear, she retained her control as best she could.
"Stop this!" She whispered fervently, desperately, pleadingly. "Stop this!"
Mina made a gallant effort to stay as calm as she could, to try and appeal to this gentleman's better sense. Her frantic attempts however, seemed to be useless.
He leaned over her again, closer this time, and spoke to her. Words in a language she had no teaching in. Words that belonged to her past. Words long lost.
He spoke them, and the world disappeared.