Dracula: The Shadow of the Man - Chapter Five – The Scholar’s Answer

The fire hissed in the grate, its warmth spilling across the long hall. The young scholar—his name, he revealed, was Andrei—set down his goblet carefully, as though buying himself time before he answered the Count’s question.

“Two souls, my lord?” he said at last, his voice thoughtful. “In the church’s teachings, a man has but one. It may be corrupted, or it may be redeemed, but it is never divided.”

Dracula’s mouth curved into the faintest smile, a gesture without humour. “The church,” he murmured, “spoke often of redemption to me once. Until I sought it for another, and they denied her.”

Andrei shifted uneasily, yet curiosity overcame his caution. “You speak of a woman, Count?”

The name rose unbidden in Dracula’s mind—Elisabeta. He tasted it like a prayer long forbidden. His chest constricted with a sensation that might have been sorrow, or perhaps only the phantom echo of what sorrow once was.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “A woman who was my heart. When she perished, I sought mercy for her soul. The priests offered only condemnation. And so, I cast off their God. I became… what you see before you.”

Andrei’s eyes flickered, not with terror but with sympathy. “You carry grief still, then. That is no beast’s burden, but a man’s.”

The words pierced Dracula more deeply than any stake. For a heartbeat—imagined though it was—he felt seen. Not as monster, nor myth, but as one who had once suffered like any other man.

Yet the beast stirred violently in response. He pities you. He thinks you weak. Tear his throat, silence him.

Dracula rose abruptly, his cloak spilling across the stone like a shadow come alive. Andrei froze in his chair, uncertain if he had gone too far. The Count stalked toward the window, pushing the shutters open. The night wind carried with it the distant cries of wolves.

“I asked,” Dracula said softly, “because I do not know. Am I still a man, chained to grief? Or am I a beast, cursed to hunger and nothing more? Tell me, scholar—when you look upon me, what do you see?”

Andrei swallowed hard, then stood. His voice wavered, but not from cowardice. “I see both, my lord. A man who remembers love, and a beast who cannot escape its loss. Perhaps not two souls… but one torn in half.”

Silence thickened between them. Dracula closed his eyes. The answer was like a blade—honest, merciless. He turned slowly, and when he faced Andrei again, his gaze held both hunger and gratitude.

“You are bold,” he said at last. “Most who speak with me do not dare look past their fear.”

Andrei lowered his head. “Fear is there. But so is wonder. To stand in this hall, before you… it is history alive. Legend made flesh.”

Flesh. The word throbbed in Dracula’s mind. The beast licked its lips within him, urging him forward. But the man—Vlad, the prince who had once cherished discourse and kinship—forced him to remain still.

For the first time in centuries, Dracula found himself caught not between man and monster, but between killing his guest… or letting himself believe in the fragile possibility of connection.

Source: Some or all of the content was generated using an AI language model