I left for Transalvania in a week's time, with my family warning me to be
careful and to behave. When I arrived, it was 5pm and the dark, imposing
castle greeted my eyes. I was-thrilled. The stuff of my dark fantasies,
among..other things -was RIGHT before me! Taking my luggage, I was about to
take hold of the door's brass knocker when I almost imagined a hideous
dragon leering at me. I chided myself. I would not let my chafed nerves get
the better of me. It had a long and eventful journey. I glared hard at the
knocker that resembled a circle. Within it, a dragon emblem. Nice. I
pounded on the door 3 times, for good measure. Normally, one needs to wait
a few minutes before the door opens. Not this one. The door swung open-and
what appeared to be a swollen lump of flesh and rags popped out of the
house like a jack-in-a box. I jumped.
"Greetings, Lady Cassandra (my name)...welcome to Castle..Dr..a..cula.."
the creature groaned.
"Where is the Master of the House?"
"He is still asleep. He is not well. But he expects you to be in the dining room by 8 tonight."
Was its slow reply.
"What is your name?"
"I..gor.."
"Well, Igor, could you show me my room?"
It took my bags (mercifully few) and led me to a somewhat lavish room. It said goodbye and left me to admire the room. There were two gold-glided Florentine mirrors, a settee from Venice (we had one at home), a vanity, the works. My words would not do justice to what I saw. And the bed....a four-post bed! I kicked off my shoes and fell upon the bed, propriety be damned and cried for joy.
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The Journal Of Alina Velastock:
18 June 1888
4pm-
Two days ago, my sole friend Cassandra has gone to stay with an enigmatic man called Count Vladius Dracula. From what I know, it means "Dragon" or something. I dislike dragons. They look so ugly and hateful. Forgive such childish bantering from a 16-year-old but I cannot shake off a dark paranoia that my dear friend Cassandra is in peril-as if she has sold her soul to the Devil.
6pm-
Storm clouds are building outside. Thunder booms. Weather looks threatening.
7.30pm-
I still wonder why Cassandra actually left for such a dark place of apparently impending doom. I have nothing but nightmares whenever I close my eyes just for a while. I got her a lovely silver cross as a farewell gift just a week ago. Hope she likes it. Must stop now. Its dinner time.
Closing the book, Alina, friend of Cassandra hurried down for dinner. Ever since she met Cassandra, they had been the best of friends-both enjoying Art and Literature. Yet, Alina had been a little- afraid of her sole friend. She was an unpredictable, unusual extro-introvert, who had a slightly dark streak in her soul. Alina assured herself that Cassandra would be happy there. She should not pour cold water over her joy...
BUT WHY there of all places?
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Castle Dracula, 8pm.
Slipping on my usual unconventional attire- a poet shirt and some black pants and a red jacket, I descended the spiral staircase. Mother never got over the shock of I wearing a man's suit for our portrait shoot.
'I always wanted a son,"
joked Father. Mother burned her copy of the photo later.
The table was set. Sweet meats, bread rolls, wine (!), fruits... it seemed endless, a literal cornucopia. Remembering my etiquette lessons, I sat up straight-and waited. And waited. Finally, after what seemed like hours (actually it was only 15 minutes), I saw a dark, graceful figure in black: Count Dracula. I got u and bowed. His eyebrows were raised-at my attire and at how I bowed.
"It's hard to curtsey in a suit, Sir."
Changing the subject, he apologized for his tardiness and entreated that I partake of the food before me. After a silent grace, I ate like a lady-had no one watched me, I would have eaten like I would at him-like a messy little boy. Then I stopped.
"Good Sir, why do you not eat?"
"I have eaten. Try this by the way,"
He entreated, pushing a glass of 60-year Old Spanish wine. How could I not know? On a dare, I had downed an ENTIRE bottle of Spanish wine before my 13 year old friends- affording myself a special place in the confessional box- and a crack on the head by my father-he loved his wines like he loved us. As if.
As I sipped the wine, he asked me about myself, what I loved and what I thought of him. The last one surprised me. I hardly knew him, I said. But from what I knew, he seemed a courtly, mysterious-but otherwise likeable man. He smiled a bemused smile as I said that.
"How is the wine?"
"Strong, good stuff."
"Have some more then."
I declined. I had no wish to become a drunkard. Shrugging his shoulders, he got up and took my hand. He asked if I wished to dance. I agreed.
As he glided through the ballroom-my God, it was HUGE-, and I trying to move my two left feet along to the somewhat hidden violinists playing a tune from Vivaldi. We spoke a great many things: Shakespeare, Lord Byron. Edgar Allan Poe....what impressed me what was the Count knew about them-as if he had been RIGHT next to them. Then again, he was probably better read than I was. All the twirling, the music-and his somewhat hypnotizing voice made me groggy. As he bent down, as if to kiss me-probably to wake me up, he saw the silver cross my friend Alina gave to me before I left, and jerked his head back. He looked somewhat perturbed.
"Too much wine,"
he said, before passing me to a timid looking servant woman whom he called forth. The next thing I knew-All was black....I was back in my room. And it was already late afternoon, close to evening! I still wore my suit of yesterday. I felt a fool-and had a hangover. It was only 3 glasses! I tried to look for the Count. As I did, I stumbled towards a room that seemed deserted. Or not. For the next thing I knew, three lovely ladies, two fair- haired, one dark-haired, approached me.
"So this is our new guest..."
purred the dark-haired one. She was dressed in –to put it bluntly- tart- like attire.
"No, Verona. Leave her be. She is not like the others. I can feel it. I can even smell it through her."
Said the older blond-haired one with fervent intensity.
"But, Marishka-
wailed the other one, with apple-brown blond hair.
I was too tired to care at all what they were talking about-the wine was TOO powerful. Just then, Verona touched my neck-and pulled it away, as if my neck was red hot. In a flash, the door swung open. In the doorway stood the Count- and he was LIVID.
"Aleera! Marishka! Verona! Leave the girl alone!"
They all whimpered and crawled away into the darkness. Dracula took my hand and led me out. I passed out-again. I swear, I shall not touch a drop of cursed alcohol should I ever be sober again.
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I apologized profusely for my drunkenness. He seemed different from the angry man I saw earlier.
"First-timers always get drunk by the 3rd cup. You'll be able to hold your drink soon."
He said pleasantly. He sat in a chair while I lay in bed, still in my suit.
"Who were those ladies?"
I asked, out of the blue.
"Oh..those are my... sisters. They aren't ..right..."
I decided not to press the matter. I had no right.
"So what is your name again, my child?"
"Cassandra."
"Interesting. The princess who foretold the destruction of Troy –
"But no one believed her."
I finish with glee.
He pats my head and tells me to rest. He will see me tomorrow evening at 7pm. A surprise he says. I wonder what it is. I feel my cross-and peace seeps through me.
"Greetings, Lady Cassandra (my name)...welcome to Castle..Dr..a..cula.."
the creature groaned.
"Where is the Master of the House?"
"He is still asleep. He is not well. But he expects you to be in the dining room by 8 tonight."
Was its slow reply.
"What is your name?"
"I..gor.."
"Well, Igor, could you show me my room?"
It took my bags (mercifully few) and led me to a somewhat lavish room. It said goodbye and left me to admire the room. There were two gold-glided Florentine mirrors, a settee from Venice (we had one at home), a vanity, the works. My words would not do justice to what I saw. And the bed....a four-post bed! I kicked off my shoes and fell upon the bed, propriety be damned and cried for joy.
888888888888888888
The Journal Of Alina Velastock:
18 June 1888
4pm-
Two days ago, my sole friend Cassandra has gone to stay with an enigmatic man called Count Vladius Dracula. From what I know, it means "Dragon" or something. I dislike dragons. They look so ugly and hateful. Forgive such childish bantering from a 16-year-old but I cannot shake off a dark paranoia that my dear friend Cassandra is in peril-as if she has sold her soul to the Devil.
6pm-
Storm clouds are building outside. Thunder booms. Weather looks threatening.
7.30pm-
I still wonder why Cassandra actually left for such a dark place of apparently impending doom. I have nothing but nightmares whenever I close my eyes just for a while. I got her a lovely silver cross as a farewell gift just a week ago. Hope she likes it. Must stop now. Its dinner time.
Closing the book, Alina, friend of Cassandra hurried down for dinner. Ever since she met Cassandra, they had been the best of friends-both enjoying Art and Literature. Yet, Alina had been a little- afraid of her sole friend. She was an unpredictable, unusual extro-introvert, who had a slightly dark streak in her soul. Alina assured herself that Cassandra would be happy there. She should not pour cold water over her joy...
BUT WHY there of all places?
8888888888888
Castle Dracula, 8pm.
Slipping on my usual unconventional attire- a poet shirt and some black pants and a red jacket, I descended the spiral staircase. Mother never got over the shock of I wearing a man's suit for our portrait shoot.
'I always wanted a son,"
joked Father. Mother burned her copy of the photo later.
The table was set. Sweet meats, bread rolls, wine (!), fruits... it seemed endless, a literal cornucopia. Remembering my etiquette lessons, I sat up straight-and waited. And waited. Finally, after what seemed like hours (actually it was only 15 minutes), I saw a dark, graceful figure in black: Count Dracula. I got u and bowed. His eyebrows were raised-at my attire and at how I bowed.
"It's hard to curtsey in a suit, Sir."
Changing the subject, he apologized for his tardiness and entreated that I partake of the food before me. After a silent grace, I ate like a lady-had no one watched me, I would have eaten like I would at him-like a messy little boy. Then I stopped.
"Good Sir, why do you not eat?"
"I have eaten. Try this by the way,"
He entreated, pushing a glass of 60-year Old Spanish wine. How could I not know? On a dare, I had downed an ENTIRE bottle of Spanish wine before my 13 year old friends- affording myself a special place in the confessional box- and a crack on the head by my father-he loved his wines like he loved us. As if.
As I sipped the wine, he asked me about myself, what I loved and what I thought of him. The last one surprised me. I hardly knew him, I said. But from what I knew, he seemed a courtly, mysterious-but otherwise likeable man. He smiled a bemused smile as I said that.
"How is the wine?"
"Strong, good stuff."
"Have some more then."
I declined. I had no wish to become a drunkard. Shrugging his shoulders, he got up and took my hand. He asked if I wished to dance. I agreed.
As he glided through the ballroom-my God, it was HUGE-, and I trying to move my two left feet along to the somewhat hidden violinists playing a tune from Vivaldi. We spoke a great many things: Shakespeare, Lord Byron. Edgar Allan Poe....what impressed me what was the Count knew about them-as if he had been RIGHT next to them. Then again, he was probably better read than I was. All the twirling, the music-and his somewhat hypnotizing voice made me groggy. As he bent down, as if to kiss me-probably to wake me up, he saw the silver cross my friend Alina gave to me before I left, and jerked his head back. He looked somewhat perturbed.
"Too much wine,"
he said, before passing me to a timid looking servant woman whom he called forth. The next thing I knew-All was black....I was back in my room. And it was already late afternoon, close to evening! I still wore my suit of yesterday. I felt a fool-and had a hangover. It was only 3 glasses! I tried to look for the Count. As I did, I stumbled towards a room that seemed deserted. Or not. For the next thing I knew, three lovely ladies, two fair- haired, one dark-haired, approached me.
"So this is our new guest..."
purred the dark-haired one. She was dressed in –to put it bluntly- tart- like attire.
"No, Verona. Leave her be. She is not like the others. I can feel it. I can even smell it through her."
Said the older blond-haired one with fervent intensity.
"But, Marishka-
wailed the other one, with apple-brown blond hair.
I was too tired to care at all what they were talking about-the wine was TOO powerful. Just then, Verona touched my neck-and pulled it away, as if my neck was red hot. In a flash, the door swung open. In the doorway stood the Count- and he was LIVID.
"Aleera! Marishka! Verona! Leave the girl alone!"
They all whimpered and crawled away into the darkness. Dracula took my hand and led me out. I passed out-again. I swear, I shall not touch a drop of cursed alcohol should I ever be sober again.
8888888888888888888
I apologized profusely for my drunkenness. He seemed different from the angry man I saw earlier.
"First-timers always get drunk by the 3rd cup. You'll be able to hold your drink soon."
He said pleasantly. He sat in a chair while I lay in bed, still in my suit.
"Who were those ladies?"
I asked, out of the blue.
"Oh..those are my... sisters. They aren't ..right..."
I decided not to press the matter. I had no right.
"So what is your name again, my child?"
"Cassandra."
"Interesting. The princess who foretold the destruction of Troy –
"But no one believed her."
I finish with glee.
He pats my head and tells me to rest. He will see me tomorrow evening at 7pm. A surprise he says. I wonder what it is. I feel my cross-and peace seeps through me.