Enjoy some angsty/fluffy vampire goodness!

OOO

He'd taken Alfred on a whole tour of the castle since the girl had gone outside and (hopefully) would be keeping her distance. Herbert supposed it wasn't a completely sound plan for keeping the girl at bay, but it was about the only thing he could think of. If Sarah so much as came into Alfred's peripheral vision, he'd obsess and brood about her for the remainder of the night. Herbert could simply not see the veneration of this girl. Especially a girl that would certainly never be Alfred's.

So Herbert decided to make Alfred his new project and clear the boy's pretty brain of any thoughts of that girl. He'd had Alfred put new blood in his body to perhaps rid him of any stain. Now he was going to take to elaborate distractions. He was also going to take to a fun game of keep away in which Alfred would not be allowed to come into contact with the girl at all. It would've been easier if father were here but… Herbert had no idea where his father had flown off to. His sudden disappearance had left his little pet rather perplexed.

Herbert's father hadn't the faintest idea of how to deal with anyone so Herbert was unsurprised. No doubt the girl had anticipated some suave, romantic hero. Herbert could laugh at how ridiculous a notion that was.

"…here's the dungeon. We don't typically use these." Herbert had begun their tour by walking deeper beneath the castle. He flashed a mischievous smile. "Unless, of course, you're looking to have real fun."

Alfred was unamused by the quip as he often was. Herbert was not affected by it: he was very accustomed to people who were unamused with him. It took him years to come to the fact that his father did like him: his general demeanor was just to appear unmoved. Perhaps Alfred was that way too. Even in his human form, Alfred did always seem aloof and sullen.

"Where do you come from, Alfred?" Herbert asked as they walked from the dark cells of the castles. The silence between them had been deafening.

The boy sniffed, "What?"

"Where do you come from?" Herbert repeated. He turned back to face the boy, the dim candles lining the hall illuminating his face. "Before you traveled here to hunt vampires and kill werewolves."

"Werewolves don't exist," the boy began and it made Herbert smile for some reason. They continued on their way. "And I come from England."

"England?" Herbert said eagerly. He'd been with very few Englishmen. He wasn't sure why he thought that. "How did you wind up in Transylvania, Mon Chéri?"

The boy didn't answer for a moment and Herbert thought he would not. They continued on the black and bleak corridor, heading into another crypt that was currently empty. A few lost souls that had come for the ball had rested here, but now the room was quite deserted.

"My parents died when I was young," Alfred said eventually. Herbert stopped, turning towards the boy. "So it was either be an apprentice—a scholar—or be nothing at all. No one wanted to take on an orphan with no prospects, so I ended up studying the supernatural with Professor Abronsius. I didn't think any of it was real, really, until…"

Alfred didn't finish the sentence, shuffling on his feet and brushing his fingers in his hair.

Herbert prompted, "Until?"

"I had a friend named Sam. He was…" Alfred didn't finish that thought. "He became friends with some else. The someone else was a vampire and before I even knew what was going on, Sam was changed into one too."

Herbert wanted to say something, but it seemed the boy was not finished.

"He… Professor Abronsius wanted me to kill him. We found their resting spot. I didn't tell the Professor that I knew him or he was my friend. I thought he'd—he'd be upset with me. But when we reached the place, I could not do it. Not to either of them. So the Professor did it. He just assumed it was because I was young and inexperienced and I didn't tell him any different. But I couldn't do it because he was my friend."

"Oh,Chéri -"

Alfred put up a hand, "Don't touch me. Please." He balked away, brushing his blonde hair back with his pale and calloused fingers. Herbert thought it so wonderful that Alfred had calloused hands. Everyone he knew had hands long and pristine. Alfred's were short and full of manges and rough edges. He sighed, "But, anyway, I'm from England. It was the Professor's idea to come here but no doubt…"

Herbert prompted, "No doubt?"

"No doubt he's dead now, isn't he?"

He was not sure what to say to that so he said nothing at all. It would be logical to assume the old man was dead now. Herbert's father would not want the man alive after what he'd seen. He'd seen far too much. No, Herbert's father would not want that man alive at all. Especially with Sarah… Sarah, he thought of seeing her in the ballroom. Like a lost little doll she'd looked, all beautified with nothing at all to do. He knew not where his father had gone but he found the idea of the girl alone to not be a promising one.

Alfred shifted, "Never mind. That was rude, I'm sorry."

"It's no matter, my friend," Herbert answered with a smile. "Now, let's on to our tour. We haven't even seen any of the good bits yet."

Though the air was slightly thicker between then, yet somehow clearer all the same. A friend named Sam. Herbert wondered selfishly if this friend had been more than a friend but knew that to be madness. He just wanted Alfred to… To not hate him. To not be frightened of him. He was going to be his friend. Yes, the best of friends.

So they continued on. They saw not Sarah all day. Alfred made no mention of her.

OOO

Her father. Sarah could not believe it. Her father, here. Her father turned to be like her and The Count had said nothing of it. No, The Count had not even mentioned it to her and now Sarah was…not breathing. Sarah was lying against a tree and not breathing yet she would not die. You, idiot, you cannot die. The ground was cold and wet from the snow and no doubt she was ruining the dress but damn the dress and damn The Count. How could he not have told her that? Her father. Her own father was here and her mother…

"Oh, mama," Sarah whimpered to the empty winter air. Her mama left completely alone now. Sarah had had her consolation that at least mama and papa would have each other but there was no comfort now. Father was here with that awful maid and now Mama was alone. And Sarah's father had barely even spoken to her. He didn't even make eye contact with her.

"Papa?" She had asked, taking his hand in her's. He'd been out upon the grounds with Magda. They'd been going to hunt. Magda had lowered her head when Sarah came near. Her papa… Her papa… "Papa, why won't you look at me?"

"Sarah, my dear," he said softly. "Things are different now. Things are not as they once were."

"What do you mean?" She asked desperately. Not as they once were? It was like…it was like he did not want to be her papa anymore.

"When I was bitten," he began, "things were changed. I was changed. The same happened to you. Our blood is different now, my dear. Our loyalties…"

"Loyalties?" Sarah immediately inquired. Her papa seemed to shrink at her words. Her papa was frightened of her. That was silly: how could he be frightened of her? Blood—it always went back to blood. Sarah knew not how any of this worked. Not that The Count had explained anything. Not that he would ever explain anything.

Her papa straightened, "You don't need me anymore, Sarah. Things are different with what we are."

"I-I don't understand," Sarah stammered. There were tears forming in her eyes. The air was so bitter that they nearly seemed to freeze there. Would he not look at her? Would anyone speak to her? Even The Count had ignored her questions, ignored her pleas. Now he had left her all alone without so much as a word. "Papa, what do you mean?"

Yet even as she cried, her father seemed unmoved by her tears. Magda was looking like she'd rather Sarah would just go away. Go to where? Sarah mused cynically to herself. There was nowhere for Sarah to run to now. There was no magical castle to which she could escape. Sarah was lost. Completely adrift and lost and even her father would not look at her.

Her papa breathed, his red eyes finally looking up to her. No doubt she looked silly, all dressed like a pretty doll and standing in the snow.

"You are his now, dear, not mine. Things are different now."

Things are different now, the words pounding in Sarah's mind as snow from the tree fell into her eyes. I don't belong to anyone, Sarah thought defiantly. It was a lie. When he'd come to ask her to the ball, he'd asked her to be his and she agreed so Sarah supposed… But he's not my papa, Sarah thought fervently. I still need my papa. Though in some twisted way, she supposed he was like a father now. He had created her. She had his blood and-

She was going to be sick. Sarah's head reeled as she lay in the freezing snow, which only felt wet to her now. She missed the cold. It was silly thing to miss, but she missed it. And she missed Mama. Oh poor Mama. Poor Mama left alone in the inn with no one to help her. Father had abandoned her. You have abandoned her, Sarah reminded herself. Sarah had left everything for her dream life and now… Now, what was this dream?

The last morning had been… It had been different. It had felt like her dream. Like her happy dream of love and magic but then he was gone. Gone without a word and Sarah's mind was turning with all of it. He'd kissed her and touched her and everything had seemed fine and good and then he was gone. He didn't like speaking to her. He didn't like her. Was that all he had wanted? Just that and now she was forgotten. No long a princess was she. No longer anything.

Sarah looked at her stupid gown. It was rather atrocious with its emerald color and overt black lace. No, she did not want to wear this dress anymore. She tore at the bodice until it was gone. She undid the skirts. Sarah hung it from a branch of a tree until she stood in just her shift. It made her feel like she was more herself, at least. It made her feel less like some terrible doll.

So she walked. She wondered if she would see Alfred but figured seeing Alfred would not make her feel any better than before. Wandering the grounds, however extensive, made her feel like some lonely lost ghoul.

That was when she decided to wander further. She'd been strictly instructed not to, but what was Count Von Krolock to her now? He didn't really care, did he? No, not truly. She was just some doll to him. She was a pretty thing to add to his collection of other pretty things. Nothing mattered. None of it mattered. Rules or not, Sarah wandered further than she was meant to. She wandered down the Cliffside and further until she saw the lights of her home. A wave of wonderful nostalgia came over her as she gazed at the lights. Home. She was so close to it. It had not been a good home, but it had been her home. How funny to be sitting at the place she'd gazed at longingly for so long only to be gazing back at her home.

Feeling very daring, Sarah wandered further. An excitement she had not felt for days trickled up her spine and into her brain. Yes, that wonderful excitement like sneaking down the stairs while your parents are sleeping. An excitement like a red blanket she kept hidden from view. Sarah had no red blanket upon her now but felt that same wonder regardless. On she continued, that wonderful rebellion growing brighter in her chest. He'd never find her and he'd never know. Sarah walked until she was in the town she'd left not three days ago.

The street was empty, as it always was after dark. No doubt everyone was huddled in the inn, drunk and merry. Yet when Sarah came near to it, she saw not smiling faces inside. Sarah moved closer to the window, for it had frosted and all she could make out was dim figures. Yes, hardly anyone seemed merry in her pub.

There was her mother. Sarah's heart seized up in her chest at the sight of her. Oh, she was a shallow version of the woman she had been. Her cheeks were gaunt, her eyes were filled with water. She moved about absentmindedly. Mama, oh mama, Sarah wanted to bang upon the window. Why couldn't she? Maybe she was changed, but maybe her mama would want her back. No one at the castle wanted her. Her papa would not even look at her if mama would just look at her Sarah would-

"I told you not to leave the castle."

Sarah could only mutter a gasp. She jerked to free her arm from the tight grip around it but found the person holding her to be much stronger. The tears that had been filling her eyes began to fall. They seemed to turn to dust in the cold air.

"But mama is…" was all she could whimper.

"You cannot come back here, Sarah." The voice was terrifying in her ear. "Not ever." He breathed, "With me. Now."

She wanted to say something, wanted to explain herself, but he held her and started moving so quickly that she had to keep up. Here he was, back and as strangely domineering as ever. His cloak moved beside her as he led her back to the castle. She did not like being led like some child, but he was angry and she knew that. Would he strike her? Papa would always strike her. Sarah imagined it would string more if she were struck by The Count.

They entered back into the castle and Sarah stumbled forward in her wet clothes. He pulled gloves off his long hands and cast them to the ground. Barely could Sarah see from her tears and the stinging snow but still he pushed her forward until-

"Stop it!" She yelled. In her head it sounded powerful but aloud it sounded so terribly meek. Sarah sniffed loudly, raising her hands to wipe at her wet and stinging face. "Just stop."

"I told you not to leave the grounds."

"I know."

"You disobeyed me."

"Yes," Sarah hissed and felt some power in it. Her eyes met his and for a moment she was not afraid. "You were gone. Why did you leave?"

The words seemed to soften him, if anything in him could soften. Something in him was more somber at the very least and for whatever reason she thought of how they had been not hours ago. He had been so sweet to her. He'd touched her like she was something precious, he'd told her that she was. It had seemed like he loved her and now… Her stomach was churning. He moved forward like he meant to touch her but Sarah could not allow that.

She changed the subject. "I wanted to see my mama."

He huffed, "Sarah-"

"You didn't tell me papa was here." Her voice was breaking as was whatever small bit of strength she had mustered. She'd meant for the talking about her parents to be a distraction but it was seeming to only make matters worse. "Why didn't you tell me that?"

"You're getting upset," he said like how one speaks to an ill-tempered child. Sarah balked when he came nearer. Maybe that upset him further but Sarah would not look at him. She did not understand how someone could be so wonderful then so cross and then so sad. A strange part of her wanted him to yell at her, to scream at her. To stop being so understanding of everything she did. Like a child. He treated her how ones treats a child.

Perhaps he regrets what he did, hissed a voice in her ear. He regrets making love to you and kissing you and touching you: he regrets it all. Like your father said, things were different now. The Count no longer wants you as he once did. You are just a pet to him now. You are just a child.

He finally spoke, "To your bedchamber, Sarah. It's nearly dawn."

An order. How fitting.

"No, it isn't!" Sarah insisted, her face filling with flush. "It's not hours yet til dawn! You cannot just lock me away when you don't want to speak to me anymore! You can't just-"

"I can't what, Sarah?" He said in that quiet way adults would do to frighten you into submission. Her bottom lip she clenched as the man stalked nearer to her. You can't just stop being my angel, Sarah wanted to scream to him. You cannot tell me you are a dream and then prove yourself a nightmare. A horribly confusing nightmare from which I want to wake up.

She would not cry. She would not cry. She would not cry.

"Lock me away." Sarah spoke with all the fire she could muster. "I don't want to be locked away. You didn't tell me you were going to lock me away."

"I don't want you killed," he responded with a voice devoid of warmth. She supposed those words could've been sweet if his voice were warm. "You've been gone less than a week, Sarah. I was reckless in taking you. Yours is an absence that will not go unnoticed and they will be upset about it. Upset people are dangerous, far more so if they are desperate. I know about these things, Sarah. I've seen them thousands of times so you must listen to me."

There was something desperate in his voice that she yearned for: something like love. He spoke the words so coolly and logically but moved closer as she said them. Some deep shame she had not yet considered was rising from her abdomen and up her spine. Sarah wanted to fight but couldn't think of anything to say to him. She had run away. She had disobeyed him. Certainly, she had wanted to see her mama but… But she'd also wanted this. She'd wanted a rise from Emilian. With a rise, perhaps she'd get a word. Perhaps she'd get an answer. Perhaps she'd get something from him that could help her understand all of this awful mess that was her life.

But she had not considered… Had not considered he might be hurt. He hurt me too, Sarah pressed fervently. He was just gone. Just gone without a word.

"You could have been killed," he impressed upon her. "They would have killed you had they seen you." Something in him changed. "You disobeyed me."

The words stuck like daggers upon her skin. Sarah was under no impression that he meant to strike her, but his words struck a blow no hand ever could. She had, she had disobeyed him. Not that he hadn't deserved it, but Sarah had disobeyed him. And perhaps she was simply searching for it, but she thought she noticed some hurt in his voice. Sarah thought she noticed some pain.

"I'm sorry," Sarah relented after a long moment. Her eyes had not met his for some long time so she took to studying his shoes. They were muddied; he'd been in the village. Of course Sarah had known that, but she wondered why he'd been there at all. She looked up and saw his hands hanging by his side. That for some reason made her think of the previous morning and thinking of that made her flush again and mingled these feelings with those.

The Count sighed, "To your bedchamber, Sarah. Do not disobey me this time."

So she went, no longer feeling such ardor to flee.

OOO

The old man was dead.

Emilian Von Krolock had found the old professor alone and several miles from the village. He was more than half dead already, having starved himself in his self-impressed exile from the village. Emilian couldn't fathom why the man was dong such a thing. Perhaps he had gone mad. It would be unsurprising if he had. Von Krolock had sent out others to find him days ago, but it seemed none of them had been quite up to the task.

Emilian killed him easily. It was not difficult to take a life. A quick snap of the neck and Professor Abronsius was no more. He did not feel remorse for it either. Perhaps he should have, but he did not.

Murdering, at one point, had had an exhilaration behind it, but now Emilian felt little when he took a life. He felt little if he did it with blood or without it. Blood was a means to an end. Death was a means to an end: it did not evoke any feeling from within. Very little at all evoked feeling from Von Krolock. He could set on charm easily, but that was all it was: a charm, an illusion. It was not at all real.

But Sarah was… He should have been more upset with her. She'd blatantly disobeyed him and he'd only give her one rule! Stay in the castle. He'd given her everything and she could not obey just one restriction.

He should not have gone away this morning. This whole mess could have been avoided if he had just not gone away. How could he have just left her there? She had looked so sweet lying there. He'd wanted to stay. He'd wanted to stay and engulf her in his arm and himself in her skin and beautiful curls. She had been all he'd imagined when they'd made love. He'd wanted to have her again. To stay in the bed with her and have her again and not leave her and-

This feeling was not love. He was not pure enough to feel something like love and yet the girl was… Damn it all. He'd ruined it all by lying with her. No, you ruined it all by changing her. No, you ruined it all by choosing her. You do not love her. Had you loved her, you would have let her live. Had you loved her at all, you would not have orchestrated her damnation.

She had tried to run. Sarah had wanted to leave him. Sarah wanted to leave him. Could he blame her?

Damn it all, he did not want to be brooding upon this. The fickle feelings of a young girl, a young vampire, should be not obsessing him. The young were always like this, it mattered not. Sarah would not leave again. The girl could not survive upon her own.

You can't lock me away, she had pleaded. He hadn't meant to… Yes, he had. Did she not know how dangerous it was to be as they are? Did she not know they'd try to kill her, to maim her? To take her away from him… He was selfish. He wanted to keep her like a secret. If she were just tucked away. If no one saw her, came near her, just him, he'd make sure she was safe and fed and comforted and… It did sound like she were just a pet. Damn it. Damn it all.

He found her lying upon her bed in the room he had set aside for her. The girl had not even bothered to shut the curtains; perhaps it was because she'd believed he'd come or perhaps she'd left them open in a spiteful way. She looked so beautifully forlorn lying there all upon her own. She did not face him; her curls lay behind her like a lake of auburn. Perhaps he should leave her there. It would be best to leave her there. Going to her bed had proved a mistake. He should have known better than to make such a mistake. Sarah was not like Elisabeth. Sarah would require love. Just as the woman had said.

A gypsy. A gypsy had seen him in the village. The gypsies were always better at spotting his kind and seemed to always think it pertinent to say a vague prophecy as they passed by. The woman had spoken of love, speaking that he need love or all would perish. Some ridiculously sentimental, nonsensical nonsense but… Perhaps…

He lie beside Sarah and brushed the hair away from her porcelain neck. And damn what he told himself to feel, he was still so enamored with her. He wanted her blood again, her body, her soft lips, and gentle touch. Sarah was awake, but moved not to speak to him. Perhaps she expected him to say something. He knew not what to say to her. What about a little girl could frighten him so terribly?

Sarah spoke, "I'm not going to run away again. If that's what you've come to tell me."

"I've not come to tell you anything."

"You haven't?" The girl asked in a slightly bitter tone. "All right." She was still upset. Girls and young vampires were fickle, he knew that, and yet he wanted to calm her. To reassure her. To…

"I'm sorry," he said. They were not words he spoke often. He could not remember the last time he had said them. Before he could say anything more, Sarah began to speak.

"Do you regret it?" She said suddenly. Sarah was not one to ease into any subject. "Do you regret…what we did and…and all of it? Do you wish I weren't here? It would be easier, wouldn't it, if I were not here."

"Sarah-"

"I've caused all sorts of problems. I can't even follow rules and I tried to run away and you do not like me-"

"Hush," He said while brushing back her hair. Her breaths were heavy and strained like how they'd be before tears and yet Sarah was not crying. For so many years he'd considered what the feeling of holding her as she cried would be. He'd see her lying so forlorn in her bed after her father had struck her and wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms. He'd wanted that so very badly.

"I regret nothing," he told her softly. Her breaths were slowly calming. "I regret nothing about you, Sarah. You mustn't make yourself upset."

She sniffed, "I can't even think straight. Everything is so strange now."

"Hush," he told her again. "You need not worry about anything, Sarah. I shall take care of it all. Rest now."

Sarah turned, lying so that she was close against him. He held her and spoke things to her softly as eventually she drifted to sleep. He should not be so affected by her. He had not anticipated being so affected by her. He was not sure what he was feeling or for what reason and he knew not what to name it. So he thought not about it and drifted to sleep himself. Things would sort themselves out. Things would go back to how they were meant to be.

He knew not what he was feeling.