Diary of Wilhemina Harker
Jan 4th
Dear Diary, today was next to unbearable, spent the best part of the day in Dr Langsdale's suffocating house listening to men talk of matters both boring and repetitive all because he wished me to meet some friend of his who arrived late. Master Dorian Grey turned out to be the most stuck up, rude, offensive, self important excuse for a gentleman I have ever engaged in conversation with. God, he loves the sound of his own voice and Dr Langsdale had the misguidance to call me over-opinionated! First we debated (ahem, argued) on literature, then art and finally finished on philosophy and when that cantankerous cad saw that he was losing the debate he merely shook his head and said sagely, "But of course, what does a woman know of such high points of society. Stick to your curlers and rouge and leave such subjects to those of us with the intellectual capacity for matters of any importance." And with an infuriating little half smile he swaggered off into the crowd like that settled the matter. I would have torn his throat out! How childish. That man has probably never left England in his life let alone travelled to Transylvania of all the god-forsaken places on earth to slay an un-dead monster leaving with the curse of immortality and a thirst for blood to show for the effort. Beast! He probably believes that vampyres and other immortals are children's stories. Next time, Dorian, next time I will show you...
Jan 7th
Dear Diary, work tedious today, lack of Dr Langsdale (his wife got sick) and Dr Sibbery (business in Berlin) meant I got stuck with the students. I was trying to show them how to perform complex surgery while they kept on fainting or vomiting at the sight of a man with his chest open. For goodness' sake, they're only organs, we all have them inside of us. All the blood made me tense, not because I mind it, I've seen enough of it but because I found myself thirsting for it. I've been a vampyre for years now, longer than Jonathan's life (he died five years ago of pneumonia aged 72, rest his soul) and I have never once given in to the blood lust. I don't want to be like Dracula. I will not be like him. He ruined my life and I let him, heavens I practically begged him to. Reincarnation is a messy business but I am not his Elisabeta, I am Mina Harker and I will remain so. With all those thoughts in my head I accidentally pierced the corpse's heart and splattered my remaining students with blood. The same thing happened to Jonathan at Lucy's staking or so I'm told. She was my best friend until Dracula bit her. As I wiped the last of the blood from my face I decided I wasn't cut out for medicine, I'm a chemist for goodness' sake not an acting babysitter for would-be surgeons who can't stand the sight of a little blood.
Jan 11th
Dear Diary, just when I was finally starting to forget about Grey and his "wit" I meet him stopping at the gallery on my way home from work. Looking at paintings like he was actually capable of something even close to an appreciation of art. Ha! He stopped for so long in front of my favourite picture, Millais' Mariana, that I thought he'd never leave and then, catching me looking at it, he launched into a stirring little commentary on Millais' work, Measure by Measure and 19th Century art in general. I was not fooled for a moment by this attempt at cultural affinity, I told him coldly that I merely liked the colours and the detail on the leaves, didn't ask for his opinion and furthermore that should he annoy me so in future I would slap him. That said I walked briskly out into the street leaving him (I hope) taken down a peg or two. Egocentric liar. I said I would show him and I believe I have.
Jan 12th
AM Dear Diary, when checking the mail this morning I found a little card, expensively gilded with a red cord border on my doorstep. It was un- adressed so delivered by hand and said in exuberant, curled letters:
All right my charming art critic, let's hear you do better.
Meet me at the gallery tonight at six then for dinner afterwards.
Wear something elegant.
In anticipation,
Master Dorian Grey
How presumptuous of him! I despise him, why would I want to go out to dinner with him? I might as well go just to call his bluff, he won't really be expecting me to turn up surely. It might also give me a chance to tell him what I think of his "women can't do philosophy" theory. I'll show him, I didn't defeat Dracula and get a degree in Chemistry by batting my eyelashes about. And I'll make him sorry he ever picked a fight with Wilhemina Harker.
PM
That snivelling swine double bluffed me and turned up! I met him at the gallery exactly on time and immaculately dressed in grey and white. I wore my usual black (I still consider myself in mourning for Jonathan) but a little more daring and elegant than usual. He raised an eyebrow (I could have shot him for it) and offered me his arm. I chose to walk un-supported, however, as I didn't want him to get the impression that I was just another silly girl of glass. We walked around the gallery for hours talking about the various paintings. After that he took me to a restaurant for dinner and we debated some more, this time on literature again. By the time the meal was over I almost caught myself enjoying his company! Despite his sickening superior attitude he makes good conversation and I was genuinely interested in his viewpoints on philosophy. He seemed pessimistic and cynical. Almost amusing. He walked me to my door and bowed like a nobleman. I knew this was only to tease me, I was getting used to it by now but on the way up, he swept a small box out of his pocket and handed it to me. Inside was a diamond bracelet worth (I was sure) more than I earn in a year. I gaped at it for a second then regained my composure and pressed it back into his hands. I told him I was not so easily bought and I didn't want to see him again. He begged me keep it then, as a memento and, like a fool, I accepted. He kissed my hand and left. I went to bed un-tired and a little shaken. What now? I couldn't go to him now after what I'd said and besides I still hate him... Don't I?
Jan 4th
Dear Diary, today was next to unbearable, spent the best part of the day in Dr Langsdale's suffocating house listening to men talk of matters both boring and repetitive all because he wished me to meet some friend of his who arrived late. Master Dorian Grey turned out to be the most stuck up, rude, offensive, self important excuse for a gentleman I have ever engaged in conversation with. God, he loves the sound of his own voice and Dr Langsdale had the misguidance to call me over-opinionated! First we debated (ahem, argued) on literature, then art and finally finished on philosophy and when that cantankerous cad saw that he was losing the debate he merely shook his head and said sagely, "But of course, what does a woman know of such high points of society. Stick to your curlers and rouge and leave such subjects to those of us with the intellectual capacity for matters of any importance." And with an infuriating little half smile he swaggered off into the crowd like that settled the matter. I would have torn his throat out! How childish. That man has probably never left England in his life let alone travelled to Transylvania of all the god-forsaken places on earth to slay an un-dead monster leaving with the curse of immortality and a thirst for blood to show for the effort. Beast! He probably believes that vampyres and other immortals are children's stories. Next time, Dorian, next time I will show you...
Jan 7th
Dear Diary, work tedious today, lack of Dr Langsdale (his wife got sick) and Dr Sibbery (business in Berlin) meant I got stuck with the students. I was trying to show them how to perform complex surgery while they kept on fainting or vomiting at the sight of a man with his chest open. For goodness' sake, they're only organs, we all have them inside of us. All the blood made me tense, not because I mind it, I've seen enough of it but because I found myself thirsting for it. I've been a vampyre for years now, longer than Jonathan's life (he died five years ago of pneumonia aged 72, rest his soul) and I have never once given in to the blood lust. I don't want to be like Dracula. I will not be like him. He ruined my life and I let him, heavens I practically begged him to. Reincarnation is a messy business but I am not his Elisabeta, I am Mina Harker and I will remain so. With all those thoughts in my head I accidentally pierced the corpse's heart and splattered my remaining students with blood. The same thing happened to Jonathan at Lucy's staking or so I'm told. She was my best friend until Dracula bit her. As I wiped the last of the blood from my face I decided I wasn't cut out for medicine, I'm a chemist for goodness' sake not an acting babysitter for would-be surgeons who can't stand the sight of a little blood.
Jan 11th
Dear Diary, just when I was finally starting to forget about Grey and his "wit" I meet him stopping at the gallery on my way home from work. Looking at paintings like he was actually capable of something even close to an appreciation of art. Ha! He stopped for so long in front of my favourite picture, Millais' Mariana, that I thought he'd never leave and then, catching me looking at it, he launched into a stirring little commentary on Millais' work, Measure by Measure and 19th Century art in general. I was not fooled for a moment by this attempt at cultural affinity, I told him coldly that I merely liked the colours and the detail on the leaves, didn't ask for his opinion and furthermore that should he annoy me so in future I would slap him. That said I walked briskly out into the street leaving him (I hope) taken down a peg or two. Egocentric liar. I said I would show him and I believe I have.
Jan 12th
AM Dear Diary, when checking the mail this morning I found a little card, expensively gilded with a red cord border on my doorstep. It was un- adressed so delivered by hand and said in exuberant, curled letters:
All right my charming art critic, let's hear you do better.
Meet me at the gallery tonight at six then for dinner afterwards.
Wear something elegant.
In anticipation,
Master Dorian Grey
How presumptuous of him! I despise him, why would I want to go out to dinner with him? I might as well go just to call his bluff, he won't really be expecting me to turn up surely. It might also give me a chance to tell him what I think of his "women can't do philosophy" theory. I'll show him, I didn't defeat Dracula and get a degree in Chemistry by batting my eyelashes about. And I'll make him sorry he ever picked a fight with Wilhemina Harker.
PM
That snivelling swine double bluffed me and turned up! I met him at the gallery exactly on time and immaculately dressed in grey and white. I wore my usual black (I still consider myself in mourning for Jonathan) but a little more daring and elegant than usual. He raised an eyebrow (I could have shot him for it) and offered me his arm. I chose to walk un-supported, however, as I didn't want him to get the impression that I was just another silly girl of glass. We walked around the gallery for hours talking about the various paintings. After that he took me to a restaurant for dinner and we debated some more, this time on literature again. By the time the meal was over I almost caught myself enjoying his company! Despite his sickening superior attitude he makes good conversation and I was genuinely interested in his viewpoints on philosophy. He seemed pessimistic and cynical. Almost amusing. He walked me to my door and bowed like a nobleman. I knew this was only to tease me, I was getting used to it by now but on the way up, he swept a small box out of his pocket and handed it to me. Inside was a diamond bracelet worth (I was sure) more than I earn in a year. I gaped at it for a second then regained my composure and pressed it back into his hands. I told him I was not so easily bought and I didn't want to see him again. He begged me keep it then, as a memento and, like a fool, I accepted. He kissed my hand and left. I went to bed un-tired and a little shaken. What now? I couldn't go to him now after what I'd said and besides I still hate him... Don't I?
