Chapter Two
Poison woke in a sweat, finding herself in muggy wet sheets. She threw them off of her and rolled over to gain comfort from her husband's warm sleeping body, only to find an empty space. Then she remembered her husband had been dead for over a month now, yet she still found herself calling to him and looking for him in the house.
She sighed and sat up. She pulled her knees to her head and rested her chin on them. Why was she being haunted by this horrible memory of her first meeting of Dracula and the origin of her self-proclaimed name?
She studied her room; it was the same as always, empty except for the bed and the small side table beside it. Once it had held such life and had been so vibrant, it was funny that the loss of one man had affected everything in Poison's life. The full moon shone through the window and gently lit up the room, yet to Poison it was still as gloomy even with the light.
Lighting a hand held candle lamp, she got out of bed and walked to the nursery. The cold slate floor made her feet cold and made her footsteps echo throughout the house, although she didn't care as it took her mind of the horrible nightmare she had just had. Once there she realised that it never will be of any use to her. She sat in the wicker chair by the small wooden cot and the tears began to fall. Poison had never allowed herself to cry before, but now she cried for the loss of her husband of seven years, her five children three of who were miscarried the others stillborn.
She pulled her knees to her face and buried it in them, thus muffling her cries to anyone who may be able to hear her. She felt something touch her shoulder; she stopped crying and looked up. There was Dracula standing in front of her, wearing the same outfit he had on the night she first laid eyes on him, and every night since.
He looked the same as always, and she desired him the same as always, although she would never admit it to herself. She was an outcast in her village already, blamed for the murder of her father and three other villagers, only accepted back into their society because she was 'young and the evil in her heart could be cleansed.' To desire such an evil being was against all she had been taught, yet she could not help it, something about his deep brown eyes, with their look of mystery and self-confidence. Although Poison was more enthralled by the deep sadness in them. Something inside her made her long to comfort him, to help him to forget this horrible feeling that was plaguing him.
"I've never had the pleasure of seeing you cry. It is quite intoxicating," He smiled softly.
Poison jumped out of her chair and walked out of the nursery, but before she did so she replied to Dracula "You're a sadist."
She walked into the kitchen carrying the lamp in front of her to see where she was going. Once again Dracula greeted her.
"Sadist?"
"God sometimes I feel like I'm talking in a foreign language. A sadist gains pleasure from another's pain."
"Hmm. Then I believe I am a sadist. I enjoy the sound of that title."
Poison sighed. Then finally she realised what she was doing. Talking to the murderer of all those she had once loved like they were just rivalling villagers.
"Okay now you've had you're fun little visit. Now get out of my house. I'm tired of you doing this to me. You killed everyone I ever loved, I hate you more than you can ever imagine. So stop doing this to me!"
"Funny how each time I show up it takes you longer to become angry with me."
"Maybe because you show up in the middle of the night when I'm half asleep and my brain takes longer to realise these things."
"Poison do not play dumb with me. Deep down you know you desire me."
"Desire to kill you, you mean."
"You'll realise it eventually."
Before Poison could reply he was gone. She became so frustrated she picked up the vase from the kitchen table and threw it against the wall. She watched as the water pooled on the floor, surrounded by the broken vase pieces and now crushed flowers. It was strange but Poison saw the lives of her loved ones in the mess on the floor. They resembled the vase, once alive and full of beauty but with one vicious act they became a shattered mess.
The energy from her anger made the furniture in the whole house shake as if in an earthquake. She stood completely still and closed her eyes willing it to stop.
Once the furniture had stopped shaking, she went back to her room; she climbed back onto the right side of the bed, her side, although the sheets were still slightly damp. She would never sleep on her husband's side of the bed; even though he was dead she believed these things still belonged to him. Moments after her head touched the pillow she drifted into a deep dreamless sleep.
