𝘫𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥.

✟   𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥.  ╾    @mercilesbride​

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐭     had finally become acceptance, jonathan accepting that his lot in life was to be this   monster   made by love; unwilling to part with his beloved, rather he would damn himself than to leave her to walk alone into the unknown embrace of that devil. for all his years spent in the shadow of the castle, he had yet maintained his role as the count’s clerk. the work was scarce, but present: as the properties he strove to possess far from his home in transylvania needed  some  hand to manage them. as for the management of his wives...

@draculyr​ 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 :     "doesn't want to kiss any of you" bitch there's 2 and a half chapters of him salivating over lips. their lips. his lips. don't u even start with me i will fu

@mercilesbride​​ 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 :​     ❛ english twink. ❜

✟   𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥.  ╾   ❛ @karnstcins​​

so bitten by the wilderness, his cadaverous palms, chilled to the bone, struggle to keep hold of the meager cup in his palms: eyes are distant, listless, as a cold sweat remains dampening his brow. his german is awkward, made more clumsy by his fleeting consciousness, but after finally rising from his torpor, he has recovered some of his senses.

*  harkeir​​  (  jonathan h.  )  chose #47 from 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 meme .  .  .

   perhaps nostalgia seeps through him, or perhaps he is acknowledging the truth of all situations  :  MEMORY IS UNAVOIDABLE.   ❝  that full - bellied moon  .  .  .  she’s shining on me.  ❞   a pause occurs, followed by a small smile.   ❝  she pulls on this heart like she pulls on the sea.  ❞   THE SMOKE IN THE AIR CANNOT HIDE HIS TRUE EMOTIONS.   (  he is only human, after all.  )   fingers move to push his spectacles up the bridge of his nose,  only to allow his gaze to shift from the one beside him to the blackened sky above thereafter.   ❝  when I was a child,  ❞  he begins,  ❝  I used to believe that the moon was following me.  ❞  a breathless laughs occurs.  ❝  I was certain that she  ( the moon )  was following me home at night to protect me.  ❞  TODAY IS FAR FROM CHILDHOOD  .  .  .  and yet, the mere memory of such a time makes a genuine smile place itself upon Henry’s mouth.

the 𝚂𝙾𝙽𝙶 that was chosen  :  𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒏 𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒈 .  .  .

having spent his youth amongst ledgers and musty old books of practice, jonathan had seldom encountered the cultured aesthete, and poetry to him was a foreign tongue which he had not the mind to truly appreciate. although words were sweet, there was something, some distant light which he could not touch, that shown in the other’s speech. a romantic, speaking softly of things beyond his mind of numbers and ordinance. however, the solicitor could not deny that his voice, gentle as the perfumed breeze, was soothing: and though he could not comprehend it, he became raptured by its spell, following him with eyes that glittered like moonlight upon the sea, brimming with intrigue. ever the listener, hand resting atop one perched knee, as he lay his head against the seat, as if a child settling to sleep with a story upon his ear. 

𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜  𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍  𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢  𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍  themselves in blue satin frills, and the young and brave alice kinglseigh shook out her golden hair and grasped the solicitor’s hand quite tightly in her own    to seal a most decisive promise,    ❝  you needn’t worry.  why, i wouldn’t say anything about it, even if I fell off the top of a house!   ❞

𝐅𝐎𝐑  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐒𝐓  𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄  had kept him intrigued, leering over the bannister to watch the swirl of richly dyed fabrics amble across the floor.   occasionally the monster’s keen sight would pick out the pale face of a jilted lover or the markedly beautiful face of a fledgling whose name could scarcely be remembered.   at times the fog would clear and his eyes would dance with lucid memory through the distant burrows of time, and in the glare of mournful light that surrounded the red iris would come the faintest and purest look of levity that the count could ever muster.   it disguised his own discomfort, which was to any pair of sharp eyes actually quite evident in every false breath his deathly lungs had drawn. 

as he leaned further over the richly carved railing, his eye was caught by a most familiar-looking mien; chiseled and as pale as his own, but young and gallant in the way that humans were, when the vampire was most prone to change, and blood in them was as fresh and quick as the days when once they’d lived.

the count’s terrible mouth drew back to smile when his gaze fell to the sharp pair of teeth between harker’s own red lips, and the feeling of unimaginable power came over him wildly and filled him with the sadistic excitement his heart had been secretly yearning for.

❝    did not i tell you, my dear friend jonathan, that i was not attuned to such happy gatherings and their frivolous celebration?   and while there is no work for me this evening but to watch the enjoyment of my guests, i cannot yet allow myself to succumb to the enticements and temptations of this sacred night…    ❞     the count’s question was rather pointed, relying solely on the memory of a once-beloved prisoner that had finally succumbed to the hellish nature of the very temptation he’d tried so hard to avoid.   kisses for all there had been, and yet more for his beloved wife and the strapping american that had been so invested in the protection of his once beloved bride               with a maliciously bitter smile, he turned to jonathan in a particularly gruesome way;  one hand outstretched to cup his shoulder through finery and lace, though his grip was still like iron.      

                      ❝    but perhaps i can yet be persuaded…  for the eucharist  has yet to be had from our special guest of honor:    pray, what do you know of this night and its traditions?     ❞

long had the fangs bestowed upon him ached to bite, to rip, to tear into pale flesh which housed so tumultuous a spirit; so vile that it, too, stirred even the clouds, which hung low and dark about the spires of his castle. a memory! so foul was it that it ate at his decaying heart, cold and unmoving. how deeply he wished to drink of the man before him, inhale his sweet blood and bring life to himself once more, which was so stolen from him! but softened heart still wept at such monstrous desire, and so his rage curled, deep into the dark pits of his soul, and festered there still.

not a friend, no, never friend. enemy yet, even as in his veins clung the thick, evil verses of the devil. blooded by his ruby mouth, cold against the nape of his neck, which had drunk so deeply of his humanity and filled him in turn with an endless greed.

❝ ╾ i should say i know little. ❞   or perhaps that he did, but did dare not speak of the evil! thirsty tongue fell dumb in his mouth, as he summoned speech. taking not one, but two times to conjure his voice, as eyes raised, leaden in their speed, to meet the icy stare of the other. through all difficulty, however, he secured his gaze. cruel! the delight in his eyes, far beyond simple pleasure for the joys of the evening, instead the evil satisfaction of a beast who has claimed his slaughter. how he must revel knowing he will soon take another beyond the grave.

❝ but that there is quite the means for celebration. you spoke to me once at length regarding the traditions of one walpurgisnacht, and once of deceased ancestors. ❞   but he did know: it took no little theory to devise what exactly the count had planned, and it made jonathan’s heart weigh heavily. to think another innocent soul would be taken by the devil turned what little blood lay in his veins thick and hot. though, sickeningly, he could not separate the rage from the thirst! somewhere in this grand castle beat the mortal heart of another sacrificial lamb. and in the grand hall danced devils, waiting to break bread with the forbidden fruit.

he followed the practiced motions of a gentleman fixing about the collar of his shirt: the fashion of his time now past, instead traded for the more modern accessories. pocket-watch traded for a wrist-watch, silk imperial exchanged for the more delicate, tightly tied tied which laid across a pure white breast. however stark, either by bright red fabric about the pale neck, or dark circles as deeply colored as the rich, thick fabric of his frock coat, his appearance was overall unknown to him. for as long and as hard as he would gaze into the mirror, memory tracing over the ghost of where his image should stand, there was naught to be seen.

breath exhales. weightless, though in him something heavier lay. were not for guilt, leaden as metal, cradled in his chest, perhaps he might float far beyond the floor. toward the high rafters, out through the ceiling, through the stormy skies above the castle, and out finally, free, toward heaven ╾ god, forbid he entreat upon heaven!  devil’s curse upon him, marked in all his sin; the cursed, wretched thing implanted inside him since first he stood before this forsaken castle.

eyes which bore a bitterness inescapable, the darkness of that horrid infection had now long since fallen across the face of his maker astride him: though he had not felt them linger. tall he stood, far above the regalia of his children, lovers, family. he seemed more so imposing not by the height far above them, but by the sternness in which his gaze trickled coolly down the sharp line of his nose. a gargoyle, crouched high to observe, though not yet partaking of the rejoicing of his kin. jonathan leveled the bite of his glower, rightened his jaw and posture, and turned his eyes to the ground. though, in his heart, still he cursed, with a ferocity  held for so long. for still he loathed what weakness had led his fickle heart to sin.