It had been months, but the castle had miraculously held off the Empire’s advances thus far. The enemies’ siege was trying to starve out the villagers within Count Dracula’s walls, and it was beginning to seem that they may succeed. The people, especially the soldiers, were beginning to complain about their hunger pains. The castle’s storehouse was nearly empty; rationing portions were now tiny. Dracula sat alone in his Great Hall, pondering his dire situation.
“Will the Count grant me an audience?” Fyodor said passively, blankly staring past the two guards while they stared back at him coldly.
“Come forward Fyodor” Dracula spoke, and the guards split to allow the visitor’s passage.
“What is it, Fyodor? I would appreciate some good news.”
“Sir, the night watch refuses to take their post.” Fyodor said somberly.
“Aye, that is hardly what I asked you for… What do they want?”
“They want to be heard, in person. Not through me, from your mouth, what our plans are to get food. They are hungry Sir. You can hardly blame them for wanting to know more.”
“Yes, I should address them… I’ll say our allies in the north are raising an army to come to our aid. It is a lie, but it will keep them going — at least for a while. Lead me to the barracks, Fyodor. I would like to be back before my son goes to sleep.”
Fyodor led him through the corridors to the outside of the castle and through the winding streets towards the military barracks. Dracula was simply pacing mindlessly with his head down, walking instinctively. He didn’t even notice that Fyodor was gone until he sensed another figure in front of him. He looked up and saw — in disguise — soldiers of the enemy. Betrayal! Dracula immediately drew his sword and ran toward his castle, yelling for reinforcements as he ran. The squad of enemy troops chased him, and townspeople stepped in front to give their Count a chance to escape. He made it to the castle guards, and they blocked the enemy, so he could enter the castle. He swung the heavy door closed and helped the guards barricade.
Meanwhile, Dracula’s mind raced, but only around one thought: betrayal. He had known Fyodor since he was a child; his father even served Dracula’s father. The Count tried to tear his mind away from this thought, so he could shout orders. He focused enough to have his guards reinforce the front door, but before he could do anything else, he heard a scream. His mind stopped. His eyes widened. His mind desperately tried to explain to himself that it wasn’t his wife’s scream. It was impossible though; he knew whose scream it was. He forgot everything and ran to her room…
The next morning, Dracula sat at the same grand chair where he had the day before. This time his blood-stained sword touched the ground, barely clasped in his hand. It only stayed because the tip had pierced the red carpet in front of him and his hand served as a block to stop the handle from falling to the ground. On his face, he scowled with a look that seethed with quiet fury. His eyes simply transfixed on the tip of his sword, intent.
Both his wife and son were lost the previous night. Something in Dracula broke. His closest advisor, his wife, and the future heir were all gone. Gone. The enemy was still at his gates as well. Even his remaining food was burnt during the raid. Desperate times fixated his mind on one thought — one unthinkable no more than 8 hours ago. Lilith, the Dark Queen, could impart menacing power. Legend told of this. It was said that after though, he would forever lust for the blood of the living… Dracula no longer cared. All he wanted now was his revenge…
