Castles in the Air

by Shadowcatxx

AU 1897. Boris Bookamooka is a Bulgarian cartographer with a secret; a secret that is soon exposed when he gets lost in the wilderness of Romania, and is subsequently rescued by mysterious Lord Vladimir, who has many secrets of his own. This story is an account of their short time together, and what happens when a human-man falls passionately in love with a vampire. RoBul. :)

1. Prologue

DISCLAIMER: Hetalia: Axis Powers – Hidekaz Himaruya

AND Dracula – Bram Stoker

CASTLES IN THE AIR

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Please excuse my taking liberties with some character names & relationships.

This story was inspired by several classic novels. At best, it's a poor attempt to mimic the tone, language, and structure of a typical 19th century English Gothic novel, and I chose to cast Romania and Bulgaria for purely stereotypical reasons. (Also, they're pretty sweet. n.n) I've been writing it in fragments for a while, so my apologies if the scenes feel disconnected. I realize that this style isn't for everyone and that's totally okay. If nothing else, it was really fun to write—in lieu of posting anything else—and I hope you enjoy! Cheers :)

CAST OF CHARACTERS (in order of appearance):

BULGARIA — Boris Bookamooka

ROMANIA — Vladimir

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PROLOGUE

"I am longing to be with you, and by the sea, where we can talk together freely and build our castles in the air."
― Bram Stoker, Dracula

Boris Bookamooka's Journal

Brașov, Transylvania

20 AUGUST 1897

My timepiece strikes midnight and yet I write. It beckons me to sleep from the writing-desk—silver-plated and engraved with my initials, B.B.; a gift from my parents for my twentieth birthday four years ago—but I ignore its scolding tick. I barely hear it at all, for I am utterly consumed by my need to record my recent expedition while the details of it are still fresh in my mind, even if I will never forget the feelings as long as I live.

Live, yes!

My God, I have never felt so alive before, so awake!

It is late and the small oil lamp wanes, but I feel compelled to document the past few months as proof of my experience, else I fear I will misremember it as a dream. A wonderful, thrilling dream full of love and passion, the likes I which I am unlikely to ever know again. I write late into a night so much shallower than all of the deep nights I spent alone with him. My lord Vladimir. Even penning his name thrills me now, filling me with emotions and memories and a disparity that bites like my lord's red lips: ferocity and pain succeeded by pleasure of the rawest kind; pleasure beyond any of my prior imaginings. I feel bereft without him now, as though I have lost something important to me, and, indeed, I have, for I left a part of myself in that castle in the mountains; a part of myself that I will never retrieve and do not want back. It pleases me to know that a part of me will live forever with my eternal lord, Vladimir.

My lord, the vampire.