Darkness Becomes Her

Disclaimer: Own the ideas, but didn't make money for it.

Any comments, just e-mail me at "kfong60@hotmail.com"

Since he began his quest of conquest, he knew that he would one day accomplish his goals. But even with victory already certain, he would only rest once he had conquered it all. He had all the time in the world, but he grew impatient with every failure. . . A change of plans was in order. . .

He was thinking. In his type of business, one must treat everything as one would a game of chess: Always planning three or four moves ahead of time and plan for the future. Planning on what his next move should be, he finally decided on the course of action he should take. . . Why not? Sometimes, he even amazes himself. . .

Darkness Becomes Me

He hung his head forward in anticipation as the new moon rose high above the castle walls as the silvers of light lit his appearance, black and blue with eyes bloodshot staring into the night. He sighed. He had never felt this way in a long time. Even his thirst could not compare to the hunger he held for the young girl. It had been but a short glimpse, but it had drawn him in like the void. It had been a long time since he had ever laid eyes upon a mortal in such a way. But yet, this was no ordinary mortal.

"Fernandez. . ." he closed his eyes as the very words were a curse upon his tongue, almost just as bad as Belmont. The shadows danced well upon him to hide his foul demeanor.

The way she made him feel, was indescribable. It was this fact that lured him so, even though demons like him should have no emotions, which was a weakness that the pestilence which was human possessed. He cursed the body he now occupied with renewed anger. His presence was not enough to vanquish the previous owner's soul thoroughly. Bits and pieces of it still loomed over his thoughts, haunting them, perverting them with their disgusting emotions which only mortals possessed.

The black wind howled almost hauntingly over his stern face. Brushing a few wisps of loose hair from his plain face, he tucked them behind the recesses of his shoulders in a gentle, but swift movement with a flick of his arms. Sighing again, he wondered what was taking her so long? It baffled him why and what could she be doing this moment to keep him waiting restlessly. The Belmont had arrived an hour ago after he gave his invitation, inviting him to participate in this game he played. But enough about that mortal. Just thinking of his kind and his ancestors before him gave him a headache. How such lowly beings beneath him wield such power? Was not their kind the gifted, servants of god? It was unbecoming of him to aid the plague which was human and not himself, which he considered one like he.

Evil. . . That was what they called him, to justify their actions upon him. Also the one and only word that was enough for them to believe that god favored them, his ever faithful subjects which believed their actions, were justified by god, only by this one word . . . evil.

But yet evil is a necessity in this world. Evil is a point of view, a state of mind, an opinion too. Where there's good, there must be evil. No matter how great the light shined during the day, in the end it would succumb to darkness at night. Why couldn't they see that? All he wanted was to purge the world of the filth which was draining the resources of mother Earth. They think him as a devil, for he took lives untimely to sate his thirst, but he did so only to live. Which made him wonder, question why they did not also think of almighty also evil. He was a devil in disguise. The humans fail to see that he too causes death among them. Was his own methods wrong if he did it himself? The truth is, god kills indiscriminately, and so does he. But no creature under god, was like he was, none so like him. . . Because he was different, they shunned him.

To him, they were the evil. To them, he was the pinnacle of it, the very definition of what they hate. Maybe it was because of the way he did things, did god decide to side with mortals. But if there was any other way to do so efficiently, he would want to hear it.

Always did these thoughts plague him, of his morals. These small voices in his head helped keep him sane, and gave him the strength to continue his quest. He had already taken the first step, small as it may be. The Belmont was gone, and all that was left was she before his plans could be set in motion. His mind wandered back to the image that was burned into his mind.

He felt the need for her so much, longed to wrap his arms around her, see the laughter in her crimson eyes that was so rare and far between. He wanted to relish the feel of her underneath him, to know those soft curves more intimately.

Returning from his deep ponderings, he turned his attention to the glass wine cup half full of the essence of life. He had been twirling it nonchalantly thus far. It shattered within his marred hands in a moment, as it made its sparkling decent to the red carpet below before disappearing and further enhancing its remarkable color.

These desires which swirled within him, not quite his own had left him in confusion. He began disliking it even more as it filled him with thoughts that sickened him, yet they told him differently. He would not be corrupted by the lies it held under tempting soft spoken words. Every word it made, he saw it as the opposite. Twisting it, setting embankments on that which he did not wish to hear. Staring down at his soaked leather gloves, he admired them at how they protected him from staining his image as it dripped in a rhythm precise and the wheel of time seemed to slow as it made its beautiful descent.

In the past, whenever he went to feast, or kill those who crossed him, it would have left his hands stained with their blood. That itself was not so bad, but it would get all sticky and wet when it dried, hard to wash, and he disliked the blood of a dead man staining his visage. Even though he was a vampire, he held perfection in high regard. Now he wouldn't even need a spare cloth to wipe his hands clean of the deed. They in a way, provided him with a means to lacerate with a barrier between his hands and them which was in his opinion, a convenience to escape the whatever guilt he felt as aftermath when he first began. Twisted as it may be, he saw the glove as the tool which kills his enemies, but through lying to himself, convinced him that he was no culprit. Thus, he felt less remorse for ending life. He would not lament for such a disease. They deserved their fate for it was a curse for them to be born as such as well.

Licking it dry in a controlled tempo to further garnish himself, he reluctantly turned to face the direction where a new sound echoed toward his delicate ears. He could now hear the crescendo of approaching footsteps upon his sanctuary increasing in volume in a controlled pace. The stage was set, as he had planed it. Everything was as he planed it to be and well garnished, prepared as well.

Soon she would arrive, and he would continue to wait for her here. Her own innocent desire would bring her to him. The half-dreamed meeting had beckoned, lured her here as if by instinct or maybe intuition that told her he was still quite dead, but walking around non the less awaiting her. Like Belmont's, the strings of fate tied between them would keep her from escaping, and he as well. But this time, he would fasten it tight and soon, he promised himself, soon. . . he would be the one pulling the strings. It was far too late for her to change her mind, as she was his prisoner, even without her realizing it yet. He could hear the beat of her heart racing as she stood there staring at him, in her typical green cloak wrapped around her shoulders with a red ribbon tying it together. She clasped it tighter around herself with shallow breaths as if to relieve the sudden shivers traveling up her spine. He would give her the choice he never had once he was finished with her. He would offer her the dark gift. . . whether she accepted or not.

Dracula Vlad Tepes smiled. He would be looking forward to this, even if the guest would no doubt think otherwise.

For a moment they stood in silence. The sudden lack of wind was the cause. Every breath of life she took echoed within his ears. She stood transfixed as her eyes burned into his, before she found his gaze too haunting as Dracula noted it with great satisfaction. She responded just the way he imagined. All that was left to do was raise the curtains.

She bore back with renewed courage, but the façade was not well enough to deceive him. He could make the outlines of the cracks on her mask far from perfection and that just made him all the happier.

"What are you so happy about?" she spoke plaintively. Already was she sliding out her magical weapons from her belt to her awaiting hands. She was through with words as far as he could see, but nonetheless he decided to humor her a bit to lighten the mood so to speak.

"That" he Accentuated with the shake of his head "Is none of your business. . ." smirking all the while it had the desired effect. She was provoked. With a sudden descent of her posture, it was all the warning he got before with an amazing burst of speed, she made a dash towards him. As her hands flashed forward, he glided just out of reach of the arc which formed. Its path cut cleanly through an after image of him, but left her open as she was yet to recover.

She had over exerted her strike and she would pay with it dearly.

His hands reformed into claw like appendage as he stroke forward toward her chest, to be suddenly met half way by her identical weapon within her other hand. Sparks flew as they were locked in battle. But it was quite clear to who would win the exchange. Carrie stumbled for a moment from the strike before enforcing her defense with her other hand on the vampire's appendage wishing to descend upon her. So distracted was she, she almost missed the faint glimmer of light to her right flank, before she tucked and shoulder rolled away from it and well timed hand leap from the floor just as a wake of fire passed by her previous location. The fires dancing on the corner of her eyes had caused her body to react to the danger before her mind even registered it.

Thus she had a sort of sixth sense when danger lurked. Her intuition had kept her alive thus far and many times before, so she always fell back on it. Just in time to turn around to block a vertical slash where Dracula had suddenly appeared. The force of the blow was not totally diverted, as she found herself launched a few feet before skidding on the solid ground feet wide apart to put on the breaks. She summoned a quick orb and flicked it on her enemy's general location. He disappeared in a pillar of light.

Again silence. . .

She used this time sparingly to control her breaths. They were labored and her muscles screamed in exhaustion. She could hear her own heart beat above all other sounds. Things were not looking good. Even though she had yet to receive a mortal wound, and he as well, she was not in the best shape to continue. Her exertion also made sleep tempting, but yet she could not afford to listen to such desires which lead her body running on pure will power.

A change of air current formed to her right, as she slashed in the general direction before she found herself meeting air followed by her being launched by a funnel of displaced air from her unguarded back. She yelped in pain before she practically tumbled a few feet before clutching herself. Slowly hoisting herself a bit unstable before collapsing. She gave a small curse under her breath before she began scanning her surroundings.

'Such will power. . . I can see the fire within your eyes still ever flickering in this existence like that of a candle light. There maybe hope for you after all. . . or not. . .' he pondered as his respect for his victim increased. It was this strong will to survive that captivated him so. Such determination. . . At times it was the deciding factor. Whoever had the greater purpose would be favored, but even under God's divine protection, he could not meddle with fate. It was pretty unfortunate that this event was far out of his jurisdiction in all fairness.

"I look before me, and see a human. . . A pitiful being that wishes to fight. I will grant your request, allow you the opportunity to strike me. It is the nature of all living things to protect themselves." The voice echoed hauntingly coming from all directions and none. She continued staring in all directions.

"To deny you this one pointless chance, you will resist, you will strike, you will die full of dissatisfied regrets. . . but in the end I am eternal. . . None can resist my power which is real. My power is absolute!" his voice mocking her. Her eyes jumped from place to place, looking for the origin of the voice which speaks lies.

She was having trouble locating him. That wouldn't do. . . He wanted to play a bit more. It wouldn't do for her to fall so quickly. He would slowly snip away at her sanity by prolonging this game to better sate his passion. He would enjoy breaking her will.

"Where are you looking girl?"

Placing the voice finally, she swung towards it and peered into the black corner behind a pillar. He stood half covered in the protection of shadows where no light could reach nor touch.

Dracula held his head with an outstretched hand running through the long devilish tresses of the taunted dark blue hair upon his scalp that framed his menacing face. He gave a light chuckle, eyes hidden beneath them. Slowly he lowered his appendage, revealing his crimson eyes almost glowing with glee. It was frightening to behold, and it was unfortunate that the girl so young had to see it. Hardened by death and decay or not, she could not stop but cringe as he saw those eyes again regarding her once more as she tried desperately to stable herself upon her feet.

Those eyes colored like the nectar of blood, complimented by the humorless smile he bore just for her. . . A smile of a predator, a smile of a sadist, a smile of someone who found nothing more pleasing than tearing you apart mentally, physically, and spiritually. They sent shivers to her very core.

It was amazing that she could still stand albeit languidly after witnessing it as if looks could kill, it would have killed a lesser man, no need to mention a girl no less. She demanded his respect and he found no fault to that. She was strong willed, and that would make here an even greater asset to his cause. Enough fun and games, it was time. . .

He began chanting. . .

"Dark powers of the world, I dare to ask of thee to lend me strength!" The air dropped a few degrees as a feeling of unease became more apparent. The air reeked with the cold familiarity of death. Dracula's eyes became to glow unnaturally dark where light seemed to vanish within the dark recesses of them like a worm hole. Devourer of light, bringer of darkness. . .

This was her last chance as she felt the familiar tingling feeling forewarning of the inevitable, undeniable truth. Carrie had to bite down her tongue as she swung her aching hands forward for maybe the very last time as her magical power burst through her delicate hands dissipating air as it glided straight for the dark prince. Shell shocked as he fluctuated when they passed right through him that should have bordered on the lines of inconceivable as he shot forward leaving after images in his wake. He flanked her from the right as she began to turn to meet him, but he was too quick. Even as her mind processed where he was as her eyes never left his form, her body was not quite as quick on the ball as her mind.

All sound was nonexistent as she was painfully aware the dark glow of his right arm closing the distance toward her in slow motion as her mind raced in realization that this was the end. It descended upon her neck and she was left dangling and gasping for breath, kicking at his arm as she pathetically struggled to escape from his iron grasp around her wind pipe. His grip unwavering, he slowly applied more strength and watched as her eyes widened and she began to pale. Helplessly, she stared into the eyes of her assailant as if to reminiscence his face as she could not stop the liquid which rolled down her cheeks before journeying down, soaking her dress.

The hair was familiar, the face as well. But what ruined the image was his eyes devoid of all emotion. They were empty, heartless, imperceptible.They the windows to ones soul betrayed the fond memory. But there was no denying the truth as much as she wanted to convince herself otherwise. His face may have changed, but the resemblance was uncanny. It dawned on her.

"It. . . can't be. . . Mal-. . ." with no further oxygen to spare, she was muted as the threads of life slowly slipped away and unconsciousness threatened to overtake her any moment. It was already painful to breath, as every precious breath she took burned her lungs, as it was forced out by Dracula's unrelenting grip. Painfully slow was the process, as she no longer had the strength to escape, but only enough to half heartedly grip at his outstretched hand. Soon, she succumbed to the welcoming darkness that awaited her long over due. . .

He stood impassively as he watched the girl sag in his arms. Throughout the ordeal, he had been tortured by guilt for having to watch her suffer to bring an end. Now all was quiet, and he felt its pleasant embrace engulf him whole. That silent comfort that follows with the knowledge that all those who opposed, were buried under that calm silence, an end to a wild existence. It soothed his tortured soul and banished the ill voices at the dark corners of his mind. Sighing, he beheld the girl dead to the world with great reluctance.

He chuckled for moment, thinking of how unbecoming it was of him to sigh so much. Better stop it now before it became an annoying habit he told himself. Giving one more critical eye at his prey in mock frown, he carried her down the long flight of staircase outside the tower gates, heading toward the cells. The lowest most horrid place of all. He faded through walls with the quiet bundle in his arms through the many twists and turns of the labyrinth, which was part of his sanctum. It was befitting and already too good for what she was as it was a haven in itself to the other possibility to let her slumber on, in the sleep which never ends. His lengthy strides soon came to a halt upon her new chamber doors.

The hinges creaked from rust till the entrance opened before him. As a prisoner, she would be treated as such. . . Tossing her harshly inside, she tumbled to a stop as he heard an audible smack from her skull hitting solid wall. She did not awaken nor stir, as the bruise welled. 'She'll live.' He turned around and strode off to his chambers as well. That annoyance that sent him hiding in the comfort of the dark was arising again. He would come back for her later. She wasn't going anywhere, couldn't go anywhere. . . and he held onto that faith.

Upon her wakening, her senses blank, but not for long. Small parts of the mind inserting the missing pieces of the puzzle one by one, step by step, becoming self aware as time went on in slow procession.

Taste. . .

The taste was all wrong, as she could not help but taste the foul and dusty air that caused her to choke upon her own measly breaths. Recognizing the irritation that it was, she could no stay for long or risk the deterioration of her health.

Smell. . .

Wherever she was, it smelt like decay. This itself quickened her other senses that flooded her almost in an indistinguishable pile all at one rushed moment.

Touch. . .

She felt the cold solid mattress that was her bed. Instead of it seducing her to sweet dreams, it showed aggression to her weakened state. The longer she stayed lying upon it, the more life it drained away to her dismay.

Sight. . .

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, her vision was approaching but not quite within her grasp yet, but fast approaching nonetheless. Suddenly a world of colors washed over her once blind eyes. Yelping for only a moment, as silver lights danced in her eyes telling her mind it was sometime at night. As she adjusted to her surroundings she found ironically enough, herself awoken staring aimlessly at the stony cage she accommodated, which served as her room. She caught the sight of the puffy mist of her breaths, and concluded not only was the bed she laid on previously was cold, but the temperature as well.

Hearing. . .

Nothing, just the small breeze every now and then through the cracks in the walls as insignificant as they may be. Just the voice of the void consumed all else besides her own breathing that affirmed her alive.

Then she was hurtled into vertigo. The stabbing sensation in her skull had faded almost as soon as it had come, but she was left with a vague picture of something that she couldn't quite identify. She had ... perceptions, more than images; herself, something red, like vapour, fear, fascination ... and the odd feeling that something was amiss in the picture. It niggled at her, as though she were a child who had recently lost a tooth and found herself repeatedly exploring the new gap, trying to figure out what was gone. Ruby eyes glared into her own within the illusion.

Realizing where she was, it took not as long for her to understand what had happened as the memories washed back full force. Dropping her head low, she held back unshed tears as she questioned how she had been caught in such a predicament. Even with her thoughts running, she could not find a fault in what she had done that could have lead to this disaster, this nightmare.

As she sat with her legs tucked in, she seriously wanted Reinhardt to come by and save her like before. She recalled how each time her situation was dire, and all she had to do was pray and he would hear her whispered call in the winds. She had doubted him when he said it worked, but she never believed him till the few times he seemed to appear right when she needed it. The odds of that happening were few and far between but he always appeared to lend her his strength which he clung onto, and swore to make it her own. She dismissed it as being coincidences, as the chances of it happening even a few times in a row was unlikely.

Slowly, she strove to sit on her knees and whispered in prayer with the wind to carry her desperate whispers. Unaware of the eyes that lurked within the shadows. This continued as they observed her from afar for an indefinite amount of time.

How much longer before she stopped and learned that hope was too far from her grasps to hold onto? He admired her faith, even as misplaced as it was, for he knew the truth. She would be staying for a very long time and that was that. She may have had the right attitude, but definitely not the right action in mind.

His capricious nature held a new whim. Stepping from the shadows he towered over her, covering the minimal light from the stone cracks, withered with age.

Carrie heard only careless whispers. Though the place where she now resided shimmered, a beckoning play of silver tendrils, she felt not its warmth, but its cold shoulder. Staring aimlessly at the little nothings within her vision, she could not deprive the feeling of self pity. Felt nothing by looking at the empty darkness, just like her soul. Felt nothing but helpless anger and resigned fear. Somehow she knew he had an ominous future in store for her. As soon as she had awoken in the stony enclosure, her life was forfeit. And, bitterly acknowledged, had no word in it. No cards left to play. She had been born, had lived for this day, to avenge and bring swift judgment to the murderers, only one. She would have accomplished what no other could, but through a twist of fate, a wrong move in a game of chess, she had lost. She thought she knew all the rules, every aspect of the game. Kill this, kill that, and in the end meet the reaper. But the game was more complex, by far more complicated than that.

A noble cause, she told herself. In coming she had offered her kind a fighting chance. But she could not stop her resentment, her bitter fury at being dealt such a fate. To have made friendship, experienced adventure, maybe even fell in love, made it thus far without a happy ending, and have it all overshadowed by the knowledge that it would not, could not last. . . It was painfully hard to accept.

It may have all been better if she never experienced any of it at all, and maybe she would have had it easier coming to terms with her fate, but it all shattered with the knowledge that this was not the case. Breaking self bent delusion with the truth. Truth. . . There was no comfort in the truth. Pain was all she'd find.

Gazing again at the bare, rusty, stony structure, which was my prison, she felt sorrow, heavy and painful lacerating its way into her heart. She didn't want to die, to have experienced things she never had before and full of unfulfilled dreams never to be realized. She cursed herself to not have taken the full opportunity to live life in the truest sense of the word, and here, in this desecrated unholy land, come to a screaming halt!

She found herself berating herself even further as she was swept by a whirlwind of emotion of self loafing. . . Wishing sadly. . . that she should have never been born to this cruel reality, never been given a chance to live like all those around her age with loving parents, without a care in the world and not realize how lucky they were. She should have been some sort of automated machine. . . An unthinking, unfeeling shell who were incapable of knowing, none the less feeling sorrow or regret.

So wrapped up feeling sorry for herself, she almost forgot who she was, and why she was here. Surrounded by the demonic cadence of sensations and sounds or lack of, she bore the mantle of the brave well. She allowed the silence to comfort her, though it coincidentally brought with it a feeling of foreboding. As much comfort as it offered, it was not enough. She found only peace as she allowed her prayers to lull her shamelessly into false security. But at least it served its purpose, dulled the growing fear she had of the impending doom that awaited her.

Time passed as it held little meaning, and she wondered if Reinhardt would arrive in time. He always kept his promises. Would he like all the other times hear her desperate whispers in the wind? Irrationally, selfishly she hoped he would, he wanted to see her friend again. Wandering in her thoughts, she thought of Malus. . . That was the hardest thing to accept and the one thing that hurt her so deeply in the heart. She at first had denied such emotions like love.

But something within him called out to her, and in turn beckoned indescribable feelings that confused, yet lured her without logical explanation. Given time, she believed she could have fallen for him, and maybe if she was lucky, he'd feel the same. . . It wasn't suppose to be this way! She didn't have to care for anyone, or be attracted to anyone! She only wanted to avenge her family, and be oblivious to all life had to offer her if the price was so high. Her very enemy disguised, mocking her with the face of the one she allowed to enter the confines of her cold heart.

Her prayers faltered, as a sudden feeling made itself known.

The careless whispers surrounding her seemed to voice a new rhythm, trying to madden her already spent mind of the unfairness of it all, console her if you will. What was the point in resisting?

Silently she asked of them, 'Why was I given this fate?'

They expectantly answered her with silence, nothing more, and nothing less. . .

As suddenly as they were still whispering nothing at all, it ended abruptly. Much different this time than its earlier tone, and she took it as a sign of it bidding her farewell. They had left her by herself. She ceased her prayers and opened her eyes.

A dark shadow loomed over her. Even before raising her gaze, she knew who would be standing there, had known for quite some time. . . And though she had this forewarning, past knowledge, and had accepted the facts. . . seeing him amplified her fears ten fold. He behind her, tall, smirking and imperious clad all in black. Not even so much as a glance was needed to know that was exactly how he would be. But she caught the glimpse of his demonic eyes from the corner, and dared not look him in the eyes to give him the satisfaction of knowing his latest victims state.

She wondered suddenly, was his fate as predetermined as her own? 'I already knew the answer.'. He knew as well as she that he was meant to walk the mortal plain for all eternity, or till the end of time. Whichever came first.

This was a man who wanted to control the world, corrupt it for his kind as he saw fit. She envied him at that moment, he had everything he always wanted within his grasp, no worries of what the future would bring for no one could do him in. How she longed she could too suffer such blissful ignorance!

She did not rise from her kneeling position, but unclasped her hands and let them fall to her awaiting sides and unintentionally hug herself. Dracula could hear and clearly see her racing heart, and the urge to run far, far from this place. But they both knew it was too late for that. Both actors were on the stage, and all that was left was the final fall of the curtain.

"Fernandez. . ." he spoke with a chilling voice devoid of all emotion.

"Dracula. . ." she replied, turning to face her tormentor surprised to see her voice held stern, and not a quiver.

His eyes narrowed, taken by such steadiness of her greeting and calm reaction to his visage.

"It's time." Just two simple words.

She stifled the sudden urge to giggle regarding his words, which was a rare emotion she had thought dead. She had already knew that much. She rose her head defiantly, returning his gaze with interest.

He frowned at that.

She was at a sudden lose. She didn't know what he expected from her. Beg for her life? Plead? Attempt escape? Attack him outright? Even had circumstances been different, she believed fairly certain that such actions would prove futile against him. So she remained silent like the wind, and bowed in prayer once more. But unlike it, she could not escape from here. She could feel the tension, calm of the storm hoping to swallow her whole. He could see her hands locked intertwined, shaking violently. They had betrayed her unconsciously.

'Terrified. . .' he smiled.

Dracula moved not an inch as he pondered while keeping a close eye on her. He could clearly see the mask she wore had many breaks, and easily could see her state of being as clear as night.

"Do you think your prayers can save you?"

She spoke in but a whisper, but he heard it.

"No. . ."

His smirk grew, as it seemed she wasn't as foolish as he believed her to be. Which then he added another.

"Then why pray at all?" he stifled a laugh, as it clearly amused him how unsettled she felt under his presence.

'For strength' she wanted to say. 'For the courage to stand, remain here and willingly let you strike me down!', or bite her tongue to end her suffering.

"Because I can." She replied with no hint of hesitation.

"And does who you pray to, pray tell," arrogant disbelief evident in his voice, "Deign to answer you?"

"Always."

Then his sick smile returned, slowly at first.

"And would that be a Belmont then?" he asked nonchalantly while admiring his gloved hands at various angles in delight.

She didn't like where the conversation was headed. How did he know? But shakily, she nodded her head. She missed the escalated sinuous smile now in full bloom etched on his features.

"Oh. . . Then I suggest you stop this nonsense." He patted her on the back, she almost yelped as if his hands were sharp, not far from the truth. Deciphering his word pattern, she was ill prepared for what he'd say next realizing what it may very well be.

"W-why would you say that?" she asked curiously, horrified of his reply.

"Just a hunch that he won't be coming back. Why he's in a better place now, isn't that nice?" if possible, he grew more sinister looking by the second, fangs and all.

A new kind of quiet manifested into existence. The slumping of her shoulders, the widening of the eyes spoke more than words alone could ever accomplish. Chuckling all the while at his victory, he paid close attention to his victim. He had no idea how it affect her, and if she would deem him worthy to be a stain on her hands. Still she wouldn't look at him.

Reaching a hand out for her, he traced the soft curves of her cheek, mapping the surface with more care than an artist working on a masterpiece. For she was much more than a masterpiece, as it was Carrie Fernandez. Guiding her gaze back to his soulless eyes, he could not help but stare at the fire that had yet to dim within her.

He would find his eyes lingering at her neck at times, but never too long. There was so much more than that.

Catching the barest of whispers from her eyes, he tilted his head and with his inhuman strength lifted her and turned alleviating the present danger just in time, as the orb could not stop its trajectory in time. With a heart warming scream, it had skimmed her shoulders, leaving a healthy river of blood running down her arm to the gaps in the floor, sucking it greedily.

As she struggled to grasp her mortal wound, Dracula leaned his head forward upon her shoulder, in barely a whisper he spoke.

"How long will you defy me?"

She gave enough pause from her pain to answer simply.

"Till death do us part." And with that reply, she turned to face him. With eyes full of no modicum of fury and grief, and spat at his face. A sign of insult, and of disgrace. Wiping it off dignifiedly with the rough texture of his gloves, he stood there impassively staring into space, tracing the liquid lost in its own world.

And as sudden as that as she watched him with hatred, she felt a sinking feeling of fear etch its way to replace it, with the glazed look he had. Not long, and his eyes slowly returned to dangle with hers. The next thing she knew, she was sent hurtling to one section of the wall, and his out stretched hand batted her away by the looks of it. She hardly noticed the impact, as a new sensation of darkness threatened to swallow her whole.

Then she felt the raging torrents of pain throughout her back which had yet to make full recovery from the earlier encounter. It made her eyes water, and she caught the dust rising in the air evacuating from her new resting place. Death was better than this. She welcomed it, so she did not fight it any longer. It was a shame her captor would not let her rest in peace.

She was making it harder on herself. The ramifications of problems were increasing, as her will was yet to be shattered to unrecognizable pieces. The game had far outlasted its time, and his passion for it had crumbled to dust. He wanted so much to end the worm's miserable life, but another half of him wanted to redeem her. Save her from this hell, return her to a flowery field where her rare beauty would be shared to all to see. But really twisting the line of thought, he wanted nothing better than to bury her corpse in a flowery grave. That would be as colorful her life would get. The slightness of pity he felt for her had been suppressed, but had a lasting effect upon him psychologically.

No. . . he couldn't bring his hands to lacerate her life with their magical touch. Looking at her now, he was further poisoned by her. The more contact he shared with her, or a glance, was enough to make her more desirable and acknowledge the beauty before him. Though as great the consequences may be, he admired her once more with hands tracing in the most enticing ways.

Her pale skin, glowed with the warmth of life as she lay there serenely. He had been distracted before, but now that he looked at her, she seemed much more vibrant than before, even if only a child.

As she lay there dead to the world, she exuded an aura of peace which was terribly amiss when she became self aware. She was most stunning when she slept. She had retained a sense of innocence, through cruel ordeals in a world of lies.

Try as he might, he could not stop the torrent of ill thoughts washing over him like the tsunami.

Here she lied, with a beauty that could not compare. She was priceless, and that could not be compared. Her eyes not so different than his own, captured his in its glowing influence. To bask with them, it gave a feeling of familiarity that she like he was similar, entwined, but on opposite sides of a coin. There was saying, that opposites attract.

But by far the worse in realization, was that she reminded him of Lisa. . . Oh how he missed her so. . . She was his sunshine. She was the first, last, and final one to ever make him feel compassion to the vermin not so different, than herself. No one knew him like she did. No one understood him like she did. No one cared for him like she did. . . Saw the faint glimpse of light within the overwhelming darkness. He grew to love her for what she was, and that dampened his amnesty towards her kind.

She knew that he would do anything to please her, and that her only wish was to drown his own ambitions. But these sacrifices he made for her were not in vein. . .

'She knew that I, loved her best of all. . .' he stood eyes closed in silent reminiscence. Then his face grew grim.

He thought he was content, as he had everything he ever wanted, and so much more. . . until the fates had wisped her away! Fate had put them together by chance, only to cruelly rip them apart. God had given him a glimpse of what true happiness was, what it meant to love another, what it meant to live. Then, they snatched away his salvation in the most bitterly ironic way, leaving him aching for the light he had grown to need, had never known existed until she came. Untimely was she wrenched from his grasp to that destiny! That blasted final destination that is the end! She, who he held most dear, most precious of all. . . had the same end that plagued her kind since the beginning of time.

Their time together had been too brief, their love too passionate, too deep. Had she lived, the flame of love that had engulfed them both would have burned their souls, welding them together with a bond nothing could destroy. . .

He would have gladly, without hesitation, have traded the world for her. How he begged of her to reconsider, yet all she'd ever do was shake her head left and right sadly to his utter disappointment. It tore at his heart that she did not wish to be saved, to share what they had together for all eternity. She was beyond redemption, for one cannot save one who no longer wishes to live. It was over, just like that. . . He entered a deep depression. She was gone, his one true love was gone, and slowly he tried to accept his loss and tried to move on. But as much as he tried, he couldn't feel attracted to women no more. He wanted to love, and be loved, but he just couldn't connect with anyone as he did her.

How he had mourned and tried to honor her final wishes. . .

But, her memory grew dimmer, faded through the wheels of time. He had tried to salvage the translucent pieces the best he could, turn back entropy to return to her graces. Conquer his inner demons, the blackness within his heart. But his past crept up with him soon as inconspicuous as the passing breeze. . . Those voices within full of lies, had begun to hold merit, sounding more truthful through the passing lonely nights. Ever nagging, unrelenting in the confines of his mind.

They were like roaches! He had underestimated their persistence.

Without love to deter his dark ambitions, they had returned with a vengeance. Without her guidance, he had lost his way, condemning the world to eternal damnation. Thus his heart turned blacker as the days grew colder. His thoughts grew morbid. He had fallen far from grace, had sinned beyond the grace of god as Lucifer did. The black wind howled. . . All he had conquered, was his own soul.

His hands continued to trace the lustrous blue streaks of hair unconsciously, as he stared at nothing at all. When finally his mind returned, he noticed his soaked gloves. No longer the dark brown the material was made from, but taken the liking to the darker tinge of red. He scowled at that, and retraced the limpness within his arms with his eyes wide. The sweet nectar of life still rolled down her shoulders, and looking back at her face, she was quite pale. It was not an illusion and quite real. Stealing a quick glance at her again, he caught sight of her slightly grinning lips, even in the arms of death. The smile of the victor.

It appeared she wanted beyond the benefit of the doubt, had preplanned all that had occurred. She had played her trump card. Acknowledging the fact that she could not win, she was quickly ripe to end her existence, to foul his plans.

He couldn't help but chuckle at that lightly at first, until it was just too much as his hands had to support his head in mirth. She had caught him off guard, and had lead him straight into her fickle trap. Was it all predetermined? He doubted that, as he was sure she as well had not, could not have foreseen the outcome of such actions. He gave her credit, for her ingenuity. But if it had been fate. . . he would never accept the fact that he was meant to be here. To witness the passing of another missionary of hope. He could almost hear the celestial cadence, the ethereal spirits surrounding her, intensifying in their song as he stood there, his mind manifesting the imagery.

Stumbling back in un kept mirth to a stand, his laughter was like a chorus of the symphony of the dead. It lasted but a moment, before his nerves calmed and face imperceptive, hands like sagged at his sides.

"Well played Fernandez, well played. . ."

Regarding nothing in particular, his eyes narrowed slits, stared blankly.

"I must compliment you as well. If it's any consolation, know that you have put a smile on my face."

There, the smile arose. Yes, she was a rare thing indeed. . . Much deserving of his praise. She had played the face of deception so well, and so impressed was he, that he would go to such lengths to prolong this game as long as morbidly possible.

He descended to level with her, cupping her chin in one hand, admiring her like a sculpture within the confines of the eyes of the beholder.

"Such potential, wasted! You could have been much stronger! Will be much stronger. . ."

He stopped his ministrations, dropping her back to the yet to be alleviated predicament.

"It's a shame, really. . . You can't escape!"

Her eyes shot open. Screaming waves of agony, crashed through her. She could do little more than gasp desperately. Through eyes hazed through agony, she looked down. A sacrilegious pool of red where he effectively impaled her neck and she helplessly watched, could do nothing in her weakened state. She rasped as she dug her finger nails into his scalp, through the moss of hair in an attempt to wrench him away. Tears were streaming unheeded down her cheeks. She knew exactly what he was doing.

'Why didn't he kill me?'

Death was most welcome. Anything was better than this biting, roiling torture. Blinking, her eyes opened again, she was now extremely calm, the kind of calm you become when you realize that you have no choice, but for the one laid before you. She met his soulless gaze with hazed eyes. The strength to repel him, had been drained away as her arms slowly fell to her sides pinned by gravity. Strong arms went roughly underneath her, lifting her off the ground. He carried her with ease, holding her securely under her knees and across her back. Consciousness was slipping rapidly, as her head rolled back and saw her blood, entrails snared beneath his feet.

She knew no more.

Authors Notes: Thanks for reading thus far. =D