Days passed in strange rhythm within the castle. For Andrei, the hours blurred into study and whispered conversations in the long echoing halls. For Dracula, they became something he had not known in centuries: measured, purposeful, touched by anticipation. Each evening he found himself seeking the scholar’s company, drawn less by hunger and more by the fragile balm of being seen.It was dangerous. He knew it.
The beast grew restless with every passing night. Denying its thirst made it vicious, snarling in the marrow of his bones. When he looked at Andrei, it saw veins, not words. Yet the man—what remained of Vlad—clung desperately to the companionship, unwilling to shatter it.
One evening, they walked the ramparts together, the moon pale and cold above the mountains. Andrei shivered in the night air, but his voice carried with eagerness.
“My lord, these walls have stood for centuries,” he said. “They are fortress and tomb both. Do you never tire of them?”
Dracula rested his hands on the stone battlements, gazing out across the black forests. “Tire?” he echoed. “Yes. They are both prison and sanctuary. If I leave, the world remembers me as monster. If I stay, I wither in silence.”
Andrei tilted his head, studying him. “Then perhaps it is not the world that binds you, but yourself.”
The words cut deeper than the young man knew. Dracula’s silence stretched long, broken only by the distant cry of wolves.
Later, in the library, Andrei pressed further. “You have knowledge here that could change men’s lives. Why hide it? Why not allow the world to know?”
Dracula turned sharply, his cloak whispering against the floor. His voice, though soft, carried an edge. “Because men would not thank me for it. They would not see wisdom in my hand. Only claws. Only teeth.”
Andrei’s jaw tightened. “Not all men. Some would see what I see: a soul still fighting not to be consumed.”
The beast roared in Dracula’s veins at that, furious at being denied yet again. His vision swam crimson. He staggered back, clutching the edge of a table, his breath ragged though his lungs did not need air. Andrei stepped toward him in alarm.
“My lord?”
Dracula lifted a hand, trembling. “Stay back. Do not tempt me further.”
The scholar halted, understanding dawning. His face was pale, but his voice was steady. “Then the price of your hope is hunger.”
Dracula bowed his head, fangs bared in anguish. “Yes. To remember I am a man is to starve the beast. And the beast does not forgive me for it.”
The candlelight quivered, throwing long shadows across the walls. Andrei stood still, watching a titan wrestle with himself. For the first time, he saw not merely the Count, but the prison of eternity made flesh.
Dracula’s voice was a broken whisper. “If I fail, scholar, your life will be the cost of my hope.”
Source: Some or all of the content was generated using an AI language model
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