Victoria M. Sorenson

“Would you believe me if I told you I would gift you the sun—all you must do is utter the words, and I will make it so.” Her voice was sharp, angled to pierce straight through to my affections. It lacked the very love in which she mentioned moments before. “I am willing to set myself ablaze to earn an ounce of your attention, Charles.”

          She stood between the helm of reality and my crazed deprivations; I did not trust my thoughts, my own wants and desires. I knew what monster lay beneath her untouched beauty, with her skin made of porcelain, and the cruel graze in which her crimson lips stained their mark on its prey.

          Dracula never missed her target, and tonight it was I who was caught between her web of lust and lies.

         “Do you know what love is, Vladimira?”

         The ancient soul whipped her head in my direction at this; the cold emanating from inside her black irises echoed within my core. All of my senses responded in fear, crippling my will to take action and save myself from her eternal spell.

         I shifted my body, pulling against the rope cutting into my wrists.

         “The decrepit creatures you give birth to; I want no part of them.” The declaration that escaped my thoughts was more of a plea, a cry of desperation for her not to take the one part of me that I instinctively fought for—my mortality.

         “Do I know what love is?” She scoffed as she ambled in a circle around my figure. “I have lived more lives than you will ever reincarnate into. Of course, I know love. I am haunted by its presence, and the yearning it leaves me with after those I cherish are long gone. I am left with only hollow memories, and I am plagued with the rebirth of love the instant you come back here to my dwelling.”

         The ache in my chest for her statement to be true bloomed within me, and I fought for composure. I did not want my hunger for her to show in my features; it was imperative for my well-being that I battle against the motivation of my heart. If she loved me, I would not be bound with the ropes she used against her enemies before she devoured them; I would not be in this chamber haunted by the thousands of ghosts who lost their lives to her twisted perception of righteousness. I would not be surrounded by splattered blood that stained the stone archways and walls.

         “You cannot truly love because you do not know death; you do not appreciate the flowers as they bloom, you do not see the beauty in how precious the air is that fills our lungs, because you fear nothing. Death is the reason why people cherish life, because it is fleeting. There is so much you have yet to experience, even in your immortal state, because you do not know what it means to live.” As I spoke, the ring she walked around my figure drew close; the countess was stalking her prey, looking for the perfect opportunity to strike. My body knew I was in danger, yet my mind disagreed, as my eyes watered in protest.

         “You speak as if I’ve never had a human heart; as if blood has never flowed through my veins, as if I’ve never experienced the warmth of the sun, and a lover’s embrace. It is because I lost my mortality that I yearn for your touch, and I crave to be the center of all your devotions.” Vladimira cooed, the vying in her tone palpable. “I have lived, Charles. I lived until death stole my husband from me, and I renounced my faith, and God decided to curse my existence. I am damned to roam the earth as I watch everything that I treasure wither and perish, and there is nothing I can do to free me of this madness.”

         I raised a brow, narrowing my gaze, finding her sauntering silhouette.

         “What do you call the abominations that you create, then? They were not produced from love. The living dead wreak havoc in the villages, consuming nearly half the townsfolk. And you harbor them here in your castle as if you can domesticate such vile creatures.”

         This must have struck a chord within her, because she paused momentarily, facing the statues of long-forgotten knights and heroes that decorated the chamber.

         “The world will not accept them as they are now, but I will. I know of their struggles. And I gave them what they asked for—a cure to their diseases, freedom from those in power, a life of immortality. I granted their utmost desires.” She murmured, deep in thought. For several beats, no one spoke, not a sound was given birth to in the dead of night.

         Eventually, I found the courage to continue.

         “And yet this is not what I asked for, Mira. I did not ask for this.” Again, I was pleading. I was frantic to find a way to talk myself out of her grasp, because I knew there was no winning against her God-like strength. “The mortal you once were no longer exists. The day you were damned by God, and your ability to enter the heavens was lost, was also the day you lost your ability to love another. Do not force the same fate upon me, I’m begging you.”

           Her face contorted in rage, and for an instant, I bore witness to the demonic entity that was her true identity. The muscles beneath her pale complexion flexed, her waist-length raven hair rattled like a snake, moving of its own volition. Vladimira’s eyes were gaping black holes, threatening to syphon the rest of my bravery.

         “How dare you utter such blasphemy! Does the time we spent together mean nothing to you? Before you knew who I was, what I am, you loved me ardently. I could see it; I felt it with every fiber of my being. I have not felt a love like this in all the centuries I have existed, mortal or immortal. I do love you, Charles.” She serenaded, her hellish face inches from mine. “And you speak as if you are not the one to seek me out in each life you possess. It is a monotonous process to watch you be reborn over and over and witness your death. I have grown tired of waiting for your acceptance of your fate; it is clear to me that the answer to both of our woes lies within this conclusion. I shall make you my groom, and we will be intertwined for all eternity.”

         As I felt her cool breath on my cheek, I pondered.

         It was true; I had loved her. I had loved every fiber of her being, the scent of her skin as the curves of her slender figure were perfectly molded into mine, the way her eyes would twinkle in the moonlight as the sound of her laughter reverberated off the alleyways and into the darkness. We met by chance at a local tavern, and I was drawn to her presence, where she consumed all my thoughts from that moment onward.

But our relationship was all a lie; she was a black widow spinning her intricately designed web for fools like me to fly into. And even as I was entangled in her grasp, I wanted to be here, to be trapped and wholly enraptured by her presence. I wanted to be the object of all her desires, the man of her dreams.

         And this was where I walked the line of my sanity; the urge to blur those lines and dive wholeheartedly into her bliss. It was an inevitable consequence of my actions. Vladimira’s existence was what sinners deemed ecstasy.

         Her long, delicate fingers brushed against my neck, sending another wave of fear mixed with a deep yearning for her to caress me further.

         “Please, Mira. Do not do this.” I called her by the name I initially knew her by, the name that I fell in love with as I would whisper sweet nothings into her ear during the late summer nights. It was now autumn, and unbeknownst to me, as the days grew shorter, so did my time with the lovely woman I once valued beyond compare.

         She licked her voluptuous lips, eyeing my throat. “Your begging no longer moves me. I have decided to give in to my selfishness and devour your mortality so that you may be by my side, forever.”

         Vladimira sank her fangs deep into my flesh, the pain overwhelming. I choked on the guttural scream that rose in my throat, my eyes rolling back into my skull. No, God, please hear my cries! I rebuke this demon and her sins. I do not accept this fate!

         My body contorted on the cracked stone floor as I shouted in agony. The countess had drained me of all my blood and feelings, absorbing what coherent thoughts remained. My last memory was of the mural on the wall above me, and I writhed beneath the painting of the three wise men gifting the Lord his blessings.

 

         I, Charles Augustus Livingston III, lost my mortality on the twenty-third of October, in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and eighty-nine. All accounts transcribed are factual and recorded by my hand. I currently reside in Transylvania, beneath the decrepit castle in the Carpathian Mountains, home to all immortal beasts, where we are tortured by our sins daily. My immortal grievance began the day the countess, the daughter of hell herself, stole what I valued most in my existence—my ability to enter the heavens.

 

THE END