𝖇𝖗𝖎𝖉𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖉𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖚𝖑𝖆.

𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆𝒈𝒊𝒏.

[anneboleyns]

[veronadracula]

lucy-westerna​:

****

Lucy was surprised by the older vampire’s gentleness. She knew that the other brides received such affection from her but she hadn’t had that. She had assumed perhaps her connection to the whole situation with Dracula’s death made her cold, but perhaps it merely would take time?

“What do you do, then, if the anniversaries, time, or days do not matter? What moves us beyond drinking from them,” she said, nodding out into the crowd. “Surely you have a reason for continuing to live for so long, even if the passage of time feels merely abstract to you now? Though perhaps there is really no answer to that,” said Lucy thoughtfully. 

She took a fake sip from her mug, but secretly wished it were actually the mulled cider though, from very real and personal experience, she had figured out that eating or drinking anything but blood made her get sick. She remembered sobbing with blood and tears running down her face as she’d done. 

“I don’t want to die,” said Lucy simply. “However, I have yet to find my purpose in all of this, though why even he made me one of you is a mystery to me—and to you as well, I think.”

It felt strange, keeping company with one so young. Verona was so used to the company of her two sisters, who were centuries older than Lucy, that it felt odd to be having this discussion about immortality, days, and the passage of time, as if those things still affected her. True though it was, Verona had beheld the changes in transport and speech and fashion from afar in Castle Dracula, and she was, of course, aware of the extraordinary length of time during which she had been by the Count’s side. But discussing the pain of that, as if there was pain? There was none, and she could not remember, now, when there had been.

“Of course I have a reason for continuing to live,” she replied, curtly, as though that was obvious. She observed the humans as Lucy nodded at them, bristling at the accusation that her only reason for a continued existence was blood. “The Count used to say that we are watching the progress of history. We are seeing more than they --” She too nodded at the humans, in a stiff gesture. “-- Could ever hope to see. The rise and fall of empires, the reigns of kings, the change of time. That --” she took a sip of her empty mug. “-- Is why I stay alive.”

Lucy said that she did not want to die, and Verona laughed a hollow laugh. “Oh, my dear,” she said, a little patronisingly. “You’re already dead.” She clasped her mug and looked at Lucy, staring into her eyes. “You’re correct. Just why he made you is a complete mystery to me. The Count was always so careful about whom he gave our gift to, but he clearly saw... something in you.” She wrinkled her nose a little in disgust, making it quite clear that she couldn’t see what he did in her. “And, for that alone, I will chaperone you into your new life. For as long as both of us see fit.”

[veronadracula]

hexrtsofxre​:

Wendy’s adventure in Neverland had left many lasting effects upon her life. While some were those she considered to be quite positive, such as the sense of wonder about the world as it spun around her, many were those which she was unable to consider as anything other than negative. Even so, the years she’d been granted since taking her leave from the land of magic had brought with them many a lesson, and layers of maturity which her loved ones had once believed she might never obtain. One such lesson was that, despite the need to remain grounded in the reality of the world, a sense of wonder and a healthy curiosity were often excellent qualities to possess. And, it was an understanding of the very same which had pushed her to join the ADSF. 

At the evening’s earlier meeting, Wendy had readily volunteered herself for further investigation into the most recent scene. Though the lawmen, as well as several members of the ADSF, had made their way through near-immediately following the discovery of the victim, she couldn’t help but to think that perhaps applying a fresh set of eyes to the area might yield new results. Wendy’s eyes had fallen immediately upon the figure which stood frozen within the darkness, hear heartbeat seeming to cease before the organ made its way rapidly into her gut. The woman attempted to swallow, though in the moment her throat proved far too dry to accomplish such a feat. Why would anyone come here? She wondered, head cocking as she studied the person’s outline. Does this individual possess further information? Could this individual be the one responsible for these heinous crimes? Approaching, though cautiously, Wendy let out a relieved exhale, followed by a clearing of her throat. 

“Good evening, Miss Verona.” Wendy greeted with a small curtsy, heart returning to its appropriate position upon the discovery that the figure belonged to a quite intriguing woman she had come across at the Christmas markets. “I do hope I am not disturbing you.” Her eyes followed Verona’s gaze, allowing space for several curious glances in the wall’s direction. “Might I ask, Miss, what it is you are seeking?” 

.

Verona had, of course, been in attendance at thousands of murders, simply by virtue of her species. It was unsurprising, when she and her sisters had still lived at Castle Dracula, to walk into a room and find the Count draped over the body of a young girl, his fangs sunk into her throat. And Verona herself had killed a countless number of humans -- just a few nights ago, she and Marishka had hunted and killed a woman, and shared the spoils with Aleera. Death was, to Verona and her sisters, a necessary and almost daily part of her existence. She was as unmoved by it as she was by the changing of the seasons, or the fall of rain. It merited barely a mention.

But there was something odd about this new string of murders. She, the Count, and her sisters had not been in the country when the notorious Whitechapel murders had occurred, but she had to liken the atmosphere to what that must have felt like for the denizens of London. The audacity with which the corpses had been left, the panic among the lower classes, and the formation of a society simply to solve these murders were all rather novel to Verona, who had lived most of her very long life in the shadows, far away from bustling cities and crowded places. So, she had to admit, she was rather interested in who was committing these crimes -- though not enough to put her name, and, by association, the Count’s name, to the A.D.S.F., of course.

When the stranger cleared their throat, Verona turned, and saw Wendy Darling. She smiled pleasantly at the sight of her. “Good evening, Miss Wendy,” she replied, equally as polite. “You aren’t disturbing me. I was simply taking an evening stroll, and I came across this site.” She gestured with a gloved hand at the ground and walls. “I had heard the terrible news of what had happened, and I suppose I was drawn here out of morbid curiosity.” She smiled, her sharp fangs only slightly noticeable in the fast-dimming light. “And can I ask the same of you?” she said. “What are you seeking here?”

[fuckyeahmusicfromfilms]

Visit Original Link

Extravaganza

Composer: Charlie Mole

Film: Dorian Gray (2009)

[veronadracula]

hexrtsofxre​:

Wendy took in a breath, exhaling rapidly before emitting a short chuckle. Her eyebrows lifted as her smile widened, head dipping for a brief moment as she seemed to study her shoes, and the ground beneath her feet. “I…” Pausing, she considered how she might answer the question in both an evasive yet truthful manner. Her childhood experiences were not ones she often spoke about, for a plethora of reasons. While she hadn’t ever grown up in what any might have considered a poor situation, the strain her relationship with her father had garnered left many of her childhood memories tainted, even slightly so, with a foul bitterness which she’d worked so hard through the years to dissolve. Of course, it was one which her experiences in Neverland, along with her subsequent return, had begun to disintegrate. And, recent years had brought an air laden with more understanding than the two had ever had between them.  Though, that did not mean Wendy necessarily found herself agreeing with the adage of time healing all wounds- in fact, some days lead her to believe that despite the years, her relationship with her father had not managed to be healed at all. 

“I do not believe I could say I am well traveled, Miss. As I said, I am a London native- I began here, and as time goes by, I find myself convinced I shall meet my end here as well. Whenever that might be.” For a moment, her mouth hung slightly agape, lips parted as she breathed in the chilled air. “I have visited another land but once in my life, an experience which was as much a curse as it was a blessing. Though…” Her gaze was cast downward once more, a certain sadness fighting for dominance behind her otherwise carefree eyes. “…I cannot say I would be opposed to further travel. Experiencing the land and practices of others holds a sense of wonder, just as much as a sense of adventure. Both of which I find incredibly appealing. Perhaps that is why I enjoy literature so. They do say it is the cheapest form of travel.”

The smile returned to her lips at the woman’s next words, eyes brightening sightly once more. “I am pleased you do, Miss. I thought it quite an appropriate metaphor myself. It certainly does feel as such- appropriate, I mean. The excitement of others, the anticipation for the coming holidays, have added a sort of bozz to the air, one unique to this time of year. I find it to be both familiar and new, holding such an incredible amount of potential…My apologies, Miss. I beg you forgive my inability to hold my tongue.” Wendy’s lips tightened into a stiff smile, expression apologetic. 

Despite the emotion swirling within her, Wendy took stock of the woman’s smile. It did not escape her that, in the moment, the smile given was one which did not seem quite as full as it could or might have. “My apologies, I do hope I did not offend. Though, I thank you for your willingness to share such an intimate detail. Admittedly, while I am unable to empathize completely with such a sentiment, there are some ways in which I am capable of understanding. There is certainly a vast difference between my past beliefs and those which currently stand.” Wendy tipped her head back, realizing that along the course of their conversation she’d forgotten to formally introduce herself. “My sincerest apologies, Miss. On occasion, I become far too wrapped up in things to remember the manners my mother worked so hard to instill in me. It is Darling; my name is Wendy Darling. Might I have the honor of knowing yours as well?” Nodding, her smile simultaneously relaxed and widened. “I am, yes. A teacher, that is. A teacher of English. It is certainly not a profession I had long pictured mysef in, though it is one I have come to love and hold so dearly. What is it that you do, Miss?”

.

The question had clearly touched a nerve. Verona was surprised -- though she had not meant to cause offence, she clearly had done so anyway, or, at the very least, she had caused some sort of upset. The pause the young woman gave was very telling indeed, heavy with some deep emotion which Verona couldn’t place. It was a shock, but Verona kept her expression unchanged and politely curious, simply smiling patiently, waiting for the woman to continue. And continue she did, saying that she was not very well-travelled, that she had only been to one other country in her life. How... narrow. “Ah, if you aren’t opposed to further travel then I really must recommend it!” she said, smiling “As you say, it is such an adventure to see other cultures and people. And it is easier now than it ever was before.” She was rather playing up her friendliness, which did not come naturally, but it was such a perfect act that it was imperceptible from the truth, except, perhaps, to those who knew Verona’s true nature.

Whatever the strange shadow that had fallen over her companion was, it disappeared in an instant with the compliment. At her apology for her verbosity, Verona waved a gloved hand, to dismiss it. “Oh, you needn’t apologise,” she said. “I am rather used to being around talkative people. My sister cannot hold her tongue!” She laughed a little, and lowered her hand. “And you haven’t said anything to offend or upset me, Miss, so please, do not feel the need to apologise.” In her extensive life, Verona had rarely apologised. She had, of course, made amends to the Count on numerous occasions, when she had been too high-handed with him, or not shown him the deference he had requested and deserved. But he, and her sisters, were the only being on the planet to whom Verona felt she owed any real apologies, and even then, sorry was said sparingly.

Wendy Darling. What a quaint name! Verona smiled pleasantly. “Well, it’s a pleasure to formally meet you, Miss Darling,” she said. “And might I say, your name is very pretty.” Her eyes glittered. “My name is Verona Dracul,” she said, holding her hand out for Wendy to shake. “And I do not work, at present. In my youth, I worked for my father as an apprentice -- he was a businessman -- but when he sadly passed, he left me a large fortune. It is enough to live on, and keep myself comfortably.” The lies mingled with the truth effortlessly, and Verona kept her smile up all the while. “But a teacher? My, what an admirable profession! As an English teacher, and a lover of literature, I suppose you’ve read extensively?” She raised an eyebrow. Time passed slowly in the mausoleum, and she and her sisters had a teetering pile of books which they were making their way through at a rate of knots. “Do you have a favourite book?”

[veronadracula]

hexrtsofxre​:

Having grown up on the outskirts of town, in a small home big enough only to house herself and her mother, Genevieve was accustomed to displaying additional manners to those appearing to be above her station. While they certainly were not poor, meals and warmth never lacking, she and her mother had never been remotely close to being classified as women of stature. Even with Genevieve’s growing name and popularity as it related her designs, she and her mother were not yet able to be classified as anything more than common women. 

There was something about the woman- something hidden, though visible to any who cared to look hard enough- which poked at the back of Genevieve’s senses, tickling her nerves persistently, despite her inability to pinpoint precisely what that something was. She seemed pleasant enough, their conversation progressing nicely compared to a handful of others she’d had that day. With a shake of her head, GiGi brushed the nagging away, assuring herself she must simply be tired from the day’s activities, or perhaps that she’d managed to ingest one too many of the very pies they spoke about currently. “It most certainly is, Miss. Usually, I do quite well at resisting temptation. Though I find that, like so many others, my resolve does tend to weaken near the holidays.” 

Listening as the woman before her spoke of her family’s traditions, Genevieve found her interests piqued. While she and her mother earned a decent living for themselves, they hadn’t ever made quite enough to travel, though doing so had long been a dream of Gen’s. Often, when she found herself unable to fall quickly into sleep, she dreamed of far away lands, those which lied beyond the shores of the only home she’d ever known. Along with her dreams of travel came a natural fascination with the customs of others, a topic she was always eager to explore when given the opportunity. “My, that does sound vastly different from the courses offered at most celebrations here. It sounds quite beautiful, Miss. I have sampled blood sausage on few occasions in my life, though frequently enough to draw an understanding of what you are referencing.” Her head shook rapidly at the final comment, eyes widening as she leaned forward once more. “No, not at all Miss. If I may speak freely, I believe the dish sounds quite interesting. I cannot say I would not relish the opportunity to taste it myself. How is it made, if my asking does not offend you?”

.

Prior to experiencing her vampiric life without the Count, Verona had spoken surprisingly little to humans, despite living among them at various points throughout history. He had preferred that they live apart, only interacting with their prey to hunt, or when the Count occasionally entertained humans guests at his castle. Verona could recall a few conversations she had while on her travels, and it was always fascinating to hear how human linguistics had changed over her long life. Where there used to be a much more Germanic syntax to English, now it had become its own, dominant, language, and one she had mastered without the hint of an accent.

She laughed politely at the seller’s comment, a trilling sound perfected after much practise with her sisters, the sound echoing off the walls of their mausoleum, with only the other two vampires and the bones of the dead for an audience. She kept smiling as she spoke of her traditions, the jokes and double meanings entirely lost on this human woman. But, even as she lied, she recognised a hint of truth in her words -- her father, the voivode, had often been served  sângerete when he had been on the King’s business, visiting his many domains to collect taxes and check on the state of things. In fact, she was quite sure it was the last thing she had eaten as a human, when she, her father, and Count Dracula had supped together. If she focused on those blurred and hazy memories, she could even faintly recall the sight of it on her metal plate, the candles on the walls of the castle flickering.

“Yes, it is rather different,” Verona agreed, her smile no longer one of smug knowledge, but instead genuine fondness -- she rarely indulged in nostalgia, but this was one of the few times she allowed herself to. And this woman seemed fascinated with the prospect of such a foreign and morbid dish, judging by her wide eyes and her expression. She asked how it was made, and Verona shrugged apologetically. “I’m afraid I can’t enlighten you,” she said. “My father always employed a chef, and I never saw it being made myself. But I’m sure we might be able to find some here --” She cast her gaze over the busy street, at various meat stalls and fish mongers and drink’s sellers from seemingly every part of the city. “... Might I tempt you to take a moment away from your stall?” she asked, holding her arm out for the other woman to take. “If someone else can watch it, perhaps you and I could seek out Romanian cuisine together? It would be nice to return to my roots.”

[veronadracula]

lucy-westerna​:

There was a gratitude that Lucy had not been left to fend for herself once she escaped being staked by Van Helsing, and for that Lucy would always show the older vampire respect, even if the thing woman was lacking in any reason to be respected. Vampires may not have morals she certainly didn’t anymore but they seemed loyal to one another. A pack of wild beasts, loyal to those who kept each other alive.

“No, they enjoy it very much. It’s a way to celebrate the passage of time—and try to warm up the cold, miserable days,” said Lucy. She was winter’s child now more than ever, her skin icy and cold unless the blood was freshly pumping in her veins but she didn’t like it. 

She paused at the question from Verona, surprised the older vampire would even bother asking about her. “Sometimes it slips my mind I’m not one of them, if I’m just walking through a crowd and just a moment forget that I hunt them. It was my birthday—well, my human birthday—last week. It is strange to know that birthdays no longer matter because time is just an aspect of the world, not something that shall change me and ultimately end me. Makes me maudlin enough to match the mausoleum I sleep in. Does it become less…odd with time?”

Verona smiled wanly as Lucy explained her views on the season. Warming up the cold and miserable days. She looked at the humans surrounding them, inhaled the scent of their musky sweat and sharp blood, and wondered what it must like to be them -- humans, on the cusp of a new century, knowing that they would not live to see another one, while, here she stood, matched in age only by the Count himself, who was now gone. She had seen five centuries turn since she had last been like the humans that now busied themselves with festivities, and yet here they all were, so excited for a new century, as if it meant anything at all. Despite the winter season often making her feel closer to her prey, in that moment, she felt as far away as she had done in Castle Dracula.

She remained silent as Lucy answered the question, her hands clasped behind her back. She could not imagine how Lucy could forget that she wasn’t one of them -- the fact had never left Verona’s mind since the moment she had awoken into this new, undead, life. She smiled to herself, pityingly, when the young woman said it was her birthday life week. “It does,” Verona replied, simply. “Eventually, you will stop paying attention to old... anniversaries.” Even the word felt strange in her mouth. “For instance, I have no idea when my human birthday was, or, indeed when the Count turned me.” She shrugged stiffly. “Humans mark dates each year -- they used to mark many more, when I was young -- and, were it not for that, the only distinction of each year, for me, would be the seasons.”

She looked out at the crowd, and remained silent for a moment longer, before continuing. “Do not trouble yourself, Lucy,” she said, uncharacteristically maternally. “Eventually, you won’t feel like one of them anymore. The fact that time washes over you won’t disturb you anymore. You will simply... be.” She smiled at a memory. “When I was still young, the Count seemed impossibly old to me. I never did discover when he was turned, but I can’t imagine it was much more than a century before I was.” Her heart, though it no longer beat, ached at the memory of him. 

[veronadracula]

The scent of blood from the most recent crime scene was still strong. Scotland Yard had the good sense to clear away the body quickly, of course, and Verona was rather sure the ridiculous Amateur Detective Society had been snooping around here, in search of clues, but even so, with all those humans scurrying about the place, she could still smell the metallic tang of blood. She inhaled sharply, and it stung her nostrils. It had clung to the walls and floor of his alley, hot and thick, for possibly hours. It was what had drawn her to this secluded section of alleyway, even days after the latest in this new string of murders.

She had been simply taking a walk, desiring time away from High Gate Cemetery, and her sister’s company. Though she felt as close to love as Verona was capable of feeling for her vampiric sisters, she did rather crave time in her own company, with her own thoughts. Marishka was still fiery and raging from the Count’s death at the hands of Van Helsing, and Aleera was too mercurial for Verona’s more controlled and calculated temperament. So, she had made her excuses, and found herself wandering near the Countess von Gratz’s manor, but she knew, from the newspapers she occasionally perused, that this was the sight of the latest murder. Besides the strong scent of blood, she could smell nothing telling beneath it. No musty smell of the undead, or even the scent of a human. All other scents had been overpowered by the aroma of blood. Verona studied the walls with cold curiosity, and, so caught up was she in her distant interest, that she did not hear someone approaching her from behind until they cleared their throat to get her attention.

[crazycinephiles]

Casanova (2005)

[veronadracula]

dolingenvongratz​:

Outside the manor, the Christmas festivities are booming. But, inside of it, there’s a dreary quietness. As per usual, of course. It’s as if when you step into it, you step into a whole different universe – disconnected from whatever’s happening, stuck in the past. The Countess is already a reclusive person, as it is. There’s no lights. There’s no decorated tree. There’s no gift swapping.

But there is a visitor. One that knows what’s going on. Otherwise, why would they ring the doorbell of a seemingly abandoned house? Curious teenagers and adults alike usually just push at the door, only to be shocked by the easiness to open it. It’s John who attends to it, and comes up to seek her out at her room. The description is good enough to jog her memory. Memories of hiding from the sun behind some boxes, like an injured animal, only to be found by a blonde woman who came to her rescue like a guardian angel. So, she throws a robe over the nightgown she’s wearing, and goes down the steps.

When Verona cries out ‘Countess!’, there’s a joy behind it. One she shares, at the sight of her face, but doesn’t quite show on the outside – only returning the greeting with a stiff nod, and a smile. She nodded at another servant standing nearby to close the door. ❝ My dear Lady… ❞ she starts, finally stepping closer and grabbing the woman’s hands. At last, a gesture that shows emotion! ❝ … you haven’t changed the slightest! You must tell me the secret to avoid wrinkles and greying hair. ❞ She doesn’t tend to joke, but the company brings it out of her. Then, she laughs, and drops the other’s hands to link hers behind her back. ❝ No, you don’t intrude. I went out earlier, to the fair– ❞ Provided, she didn’t want to. It took a lot of pouting from Annalise to get her out the door, and it didn’t last long. ❝ … but I found it to be quite… overwhelming. All those humans, grouped together. The colours. All of it. ❞ she wrinkles her nose, there. The blood pumping through their veins, as well. Despite her years, she doesn’t have what you could call 'complete self control’ in the presence of it. ❝ How about you? I don’t see anything about it that would remind you of me and lead your path to my home. ❞

.

Despite the faint layer of dust covering everything, and the museum-like atmosphere of the place, the Countess herself had not changed at all in the fifty or so years since Verona had last laid eyes on her. She had found the young woman, newly transformed, cowering from the sun in pain. In an uncharacteristic gesture of kindness, Verona had given her her long coat, being, as she was at the time, shielded enough from the sun’s rays with her thick dress, gloves, and sunglasses. She had shepherded the younger vampire back into this very manor, and taught her of the various dangers she now faced as a creature of the night. She had thought of the girl every now and then, wondering how she was getting along with her household teeming with other vampires who, Dolingen claimed, were servants she herself had sired. To Verona, it had seemed reckless to hand out the gift of immortality to anyone she fancied, but she had not said so at the time. And, whatever her misgivings had been, there were evidently unfounded, as she clearly had at least one servant remaining.

She laughed politely at Dolingen’s joke. “Ah,” she said. “I drink a special concoction.” She grasped the Countess’s hands in her own for a moment longer, until Dolingen dropped them and clasped them behind her back. Verona did not emulate the gesture, but instead kept her hands stiffly at her sides, standing with her back ramrod straight. She was surprised when the Countess said she had already been to the fair -- she had been scenting for other vampires, and had not noticed any besides her sisters. Then again, perhaps Dolingen had arrived and left before they had, which, given the woman’s obvious reclusiveness and dislike for social gatherings, seemed likely. Even when they had first met, over half a century ago, the Countess von Gratz had seemed to Verona to be somewhat of a hermit, wanting to immediately return to her manor once she was protected from the danger of the sun.

Dolingen said that she’d found the presence of so many humans overwhelming, and Verona smiled the perfect facsimile of a sympathetic smile. Indeed, she did feel as close to sympathy for the younger woman as she could -- they were kin, after all, both vampiric cousins. Though Verona was not tied to Dolingen as she was to Aleera, Marishka, and Lucy, by virtue of the one who had created them, she did feel a kinship with the woman, far more than she did for Lucy. Unlike Lucy, Dolingen had not asked anything of Verona -- Verona had offered her services, the two had exchanged pleasantries, and parted ways. So, when Dolingen said that she had struggled to be in the presence of humans, Verona felt a flicker of pity for her. “My dear Countess, you must practise being in their presence,” she said, patiently. “As I told you not too long ago, this life of ours takes some getting used to, and, unless you force yourself to be among humans, as I have done, it will never get easier. Self control is hard won.”

At the question, Verona continued to smile pleasantly. “I took a constitutional, away from the fair,” she said. “Though I was enjoying it, I fancied a walk, and found myself straying in this direction. Of course, I remembered your manor, and decided to see if you were still in residence.” She looked around at their dim surroundings, the windows covered with wooden boards to block out the sun, and the thick curtains greyed with dust. “Am I to understand --” she began delicately, “That you and your household have been here since you and I met... when was it? The mid-1840′s? Thereabouts?”

[veronadracula]

rozerun​:

     the  moment  the  lady  leaned  in  to  hear  what  Alice  had  to  say  she  had  to  PHYSICALLY  restrain  herself  from  fully  falling  into  her.   and  no  effort  was  made  to  hide  that  fact  either  :  inching  ever  so  closer  (  like  a  moth  attracted  to  a  flame  ).  there  was  a  certain  danger  to  alice’  behavior  ,  always  had  been  ,  though  when  they  were  younger  it  could  be  brushed  off  as  :  childish  curiosity  ,  rowdiness  ;  it  will disappear  with  age.  mother  and  father  never  quite  bothered  to  pay  much  more  attention  to  it  ,  their  governess  however  suspected  that  there  was  simply  something  MORE  to  alice’  way  of  approaching  things.  believed  that  one  day  it  would  get  them  in  trouble  (  or  worse  dead  ).  it  was  not  healthy  for  someone  to  continuously  RUN  after  the  unknown  ,  throw  themselves  in  the  depths  ,  flirting  with  death  and  finding  a  certain  joy  in  it.   

       ❝   sisters  ?  that  is  such  a  relief  then  !    ❞   own  eyes  roam  across  the  sea  of  people  though  soon  enough  they  found  HOME  upon  the  woman’s  form  once  more.   ❝   i  am  glad  to  hear  that.  i  wouldn’t  want  to  ruin  your  day  after  all.  least  of  all  on  a  day  such  as  this  one.  ❞  a  pause.   ❝  you  feel  safe  you  say ?  then  you  must  be  one  of  the  very  few  ones … you  must  be  quite  certain  that  no  harm  can  befall  you.  what  a  luxurious  position  to  be  in. ❞   it’s  said  with  an  innocent  smile  but  the  gears  within  mind  can’t  help  but  CONJURE  the  wildest  theories.  how  could  she  say  that  with  such  certainty  ?  even  if  this  killer  seemed  to  target  the  less  fortunate  who  said  that  it  would  not  start  killing  the  upper  classes  ?  who  was  she  exactly  ?  

       the  moment  the  attention  was  focused  on  them  Alice  shook  their  head  as  if  to  PHYSICALLY  shake  away  the  intruding  thoughts.  ❝  my  chaperone …  well  they  are  around  somewhere.  i  tend  to  walk  around  on  my  own  it’s  much  more  freeing  that  way.  though  it’s  not  to  say  that  my  chaperone  doesn’t  know  where  i  am.  ❞  never  once  clarifying  WHO  their  chaperone  was  and  if  it  was  a  singular  person  or  not.  always  be  prepared  for  the  unknown.   ❝  excuse  me  if  i  am  crossing  the  line  but  you  said  earlier  that  you  feel  safe.  may  i  ask  why  ?  the  killer  might  not  be  what  everyone  suspects  …  ❞  gloved  hand  is  moved  to  idly  rest  upon  the  woman’s  forearm  :  boundaries  apparently  non  -  existent  for  the  curious  cat.  

         ❝    …. it  might  be  something  from  our  imagination.  something  very  much  …  unreal.  ❞   hand  is  slid  across  the  other’s  arm  ,  ever  so  slow  as  if  to  memorize  the  touch  ,  before  it’s  brought  back  to  her  side.   and  much  like  a  curious  kitten  does  she  tilt  her  head  to  side :  watching  for  the  lady’s  reaction.  ❝  we  can’t  be  certain  of  anything  ,  ma’am.  ever.   ❞

.

Verona smiled  pleasantly as the young girl leaned closer -- she was rather used to such displays of interest. In her long life, she, her sisters, and the Count had attracted such attentions whenever they had communicated at length with humans. Especially the Count, whose sharp Transylvanian accent had never been fully shaken. He had carried himself with such grace and power, and his dark eyes had belied so much experience, that humans had just felt drawn to him. Even prior to her transformation into a vampire, though those memories were hazy now, Verona could recall the peasants who used to touch the hem of her dress as she rode past them, desperate to feel something so heavy and expensive as a voivode’s daughter’s clothing. And, as a creature of the night, this magnetism had only increased with age -- Verona had learnt how to emulate the Count perfectly, her mannerisms just as elegant and careful, her clothing and hairstyles changing with the constant roll of time, but the poise underneath never faltering.

“Oh yes,” she replied, pleasantly. “Yes, I am quite certain no harm will befall me. Certainly not here, of all places.” She looked around at the festive atmosphere -- the wooden stalls and snow-covered ground, the hawkers selling their wares and the artisans haggling with shoppers. She had no doubt that, though whoever was responsible for these killings may well be there among them, they would not strike it broad daylight. Verona had a number of theories as to who or what was committing the killings, and none of them lent themselves to a murderer who would attack in a crowded, public, place. And, even if they were to do so, she was confident in her ability to evade them, whether they were a knife-wielding manic human or a vampire. She would simply melt into the crowd and slip her human form, transforming into smoke, as undetectable as the clouded breath of the humans around them.

She raised her eyebrow patiently, awaiting the girl’s response to her question, her smile never leaving her face. And, when the girl said that her chaperone was around, she laughed a little. “Well I would imagine so,” she said, her eyes shining. “But I have to agree -- it is much more freeing to walk without a chaperone.” It was why she had slipped the bonds of her younger sister’s company, with whom she had been hunting earlier. Though she enjoyed spending time with Aleera and Marishka, she did need time to herself.

Quite suddenly, the young girl asked why she felt safe, and, before Verona could give her a reply, she touched her arm gently, almost as if to test if she was flesh and blood. It was barely a moment -- she withdrew her hand quickly, and it was only because of her centuries of practise that Verona’s expression did not change. Her smile remained, but her eyes darkened a little with concealed anger. She did not permit humans to touch her without consent, and, though she had taken quite a liking to this girl, that could change in an instant. The girl  may have seemed scatter-brained and harmless, but she had trespassed, and Verona could not abide that. But her reply, when it came, was icily polite.

“My, how fanciful!” she said. “Something from our imagination. Are you a penny dreadful writer?” She laughed, but there was no mirth in her eyes -- they remained empty. “I quite agree that we cannot be certain of anything, miss --” she used to the title coldly, a reminder of the girl’s age in comparison to how old she herself appeared. “But you seem to be implying something straight out of fiction. This murderer is as real as you or I, as flesh and blood as any man.” She paused, and could not help but enquire: “But, I must ask, why do you think they might be so?” As much as she was certain this girl did not have knowledge of the preternatural, it felt like a missed opportunity not to ask, at the very least.

[oh-jail-for-mother]

Only violence felt like holiness to me anymore.

A Dowry of Blood, S. T. Gibson

[veronadracula]

♡ Kat and Marishka

SEND A HEART TO SEE WHAT I WANT FOR OUR MUSES! FOR KAT: FRIENDS.   childhood friends  /  work friends  /  family friends  /  recently friends  /  turning antagonistic  /  turning into something romantic  /  stable  /  falling apart  /  friendship of need  /  friendship of circumstance / pen - pals   /  coworkers  /  partners  /  other . ROMANCE.   childhood sweethearts  /  newly entered  /  soulmates  /  skinny love  /  unrequited from my muses side  /  unrequited from your muses side  /  friends with benefits  /  awkward  /  fading  /  turning  toxic  /  toxic  and  destructive  /  other . FAMILIAL BOND.   sibling bond  /  older sibling figure to your muse  /  younger sibling figure to your muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal  guardian  /  other . ENEMIES. dangerous to themselves  /  dangerous to others  /  unpredictable  /  passionate  /  rivals  /  petty  /  developing into a sexual tension  /  developing into a romantic tension  /  based off family matters  /  based off circumstance  /  based off professional matters  /  based off misunderstandings or lies  /  other . FOR MARISHKA: FRIENDS.   childhood friends  /  work friends  /  family friends  /  recently friends  /  turning antagonistic  /  turning into something romantic  /  stable  /  falling apart  /  friendship of need  /  friendship of circumstance / pen - pals   /  coworkers  /  partners  /  other . ROMANCE.   childhood sweethearts  /  newly entered  /  soulmates  /  skinny love  /  unrequited from my muses side  /  unrequited from your muses side  /  friends with benefits  /  awkward  /  fading  /  turning  toxic  /  toxic  and  destructive  /  other . FAMILIAL BOND. sibling bond  /  older sibling figure to your muse  /  younger sibling figure to your muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal  guardian  /  other . ENEMIES. dangerous to themselves  /  dangerous to others  /  unpredictable  /  passionate  /  rivals  /  petty  /  developing into a sexual tension  /  developing into a romantic tension  /  based off family matters  /  based off circumstance  /  based off professional matters  /  based off misunderstandings or lies  /  other .

[veronadracula]

♡ for Esther and Lucy

SEND A HEART TO SEE WHAT I WANT FOR OUR MUSES!

FOR ESTHER: FRIENDS.   childhood friends  /  work friends  /  family friends  /  recently friends  /  turning antagonistic  /  turning into something romantic  /  stable  /  falling apart  /  friendship of need  /  friendship of circumstance / pen - pals   /  coworkers  /  partners  /  other . ROMANCE.   childhood sweethearts  /  newly entered  /  soulmates  /  skinny love  /  unrequited from my muses side  /  unrequited from your muses side  /  friends with benefits  /  awkward  /  fading  /  turning  toxic  /  toxic  and  destructive  /  other . FAMILIAL BOND.   sibling bond  /  older sibling figure to your muse  /  younger sibling figure to your muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal  guardian  /  other .

ENEMIES.   dangerous to themselves  /  dangerous to others  /  unpredictable  /  passionate  /  rivals  /  petty  /  developing into a sexual tension  /  developing into a romantic tension  /  based off family matters  /  based off circumstance  /  based off professional matters  /  based off misunderstandings or lies  /  other . FOR LUCY: FRIENDS.   childhood friends  /  work friends  /  family friends  /  recently friends  /  turning antagonistic  /  turning into something romantic  /  stable  /  falling apart  /  friendship of need  /  friendship of circumstance / pen - pals   /  coworkers  /  partners  /  other . ROMANCE.   childhood sweethearts  /  newly entered  /  soulmates  /  skinny love  /  unrequited from my muses side  /  unrequited from your muses side  /  friends with benefits  /  awkward  /  fading  /  turning  toxic  /  toxic  and  destructive  /  other . FAMILIAL BOND.   sibling bond  /  older sibling figure to your muse  /  younger sibling figure to your muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal  guardian  /  other . ENEMIES.   dangerous to themselves  /  dangerous to others  /  unpredictable  /  passionate  /  rivals  /  petty  /  developing into a sexual tension  /  developing into a romantic tension  /  based off family matters  /  based off circumstance  /  based off professional matters  /  based off misunderstandings or lies  /  other .

[esther-maitland-deactivated2022]

Pre-Established Relationship Meme

Pre-Established Relationship Meme

send a ♡ and i’ll fill this out for our muses !  i’ll bold what i want for their relationship, italic what i could see and strike out what i don’t .

FRIENDS.   childhood friends  /  work friends  /  family friends  /  recently friends  /  turning antagonistic  /  turning into something romantic  /  stable  /  falling apart  /  friendship of need  /  friendship of circumstance / pen - pals   /  coworkers  /  partners  /  other .

ROMANCE.   childhood sweethearts  /  newly entered  /  soulmates  /  skinny love  /  unrequited from my muses side  /  unrequited from your muses side  /  friends with benefits  /  awkward  /  fading  /  turning  toxic  /  toxic  and  destructive  /  other .

FAMILIAL BOND.   sibling bond  /  older sibling figure to your muse  /  younger sibling figure to your muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal  guardian  /  other .

ENEMIES.   dangerous to themselves  /  dangerous to others  /  unpredictable  /  passionate  /  rivals  /  petty  /  developing into a sexual tension  /  developing into a romantic tension  /  based off family matters  /  based off circumstance  /  based off professional matters  /  based off misunderstandings or lies  /  other .

[veronadracula]

lucy-westerna​:

A Fair Affair

Location: Holiday Market When: December 1899 Closed Starter For: @veronadracula

She expected that, maybe, someday, she would accept the hunger with grace. Perhaps she would be like the other brides—

how she shudders in horror at being the bride of a monster but she’s one too now    

and move amongst humans with as much dignity and decorum as they. But it was not yet, that was for sure, as the hunger gnawed inside of her like it was devouring her from the inside out—

Don’t think about it, Lucy. Enjoy the Winter Fair. It’s a lovely chilly day and your birthday has passed with no fanfare do her parents still grieve for their dead daughter

“It’s a lovely little event,” said Lucy, trying to play polite with Verona, taking another empty cup and mirroring the elder vampire before her. What else could she do? How does one comport oneself in the presence of an ancient vampire that hunts the living just like she does. “Do they not get a bit old after a while, though? The fairs, the festivals, the little things people do to be happy?”

She found herself curious, though, what the woman was like. What had she seen? What had she been through? But they weren’t in a state of affairs to have those sorts of intimate discussions, though. Not that Lucy should want them.

Verona tolerated Lucy’s presence, as if she were a small child, or an irritable dog. Why the Count had seen fit to induct her into their ranks, she did not know, and now, with the Count's death, she never would. It was not simply Lucy’s youth which Verona held against her -- the Countess Dolingen was young and shockingly inexperienced when they had met, and Verona had shepherded her sisters into their new lives when Dracula had brought them to the castle. It was not simply the fact that, not long ago, Lucy had been as hapless and vulnerable as the humans which now surrounded them. It was that Lucy that was, by virtue of her maker, now bound to Verona, Aleera, and Marishka, as if she were one of the so-called concubines of Dracula, despite the fact she had none of their long experience by his side. In fact, as far as Verona knew, Lucy Westenra had barely known the Count before he had met his end at the hands of that idiotic, hateful, Van Helsing.

And so, now, as head of the three sisters, Verona had taken it upon herself to permit Lucy into their lives, but she bore no great love for the woman, and held her at an arm’s length. So, when Lucy said it was a lovely event, Verona smiled coldly, as she would do if she were talking to a mere acquaintance, and not a vampiric sisters. “Isn’t it?” she replied, equally as polite. She looked around at the wooden stalls, the provincial handcrafted items on sale, the baked breads and stews and soups, and shrugged stiffly.

“Not for them, I assume,” she said. “And, for me at least, they still hold a novel value. When the Count, Aleera, Marishka, and I travelled, we occasionally came across festivities such as these in other countries, but there is still something enjoyable about being among the people at this time of year.” She took a false sip of her mug, for the sake of appearances, and lowered it, before continuing. “And how are you finding it? It must be strange, to know you would have been one of them not long ago --” She inclined her head to the bustling crowd, of which they were a part of, but still apart from.

[veronadracula]

The fair girl, with a laugh of ribald coquetry, turned to answer him. “You yourself never loved. You never love!”