The last thing you remembered was a casket in the farthest room of the castle. An iron casket so worn, partially draped with an old silk curtain, that you see the visible dust on top of it. Your colleagues have gone out to inspect the original site of the incident, but you have found yourself more drawn to the old castle. The expedition wasn’t supposed to take this long, just a weekend trip, but your colleagues had uncovered a ruin in one of the caves nearby and wanted to check it out before the sun goes down in just a few minutes, so you were left alone of your own accord.
You love the feelings of worn-out woods and the structures of gothic castles and interior. The arches of the doorway, the tall and sharp buttresses surrounding the structure, the way a familiar and comforting scent of homeliness calls out to you. It was like a whisper that draws you further into the castle, into the farthest room of the abandoned ward.
You didn’t even know there was such a room. It wasn’t in any of the blueprint you had seen--you’d never forget it if there was indeed such a hidden room. The casket calls out to you in waves of soft wind and setting sun. There was nothing beside it. Just a casket in the middle of the room draped by the finest of red silk.
You don’t know where it began.
Suddenly, you’re lying flat inside the casket, and your eyes seem to have lost its function. It was way too dark to make out anything, and as you slowly returned to your senses, the cracking sound of firewoods echoed in the distance.
You sit up, fumbling around for your watch and your notes to find that the moon has risen. The strange sense of belonging fills you again. Movement distracts you from the corner of your eyes, and you look up to see a man.
“You’re awake.”
His voice draws out like a whisper inside your mind, and you’re not sure if you’ve even seen his lips move. He was dressed in a deep-cut white cotton shirt and black trousers, the zig-zag lacing details in the front of his shirt displayed prominent muscles that put all the men you’ve met to shame. He walks towards you, kneeling beside the casket until his face was only inches from yours.
His hair is jet black, slicked back with a hand and blended into the darkness of the room, and his eyes a deep glistening red in the moonlight. His skin is clear, pale, and almost translucence as the purple veins line the bit of skin along his chin. He’s beautiful, a timeless handsomeness that doesn’t seem to belong in this world. You don’t know who this man is--you’ve never seen him before in your life, but something about the upturn of his lips, the shape of his face, and even the mole underneath his left eye is familiar. They evoke a certain feeling in you, something so sweet, tangy, and painful that you’re sure this is what yearning feels like.
“Who are you?” you ask, neck tilting slightly to study the man, yours eyes still not seeing as clear as you’d like.
He smiles, sharp canines catching your eyes, as he moves closer, taking in your scent. So close that his eyelash flutters on your temple.
“You know who I am.”
His breath tickles your ear as he begins carding your hair, moving the locks away from your neck. You’re simply entranced, your mind is as foggy as the clouds that hide the moon. Your thoughts hazy, your eyes threatening to close as you let the man approach you. You don’t feel a little of danger as he cups your face and leaves cold, sweet kisses on your skin.
There’s no voice in your head that screams about the danger you’ll face. You know this man. You know him from a distant memory too far back to recover. You know it in your heart, in your soul, that he can never harm you.
You know that you’ve awoken him from his slumber today, as you did many years ago.
“I do know you,” you reply, giving in to the familiarity of his hand as he plants yet another kiss on your collarbone. It sends fire up your skin though his lips are cold as ice.
“I’ve missed you, so dearly.”
The man undoes the first few buttons of your blouse and presses a kiss on the spot beneath your ear. There is utmost tenderness and affection in his actions, and his breathing draws out long and even as if he’s used to this in the same way your body relaxes in his arms as if you’re used to this.
He is parched, very much so for being locked in this castle for so long. You should have come the very first day you feel the castle call your name. You feel his tongue lapping on your neck, the sound of his breathing grows quicker, and you know what’s coming. It’s a sensation you remember in the dreams that haunted you since childhood. A certain craving, a desire to give what is yours and take what is his. His name comes to mind as he continues to wet the soft spot on your neck, your head tilting willingly to the side as you feel his hunger.
“I’ve missed you, too.”
You belong to him, and he belongs to you. You know you’ll have your share when he’s done and you can hardly wait for it. You call out his name the moment he sinks his fangs into your body as the memories flood into your mind. He is your lover.
