Disclaimer: Dracula owns his brides, sadly..::hugs brides:: and Stephen Sommers owns Dracula, sadly. I would hug him, too, but I highly doubt that, if I did that, I would live long enough to finish this chapter and upload it.

Thanks for reviewing-

Mari Amber- I love your name. I'm glad you like the story, here's the update.

Laiqualaurelote- Your name, I like it, too, but it's a pain to type out. I like them all equally, but yes, Verona is lovely.

Agnes Fey- Whyever not? She's a wonderful Bride…but it's all right. I'm glad you think so; I love the Brides so much.

wicked1- I feel bad for them all! Poor dears…

SilverFlover- you want me to update everything, though! Yes, we do still love him…

Linwe Ringeril- He does, doesn't he? The bastard spawn of Satan he be…

SapphireShadows- You like the Brides, no? You read all the stories about them…

LadyValerious- Well, I'm glad to hear that! I love comparing things to other things, it's odd sometimes.

Night fell on Castle Dracula slowly, like the melting of a layer of ice frozen over a pond. In contrast to this slowness, though, Verona's eyes opened with a snap. She unlatched her coffin and got out with agility, and resumed her pacing. The first thing she notised was what she was wearing, which was quite unlike her usual dress. In place of her typical somber, elegant, urbane garments, she wore a pale dress, the arms transparent and shimmering. The embroidery was nice, but…she picked at the threads on the collar, missing the starched ruffle she'd grown accustomed to. Well, she supposed she could get used to that, despite how different it was. Glad that for once she did not see what she looked like, she ventured out of her chambers, looking towards the dark hallways that made up the Castle with some anxiety.

She had not combed her thick hair, but as it was already sleek as a panther's coat, she did not bother. Being vain like that was ridiculous without reason, she decided firmly. She had better things so be vain about, like her cool composure and quick thinking…. The Bride shook her head and began walking down the cold staircase.

"Verona?!"

Dracula sighed. Another day, another….bride.

"Marishka, my love…"

"You mean you already had a bride?!" The Finnish girl stared, mouth open in disbelief. Her bare arms lay at her sides; her blonde curls were in disarray around her face. He watched her with distinct boredom. Why couldn't they be happy for eachother? He was, after all, too mercurial to be tied to one Bride. If he stayed with one, he was sure to grow tired of her with time, so he was really saving them all from pain by keeping more than one. But they never thought of that, never thought about things in the long run. They were too shallow, licking their wounds, like children who don't know any better. Ah, but children learn with time. At least, he hoped they'd learn.

"Yes, my dear. I did."

"Then what did you want me for?!" she demanded. He looked at her and she fell silent, though he knew she was still enraged. He could tell by the way her eyebrows furrowed, and the way her hands clenched into fists, the knuckles turning white.

He turned to his newest bride, his face softening. "Marishka, darling….why don't you go to the dining room, have some of those chocolates you like so much? It isn't as good as blood, of course.." he sighed theatrically. "It may make you feel better."

Marishka turned on her heel and strode out. The last thing she said before she went out was, "Chocolates don't' make a woman forget!"

Hurt and angry, she tried slamming the door, because it might make him know how mad she was, but found that it was too heavy, and to her dismay, it swung slowly shut.

As soon as it had closed, she cried in fury and irritation, "Stupid door!" and kicked it.

Marishka regretted kicking it immediately, and sat down on the floor, rubbing her foot. It was sore, and she struggled to keep tears from sliding down her face. Even after it stopped hurting, though, the tears kept coming.

"That man!" she exclaimed. "How dare he?!" And she stood and began running as fast as she could down the staircase, running into the dining room.

She sat at the table, sulking something terrible, and reached for an apple. She bit into it, grumbling about Dracula and treachery, when she heard the cool, calm- and surprised- voice of a woman.

"So, you're Marishka?"

She looked around. There she was. The original. Green dress, long, straight, dark hair, piercing eyes, and an unreadable expression.

"Yes," she replied, feeling stupid. This was her rival; she couldn't say silly things like that. "I'm Marishka, so I'm assuming that you're Verona?"

She felt like saying 'I hate you' to the other woman, but felt that wouldn't be proper or pleasant at all.

Verona nodded. "I am she…."

She walked around to the other side of the table and sat across from her. She sighed, noting how Marishka watched her so warily.

Marishka blurted suddenly, "You weren't supposed to be here!"

Verona raised an eyebrow. It was odd…she'd thought the girl would flaunt Dracula in her face, but it seemed she was just as unhappy as Verona herself was.

"No?" she said finally, after thinking it over. Marishka's face was ashy and she looked quite upset. "Well, if you don't mind my saying, I don't think you should have come."

That shut Marishka up. The nerve of her, this new girl! Oh, but she was the new one, wasn't she?

"Why not?!" she shouted after a period of struggling with herself for a reasonable answer.

"Because if you hadn't come, I'd still be alone with the man I loved."

"And if you hadn't been here, I'd be alone with the man I love!"

"Well, how do you know he loves you?" Verona asked calmly, watching her with a look that she didn't understand.

Marishka thought about it, fearful. Then retorted, "Well, shut up! If he didn't love me, he wouldn't have brought me here…" she trailed off. She wasn't sure of that. "Well, maybe he doesn't love you, you're not good enough for him or he wouldn't have needed me! Has that ever occurred to you?"

She fell silent, feeling that she'd said too much. Verona's gaze fell to the floor, yet she showed no sign of anger.

"Yes. Yes, Marishka, it has."

Marishka bit her lip. "So, you're mad at me? Why? I never did anything…I mean…I…oh…"

"I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at…" Verona sighed and stood. Marishka frowned and stood as well.

"Him? Dracula?" she asked, puzzled.

Verona looked back, a sad expression on her face. "Myself."

Marishka felt bad, remorseful, even. "Well, he didn't tell me about you till just now. I'd say he's the one who messed up!" she said. She hated unhappy people. She had an older sister, and a lot of older brothers, and a lot of younger siblings. She'd come from a big family and she, the middle child, had taken it upon herself to make sure everyone had sunshine in her life. And now she was a vampire and would never see sunshine again.

Verona smiled slightly. "Thank you, Marishka….is that a Hungarian name?"

Marishka grinned, her usual enthusiasm about life back. "Yes, but I'm from Finland. Verona's in Italy, isn't it? You're Italian?"

Verona nodded. "Yes, I am. I'm quite fond of it there, you know…" she sat back down, and Marishka did as well, taking another bite out of her apple.

Verona took an orange and peeled it slowly. "Where'd he meet you?"

"Him? Oh, on the sea….I'm a sailor. A pirate, actually."

"Fascinating. A woman pirate?"

"Yes," Marishka answered, quite proud of the accomplishment. "And I can swordfight just as good as anyone!"

"That explains the pants," Verona said, thinking. "Why you don't dress like a normal woman. Well, no vampires are normal…"

"Normal? That's so boring. I left home to get away from normal."

"Well, it's good to know you don't succumb to the life of a woman as it is, either," Verona remarked. "I myself headed a large financial affair without help form any husband, the only unmarried girl in my family."

"That's great! So we're both independent women and we're both rich. Excellent!"

At the satisfied look on Marishka's grinning face, Verona had to laugh.

After he'd taken care of what he'd been working on before, Dracula straightened his jacket and walked from the room carefully, ignoring the chilling air, which he'd grown quite used to. He heard Marishka's outrageous laughter from somewhere and he frowned a bit. What had she found to laugh at, he wondered? Surely it wasn't anything good…

He quickened his steps, hoping the two hadn't met and started…a duel, if Marishka had her way. Or something of the sort. No doubt Verona demanded a chess match.

He burst into the sitting room, where the laughter had come from. He saw the two brides sitting on a couch, looking at a book.

Marishka looked up and squealed in joy. "Master!" she cried. It was an affectionate term, as he was the Master of his estate. She called him, as did Verona, by his name on certain occasions.

"My ladies," he said, bowing his head slightly. Verona smiled at him, shutting the book and placing it on a table.

"I had worried that I would find the pair of you screaming murder at eachother," he said, amused.

"No, of course not!" Marishka said, then hugged Verona fiercely. "Sisters only fight sometimes."

Birds of a feather flock together. And yet there are those birds that will fight over a nest and the victorious creature will take control of the place, absolutely unmerciful to the nest's previous owner. Are you tempting nature?

Somehow I thought you would not do that- are you proving me wrong?

To be continued.