Author's Note

Hi everyone!

- I've had this idea for a Dracula AU (alternate universe) bouncing around in my head for months now, and I've finally decided it's time to share it. This is a fanfiction based on the original novel by Bram Stoker, not the movies or other adaptations, although I've also drawn some inspiration from Dracul by Dacre Stoker and J.D. Barker, which has really sparked my imagination for exploring this world in a new way.

- The story is still a work in progress, and honestly, I'm not entirely sure how it's going to play out or where it'll end up—but that's part of the fun! It's definitely an experiment, so expect things to evolve as I figure it all out along the way.

- A BIG difference from Stoker's original: Mina and Jonathan are twins in this version, orphaned in Rome and later adopted by an English family named Harker. Further changes from the source material will be introduced as the story progresses.

- This story may evolve into a crossover encompassing elements from Bram Stoker's Dracula's Guest and Dacre Stoker and J.D. Barker's Dracul.

- While this fanfiction primarily draws from Bram Stoker's 1897 novel Dracula, it also incorporates certain thematic concepts from Francis Ford Coppola's 1992 film adaptation, particularly regarding the ideas of past lives and soulmates

After a meeting with the Count, Jonathan returned to his room feeling more despondent than ever. The conversation had been unsettling, though the Count, with his aristocratic bearing and amiable tone, still seemed like an eccentric but normal host. However, there was something in his words that made him uneasy. The Count's insistence that he stay for another month at the castle had left him without any arguments to refuse. Jonathan knew his situation was untenable, yet at the same time, he couldn't see how he could escape.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, he let his thoughts consume him. There was something profoundly strange about this place. Everything in the castle seemed designed to keep him inside: the locked doors, the labyrinthine corridors, the constant feeling of being watched. Jonathan mentally retraced the past few days, remembering the hallways he'd avoided and the rooms he hadn't been able to enter. What was the Count hiding behind those locked doors? Curiosity was starting to overcome his fear.

The oppression of confinement was unbearable. Jonathan got up from the bed and began to pace the room. He touched the solid wood of the door, ran his fingers along the window frame, and clenched his fists, feeling his frustration grow. If he was going to be trapped, he at least wanted to understand where he was. The decision was inevitable: he would explore the castle, even if it meant defying the Count's warnings.

Lamp in hand, he stepped out into the hallway. Shadows danced on the walls with each flicker of the flame, and the echo of his footsteps seemed to resonate more than usual, as if the walls were listening. Jonathan descended the stone stairs, the chill of the floor seeping through the soles of his boots. Every corner of the castle seemed filled with secrets waiting to be discovered.

In one of the corridors, he found a door that wasn't locked but seemed stuck. With a final push, it yielded, releasing a prolonged creak that faded into the silence of the castle. Upon entering, he discovered it led to a wing of the castle that had been off-limits to him until now. A long corridor stretched before him, covered in faded carpets and flanked by heavy curtains that swayed slightly, as if an invisible current flowed through the space. The atmosphere was colder, and the air carried a strange aroma, a mix of dampness and something older, almost mineral.

Jonathan proceeded cautiously, scanning the hallway, alert to any detail. At the end of the corridor, he found another door, this time slightly ajar, as if inviting him to enter. Inside, moonlight bathed a room that, though neglected, had once possessed an undeniable elegance. The furniture was covered in dust, and the walls showed signs of dampness, but the space retained an air of intimacy, as if it had witnessed significant moments in the past.

He moved towards the window, drawn by the view it offered. The valley stretched majestically beneath the moonlight, and the mountains silhouetted against the night sky seemed to promise a freedom he could only dream of. Dragging a rickety bed towards the window, he collapsed onto the mattress, exhausted by the weariness and oppression of the place.

As he lay there, staring at the shadows on the ceiling, Jonathan remembered Dracula's earlier warning: "If sleep should overtake you, be sure to return to your own rooms. This castle is old and full of memories, many of them nightmares for those who do not rest wisely." The Count's words now seemed heavier, laced with an ominous weight he hadn't fully grasped before. But the pull of sleep was stronger than his unease, and soon his eyes closed.

Sleep came quickly, but it was not restful. It was plagued by disturbing images, shifting shadows, and faces he couldn't identify. Suddenly, he awoke with the distinct sensation that he was not alone. Without fully opening his eyes, he remained motionless, his senses on high alert. What he saw through his barely-opened eyelids startled him: three female figures emerging from the shadows. Their movements were fluid, almost supernatural, and their faces, illuminated by the moonlight, were hypnotically beautiful, almost unreal. Yet something about them evoked a sense of vulnerability, as if he were prey under the gaze of predators.

The tallest one, a woman with golden hair, advanced with a grace that seemed to defy the laws of human movement. Jonathan felt the air shift around him, becoming dense, almost tangible. He forced himself to keep his eyes barely open, feigning sleep, though his heart pounded beneath his ribs. Her beauty was disarming, but it was her teeth that captured his attention—bright, sharp, and glinting in the pale light, their whiteness a stark contrast to the sensual curve of her crimson lips.

Before approaching Jonathan, the blonde woman raised a hand, stopping the other two. For a moment, her eyes examined him with an almost inhuman intensity, as if they could pierce his flesh and read what lay hidden beneath his eyelids. It wasn't simple curiosity; there was something more, something cold and predatory in that gaze. A murmur escaped her lips, a low, strange sound like the rustling of dry leaves. She spoke in an unknown language, and the other figures exchanged hesitant glances before melting back into the shadows, vanishing without a sound, as if they had never been there.

Now they were alone.

The woman remained motionless, a living statue, her eyes still fixed on him. The silence that enveloped them was almost palpable, thick as a fog that seeped into his bones. Jonathan didn't dare move. There was something terrifying in her stillness, yet also something that drew him in an inexplicable way. His body and mind seemed divided: one part wanted to flee, the other couldn't look away.

The torchlight flickered, casting restless shadows on the woman's face. Her skin, pale and almost translucent, seemed to reflect the dim illumination. Her eyes shone with an unnatural gleam that stripped him of all defense. What did she want from him? What secrets did she hide behind that gaze that seemed to bare his very soul?

Then, almost like a whisper made movement, the woman finally stirred. It was a slow, almost imperceptible gesture. Her steps were so light that they produced no sound; only the echo of the crackling torch broke the silence. Without taking her eyes off Jonathan, she began to approach him with a deliberate, calculated movement. He felt a shiver run through his body, as if the air around him grew colder with each step she took. It was as if she were studying him, stalking him without haste, like a predator who enjoys prolonging the moment before the attack.

Jonathan tried to look away, to break the spell of those eyes, but his body wouldn't respond. Something invisible bound him to the bed, as if the woman had stolen his will. Every fiber of his being was taut, trapped between the desire to flee and the fascination that held him captive. He wanted to scream, but even his vocal cords seemed paralyzed.

The woman finally stopped in front of him. Her figure seemed unreal, as if she didn't quite belong to this world. The flickering torchlight cast elongated, distorted shadows that multiplied on the walls. Jonathan swallowed, but his throat was dry.

She tilted her head just enough to look at him from a different angle, as if examining him more closely. Her lips, red and perfectly defined, curved into a faint smile that didn't reach her eyes.

Jonathan felt his breathing grow heavier; each inhale was an effort. There was something about her proximity that made him feel small, defenseless, as if she were stripping him of something intangible but vital. Her shadow enveloped him, and the torchlight made her face seem to float in the dimness, highlighting the hypnotic gleam of her eyes and the sharp angles of her cheekbones.

The woman leaned forward slightly, as if to speak, but no sound escaped her lips. Instead, she extended a hand towards him with smooth, fluid movements, letting her fingertips brush against his cheek. Her skin was cold, not like a human's, but like marble or ancient ice. Jonathan felt a shiver run down his spine, unable to pull away. Each touch seemed to weaken his resistance, as if it were draining something essential within him.

Finally, the woman knelt beside him, slowly leaning towards his face. Her breath, warm and sweet, caressed the skin of his neck. There was something in her scent that both attracted and repelled him, a mixture of wilted flowers and something indefinably ancient. Jonathan felt an even deeper shudder as the woman's lips barely grazed his skin. It was then that he noticed a slight pressure on two precise points on his neck. His heart hammered in his ears, amplifying the intensity of the moment.

Suddenly, the woman stopped. A soft gasp escaped her lips, and she recoiled sharply, as if something invisible had pulled her away. Jonathan opened his eyes slightly, enough to see her expression. There was something in her gaze that deeply unsettled him: not just melancholy, but a genuine concern, almost as if she regretted something. For a moment, she seemed to be debating with herself. Finally, leaning towards him, she whispered softly, "Wake up."

Jonathan feigned opening his eyes slowly, and the woman watched him with an intensity he found difficult to bear. "You shouldn't be here," she said, her voice low but urgent.

Before he could respond, she made a gesture for him to be silent. "Return to your room. This place isn't safe for you."

Jonathan, still dazed, slowly obeyed. But before he could fully turn away, the woman suddenly grasped his hand. Her grip was firm—unusually strong, far beyond what he would have expected from someone of her appearance. The unexpected strength startled him, and a shiver ran through him. He turned to meet her gaze, only to find her staring at him with an expression that mixed authority with a deep, unspoken sadness.

"Do not tell the Count about this," she said firmly, her voice low but laced with a commanding urgency. Her tone sent a small jolt of fear through Jonathan, and she seemed to notice it immediately. Her features softened, and her eyes reflected a sorrow that caught him off guard.

As if sensing his unease, she released his hand and then reached out, gently stroking his cheek with her cold fingers. The tenderness of the gesture was at odds with the strength she had shown moments earlier. "You mustn't fear me," she whispered, her voice softer now, almost pleading. Her sadness lingered in her expression, as though she carried a weight that no words could convey.

While Jonathan stood frozen, caught between her unexpected touch and the lingering fear in his chest, she retreated back into the shadows, disappearing as though she had never been there.

MINUTES LATER

Alone again in his room, the weight of what had happened became even more palpable. His mind raced with unanswerable questions and a growing unease at the unknown. Everything in the castle seemed like an enigma that enveloped him, and now more than ever, Jonathan knew that his instincts were right: something profoundly wrong resided within these walls.