Transylvania, November 2, 1888, Dusk
Castle Dracula was empty. For the first time in many a century, no creature stirred in it's cold, vacant halls. No one worked in the laboratory; the nursery was bare. So naturally, no one heard the great wooden doors creak as they opened, admitting a shivering black-cloaked figure into the fortress.
It stood for a moment, it's labored breathing echoing in the silence, then slumped against a nearby wall, catching it's breath.
Minutes past.
At last, it clamored back onto it's feet and proceeded down the entrance hall, pausing now and then to peer down corridors and into rooms. But it again stopped in front of the laboratory. Then, with quickening steps, entered.
On the floor lay the tattered ruins of years dedicated work. The machine meant to continue the Dracula line was destroyed, in pieces on the stone floor. The bodies of dead Servants were littered amongst the shards of metal and loose wires. A steady dripping of old rain water from the roof echoed through the vast chamber. None of this, however, was what interested the figure.
An hour past, in which all of the wreckage was thoroughly perused. And, at last what was sought was found.
The black cloak brushed the stone floor as it's wearer crouched over a pile of dark ashes. To anyone else, they would have probably meant nothing and would be easily overlooked. But to the figure, they meant everything.
The soft hiss of a knife being drawn sounded as a small, but deathly sharp dagger was pulled from it's sheath on the figure's hip. The cloak fluttered back slightly and a pale hand was revealed. There was a moments pause, and then the steel was pressed to the thin wrist and jerked down.
It took only a matter of seconds for a stream of warm, red blood to begin flowing from the wound. It trickled down over the white skin, then dripped onto the heap of ashes.
The instant it was touched by the blood, the pile began to hiss and bubble. In a flash, the figure was on it's feet once again, and hastening for the exit. Again, it tugged on the enormous doors and eventually forced one ajar.
With a single foot outside in the bitter cold, the figure paused and turned it's head. For from inside the castle, a sound could be heard; a pair of slow-moving, lethargic footsteps. A smile crossed the figure's face, it's grey eyes dancing.
Van Helsing had conquered Dracula. But she had undone his damage, through his one fatal error. Had he deposed of the ashes, nothing could have brought the demon back. Had Van Helsing left the remains of Dracula in the sun, he would have been gone forever.
But he hadn't.
And now, Dracula was revived.