Awakening was slow and hazy, like being dragged through a forest of cobwebs. Consciousness intruded dimly, illuminating only slivers of memory: Lisa, alchemy, Belmont, night. Dracula tried to push himself upward of out pure instinct, but his arm crumpled beneath him, still weak from disuse.
A thin, smooth arm caught and supported him. "Here, my lord. Drink this." The voice was deep and hollow.
Dracula felt a goblet full of warm liquid at his lips and drank greedily. Colors and smells exploded across his tongue, limned with sound. He barely had time to notice them, so busy gulping down the thick blood there was no room for savoring it. Ah, it was so good across his dry, parched throat. He drank without pause until the goblet was empty, then rested wearily against the upraised lid of his coffin.
The refilled goblet was pressed into his hand, but he didn't drink again. With effort, Dracula focused his sleep-worn eyes on the hollow face of his benefactor. "Death."
"Yes, my lord." The reaper deeply nodded his skull, the closest he could come to a bow when crouched over a coffin.
Dracula looked around. His lip twitched. "Since when do I sleep in my throne room?" he asked.
Death shrugged. "You fell here. I thought it best to let you lie and regain your strength."
"I...fell..." Dracula closed his eyes, and Death pushed on his hand, reminding him of the blood. He drank without opening his eyes. "I truly did die then, didn't I? No body, no curse...I was dead," he said after finishing.
"As much as a being such as you can die."
Dracula watched him with narrowed eyes and drank again. "So it is true immortality."
"I serve my master." Death half-bowed again. "I will never take you, my lord, I swear it."
"Only the ones most precious to me." Dracula's voice was flat.
Death made no reply.
Dracula shifted his gaze, looked at the worn and dust-covered remnants of his throne room. The hangings were in tatters, the gold dulled, the stone crumbled. No one had been in here for decades. "How long?"
"One hundred years. It took one hundred years for your power to recover enough to bring you back without interference."
There had been a time when one hundred years had seemed long to Dracula. Now he just sighed. He placed the empty goblet in the coffin's lid and slowly began to lever himself upright, with Death's hands supporting him all the way.
Soon Dracula stood once more at the summit of his castle, surveying the dark, storm-torn land below. "One hundred years is not enough to pay back their sin. Soon, humans will once more learn to fear the night," he said, and thunder punctuated his words. Lightning illuminated his profile as he turned to the reaper beside him. "And you by my side. The only one to remain."
"Always, my lord," Death said, hand over his empty ribs. "I will never allow you to pass beyond my reach. I will always be waiting here for you. Forever."