Hello folks! It's time for My Shameless Plug of the Month©! It's another lovely film for all you adventurers to go and view! What is it, you ask? Why, only the brilliant 1998 version of 'The Mask of Zorro', featuring Antonio Banderas drool, Catherine Zeta-Jones, and Anthony Hopkins who I'm in love with!

Splendid movie! Great soundtrack!

This has been My Shameless Plug of the Month©! Now onto the story!

Pax

Shadows were not uncommon in Castle Dracula. Hovering, lurking, looming along ever corridor, in every nook and cranny. But the shadows in the Count's private library on this night danced.

A magnificent fire was bellowing in the hearth, slashing the gloom with flickering rays of brilliance. Light and dark, flame and shadow; intertwined in a waltz for supremacy.All the while, the Count himself sat, as still and soundless as a marble carving, gazing into the blaze. He had not moved from his perch in all his waking hours of the past week. The only exception was to slink noiselessly back to his coffin of ice upon the first rays of dawn each day.

Tonight, he could hear his brides and their newest companion just below him. That had been his only solace these long nights; hearing the young one answering their questions in her soft obliging voice.

The Count rejoiced silently upon finally delivered such a gift to his brides. But his brain was still hard at work attempting to decipher the reason and means of their resurrection. Though Verona and Aleera had been able to wave it away in no time as a miracle, that was no answer for him. He needed a reasonable justification. Yet, there was none to be found.

Hours past as he sat, alone.

He heard the swish of wings outside. His brides must be leaving to feed. Closing his eyes, the Count sighed and leaned his head against the plush backing of his chair. He had become so deeply buried in his thoughts, that he almost missed the light footsteps entering the room.

Almost.

His eyes flashed open again as he froze, on guard; only to relax once again. He knew that smell. And, sure enough, Adriana's dark head soon peeped around the chair, inspecting it's occupant with mild surprise and trepidation.

"Forgive me," she said quietly, stepping back, "I didn't think anyone was here."

Dracula allowed his eyes to graze over the human. She was well dressed in a simple, empire-style gown of dark blue satin; she wore none of the jewelry recently given to her, although she donned a thin silver chain around her throat, the ornament hidden in beneath the neckline of the dress. A smile crossed his face. The entire guise suited her very well, indeed.

"There is nothing to forgive, my dear." Dracula replied, reaching across to a small table and clutching the goblet that sat on top, "You have done nothing wrong."

He took a sip, allowing the rich, dark fluid to penetrate his senses and mind. He swallowed. Aged blood would never be as satisfying as fresh, but it quench his momentary thirst. Placing the cup back on it's table, he beckoned to Adriana.

"Come. Sit."

She obeyed, tucking the dainty skirts underneath her legs as she settled on the ground at his side. Dracula extended a slender hand placing it on the top of her soft head, tenderly stroking her hair.

"You find me quite subjected this evening, Adriana." he murmured, returning his gaze to the fire. He felt her warm hands come to rest on his knee, forming a cushion for her head which followed.

"What is wrong, my master?" came her quiet inquiry.

Dracula could not subdue the smile that formed on his lips. He found that he rather enjoyed the gentle curiosity in her voice, the warmth of her flesh, the trust she felt in his presence. And so, as his fingers continued combing through her dark hair, the Count recounted to her his current distress.

Silence prevailed as he concluded. Dracula looked down at the child; she had not moved, aside from the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. Her eyes stared rigidly forward. But above all else, the Count listened as her heart adopted a strange and irregular beat.

"Something troubles you, my child?"

Adriana straightened silently and shook her head, one hand sliding into her lap, the other catching the metal cord about her neck and fiddling with the charm. In a moment of mild surprise, he realized that it was not, as he had expected, a crucifix.

"You do not wear a cross," Dracula inquired quietly, studying the pale profile with newly awakened interest, "I was under the impression all of the local villagers did so-..." He stopped abruptly, watching as Adriana's fist closed around the trinket, knuckles whitening.

"I'd rather burn then wear a token of Christ." she whispered, her voice soft and cold. There was a beat of silence. Than, she turned her head and gazed up at him; the fire glinted in her eyes, casting depictions of flames in their vivid, grey depths. She looked away again, allowing slim curls to shadow her face.

"Many years ago, I lived in the town of Kolozsvar...with my Mama, my Papa, and my four brothers and sisters. We all lived in a cottage on the outskirts of the village, near the forest. It wasn't an easy living, but I was happier there, than I've been in all my life." An odd look past through her eyes. "I should have known it was too good to last." Dracula sat back, bringing a hand to his chin. The child fascinated him. She paused for a minute, then continued.

"In the winter of my seventh year, a plague developed in the town. Many were infected, and many more died. The people were frightened..." her gaze rose to the fireplace, eyes shimmering with an angry, flickering light"and when people are frightened, they become stupid. When something happens they can't explain, they become frightened and stupid and accuse those they do not understand."

Her fist opened, and she held up the ornament for him to see. It was a tiny, square-shaped charm of tarnished silver, engraved with markings that were familiar, but he could not place them. The small shape revolved slowly in her hand, and the opposing side caught the light. A circle was etched into this side; inside of the band was a five-pointed star. This design the Count knew.

The Pentacle. A symbol of Paganism.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, then she looked away once again.

"You and your family are Pagans" he inquired, leaning forward, enthralled"Of what branch, my I ask?"

"We were of the Wicca, master." came the hushed reply. 'We were...'.

"The villagers blamed us for the sickness. They said we had placed a hex upon the town, that it was our doing. Papa heard them coming. He told Mama to hide, to take us away. She told my brothers to take me and run into the forest. We did." She paused again, clutching the necklace to her breast.

"None of the rest made it out of the house. The villagers... I don't know what they did. I only saw our home burning. It was snowing. I was very cold. One of my brothers gave me his jacket. But we didn't know the men were hunting us. They saw his white shirt in the dark... They shot him. His name was Petre" she added, a small smile crossing her face" There were only two of us now. Myself and my elder brother, Vilhelm..." a single tear trailed slowly down her cheek,

"The village men were gaining. We hadn't had time to put on warm clothes; we were frozen... at last we could run no farther. Vilhelm found an old, rotted tree. He told me to climb inside and hide. There-...there wasn't enough room for him, too. I asked where he was to hide... he only smiled..." another tear rolled down, followed by two more" 'Live long, Adriana', was what he said. 'Live long and join us someday.' The men came, and took him away. I never saw Vilhelm again."

The Count sat, silently, his lips tightened into thin line. Such betrayal... such human foolishness. His face relaxed into a cold smirk. It rather reminded him of his own downfall.

"I don't know how I lived through that winter. Or... now I think about it... how I made past my tenth year. I learned to hunt at some point, and to venge for myself. But never, not even for a minute, have I forgiven those Christians. I hate them. All of them."

Another pause.

"One night, about two months ago, I stopped in an inn for food. As I sat, I heard the villagers talking. They were afraid. Afraid of a monster who lived off human blood. A demon from Hell-sent. I had been happy to hear them distressed, until a man ran in. He said that the monster had been defeated. That a warrior from Rome had come and destroyed it." The Count's eyes flashed from the fireplace to the child sitting upon the floor. A warrior from Rome? Her story was sounding notably familiar.

"I was angry. I wanted them all to live in terror. So I found out what I could about this creature, and about his kind. And, low and behold, I found a loophole to the Christians' happiness. I set off from the village that same night. It was very cold. A storm was coming, but I didn't care. I found what was left of the demon and gave him what he needed for life. For rebirth."

Adriana lifted her dark head and caught the gaze of the Count, who was watching her with fierce intensity. A single arm rose; it's partner followed suit, and jerked the sleeve down. Dracula's nails dug into the arm of his chair. Along the pale wrist was a scar, still fresh, from a recent cut.

"I gave my life blood, willingly, to his ashes before the sun rose on the second day of his demise."

Her hands dropped again to her lap, and she was silent. His nostrils flared as he caught her scent. The same as the one that had lingered after his awakening. The very same. Dracula slowly rose to his feet and gazed fixedly at the young mortal with eyes alight with comprehension and flame.

This child had been the means for his resurrection.

Oh my God. As I was writing this, I started crying. CRYING. Tears and sniffles and everything. I have no idea why it got to me like that... I've gone bonkers...