Chapter Six - Isolation
Catalina POV
I had not flown this far since my escape from Castle Dracula. And yet, after all this time, I was back. Back home, to the place where all this had started.
The freezing wind whipped against me, buffeting my exposed skin with ice and snow. What a grim scene it had become. Vladislaus, in his rage and isolation, had impaled skulls on tall shafts, hanging bones to clatter in a macabre semblance of wind chimes. Ice crunched beneath my feet as I stepped away from the Mirror and spun to face the same Door. "Ita ut in unum redeant. Et non præteribit." May the way be closed. Let no one pass. The Door, forged centuries ago by my own flesh and blood, heeded my word, frosting opaquely. When my palm pressed against it, the ice budged not a bit.
My eyes observed the fallen bridges, and my wings unfurled, sending me spiraling through the turbulent winds. Alighting on the solid ground beneath a ruined tower, I caught movement in the corner of my vision. Snapping my head to my left, I noticed a group of bedraggled-looking Dwergi, some injured, some starving. They barked defensively, leveling poorly-maintained weapons. Knowing their nature, my lips curled back and I hissed, baring my fangs and displaying my demon visage. The dwarves cowered back, lowering their arms and making gestures of submission. Though German was not my strong suite, I told them that the tower must be fixed and made livable. I bid them give me their injured and sick, so they could be made well, and assured them that food would be prepared. The Dwergi seemed astonished that the Mistress would even consider such things, telling me much from their reactions alone about the care administered by Dracula. Death, it seems, was quicker and more efficient than healing injured servants.
Though I despised my state of existence, there were certain advantages. Because Vladislaus only cared about creating others of our kind or finding brides to turn, he did not understand the healing properties of our blood. As little as a tablespoon, either mixed with food or given alone, could accelerate the natural healing process astonishingly. The Dwergi in my care, devouring the few creatures that could survive in this frozen hell, were already stronger than I could have hoped for. I retired from them, giving instructions and work directions.
On my ascent to the room that had once been mine, I passed the nursery. Though I wished to proceed, my heart yearned to see the results of my brother's desire for a family. Several nests remained, swinging lifelessly in the slight breeze, ice and snow encrusted on the chains supporting them. Several of the dead young retained a bodily form, appearing as repulsive joinings of bat and child. Though, studying the lifeless face of one such child, I could see traces of my brother and his brides in the wide eyes and small form. Tears ran down my face, unbidden and unwelcome. I dashed them away.
This is what awaits you, Catalina Dracula. A lifetime of isolation, surrounded by the sorrowful dead and the vicious living. It will only be a matter of time before Gabriel and the Vatican find your location and break apart your cursed sanctuary. Then, perhaps, your life will finally end. More tears, despite my fury at the weakness, dribbled down my cheeks, several landing on the face of the stillborn child in my arms. My teeth punctured my lower lip, the blossoming blood and pain halting my tears.
The blood is the life. Recalling my brother's words abruptly, I paused, considering the infant in my arms. Hesitantly, I sliced my finger and dropped a single bead into the open mouth of the child. My deadened heart tremored with hope, and I waited, anxiously, for a reaction.
Nothing. No miraculous life from the tiny body, no stirring or breath. My eyes closed, and I cursed my folly. Blood flowed from my fingertip, filling the mouth of the infant. Licking the bleeding incision, I placed the child upon the floor, as it should be, and hastened to my room.
The sun did not pierce the boiling clouds of our place of exile, but a faint lightening could be perceived as the rest of the world reveled in the arrival of the new day. From my single allotted window, I watched the faint glow strengthen, and imagined my dearest friend. Lena. I beg that you will forgive me one day… Giovanni. My Lord, are you yet living? Eyes closed, I sought out the familiar thrum of life that I had become accustomed to. There. Steady, but growing fainter. My dead heart clenched in a semblance of pain and guilt. You have not long left in this world, my Lord. Perhaps… I turned from the window, my head bowed and my mind awash with emotion. Perhaps, upon my departure from this world, I may see you again.
It remained a strange thing, sinking into my frozen tomb for slumber during the day hours. Like falling through fire, then comforted by the brushes of featherine ice against skin. Pain followed by comfort, and a phantom sense of company in my slumber, though there were none left alive to accompany me to the dark planes of unconsciousness. My brother's voice drifted through my awareness before all became black. The blood is the life. The blood is the life.