Shirra, the fourth-and FINAL-bride of Dracula was more than just a patron of the Arts.
Nay, she seemed to be a foster child, near-kin of said Arts, often confirmed as she seemed to enjoy engaging in several activities of artistic ability with full volume and intensity the way one spends their God-given time with their blood kin.
Dracula had once awoke-and found her not by his side, but at the parapet, fully dressed, writing with full concentration upon her visage. She had been a talented artist, especially with words, pouring her heart and soul upon ink –lined parchment the way William Shakespeare and William Blake would have marveled greatly at.
"Enigma, sorrow and pain is my ink, my heart and soul the parchment I write upon…"Without fail, almost ritualistically, she would produce a masterpiece, consisting of either words, or of several strokes of colors from a brush (namely, blue, black or red). Sadly, the patriarchal society his fledgling grew up in were not accepting of such works of Art-much less from a woman.
"Whether in animal skins or royal raiment, Humanity have been nothing but little ignorant thorns, cutting either themselves or each other."(A/n: Thanks, JTHM!)
Well said, my dear…Dracula mused archly. Finally, another thing they had in common.
He was interrupted from his musings as he heard his fledgling playing her new violin-a Stradivarius. She was playing a simple yet obscure piece. The music was pure and very intense. He decided to let her finish the piece before entering her chambers, knowing that whenever she drew/wrote/played, or even practiced her favorite sport fencing she would be in a state of intense concentration, in her world, oblivious to everything around her.
Dracula had learnt that the hard way once, nearly losing his voice (after losing his patience after calling her several times but getting no reply) and an eye when he interrupted her when she was doing the former, when the sword flew out of her hand and at HIM.
The moment the last strings died away, he knocked on the door.
"Enter,"
"Are you ready?"
"Ready for what?"
He inwardly sighed in resignation. She was truly still in her own world.
"The Blood Moon Ball, finanszírozó a hegedı (angel of the violin)."
Silence.
"Give me 10 minutes."
Held on the first Month of the year, the Red Moon Ball was a grand affair. Many vampire souls would wear the finest shades of red, from scarlet to burgundy, and drink the finest scarlet sustenance's from many a Mortal's veins in the finest crystal flues.
Dracula had once assured Shirra that the blood came from 'willing donors'.
FLASHBACK
"…Willing donors?"
Dracula seemed not to notice the exquisitely arched eyebrow and pushed a stray strand of hair away from his coldly beautiful face and replied cryptically,
"In theory."
END FLASHBACK
Dracula held back a laugh as he remembered the look on her face as soon as he said those words: Priceless.
He cast his gaze upon Shirra - her hand in his-once more, pride and love filling what once was an empty, hollow void called his heart.
She was wearing a burgundy gown made out of taffeta and silk. The long voluminous sleeves of the gown were sliced off below the shoulder, leaving them bare, were covered with black lace. Around her neck, a complicated choker that was cleverly designed to resemble a cluster of red and black roses. Her hair was in a French Twist -held up with several small crystals in the shape of tear drops- and in a small braid, which was entwined with dark black ribbons, decorated with tiny red roses.
Had he still been alive, his heart would resound like several horses racing across a field at the sight of her. Still, he found it near impossible to tear his eyes from her. Tonight, she truly shone.
Then, Dracula realized he wasn't alone in being unable to tear his eyes from his wife.
"Hasonlo szavark listajat (she is beautiful),"
"Valóban (Indeed)."
"Az Ön által megadott szóhoz/kifejezéshez (I wish she was mine)…"
"Go amuse yourself for a while dear, I have some matters of importance to deal with"
He whispered to his wife in an uncharacteristic gentleness. She nodded, and left, with a violin case in her other hand. The moment she was out of sight, the smile left his face-and he grabbed the offending vampire who had yearned for his wife to be his by the scruff of his cravat and hissed,
"Know this, fool, that is MINE, make no mistake about that, and if I find your lustful eyes or filthy hands on her, you will spend the rest of your afterlife without hands or eyes, DO YOU HEAR!"
The fool nodded. No one dared to ever cross their Lord Dracula. Ever.
Releasing his hold on that fool's cravat, Dracula dusted his hands and took a goblet of blood to soothe the hellish fires of possessiveness in his hollow shell.
Those fools can dream and lust for her all they want, but it is I that she shares her bed with…
He thought. Not for the first time had this altercation happened. In fact, it almost happened ritualistically every time they went anywhere. Come to think about it, Shirra herself could be QUITE the possessive one herself…
FLASHBACK
It had happened at the All Hallow's Eve ball last year. Shirra had worn a dark purple gown that clung to her lovely bust and waist and purple tear-shaped crystals in her hair. Her lovely countenance was compromised by the frown she now wore as well.
The cause? A vampiress in a lime-green dress that left little to the imagination was flirting with her husband.
"How do you like my dress, milord?"
She cooed, in a sickingly sweet way.
"Indeed-but don't you think the whore you borrowed it from wants it back?"
The green-gowned chit turned to face Shirra and sneered,
"And who might you be? His lover?"
"I'm not his lover-
"Then stay out of this conversation. Wait your turn-
"-I'm his wife."
Shirra snarled the rest, the glass in her hand shattering with the effect of her clenched fist.
Silence filled the ballroom. Even the musicians ceased their playing.
"But w-where are the others?"
The other brides, she probably meant.
"Dead and gone. And so will my husband, should HE consider making another-and so will YOU, if you do not LEAVE!"
She need not be told twice.
Dracula raised his eyebrow in shock and amusement.
"Shirra!"
"I'm yours Vladisalus, and you are mine. Forever-and beyond."
She told him, her voice as solemn as a bride reciting her vows, before kissing him…
END FLASHBACK
Dracula found Shirra holding conversation with several other vampires and a few vampiresses. They noticed his presence and bowed. Shirra turned to see her sire.
"I apologise, I did not see you."
"It does not matter, kislany (little girl)."
He laughed at her scowl. How she hated that nickname.
"Why don't you show these guests what you can do with your violin."
"Will do,"
Immediately, she took out her violin and started to play Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata". The stirring piece brought many away from the blood and their conversation towards Shirra, like moths to the flame, only less deadly.
Just then, Shirra abruptly stopped, and before everyone's eyes- SMASHED the violin into splinters.
All gasped in horror at such meaningless destruction of a Stradivarius-or so they thought.
Shirra looked at their shocked faces-and laughed.
"'Twas only a cheap violin from my last 'meal'…the real Stradivarius is right here,"
She said as she reached back into her violin case-and removed the real Stradivarius out of the case.
"It is not always the instrument, but the one who wields it, that makes the difference."
She told the crowd. And with that, she began to play once more. And when she was finished, Dracula applauded the loudest.
Several hours later, back in their chambers, Dracula held his sleeping wife in one arm, while stroking her wavy chocolate-licorice colored hair with the other.
Of all the women he had loved, Shirra was by far, the most different-and unique. So beautiful, so artistic, so fiery, so possessive (!)-and philosophical…
"Love is like a violin…even after the music fades, the strings are still attached."
She had once said, after she played a tune for him.
How so very true…
He thought, pulling her closer. Who would have known the Arts could have such a strong bond with matters of the heart?
Shirra stirred a little. Dracula kissed her and closed his eyes. Tomorrow, she would create yet another masterpiece-one that plebian Humanity would yet (or perhaps never) appreciate or understand-save him alone…
Yes, his Shirra would create-just for Him….
(END)