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Ellen had never been particularly concerned about the Prussian court's politics. It had always been something that occurred—over there. It was boring and exhausting, and no one listened to her when she knew, just knew, that a decision made by the king was poor.
Instead, they hushed her fearfully.
She learned quickly to bite her tongue.
The other girls her age had avoided her. It was though they could see right through her, into whatever was wrong with her. And there was something wrong with her. She had fits. Spasms. Melancholy. The doctors had drained her of blood, and the priests prayed for her soul, but as she grew she became only sicker.
And she knew things she shouldn’t know. She knew of the money exchanged between the priests and the king, a trade to get laws passed, or leniencies granted. She knew about the poisoned lies spread amongst the court, and how they led to unearned deaths.
Still, she had learned to say nothing, and yet still she felt much guilt about it.
She had spent as much time as she could with her mother, in a world made up of just them. Not even her father, still so dear to her, could enter it.
In rare absolute privacy, they called her their little fairy child, and she preened and danced around like a mystic.
Ellen knew her mother shared her strangeness, though she didn’t know exactly how it had come to them. Surely not from the devil, like the priests would refer to, but it didn’t feel quite like sainthood either.
They both won every guessing game, her mother had nightmares too, and coincidence followed her like an omen. She was Ellen’s rock in high tides. The only person on earth just like her, who understood her completely.
Then her rock was lost. Her mother had passed from the sweating sickness, and no one had listened to her warnings until after she was already gone. Not that much could have been done to stop it. Not then.
She was seen as even stranger. A bad omen.
By then she’d known that she shouldn’t say what was to come, but surely an exception must be made to save one’s mother. So her once-ignored warnings, when they came true, became evidence of something wicked inside of her.
After this wickedness revealed itself, her father had become cold to her, and she was entirely alone.
When she left that place, there was already nothing left for her to hold onto. She had just needed a push.
Ellen’s grandfather had sworn he remembered a time when everyone was catholic. Ellen could scarcely believe him—her entire life there had been a background of fretting over the heretical Lutherans and their spreading dissent. Even Ellen, as prone to political avoidance as she was, had known of it.
When they started seeking out potential spreaders of Lutheranism in the court, and eyes turned to her family, with the wicked young woman who no man would marry, the word came not from a friend but from a dream—and she had begged her father to come with her, begged despite his refusal to look at her. He had merely turned his head away, again. Once again she would be alone.
That night she put on her most modest dress, packed some items to sell, and rode off into the wilderness.
The first town she had come across that was a far enough distance from the castle she’d grown up in to feel safe, had been extremely suspicious of her story.
Here she was the maid to a minor noble, a poor woman who'd been robbed along the way, with a murdered mistress and a murdered guide and no place to go.
Her dress was just a bit too well-crafted, her story just a bit too detailed. She could tell most did not fully believe it.
Despite this, she'd immediately been offered quartering by a merchant’s wife—Anna. Anna who was the kindest woman Ellen had ever met.
No one her age had ever been playful with her before. Not since her mother had she felt the warmth of another’s affection. Anna wasn’t afraid of her, so much as afraid for her.
She wasn’t a kindred spirit, they were so dissimilar, but they didn’t need to be. Anna simply liked her. Even when she said strange things.
It blossomed into her first-ever friendship.
Anna’s husband hated her. He never said as much, to her face, but he did.
Not fully, at first—but she could sense something about her—the way she spoke, her manners, disturbed him.
His expression when Anna had thrown a covering over her dress and ushered her inside to share their dinner was fully distrustful.
Truth be told, Ellen didn’t like Friedrich much either. He was…too sure of himself. Condescending.
Though that hardly mattered compared to how much Ellen loved spending time with Anna, and her girls.
Sometimes when Anna looked at her—Ellen’s heart would flutter. Sometimes she would pretend it was just her and Anna and the girls were impossibly both of theirs. Made by Ellen and Anna.
She feared Anna may one day see straight into her soul, into her impurity and balk, but she hadn’t, by her own intention or just good faith. She could not see into Ellen’s soul, just graze the surface.
For this, Ellen was grateful.
A few weeks into her stay with the Hardings, a tall, pretty man rushed into the house.
“Freidrich you will not believe—" he had started to say, then he stumbled when he noticed her presence. Clearly embarrassed.
“Oh. My apologies. I wasn’t aware you might have company.” He bowed slightly, awkwardly.
Anna must have noticed something in her own expression, the quickening of her heart apparent on her face, because she had donned a mischievous, knowing smile.
The man had paused, as if unsure of what to do, but Friedrich—who she later learned was a close friend of his —had taken pity on him and offered him a seat at the table. The seat next to her (at Anna’s subtle bidding.)
Ellen couldn’t help herself, she’d practically interrogated the man, despite, (or in challenge of) his immediate shyness. She found out his work (record keeping), and his name (Thomas) and soon he was opening up freely—former hesitance entirely forgotten, and he was asking her questions, many of which she had to weave stories around, but also many she didn’t.
Conversations hadn’t even flowed this easily with her Anna.
Anna, whose sly smile remained, while Friedrich watched on wearily.
After Thomas had left (with great reluctance, her heart soared) Ellen and Anna had gone away to the river to speak privately, hopefully, about what had occurred.
Anna’s blond hair was loose and flowing on her underdress like a water nymph. It clung to her breasts, her legs. Ellen wanted to bite her, heart racing like it did when Thomas had walked in.
There was something wrong with her.
Thomas
Ellen was the most interesting woman Thomas had ever met. She always had an intelligent reply at the ready, or a funny quip, or a deep solemn response. He wanted to know her, fully, every corner of her. The more he learned, the more he managed to collect about her, the more interested he became.
She was reluctant to share much of her past, but he felt it was less her hiding some wrongdoing and more that it must be tragic and difficult to revisit. To witness such death—to fear for her own life—it was no wonder she was occasionally troubled.
The increase in visits was certainly noticed by Friedrich, who both teased him over the affections and warned him against pursuing them—pursuing Ellen. But how could he avoid pursuing it when he’d never felt so close, so connected with anyone else before? He was drawn to her. Irresistibly.
Friedrich would soon get over it, and realize this development could bring only good.
The more they spoke, the further and further he fell in love with her. It grew stronger, not weaker. They had kissed, a few times, when they had been able to get away from others, which was not often.
As the weeks turned to months they became intertwined in the soul, he was certain of it, and eventually they were both quite sure that if they didn’t wed immediately they’d end up doing something far away from the approval of God.
Midway one Saturday morning visit, Anna had asked outright if they had plans to get married. Ellen said yes, then looked at him, looked worried, as though he might disagree.
Of course, he said yes as well.
That same morning they had dragged Anna and Friedrich away with them to be their witnesses. They had all run off to see the priest for approval. Even Friedrich had been impacted by the spirit of the day—regardless of how often he had expressed his disapproval. The priest may have been shocked by the sudden arrival of the giddy pairs, but he had them marry nonetheless.
Anna had lent Ellen one of her dresses, Thomas had borrowed something of Friedrich’s, and the ceremony was brief and joyous. By the afternoon they were consummated—very thoroughly—in Thomas’ small residence.
Ellen
The peace after her wedding lasted eight months. Then the seizures and fits returned.
She had hoped the comfortable bubble would never pop. She had hoped the beautiful world she had found herself in, a loving husband, a most cherished friend, and her wonderful nieces, would be enough to stave off the darkness forever. But it wasn’t.
Ellen’s seizures were not pretty. They made her look monstrous. Demented. Yet when she had come out of the first one in this town, on the floor of her home, Thomas had seemed only concerned. Teary with worry, not disgust, not betrayed by the realization his lovely, romantic wife was not all she seemed.
She felt horrendous about adding another reveal to his plate. She recalled the look of shock on his face when she had informed him where she’d really come from. When he learned she was not a maid, but a noblewoman. It was one thing to keep the truth of herself from a friend, a paramour, another to keep it from her husband.
It had made him…insecure. Frequently concerned over her comfort and their means, though this was truly the most comfortable she had ever been in her life. It was as though he did not, could not, believe it.
When she had her seizures in public, the other townspeople did not look at her with the same concern. Instead, it was fear that marked the faces on the market street. She watched them shrink back away from her while she leaned on Thomas, moving slowly towards their home.
Thomas hadn’t caught it. All his focus was on her.
Rumors began to spread, people had once again flinched away from her like they had when she was a stranger here, even people who hadn’t seen her fit. They didn’t smile her way like they’d used to, when they’d eased in their suspicions as she tied herself to their community through Thomas.
Then suddenly there were accusations, when things would go wrong, a dead pig, a sudden fever, a lost child, eyes turned to her. It didn’t help that miraculous things could occur around her. A branch falling just so to avoid hitting Anna, or the wind sweeping the perfect apple right into her hand.
Yet she had hoped for a time it would fade away. That they’d find some other person to latch onto for their misfortune.
Until one day Anna and Friedrich told her she had to leave or else risk someone turning her in to the church for the crime of witchcraft.
Anna had said it while sobbing in her arms, but Ellen could only stare blankly out as her entire world came crashing down. Her friend, home, husband, life, gone in an instant. She was cold and hot all at once. She was resolved.
That night, while her husband was sleeping, she’d packed her things, quickly and quietly, as she had the night she’d left her court, for an easy clean break, but before she could slip off into the wilderness once more Thomas’ bleary voice made her freeze.
“My love, what are you doing?” He said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He looked beautiful.
She burst into tears.
He’d got up quickly, fully awake, rushing to her to hold her close. Almost rocking her in a sway.
“I have to leave,” she said, into his chest.
“You plan to leave me?” So heartbroken, her love. “Can we not work through whatever is wrong?” He clutched her tighter.
“They plan to kill me. They think I’m a witch.”
“You?” He sounded so disbelieving. She laughed a little despite the circumstances.
Then she drew back. “There is something wrong with me.” He started to argue—and then thought better of it.
“Alright.” He had said. As though it truly were all right, even if she were a witch.
“I have to leave,” she said again, drawing further into herself. She didn’t want to lose him. She didn’t want to die.
“I would go with you,” there was hesitation, a fear in his eyes that matched her own. “We made a promise to each other.” He looked so devastated, now crying himself.
“Your entire life is here, your family, your work. I’m sure they would understand—let you annul—“
He shook his head—almost angrily now—fully, stubbornly, determined, gently holding her face he’d said “Ellen, I would rather be placed on that stake next to you than get an annulment.”
So they packed what they could and left together in the night. They had stopped by Anna’s house to say goodbye, her heart breaking to see her first friend crying with her at the loss, and left with a bag of dried meats and bread. Then they made their way towards the next town by breaking light.
The peace never stayed. Her seizures ebbed and flowed but never completely left, and Ellen couldn’t seem to keep the miraculous occurrences away. In fact, they only became more frequent with each passing year. It didn’t help that they were scrutinized more now for always being strangers.
So they moved and moved and moved. Again and again. Sometimes spending days not seeing another soul. In the wildernesses of the world, just the two of them. They became almost wild themselves, but always, always they came out and into the world of people again.
Again. Again. Something happened and they were chased out. Again. Again. They traveled further and further away from the familiarity and traditions of their home towards a place with a new language they had to quickly grasp and a new dress and they had become even stranger but still they moved. In all that time Thomas had stayed with her, choosing her. Again. Again.
Ellen had felt…unsettled when they arrived. But they had been traveling for many days and many nights, and they were both exhausted. Tired of camping out in the wilderness, feeling the biting nightly cold, and of flinching at every howl.
When they’d come upon the village they were very very tired.
Ellen had known well by then to trust her gut. Her dreams were often predictions, poor tidings. She felt strongly that something was wrong here. Sensed a force much larger than herself lying dormant. And yet. They were so very tired.
Thomas could tell something was wrong with her. He could read her so easily now. He asked after her, and she told him it was a return of the melancholy. He didn’t fully believe her, but let it be. He was tired as well.
They found an inn, and in the morning they would offer work to the village. They were suspicious as these places always were of strangers. Ellen doubted this would be one they would stay in long.
Orlok
There was another magician in his county. He didn't know where exactly the man was—but as soon as the force of this man’s power entered—pushing back curiously against his own—he knew.
The man hadn’t even taken pains to disguise himself! The disrespect! The gall! Either this was a very powerful—but foolish—sorcerer—or it was a message. A powerplay.
Some upstart (it had to be, not an old enemy, the trace was unrecognizable) wanted to displace him! Take his home, his people, his library, and its secrets.
If it was an old enemy behind this (and his pride almost wished it so) then he must have trained up some child to get his foot in the door. Yes, that made the most sense. Surely this new generation didn’t think his power had dimmed so greatly while he languished away here?
Immediately he had sent his spies to search out the region for newcomers. Sending the guards immediately would have alerted the dirty usurper and given him the chance to flee.
No. If Orlok were to avoid annoyances such as this from poking at him again in the future, these petty stately matters taking him from his learning, he would have to create an example of this man. He was not old and weak, he was not an easy target!
A very painful example.
Thomas
Thomas didn’t have the abilities Ellen did, but he could still tell by now when people had started whispering dangerously. The averted gazes, the inching back. Signs that it was time for them to pack up and leave, to travel to a new place. Starting again and again.
And Ellen had been sick. A sudden exhaustion had overcome her, one worse than he’d ever seen her in before. She was pale and plagued by night terrors and spoke of a pushing pulsing feeling deep in her soul. They had to leave soon and leave discreetly.
And when Ellen had woken up, startled, terrified, telling him they needed to leave immediately—he’d learned enough by then to ask no questions, just stuff their few items quickly away and gather Ellen close as they made their way onto the road once again.
Orlok
The spies had returned much quicker than he had expected them to. This sorcerer must truly be a simpleton.
Almost every single peasant in his land had been discussing the new arrivals—foreigners who had traveled a very great distance. Keeping to themselves. Strangers.
There was one surprise, apparently there were two—a man and a woman—the usurper’s wife perhaps? Horrendous. The custom is to bring your family after you've succeeded in conquering a territory, not before.
The man would pay even more dearly for his trespasses now. Orlok was almost sorry for it. But not quite.
Thomas
They did not make their way onto the road. A few paces out the door and they were intercepted by several men. Not a mob, as they had been a few times before. Guards. Guards that grabbed their arms and marched them forward.
He glanced warily at Ellen and saw her making the same expression his way. A mob could be run from, hidden from, until they got tired and left, content in chasing the danger off from them. If royalty were after them they might never be free of it.
These men carried swords. If they tried to fight they could be easily killed.
They walked. And walked. And walked. Up Up Up a mountain. Sneaking fearful and reassuring glances at each other as they went.
Orlok
He felt the magic even more so the closer it came to him. Strong and yet—untrained—undirected. Pulsing out everywhere at once like sparks off of kindling. It matched well with his own.
Disappointing. he must destroy it. Almost.
Closer and closer, stronger and stronger until it filled up every corner, pushing, pushing, and then—
The guards opened up the doors and there was a tall boy—completely ordinary, like the guards, like the peasants —and a small girl. A very powerful beautiful girl. The source.
Oh, how interesting. Was she here to take his place? Or had she stumbled like a wolf cub into his territory, unknowingly catching the attention of the leader of a pack?
He waved his hand in a gesture for his guards to release them. The girl straightened immediately, a glare in her eyes, mouth opening, before the boy yanked her and himself down into a kneeling bow.
For a second her anger directed itself at the boy—but it softened when she saw his expression. Oh, these two cared for each other much. Useful.
The boy spoke up “My wife and I mean no offense, my lord, for whatever we have done. We’ve only just arrived, we’re not aware of the customs of your lands.” Then he winced as if expecting the guards to chop his head off then and there. As if there were no procedures. Bah.
And wife. A married pair. Orlok felt a pinch of annoyance.
“Hmm,” Orlok said “and what of the custom of not barging in on another sorcerer's lands—to steal his place rather than take your own?” Then directed at the girl, closely watching her response “What witchlet is this who dares?”
Sitting up, expression of pure outrage on her otherworldly face “I’m not! I wasn’t—“ then softer, confused “I don’t know what you mean.”
“So you haven’t come with your great power to take these lands for yourself?”
Then, sincerely “I’m not powerful. Just strange.”
Orlok laughed. It startled everyone. He wasn’t one to do such a thing often, but the way she had said it, and the absolute truth while the evidence to the contrary filled every surrounding inch of the place. No this girl had not come to take his place, she had stumbled into the lion’s den with no clue she was also a lion.
“Alright,” he said when he was done laughing.”Take them to a room—in the castle, not the dungeon—but be sure they do not leave.”
Ellen
Ellen lay on the bed while her husband paced back and forth in the room.
Powerful. She wasn’t powerful. She had gifts, yes. On occasion strange things occurred around her, tied to her feelings, yes. But surely if she were powerful she'd have encountered much less trouble throughout her life. Surely if she were powerful she wouldn't be trapped here in this room, uncertain of what was to become of them.
The count, he was like her. Somewhat. At least he recognized himself in her. She'd never met anyone like herself before. Not even Thomas, whom she had connected with in so many other places, could understand holding this kind of strangeness inside of oneself.
He was terrifying but….it was comforting. She wasn't entirely singular in this world. There were others like herself.
An hour later, Thomas had stopped pacing, lying down beside her, though clearly still afraid. She didn't blame him, she was afraid too. She had gone much too far, faced far too many trials, to die now.
Another hour and the guards had brought them food. It wasn't the food given to criminals awaiting an execution. In fact, it was better than what they could afford while working in villages. Lamb and bread and vegetables. The kind of food she’d had often as a child.
They shared a glance.
After the meal, Ellen had pushed Thomas into the mattress. If she was going to die the next day, she would have one last night of exploding stars.
The next morning they were called not to an execution room but instead to a table—not a grand one for feasts but a more intimate one for meetings. As they went along the hall she caught confused glances of servants and courtesans sent their way. Now she understood the confusion.
They had been seated next to the count on either side.
It was a dreadful silence, while the man who’d had them imprisoned ate slowly, barely acknowledging their presence. Slowly she took her own bite of bread. If this was an execution method it was a rather elaborate one.
Thomas took a bite as well. Then they were both eating.
It wasn't until they were midway through that the count spoke and only to her. “You will stay here and I will teach you to direct your power. Then you shall assist me with my own work.”
After this he said (with some reluctance, Ellen noted) “and your husband may stay with you as well.”
Then he returned to eating.
A pause. It wasn't such a bad situation, except for the limited freedom. A potential return to the restrictions of her youth. He said she was powerful. Maybe she was. Maybe she could turn her strangeness into something useful and finally feel complete.
Maybe she could stop running.
“I’ll consider it,” Ellen said.
“I said you will.”
“And I said I'll consider it. If I will be here, if I shall assist you, it will be at my will.” She could tell he wanted to argue, but he wanted something from her. She had leverage here.
The rest of the meal was in silence.
They were led back to the room.
Thomas
Thomas didn't trust it. It must be some trick or some trap. He’d always been reasonably afraid of those high above himself. They could do whatever they wanted to you, and no one would stop them. No one could stop them. It was best to keep one's head down and avoid them as much as possible.
And here this count was—asking them to live here after stealing them away, making them fear for their lives—no. Absolutely not.
In the hall, Ellen had looked conflicted. Oh no.
“Are you….considering it?” He almost didn't want to ask.
Ellen grimaced which meant she genuinely was. Oh, holy God.
“Ellen we cannot agree to this….proposal.” He spat the last word.
Her mouth crumpled into that line that set whenever someone tried to tell her what to do. That was not often Thomas, who was more prone to following along side all of Ellen’s whims, but this was a whole other matter. This was dangerous.
“You're the one who is always sooo concerned about how we live. Fretting constantly over what we spend, the work we do, whether I’m comfortable when I tell you time and time again,” she poked his chest, “that I am.” She crossed her arms.
He crossed his arms as well. “I am..concerned about our survival. Which is why I know we should take the first opportunity to flee here that we can.”
“No you are concerned” she started to raise her voice, “that there is someone finally like me in my life. You are jealous. It does not suit you.”
He blanched. “Do I have need to be jealous?” A whisper. Maybe he had felt—a bit jealous but hearing her point it out…
Ellen’s eyes filled with shame. She turned away. At this point, they might have wandered off for space and returned to work through the fight, but trapped here, they could only sit in uncomfortable silence for hours. Thinking.
She was the first to break it, in a choked voice, “You don’t understand. My entire life I have been strange, and unusual, and people have feared me, and I have been deeply afraid of the wrath of others. Still, you have stayed at my side, yet you do not understand what it is to be me. And here I have learned….I may be able to be powerful. To learn to protect myself and you, and…to belong somewhere. To understand what it’s all for.”
She wiped a tear from her eye. “To leave here now, to return to the way we lived before, I would not survive it.”
How could he refuse her then? He couldn’t. He wandered over to where she lay. Lying beside her, holding her. “Alright,” he said, “we shall stay.”
At least their conditions would be improved. No more running. If it was a trick, or a trap, surely they’d find a way out. They always had before.
Ellen
Orlok had turned out to be a man of procedure. Thomas was as well—but in a different way. Thomas liked organizing, everything in neat tidy spaces, so much different than her tendency to sprawl.
They had to sign a contract for the agreement. Thomas had insisted it not be indefinite, and Ellen reluctantly agreed that it was sensible. They were to be bound here for a year, twelve months, in which Ellen would learn magic, doing lessons whenever the count asked (which turned out to be at once or twice a day most days).
However, in spite of this frequency, Ellen was deeply frustrated. It was just so slow. She was not used to being slow to learn.
Girls in her court hadn’t been educated nearly as thoroughly as the boys, but there were still several languages from far-off countries she’d been expected to know, Latin of course, biblical passages, ancient poetry, and rhetoric, all she had picked up quickly. The tutors had approved of that, even if they were often annoyed by her questioning and arguing.
Most of the books and scrolls were not in the language of this country, which her and Thomas had picked up in their travels, no they were in a language spoken by almost none at all. Especially those invented by the count himself.
(He had even asked her to call him by the word for teacher in this language, she had been so excited by that then. Oh how foolish a woman she was.)
So before she could even start to tackle them, she first had to learn a language with rules and symbols she had never encountered before. She shook her head over her younger self’s annoyance with French, comparatively learning to speak that was heaven.
Even the wordless power was difficult. She had spent so much of her life unknowingly suppressing the things inside of her, and to attempt to release them was like dragging a cart through mud. She tried reaching for it desperately, only for it to flit by her, just out of her grasp. All this time she’d accidentally pulled it, creating havoc wherever she went, and now when she needed it, it refused to cooperate.
Here she was, told she was one of the most powerful people Orlok had ever met, feeling like the most useless person in the entire world.
Orlok was also getting frustrated with her. In the beginning, he was excited as well. Though she had learned he was particularly inexpressive, talking for a goal rather than to fill space like most, there was a glint in his eye, an energy to him as he went over the things he had discovered. A glint that had faded as Ellen struggled with the material.
A month in, they had begun to snap. First in a passive bite, and then outright arguing. She hadn’t ever dealt well with being commanded, and clearly, the count wasn’t used to people who didn’t immediately jump to his bidding.
So frequently they had begun to fight, eating away at her time she was meant to be learning, and—
Well, it was quite fun. She and Thomas only fought emotionally, painfully. Coldly. He wasn’t one to bicker, he often followed her lead, and when they bit— they did it playfully. She loved him for it, she did. She loved every piece of him. And yet—
This was fun. She felt a spark in her stomach and alongside a creeping dread settled right next to it.
Thomas
Entrapment was turning out to be—boring. He worried still, as the days passed. Of some danger, some ulterior motivation. But more and more that gave way to restlessness.
Ellen, whenever he actually got to see her, he thought bitterly, was energized. Frustrated, but energized. Switching rapidly between excitedly going over the new knowledge she was gaining and lamenting the pace of it, and annoyance at comments of her teacher, and still, she was excited.
Yet it took much of her energy, and the hours were long and frequently she had slept as soon as she arrived in their room. This was truly the happiest he had ever seen her—her ailments had seemingly eased though they never entirely went away. He would never want to break it—but he missed her.
He’d taken to wandering around the castle. He felt extremely out of place. It was like whenever he’d been to the Hardings but much much worse.
He looked into mirrors and expected to see his station written on his face. He knew logically it was because he was foreign and new—the staring. But in his mind when he caught gazes he could hear—you don’t belong here. He hated being noticed.
The count had insisted on dressing them up nicely. That only made it worse. He was not meant to be in these expensive clothes, eating this expensive food, living here. He was like a thief.
Ellen had come from a place such as this. This was where she was meant to be—when he’s asked her if she ever felt—out of place—unused to all the costly items here she seemed confused. She had settled back in as though she’d never left.
At any second someone would realize. They would realize he was pretending, looking beyond his means, and he would be punished for it.
Ellen
It was another two months of frustration and fighting before she finally had a breakthrough. The language Ellen could at least manage somewhat now. The power was still wriggling away from her grasp. She was beginning to think she’d been lied to about her capabilities.
The teacher and the student had gotten into the habit of fighting whenever she had issues, which was constantly, until the tension grew to be too much—a pulled band, and one of them stormed out.
That day she was especially on edge, snappish, and insecure. The fighting wasn’t fun and exhilarating like it ought to be, it was painful. Every dig from him landed right into the core of her, until suddenly she was crying.
The count had looked absolutely baffled, as if this was something that had never happened to him before, and he was entirely unsure how to handle it. She understood, she hadn’t wanted to cry in front of him either. It wasn’t the kind of relationship they had. They postured. She was too wounded to suppress it.
Later she would find it funny, then she could only feel embarrassed and weak, leaving not in indignation or self-righteousness but instead in a flood of tears.
To her room, to her Thomas, to be held like a child. When he saw her state he immediately pulled her close, sat on the bed, and stroked her hair.
“Did you just come from a lesson?” He’d asked. Ellen could only nod.
“Do I need to duel for your honor?” He asked, this time in jest. Ellen giggled through the tears, shaking her head no.
Then they lay down on the bed, Thomas still holding her. The next morning she woke to a slow knock. Thomas glanced at her, waiting for her nod of permission to open it. They knew who it was.
There, at their door, was the count. The man looked uncomfortable. He could not find his words, and Ellen was very suddenly reminded that this was a man who’d likely never had to apologize before.
It was….annoying. He had so few skills for dealing with people beyond commanding, but in some ways, it reminded her of herself before she’d met, Anna, Thomas, and even Friedrich (though she’d been more prone to hiding than shouting then).
Thomas looked defensive. Directing more quiet ire than he’d ever dared before towards the count—who must truly feel apologetic as he didn’t even direct any back. Still, she crossed her arms and waited for him to speak.
Another minute or so, until he said “I should not have been so impatient with you. When I first started I was not quick to grasp it either—yet I feel the weight of time more with you, and your ability is strong, if only you could grasp it.” She could tell each word was difficult and pained, as if expressing remorse was physically painful.
“Alright,” she said.
“Shall we try again today?” Hopeful.
More hesitantly she said, “Alright” again.
Back in the library her teacher asked for the first time how she was attempting to access her magic.
She described the pulling of strings, the reaching out, and the darting away.
He had shaken his head. “It must be a little at a time. Water in a bucket. You are calling to all of it at once and confusing it. Do not pull, instead, funnel.”
So she tried lighting the candle again. This time, imagine a drip drip drip into a wall crack. It lit. She gasped and it was out. But she had done it. She had done it!
The learning came much more quickly after that. They still fought, but no more tears had entered the situation, and it was fun. Ellen knew it would only grow more when she could match him in magic as well.
Thomas
The residents of the castle had begun to ask after him. The hours Ellen and Orlok had spent together—learning—grew, and it seemed the count had started to neglect his responsibilities of ruling.
(Not that Thomas had the gall to say that to his face).
The requests and questions began to pile—the nobles had to formally get permission to hunt in the woods—the cooks needed menus approved, the letter man came with news and correspondence from the leaders of other counties—and Thomas promised he’d tell the count when he’d next seen him.
With the matters increasingly going unresolved the people began to grow restless, fearful, and unsure. Until it began to seem to Thomas that soon, with any more waiting, they might consider rioting.
Only then could Thomas find the courage within himself to knock on the door. The truth was—even though he was much less wary of ill intent from him, he was afraid of the count.
He was….intimidating, and he hated Thomas. On the rare occasions they interacted he was sharp in tone. Glaring. It did not soften as the months passed—instead, it grew. Thomas was….unsure of what he had done to cause it, and what if anything he could do to fix it.
And the warm—embarrassment—yes, it was embarrassment, in response to all this didn’t help whatsoever.
Thomas tried very much to avoid him. .
It was with a racing heart that Thomas opened the door, correspondence in hand, alongside a list of all the verbal requests that had somehow been turned to his direction, when he heard the annoyed “come in.”
Ellen paused—what looked to be a rant—to smile brightly at him when she turned his way. The count glared, as always, and Thomas stood awkwardly for a moment. Speech forgotten.
That annoyed the count further. His head tilted as if to say “Well, go on.”
The ability of speech having seemingly left him entirely, embarrassed, Thomas simply set the papers down in front of the count. Ellen looked sympathetic. And also traitorously amused. He squinted at her, a poor imitation of the ire her and the count could draw up, and then she looked even more amused.
After the count had flipped through it, he rolled his eyes. “You can handle this,” he said, handing the papers back to Thomas.
His stomach flipped in surprise “Are you sure?” he’d said, forgetting himself. At the immediate narrowing of eyes and tilt of the mouth, Thomas said “right right, of course” and hurried out of the room. Winced as the door closed loudly behind him.
The warm feeling had returned.
A hallway or two away he had to pause—to settle. To calm himself. From fear he assured himself. Just fear—not even—just stress.
Then he glanced at the papers in his hand. He could do this. He would do this.
First, he had set about approving most of the requests—he was sure the cooks knew what they were doing much more than he would—and the nobles had said hunting was a frequent affair—approval more formal—and he had seen them set off often in the early days. It wasn’t too difficult. He had never had much trouble interacting with people one-on-one. It was really just a matter of being companionable.
A few he felt made more sense to deny—and that was harder to deliver. They responded with frustration, annoyance, and questions, and he simply smiled and said there was nothing he could do about it. That he wasn’t aware of the reasoning, until they gave up and left.
Returning correspondence was hardest—though he realized much of that was pure formality as well. For a moment he’d worried about sounding like the count, until he recalled a joking complaint from Friedrich about monarchs never writing the letters themselves—and so he'd simply written it as himself. There was only one that he felt it would be overstepping to answer—an invitation of visitation from an important dignitary.
He’d ask Ellen to pass that along, feeling delight, if Orlok was away for some time then Thomas would have her all to himself again—if just for a moment.
Once he’d managed to deal with those tasks more came to light. Now that they had realized it would speed up the time it could take to get approval—everyone had begun to turn to him.
Technically he hadn’t been permitted beyond that one time, and it certainly wasn’t a please take over all of my affairs of running a county. However between pushing this boundary and bothering him again—well.
So he’d collected the requests, waiting an hour before returning to say yes, or no, as if he had actually consulted the count. He wrote letters back, again mostly formality, or requests for information he could easily find by going through records.
(The guards posted had eyed him suspiciously the first time he’d asked to view them. He couldn’t without a grant of permission. He’d forged it. Again, then again. Now they didn’t even ask to see it.)
And all that he couldn’t do himself he sent along to Ellen to give to the count. Ellen, who now knew of his actions, was much less concerned about the criminality of it than he was.
“It’s helpful,” she would say kissing his cheek. Still, he asked her not to mention the….extra work he had begun to do. To the count. For fear of losing his head.
“Oh, he’s not going to chop your head off,” Ellen would say, a wave of the hand, laughing.
Probably. He’d think. Though surely it’s best not to risk it.
The count did end up having to go to the event he had been invited to, at risk of offending powerful neighbors if he hadn't gone.
(Apparently, he’d been grumbling about it to Ellen all day.)
He was out and about much more now, in order to make the preparations for leaving, Thomas tried not to look too excited over Ellen spending more time with him. He’s certain he didn’t succeed by the glower he received when they sent him off.
What he didn’t expect was for the requests to continue. It seemed with the count gone he’d been appointed temporary monarch without his consent. Still, the guards let him into the room with the records without fuss, but he was asked to approve the menu, the hunting, give letters, resolving disputes.
Half the time he spent alone with Ellen, making up for missed time, half the time she followed him around as he ran to and fro, fulfilling the tasks needed to run the house.
Still, it was much more fun with her commentary, and assistance. The weeks passed—a little too quickly to be honest, and he hadn’t even noticed the count had returned until he saw him watching in the corner of his eye, while he mediated a dispute between two lords who had been sent his way over half an acre of land (absolutely ridiculous).
He had frozen for a second, but continued. The count hadn’t immediately jumped to execute him and his eyes were narrowed in thought, not anger, for once.
Finally, finally the lords had come to a compromise. When Thomas had turned, Orlok seemed to have left.
Hesitantly, Thomas had walked out into the halls, only to be grabbed by the back of the neck, firmly but not painfully, and stopped in his place. There he was.
Whispered, almost in his ear, “Making a grab for power, are you, boy?”
Thomas shook his head. As much as he could, which was very little. “No, I was just….trying to help, my lord. I was….restless I wanted to keep busy.” He tried very hard to convey absolute sincerity.
The count hummed and Thomas closed his eyes, grimacing as if expecting a blow that didn’t come.
“Grab your things, come to the library. You will be supervised.” Orlok let go and walked off. Thomas felt flushed everywhere in his body. Like with Ellen. Oh no. Oh no.
Orlok
His student was very distracted today. Eyes wandering off away from her book of alchemy and mind clearly elsewhere. Humming every few minutes.
Thomas was a few paces away, working diligently to sort through the recent court hearings—a dispute over cows or requests for more grain—tedious. Benial.
He had made them sit away from each other. Great was their tendency to distract each other, but Ellen had claimed she was bereft without seeing him on the long days of her learning. Ridiculous child.
It served him to watch the boy though, which necessitated the shift. The tasks being off his own plate were useful, still if he were to grant decision-making over his lands to some boy he ought to at least keep him in eyesight. He didn't seem like the couping type—but one could never be too careful.
So that variable had been removed, yet here she was, distracted all on her own.
“Pay attention,” Orlok said gruffly.
Ellen turned from where she’d been staring out the window. Rather than heed him, she asked “How is it that you have come to have a pack of wolves?”
Thomas’ head rose, eyes filling with his own curiosity. Waiting.
“They are my familiars.” He said.
Ellen looked at him expectantly. Leaning towards him.
He sighed. “Everyone capable of magic may have familiars, as long living as oneself, a connection to nature and its source.”
Ellen’s eyes lit up and she moved very quickly out of the room.
It seemed their tasks for today would need to be moved to tomorrow.
She returned with the small stray cat that had taken to following her around the castle. “I want this one, my Greta.” She said. “Show me,” she demanded.
Thomas came closer to them, close enough for Ellen to grab him and tug him down by her and Greta, who would now be following Ellen as long as Ellen lived.
Ellen
They were seven months into living in the castle when what had been brewing between them broke and bent into a new shape.
The spark in her stomach had turned into electricity. It was no longer ignorable. She was in love again, but she still loved Thomas and knew she would always love Thomas. There was something wrong with her. She was unfaithful.
Unfaithful to the one who had stood by her through everything. Her best friend. She felt sick.
At this point she cared little for what the church thought, she broke their laws every day. She cared what Thomas thought. Would he leave her? Forever keep his warmth away from her? She couldn’t bear it.
She had felt this multiplicity before. Though she was not one to fall in love easily, now she knew what it had been with Anna. Love. She had remained in love even when her heart had been captured by Thomas. If Ellen saw her again today, four years older, she might even love her now.
But Anna was a woman so Ellen thought—oh she thought it was different. Of course, someone could love a woman and a man at once. She hadn’t considered it might happen again.
The guilt began to eat away at her. Day by day. She grew weary of Thomas. As though he would see straight into her soul, and all the horrific crimes she had committed against him. She felt awful, despicable. Never before had having someone know her so well become a downside. After all the years she had spent waiting for someone to see her.
She had started to avoid him, and he had started to notice her avoidance. She saw a hurt glint in his eye every time they encountered one another, and she held back, for fear of the truth spilling straight out from her lips.
Then one night she had woken to his bags being packed. Halfway out the door. Like a mirror of that night so many years ago. She thought—oh he knows, he knows and he’s going to abandon me. But when she called out what he’d said to her that night, “My love, what are you doing?”—
He had turned to her with tears in his eyes and said “There is something wrong with me.” So she held him as he held her when he’d confessed to unnatural desires, for men, for a man, the same as hers and she felt so relieved. Again she was not alone, and she was the luckiest woman alive. She laughed, startling her husband.
“There is something wrong with me too,” she’d said, “the same as with you.” They had cried together, over the discovery, over her and Anna, and over the cruel limiting world they lived in. And they made love after.
As they lay there in bliss after she realized something. She had been so relieved over the knowledge her world would not come crashing down around her, she failed to consider what they would now do about it.
Orlok
Once again his student had sat distracted, not considering the task at hand, but instead looking critically at him. Eyes narrowed for reasons he couldn’t fathom, while the comforting repetitive sound of Thomas’ quill scratching on the scroll continued to their side of them. She was not angry, they were not about to break into a verbal scuffle, but still she stared with eyes like her familiar.
Just before he could ask whatever it was she might be considering instead of what she had been meant to be doing, she had pulled him down into her, lips pressed to his own. He was shocked at first, but soon he had sunk into it, into her. It was biting and ferocious, and a minute passed before she drew away and he recalled where exactly he was.
He glanced over to where Thomas sat, frozen, but not angry, betrayed, pained, no, instead he appeared mesmerized.
Then Ellen had grabbed Thomas hand, and his own wrist and pulled them quickly into his own chambers, his own room. There she kissed her husband, kissed him (before the jealous twinge could fully root itself), and stepped aside to push him and Thomas together.
When Thomas hesitated, not unwillingly, but unmoving, he was the one who had broken through, conquering the boundary between them. It was not much different than kissing Ellen had been. Similar sparks.
That was all it took before clothes had been torn and the three figured out exactly how something such as this could be arranged.
The next day he’d had them moved into the chamber next to him—without warning which caused the two much annoyance—but they were both beautiful when annoyed so it hadn’t really been much trouble for him.
The conjoining room was meant for a manservant—though he’d never had one. Was that not just welcoming a slit throat in the night? It was quite small, but after that day they had never really used it much beyond storage regardless.
The correct thing to do would be to mark the occasion by a change of procedure marking a change of station, but he’d already dressed them like they were an extension of himself, and they already sat next to him when they ate, and Ellen already shared his treasured days of magic, and Thomas already more than shared his tasks of ruling this place.
So in the end not much had changed, except that he had a warm bed—and a sated appetite.
Thomas
They had been sitting at the smaller dining table—the one not for guests, when he’d suddenly felt a wave of pain in his stomach, combined with nausea and vertigo that had caused the room to practically spin.
In a second he was on his knees, releasing whatever he had just eaten onto the floor. The nausea and pain didn't abate. He was cramping, sweating, and dry heaving.
Ellen was now at his side, holding onto him. She was a blurry mess of dark and pale. Someone was very loudly calling for a healer.
He must be very sick. So suddenly. His heart fully skipped a beat, the world greyed out at the edges, and then he was gone.
Orlok
Thomas had been poisoned. There he lay on Orlok’s bed, shivering, occasionally vomiting. The castle’s healer watched over him, tended to him. Ellen watched him even more closely. Clearly, she had struggled several times not to argue with the healer and interfere with his work.
Orlok had land, and subjects, a court all his own, and knowledge of magician craft beyond all comprehension, and still there was nothing he could do now but wait. The magic from them had significantly reduced his chance of dying and yet—there was always a chance.
That rat had been discovered rather quickly—the idiot couldn’t help but brag—and the nobleman he’d told had enough sense and fear to inform him immediately of the crime. The idiot wasn’t so stupid as to not run away though, and now Orlok must leave the capturing to his guard rather than wring the throat of the braggart himself—which would require him to leave the side of Thomas and Ellen, and take away his own magical contribution to Thomas’ stability.
The boy was half delirious speaking in rapid Deutsch, and although Orlok could speak it himself, the slurring made it nearly incomprehensible. Ellen could understand it completely, based on the specificity in the comforting phrases she had been replying with all night. Her side was much more comprehensible.
The storm raged loudly outside. Lightning flashed and thundered, nearly shaking the castle's foundations. Truthfully, he greatly feared what might occur should Thomas pass tonight. The loss of him would be painful, yes, but that wasn't the only danger.
He was quite reluctant to admit such, but Ellen was filled with more natural power than he was—and less controlled—her opportunity for learning having been stifled throughout her life. The destruction could be immense.
They had slept in his bed for two months, they had left marks on every inch of each other's bodies, and spent countless days together poring over his tomes. Ellen in particular, his protege, was one of the first people he’d found that shared his appetite who he was not in direct competition with and yet—
He sat frozen unable to approach her.
Suddenly she blinked her teary eyes up at him, grabbed onto his cloak, and pulled him to where she was kneeling at her husband's bedside. She sobbed onto his chest—and very slowly—as if stroking a wild wolf—he pet her hair.
From his place on the bed Thomas slowly blinked himself awake, though he was still not fully aware, he smiled at them both, weakly reaching out his hand to touch her hair as well.
It was Ellen’s turn to stiffen up—and then move away from him to grab onto Thomas’ hand, now falling into his chest instead where she stayed until dawn. The next day, the sickness had passed enough that they could be sure he would not die.
The man who’d done it had been captured. And he did die. And it was slow and arduous and created echoing screams.
Ellen
She’d been calling for her husband for some time now. The trick her and Orlok had wanted to do required an extra pair of hands.
She’d worried for him more now than she had before. He had lived through the attempt on his life, just like they’d lived through all the others, but he had not lived through it entirely unchanged.
He was weaker now, than he was before. Not in spirit, he was always a resilient spirit and would likely always be, but in body.
His breath caught faster now, he couldn’t stand as long as he could once before. He was more sensitive to food. He was fatigued, leaning slightly on her, more so on Orlok, in the middle of conversations. They had done what they could for him where magic was concerned, but magic could only do so much.
Still, he was cheerful. Still, he helped around the castle, and still he helped them with their spells. Almost too much for his condition. A few weeks after the incident she had begged him to rest, and he had denied her, saying he was perfectly capable of doing what he had before.
After an hour she had asked Orlok to come drag her husband back to bed. He certainly hadn’t minded. There were a lot of interesting things one could do in beds as they had learned recently.
(Thomas complained that technically this wasn’t resting either—though it’s not as if he minded much himself).
So when he had seemingly disappeared she’d worried she’d find him passed out against some random wall (and that had happened before, multiple times). At least she was grateful he’d been poisoned after she’d found someone who she’d both let and was capable of carrying him.
(Even if that was part of the reason it had happened to begin with. Ellen tried not to think about it too much. She didn’t regret it, but it made her feel weighed down with guilt.)
This time she had found him on the ground, thankfully but not passed out. No, the sight she saw was much more amusing. There he was entirely trapped by three sleeping wolves and Greta. Eyes furrowed at her he mouthed “help”.
Instead, she settled in next to him, moving a wolf a little, whose annoyed side eye was quite reminiscent of the man the wolf followed. She rested her head on his shoulder, as waves slowly pulled her under.
Some time later she awoke to the instinct that someone was staring down at her. She glanced over—Thomas was actually asleep now. They were still covered in the animals, though Greta had wandered over to her lap. She raised her eyes to see her other love. He pet her hair, then Thomas’. What a strange man. She fell back asleep.
Orlok
The realization came on suddenly. Especially for one such as him, who schemed, and planned, and considered, nearly constantly.
He’d always known he was attracted to Ellen—from the start she was alluring. Orlok was not fond of many, interested in fewer, but her otherworldly power, her energy, had been immediately drawing.
She’d turned very quickly into a weakness of his. Another worldly connection. A treasure to hoard alongside every other item in his home. The loss of her would devastate. The pair to his soul.
And Thomas. Well, that had taken much longer. There he was in every corner of Orlok’s life, attached like a twin to Ellen. Later a partner in the business of running a county (and these days he often did even more work than Orlok there). The draw was not the same as with Ellen but he was—comfortable. Yes, it would be disquieting if Thomas were no longer present.
Orlok had never thought to marry. It had seemed a thing for weaker, more sentimental people—dangerous to put one’s trust in another like this. To let them sleep in your bed, assist with your learning, and gather power. Handle your affairs without close monitoring. And yet, here had done so. Without even considering what it was he was doing.
The year they’d agreed to was almost over.
He needed to bind them to himself. Fully. Immediately. He would go mad if he didn’t.
Now that he’d realized what weakness he’d let into his life, this snake in the grass, without the solidification of some binding nature, what he held in his hands felt infinitely fragile. As if any minute they might pack their bags and leave, absconding in the night like they’d had so many places, as if they’d never existed, untraceable. His Ellen—slowly growing powerful enough to hide herself.
Oh, he could see it now, how foolish, his own teachings backfiring so stupendously against himself. Ellen—he could sense her magic still. She was in the library—and the boy—meeting with the cooks.
Down down down into the castle—a quick grab of the wrist and—amused “all right, all right, I’m coming, I’m coming.”
Still holding on (like a manacle around the wrist) Thomas was dragged to the library where Ellen had sat reading. Where Ellen had straightened at the commotion—smiling with amusement as well.
How dare they? This was a deadly serious matter.
“I have something new to teach you,” he said. Then she straightened up as she always did when it came to a new subject, excited yet attempting to convey that she plans to take this very seriously.
Thomas had a confused expression when he simply handed her the book—turned to the page for the binding spell.
Some magics—they required ingredients, the collecting of items, and Thomas occasionally assisted. But those that required simply words and force there wasn’t much he could do—leaving Ellen and Orlok to their work while he flitted about finding reports to check and write and people came to him for questions.
As Ellen read and understood his intent her expression grew from a false to true solemnity. She handed it to Thomas—confusion fading into comprehension. Then she nodded and he nodded.
“Come on.” She said, “You might not be a romantic, but I can’t get married again dressed like this.”
Thomas
While Ellen had gone off to get ready, her long dark hair requiring much more work to style, Thomas had written the contract. It wasn’t necessarily needed according to Orlok, but apparently, these sorts of things were more likely to stick with something physical to attach to.
Thomas was struck by the familiarity. He often had wound up dictating while the count spoke—it was a task he had done even before he arrived here. A skill used in a few more large towns for pay to support them.
It was almost like any other magic he’d assisted in, or a matter of law. Not the soul-altering event it actually would be.
He wasn’t entirely sure if he was meant to be a part of it, or even could be a part of it until he was instructed to write three lines down at the bottom.
Ellen had emerged an hour later, hair in intricate braids. Her best dress, layered and purple, pattern and structure so much different from that of their home country. She looked otherworldly. Gracefully settling down beside them. She looked like a queen.
The magic had just come from his lovers—laced into the words they spoke, but still he spoke alongside them. They had signed the document with blood. Swearing to it. Thomas could feel it set—faintly. A whisper of a change. They felt it deeper.
A month past when the initial contract would have ended, Thomas laid in bed. It was nearing midnight and they were still working on their adaptation of that levitation spell.
They were in the chamber adjacent to the bedroom—the one that was officially Ellen and Thomas’, when really they had all slept together. Ellen had said they’d be done with it three hours ago, when Thomas had first gone off to attempt to sleep. It was too cold.
He had tossed and turned, again and again. Annoyed and tired. He was tired and yet he could not get to sleep, and there they were continuing into the night.
He got up and walked to where they were sitting, hunched over some text, blinking blearily at them until they settled into focus.
He watched for a minute as they feverishly discussed whatever it was they were reading about, leaning against the wall as he often had to do much more now. It would not be done anytime soon.
Then he wandered over and closed the book. He was met with matching glares. Other times it would have scared him, sending an excited jolt of fear, and something else, to his core. An engulfment of warmth, but right now he was tired and it had no effect.
So off he went back to their bed, waiting only a minute or two more to be joined and asleep.
Ellen
In the time before the illness had swept through the castle, Ellen had started getting the dreams again.
Before her mother had died Ellen’s visions, the nightmares, had risen to an unprecedented degree. Dancing skeletons roaming the earth. Floods destroying mountains. Children weeping blood. Death, its specter everywhere. Her spasms, her maladies rose alongside the terrifying dreams.
Ellen has always had omens, every now and then, predictions she now knew were simply an extension of her unnatural connection to nature, but nothing like the period before that illness had swept through the castle, killing so many and leaving others altered had it been so bad.
Until now. The dreams had returned. They were even worse. Her husbands woke frequently to her screams. In the day she had fits and spasms. This time at least she wasn’t subjected to a doctor—it was a magical ailment. Mortal remedies would not solve it. The presence of her Thomas was more soothing a balm than any, but only just so.
For weeks she dreaded and suffered, knowing something was to come, but not what.
Then it had all just stopped. Then the first person had gotten sick, then the next. It wasn’t the same disease that had killed her mother, but it spread like it. Soon half the castle was either dead or dying. For now her and Thomas had escaped it but—
To be honest, she hadn’t felt it was possible. Orlok had always been imposing. Slow to bend. She hadn’t imagined he could get sick. But he had. And he was dying. Laid out like a frail old man on the bed. Like her mother had been.
And Ellen wasn’t saddened, but enraged. She had come so far and learned so much. This would not happen to her again. Ellen had broken the laws of this world in more ways than one—they all had. They all had pushed beyond the realm of what should be, in so many ways.
What was one more?
He was dying but he wasn’t dead. He would be dead soon if no one intervened.
Thomas had found her ripping through the books and scrolls. Searching frantically. He didn’t ask her what she was searching for, he knew. He helped her—flipping through until—
There it was. The book. She hadn’t read it. But as soon as she touched it she knew. And she knew which page to turn to. It would be exhausting but she could do it. She would do it. And she knew that Orlok would help.
When she had entered the room the healers tried to push her out. Instead, she had forced them—pushing with an invisible force that held onto the door. It would not break down.
Then she woke the man—the infuriatingly pale man—with the book thrown onto the bed.
“You will not die.” She said.
“I will not die.” He replied.
Orlok
The spell worked. The spell failed.
He was a monster. A raving decaying monster, consuming everything in sight. The hearts in every corner pounded, echoing loudly in his ears.
The blood. The blood. In their veins. He could hear it. Smell it. Taste it. He needed it. Throats ripping and gushing gushing gushing. Snapping. The dying tasted worse than the healthy.
Prey—running—running. Some succeeding—not worth the chase—but most succumbing to him. His appetite. Ravenous. Starved. Then no one except—
His wife, his husband, consoling and warm. Beautiful. Warm with the blood thrumming, thrumming inside of them.
He needed to consume them, so they would be one with him, a part of him, inside of him forever. Never to separate.
Wide terrified eyes. Brown and Blue. Fear. Fighting. Holding them down—like many times before. Moaning. Dying. Dying beautifully. Dead. The best blood of the night. The best for last. Slowed to a drip.
Dead. Everyone is dead. Orlok looks around. He has killed them. He has killed everyone here, and himself, but most horrifically he has killed them. His lovers, his student, his wife, her husband, his husband. Dead on the ground. Pale and drained. Blue lips and terror filled expressions still on their faces.
He carries them to his family's crypt. The open tombs would be their final resting place. The lids placed on top of them. Crawling into his own deathbed, just as the sun begins to rise.
He awakens to the opening of his coffin lid. His lovers’ faces—not remarkably different, but something unnatural radiating from their souls. Dead and yet not dead. It is dark outside. The ground is filled with corpses. They are alive. They are hungry and latching onto him. It is their turn to devour.