He waited. Days. Weeks.
He waited until the town's excitement had finally died down some. It took a while, as they seemed to thrive off the elation of having believed that they'd successfully eliminated an entire vampire family. It took all of his willpower to prevent himself from going down there and destroying them all. He probably could if he wanted to - he was one of the more powerful vampires around. But, he chose not to. Martha was never one to seek violence with the humans, and engaging in any sort of bloodshed would only dishonor her death.
Instead, he went in the middle of the night in the dead of winter. Villagers were inside their cottages, asleep and attempting to keep warm as a freezing snowstorm carried on. It would be foolish for anyone to be caught outside in such conditions. Foolish for anyone that was human that is - he on the other hand, was completely safe. The cold didn't bother him in the slightest. The wind didn't bite at him like it did everyone else. His system was practically immune to the extremities that the elements had to offer. So onward he flew, bat-wings beating vigorously against the harsh breeze in order to reach his destination.
He arrived in nearly no time at all, alighting atop the weathered roof of the castle with a rather unceremonious thump. His wings folded behind him as the worst of the storm passed overhead, the clouds giving way and allowing a steady flurry of snow to replace the icy onslaught from before. He shook off some stray snowflakes from his shoulders and swooped down to the front step, changing back to his humanoid form.
As his feet touched down on the cold stone floors, he felt something akin to dread pool in the pit of his stomach. He hadn't been here since the accident. From what he could tell at first, everything seemed to have been left untouched - most of the windows were shattered, glass from the panes still scattered across the courtyard. Pillars that had once been so decorative had crumbled to a mound of rubble. It was almost as if the place had never been inhabited in the first place. He sighed, trudging toward the door only to stop short. Barred on the frame were long, thin rods that seemed to be metallic in appearance. This was new. He tentatively extended a hand, only to retract it before even making contact; the intense heat on his fingertips had given him an immediate clue as to what it was made of - Silver.
A scowl twisted his lips; it was the work of the humans again. They'd likely implemented the protective barrier to ensure they'd keep him from returning. Despite this, he had learned over the course of his four-hundred-year existence that there was always more than one way to skin a rat.
Crouching down, he allowed himself to take the form of a mouse, using the agile little body to carefully slip between a wide crack in the brick wall and gain entry. He landed lightly onto the wooden floor of the hallway, shapeshifting back into a man and rising to his full height. Slowly, cautiously, he made his way through the familiar corridors until finally reaching the main room.
The site was nothing short of terrible. A hollow existence of what it used to be. The walls and ceiling had fallen into ruin. A table laid broken to its side, the chairs torn from the seats and thrown to the ground in a heap of splintered wood. And everything, everything had evidence of burns. Scorch marks, blackened patches, and charred remains of elegant furniture littered the scene. What he could once claim was a vibrant and beautiful home lay reduced to ash and dust.
Bleak. Lifeless. Broken. Empty.
His heart sank at the sight of it all. Everything he loved had been ripped away from him in an instant.
Not everything, a small voice in the back of his mind reminded him. He still had Mavis, tucked into her crib on the second floor of his smaller Transylvanian castle. He'd entrusted his long-time monster friends - Murray the Mummy, Griffin the Invisible Man, Wayne the Werewolf, and Frankenstein's Monster - to watch her for the night while he made the trip. They'd been concerned over his own safety, though he assured them that he'd be alright.
He would complete this task alone.
It was several hours past midnight by the time he'd finished. The sun would begin to rise soon, and he knew he'd need to have enough time to make the fly back unscathed by the star's powerful light.
It was difficult, he admitted, to find much of anything among the singed remains, but the treasures he did accumulate were all worth the trip. He studied them now as he began to carefully arrange them inside the satchel he'd brought.
The first was a large portrait of him and Martha, only one of the two duplicates that had been illustrated shortly after their marriage by a fellow monster who'd been highly skilled in the arts. They stood proudly together, gently holding hands as they allowed the painter to do his work. He had to admit, it ended up looking rather wonderful. Martha - with her dark, wavy hair cascading over her shoulders and small smile adorning her features - looked just as astonishing as she had in life. Strong. Beautiful. It was no wonder he'd stood alongside her beaming with such adoration.
The second was also a portrait, albeit a much smaller one. He'd gazed fondly at his wife as she cradled their infant daughter wrapped in a cream blanket, the color contrasting against their otherwise dark clothing. There was a certain peace to the picture that soothed him, bringing a bittersweet smile to his face. With a new frame, it would be the perfect size to fit on his desk.
The last item was a gift, rectangular in shape and finely wrapped with golden paper and a single black ribbon. A tag had hung loosely from the top of the present with neat handwriting reading a fairly simple message: 'Happy 118 from Mom.' The discovery of the box had surprised him at first, as he'd had no knowledge of its existence from what he could recall. Although, looking back now, certain instances he'd dismissed between him and Martha were suddenly beginning to make sense. No matter how hard she'd tried to hide it, he knew she had been working on some sort of secretive project. Every now and then he'd come across her hastily scribbling away in some sort of journal, though she would always be quick to tuck it away whenever he approached. While odd, he was never one to question her about it. He knew it was never out of malice, and - as a husband - he respected his wife's privacy. The connection between it and their daughter hadn't really struck him until this very moment.
He ran a hand over the bat-patterned paper, an urge to rip open the package and see what was inside biting at him. But, he refrained. He wouldn't dare to look now. It wasn't addressed to him after all; it was for Mavis, on her 118th birthday. It seemed so far, and yet he hoped with every fiber of his being that she would make it to that age and beyond.
But… no.
There was no room for hope now, was there? He couldn't simply lean back and hope that his little Mavis would grow up safely. He had to ensure it.
He fastened the items firmly in the bag, exiting through a secluded passage at the farthest east wing of the castle. Once outdoors, he quickly turned back into a bat and took flight, soaring high above the clouds and out of sight with his finds in tow. It was here that he allowed his mind to wander.
He thought back to the time he'd stood on a cliffside just along the shores of the Black Sea, watching as his enemy fell into the dark depths below the waves. Perhaps there really could be a place where monsters could get away from it all. An oasis of peace. A place to truly even call 'home.' He and Martha had discussed the matter on multiple occasions, hoping to find a secure place to raise their daughter without the threat of humans.
And then it came to him - the vision unfolding so perfectly just as he flew over the horizon and saw his abode far in the distance come into view. The four-hundred acres of haunted forest surrounding his property...the land of the undead just along the perimeters...the rooms of his castle simply waiting to be expanded…
It couldn't be more obvious. With some endurance, determination, and a heckload of hired hands to execute the construction, the job could be done.
And he had them all.
He began to fly with renewed energy, eager to descend and begin outlining his creation in the dark space of his office. Indeed, it would be a sanctuary for all monsters and, most importantly, for his little Mavis.
No human would be able to get to her. Not now. Not ever.
Or else his name wouldn't be Count Dracula.
A/N: I'm sure we all know what plan Drac hatched :D Also, that second copy of the portrait is the one that remained in the ruins when folks like Johnny started touring the site ;)