Disclaimer: Dracula and Gabriel belong to Stephen Sommers, and a few others. Miletta still belongs to SilverFlover, her counterpart on this site, who is a fabulous writer, and the people reading this ought to read her story Agnus Dei, since Agnes is like Miletta, and you'll like it. But I own the carriage and the demon-horses, or what you call them.
Agnes Fey- Beauty is never meant to last…oh, but don't get me started on that, or I'll refer back to Dorian Gray or something…Yes, I liked that part, too.
Countess Carmilla- Here's the next update. Well, I hope his emotions are fine here.
Hermione-Malfoy- Aren't HGDM adorable?! Well, anyway…watch and learn from the Widow, who adores all things tragic and not-ending-happily.
SilverFlover-I'm so glad you like it. I'm writing it for you anyway! But sadly, it ends here. And when I say 'sadly', I mean it. I've got to be the world's worst person! I write a story for a friend and end it like this! Well, you'll have to flame me…
Listening to Avril Lavigne's "Forgotten" on repeat. She went a little gothic on this CD, just a bit.
'I'll be right up' was what he had said. She had kissed him one last time, and he'd looked up at her face, in elation, then left. Promised he'd be back. He would keep it. He would.
Miletta walked into the room, hugging herself a bit, a thoughtful look on her face. This was where they'd spend the night before heading to Transylvania in the morning.
She picked up a pillow and screamed into it with joy, then collapsed on the bed happily. Countess Miletta Dracula. She hugged the pillow to her chest and sat up a bit, her hair falling over her face. She was Countess Miletta Dracula! Dizzy with bliss, she stood up. Her knees were still a bit weak, and she only took small steps as she walked carefully across the room to scoop up her veil. She'd dropped it. Oh, who cared? It was just a veil. After the wedding, he had picked her up in his arms, careful to not let the hem of the dress sweep onto the floor where he might have tripped on it. She had wrapped her arms around his neck and looked into his eyes, and saw her love, her excitement mirrored there. Mirrors…she pushed them out of her mind, wanting only to dwell on that day, the happiest of her life. When they had gotten to the door, he hadn't set her down to open the door for her. Not at all! He had kicked the door open, and carried her into the room, then kicked it shut. She had gotten down and taken his hand, leading him into the bedroom. She had looked up at the dark sky, devoid of any stars, and then at him, lighting a candle while he had watched her. Then she'd lit a few more candles, and pulled him over to kiss her, which he had done. She smiled at the memory, ecstatic, a bride's prerogative.
He'd taken the veil from her hair and she had removed his jacket, but before they had gone any further, he had suddenly bolted up from the bed and said, "Wait! I'll be right up!"
"Vladislaus…" she had groaned, sitting. "What is it?"
"I promise! I'll be right up!" And then he'd just dashed from the bedroom, from the inn, and she had been waiting for him since. Of course, it had only been a few minutes, but it had seemed like decades.
Miletta sighed, but she could not be angry with him. Whatever he had done…wherever he had gone…surely it could not have been anything terrible.
She walked out, still in her beautiful wedding dress, delicate like the icing on the cake. The wedding had been spectacular. He had refused to enter any church, for some reason, and although both she and the priest both pressed him to explain himself he hadn't. Not wanting tension, she had shrugged it off and they had been married amid candles, with rose petals beneath their feet. He had been very against the priest touching him at all, or anything the man had brought, and did not drink any of the blessed food, but rather fed her. She had tried, but…he had just cut a slice of cake and put it into her mouth carefully. She had rolled her eyes at him, but ate it with a grin anyway.
And they had danced under the stars. When the clouds had come out, they had gone in so as to not get wet in the rain that was sure to come, but the dance had been wonderful, and she would never forget it as long as she lived.
"Miletta," he had said. "I love you. I thought I couldn't love- I knew I couldn't!" He had laughed then, throwing his head back. "But that just shows how much I know. I love you, Miletta…I can barely believe it, but I love you."
She had pulled him closer and hugged him tightly, tears coming to her eyes, loving him back with every fragile thread of her soul. "I love you, too." She had said, throat clenched with tears she was trying to hold back. "And I'll never forget it. I love you." Ah…the memory was sweet. She had shut her eyes and when she'd opened them, they were burning with unshed tears. They'd pulled back and he…had been crying, too.
"You can't ever leave me," he told her, and she had laughed through her tears. "I'm sorry I'm laughing at you again, but…"
And then, of course, he had laughed, too.
Miletta wandered out of the bedroom, leaving the door open behind her. There was her small suitcase of clothes, and other things. He was horrible about making her pack, but he had promised her that he would get her plenty more things. She had asked if they would be traveling to his home in his carriage. He had seemed startled and even a bit defensive. It had seemed he had not known she had seen the black carriage, pulled by those gigantic, ferocious beasts of horses, with that hunchbacked driver. Normally she would have felt horribly sorry for someone like that, but the look he had given her…she shook herself. It was her wedding night; why was she dwelling on that senseless fear? He hadn't really said that they wouldn't ride in that carriage…he had merely avoided the question.
She tried to think of something to take her mind off of that horrid topic of thought…wait. With a grin, she ran to his suitcase and opened it.
Hmm…she tried to not laugh as she dug through his things. She'd have to tease him about a few things in that. There were so many nice toys of his. Stifling a giggle, she pulled out a pair of his underclothes, then threw them somewhere else. She was looking for something really interesting, like a book. She found a portrait of him, a small one. She looked at it, interested, and confused. It was about a decade old, and that wasn't much time, but still…he was so young. Surely it wasn't of him!
She sighed in relief. It wasn't. It was a picture of a Vladislaus Valerious. Well, that certainly made her feel better. A relative or something.
Shrugging, she put it on the floor beside her, then lifted a leather bag from the suitcase. Hmm. What was in here, she wondered, grinning wickedly, pulling something out. She frowned at it. Once again, something that was of no particular interest to her. It was just money. Oh, how boring.
She put that down, too, and dug deeper, finding with a triumphant smirk a leather-bound book. It had been treated very carefully. And no wonder why…
She opened it with caution. And lo and behold, the title…
"This is the journal of Vladislaus Valerious."
Oh. She would have growled. Why would he keep a journal that belonged to someone else? But the book- she flipped through the pages lazily- seemed to be written in his handwriting. She sighed and opened it up, somewhere towards the middle.
"Tomorrow I wed Miletta! It's the best thing that ever happened to me and yet I'm dreading confiding to her my full history. She says she could never reject me, but still I think about it. I lay awake and agonize over it, and I don't think I've ever been so frightened of anything. I remember laughing at Gabriel when he drew his sword, telling him that he would never vanquish me, and I was not afraid of him until the moment it was too late and I looked up at him, the sword sticking out of my chest. By God! By the Devil! By everything else, I laugh even now at the memory, but the idea of her reaction chills the empty space in my chest. She is the only thing I have. The thought of her is what I turn to for solace now, and she will be my Bride…"
Miletta stared at the page, wondering what it was that she had read. Surely…but…what was he talking about?! Full history? What history was this? He was Count Vladislaus Dracula of Transylvania…
She realized numbly that that was all she knew about him. Who were his parents? His family? Did he have any friends, anything? He had taken her to the theatre, accompanied her to the Opera, and danced with her to the sound of a single violin playing under the full moon, among other things, but she knew nothing of his life before they had met. Gabriel? Sword sticking out of his…
Oh…by God indeed. By the Devil, though?
She staggered to her feet, still clutching the book.
She opened it to another page, which detailed ? Somehow it did not seem that way.
"She was simple in manner and simple to seduce…one moment she was indignant about what I was doing in her home, the next she was blushing at my flattery, and before long she was lying limp at my feet, blood staining the collar of her dress, blood that I needed more than she did, and luckily she did not need it anymore."
Miletta gave a cry of horror and threw the blasphemous object across the room, jumping up and trying to distance herself from the pages. It couldn't be true! But she recognized the handwriting as his, the same careless scrawl that had written her love notes on a napkin at a restaurant, the same elegant style that had marked and described the plans for the wedding dress she wore at the time.
"Who are you really?" she demanded of the book. Miletta hesitantly picked up again, then knelt down beside a candle and read more, this time from the beginning.
Born Vladislaus Valerious on October 31st, Halloween, 1422…
He had done terrible things, terrible things she dared not think about for fear that she'd go insane with the knowledge. She would not comprehend, would not accept, would not subject herself to the horrors…
Despite being a Knight of the Holy Order, he was anything but…He was a Knight, but did not feel himself lorded over by any king or church. He was not holy, and he delighted in chaos…
He was murdered. He was dead. Killed by the Left hand of God, Gabriel…two days after his 40th birthday, November 2nd, 1462…He had left and gone to a church, setting fire to the pews, laughing, then had been interrupted by a voice behind him.
"I turned around and there was Gabriel. He brandished a sword and I laughed in his face, asking him what he'd come for. He made a move at me with the sword, but I merely moved out of his way and he helped me destroy the church, in a way- ruining it when he attempted to ruin me.
"We could be brothers, partners," I said, amused by his pathetic display. "We were before and we can do it again. Tell me, really, why have you decided to join them? You and I used to have so much fun…"
As though he wasn't as base as I was!
"I'm over with your game, Vladislaus," he had said grimly, and thrust the sword through my heart, and I died in terrible pain, screaming and cursing him while I thrashed in my blood, my vision darkening…"
Miletta shuddered but did not shut the book.
He had gone to hell, where he made a deal with the devil…'You're the Son of the Devil!' she had teased.
'I'm sorry,' he had maintained. He had apologized. It all made sense…
Dracula. Son of the Devil. He was the Son of the Devil.
She married a demon? No.
"Thank God," she said bitterly, not hearing the door open from behind her.
"The Undead," she whispered, staring stricken at the end of the book. Make Miletta his eternal Bride. Make Miletta his eternal…his immortal…say always, Vladislaus…I'm your Eternal Bride…
"Nosferatu. Vampire…drain the blood of innocents to keep you alive," she muttered, shaking her head in silent denial. But she knew that it was true.
"What are you doing?!"
She turned around so quickly her hair flew around her face, knocking the candle over. It landed and the flame flickered out of existence. In the doorway, there he stood. Her husband.
"Vladislaus," she said, her voice quiet, her eyes fearful. She stood and he made a move towards her.
"Don't touch me!" she shrieked. "What did you really want to do to me?!"
"Miletta," he pleaded, reaching for her arm. She shoved his hand away, rubbing the skin his fingers had touched as though it were filthy. Not an hour before she had kissed him, loved him. And she still loved him.
"Stay away from me!" she said, trying to get as far away from him as she could, tripping on the dress, crawling away, dragging herself away. He grabbed for her again, blindly, his eyes dark and full of pain.
"I wouldn't have hurt you," he said in a low, distraught voice. "I couldn't have…please believe me."
"You don't get it," she said, shaking her head, the dress catching on something and ripping. "You already have! How could you keep this from me?"
"I had no choice," he said, taking her hands, pulling her up. For a moment she could forget what he was, what he had done, the people whose lives he had ruined and laughed at, the great and terrible deal he had made. For once in her life, she was absolutely certain that there was a God, and for once in her life she felt that he had completely abandoned her.
"No!" she screamed, and struggled, pulling back from him. She fell back wards and he forwards where they landed on the floor before the window.
"Miletta," he moaned, pulling her crumpled and shaking form into his arms, nuzzling her, kissing her gently.
"Mhhmmm," she sobbed, still fighting him weakly.
His eyes were drawn up to the new moon, invisible, powerful, merciless. When he looked back at her, there was a flash of fear in his eyes, then that barrier she'd felt seemed to lift and she knew….she knew…
"No," she whimpered, shrinking back, then gave a small cry as she felt his canines grow against her skin, then sink in. He jerked his head away and then brought his mouth up to the puncture wound and sucked the blood up like a beast.
"No…" Her hands clenching into fists, then unclenching helplessly. It was too late for her…
After the moment had passed, he took his lips way from her neck, and looked upon his hapless Bride. She met his eyes with fear, then horror, and she stumbled to her feet, holding her hands slowly up before her, shaking all over, white with revulsion.
"Miletta-" He stood and touched her shoulder.
With a scream, the vampire Bride fled from him and into the bedroom, locking the door behind her. Miletta ran to her mirror, where she saw nothing. Grief and submission filled her face and she crumbled to the floor in a heap, beating at the floor weakly with her hands, her heartfelt sobs wracking her entire frame. His forever. Eternal Bride…now she knew what he had always meant.
Vladislaus walked over to the door that Miletta had locked, pressing his ear against the wood. His whole being was traumatized at the weeping that met his ears. Oh, Miletta…what had he done?
Angry and ashamed, he left the inn after locking the door to their rooms, stepping into the cold night air, straightening his jacket, pulling the collar up, fixing his hair so that he looked like he always did. As he passed people on the street, he wondered what they thought.
Who is that dark man? Why does he seem so confident? What secrets is he hiding?
Surely Miletta had thought the same as she looked at him, and now that she knew the secrets, she…he hesitated to finish the thought. How did she feel? He should've guessed that she would have felt betrayed. Repulsed at what he was, what he'd done to her, what she'd have to do to survive. If she didn't kill herself…Seized with a sudden fear of finding his love dead at the foot of the bed, he turned back, pushing through the crowd hurriedly.
And then a moment later he had turned around again, cursing himself under his breath. Of course she would not kill herself. She would not be able to- she was a vampire! Few people knew how to kill them, and the ways of it were ridiculously difficult. She would not know how, or be able to. In any case, she would hate herself with every bit of her mind. And him. How could she not hate him? He had done this to her. Hatred pulsing through his being, Vladislaus sped up, continuing to move through the thinning crowd. When it seemed that no one had remained, he sighed and looked up, brushing hair from his eyes. Oh, the cruel night…It cared so little for him and his problems.
And if she didn't hate herself, she wouldn't be Miletta. She'd be- someone else. A frail shell of a thing; he'd lead her by the hand to the carriage of the damned, and Igor would smirk at him and crack the whip. Igor…he had sold his soul for money, for life, for to be spared death, and he, Son of the Devil, had granted him permission. He was not loyal to him, exactly, but he would return to him our of fear of punishment after taking detours on his devotion, serving others for short periods of time.
But, like all roads lead to Rome, all paths he took, all Masters he chose to assist took him as their Master. No matter whom Igor aided, he was always his.
Vladislaus ignored the chill of the wind, looking behind him in the direction of the inn. Perhaps she had come to her senses. Perhaps he would be able to reconnect, and maybe she'd come to love him again.
Slowly he made his way back to the inn, planning out his words. When he was about ten meters from the inn, he saw a solitary figure make its way away from the inn to the shadows behind it, tucking something into his coat. A tremor slipped up his spine. That face…
Hiding in the shadows where he would not be detected, he crept closer. With a sudden attack of panic, he realized who the man had been. Gabriel…
A cry or sorts was expelled from his throat and he tore across the sidewalk, running into the inn and up the stairs. How had he found him? Tracked him down, he supposed, then found out about his wedding…If he could pray, Vladislaus would have prayed that he had not found out about that marriage, fervently, passionately. With a sickening drop in his stomach he found the door to their rooms unlocked and he dashed in. The room to the bedroom was still locked- maybe she was fine, or maybe he had locked it behind him- and he kicked it in, then hurried in.
He stopped. There was a still figure beside the bed on the floor, skirts around her legs carelessly. Slowly, more scared than he had ever been in his life, he made his way across the room to Miletta.
He took his Bride into his arms, and looked away. A spike, a stake, made of silver, had been thrust through the girl's heart. The way to kill a vampire…
He touched her lifeless, beautiful face, her eyelids shut in death, her lips cold and unsmiling. She'd never laugh, never speak. He'd never again hear her voice. She was dead to him…
Bringing the motionless body to him, he kissed her unresponsive lips, and then let her lie loosely in his arms. Throwing his head back, he wept. He had never wept for anyone before…
"Oh, Miletta," he whispered, tears sliding down his face. He fingered the bloodied lace…Having been a vampire for so little time, she bled after her death. And he would bleed with her.
But no more. He lay her corpse on the bed, placing the veil over her face. He packed his things almost calmly, as though nothing had happened. Barely flinched upon touching his journal. Then he strode out of the inn coolly.
From seemingly nothing, the neigh of the horses from hell met his ears and plunging out of the dark came the black carriage that my his new father had given to him. He would be bane to the world. Never again would he give life to his emotions! Oh, Lord, thou art in Hell beneath me…He shut his eyes, thinking of it. The dark carriage seemed to materialize before him, and came to a screeching halt at his feet. A pause.
Igor came out, leering, and took his suitcase, placing it away for him before climbing back to the seat. Vladislaus opened the carriage door and got in, shutting it behind him. He'd have to go to Satan again, of course….That was really all he didn't want to do, was to go down to Hell. He didn't like to think of the welcome awaiting him there, but how else was he to get what he wanted? To be invulnerable to the pains of the heart?
"Master," said Igor hoarsely. "Where to, Master?"
He did not reply, deep in thought, deciding what to do, deciding if it was worth it or not…
"Master?"
Vladislaus' eyes flickered up to the waiting servant. He smiled coldly, it not reaching his darkened eyes.
"Hell."
Igor nodded, also detesting the place where they would go should they die. Although, of course they wouldn't die….
"Onwards," he said, cracking the whip over the horses' back. "Lead us to your home."
The horses reared up and then galloped on along the path, soon disappearing, leaving a trail of ash in their wake.
The end…This is not how I envisioned him losing his emotions; that's why this is separate from SotD. But it turned out well, no? For the readers, mind, not the characters…
The idea came somewhat from the film Mary Shelley's Frankenstein.