#mnhia

❝    you are saying that you have met him  ----     that you know him  ?    ❞     the thought felt strange  ----     and saying it aloud felt stranger  ,    to admit that he was indeed a man  ,    who had known people  ;    a man who had welcomed people into his home  ,    who had known them and had their trust imbued into them  .     to admit that this woman  ,    with her gaze that watched like a raven’s    (    keen  ,    and knowing  ----     as though she could see straight through sypha and into her heart  .    and strangest of all  ,    she wondered what mina would find there    )     had seen into the heart of dracula      ❝    i will tell you the truth    ❞

she reached  ,    gently drawing mina’s hands into her own  ,    her skin warm and welcoming   ;     and as gentle as her gaze was  ,    there was something sharp in her own  .    something that hungered  ,     and yearned     ❝    nobody knows that i have asked you to come speak with me  ,    alone  .     but i must know  ----     you must tell me what you know  .    we can’t  ----    he  -----    ❞    a breath  ,    steadying  ,    and her hands tighten just slightly  ,    ❝    i want to understand him  ,    i think that if i could speak to him  .  .  .     i think there might be a chance  ,    please  .    i am asking you to help change the path that has been laid out for him    ❞

@mnhia sent : ❝ Perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone. ❞

oh sweet woman , how wise you are . if only you how true your words rang in the mind of immortal . grief . a twisted curse of humanity , the bitter end of love . to love was ever sweet and wonderful but the constant reminder of fragile life lingered like ghost . did her heart ache ? how often had she wept over loves long lost . . . too often . a hand is raised to press over wounded heart , to steady . to calm the dull drumming of dispair .

❛ grief is only human . ❜ what a wretched life to lead . to be at the mercy of faceless gods who laughed . bringers of torment , bored with their own immortality that they sought inklings of joy . in the torture of their worshippers . how her grief dared to twist into rage , take form of monstrous creature to strike down those false loves of the past . they had stolen everything from her and now she wished to spill divine blood onto the earth . ❛ it's such a wretched life to lead , no matter your age or shielded heart . i envy those who smile and laugh with their closest , sometimes i wish to tear that happiness away just so another understands my pain . ❜

                  mina has said it herself,  in letters written to those who would rather not know where it was that she had gone.   he  is  not  kind.   nor had he ever pretended to be so.  the count simply was;  and at best he could be cruel and at worst he could be generous.  it mattered not where what deeds had been committed...  all lead down that narrow path of undeniable truth that he would never dare to stray.  his selfishness was equal parts magnanimous in the gifts he would display.  and to speak in loyal facts was to be as kind as it was to be brutal.  his wolfish teeth were bared as he cauterized the wound of whatever flesh they’d severed.  that was just his way. 

but too could the count be sentimental.  it was in the things he kept, and in the memories he dreamed.  faces hidden by the mysteries of time,  kept aloft in place where his wings ...  they could not reach.  corners filled with dusty gold and gemstone filled chains that were more rust than iron in the year of their lord.  letters written by a lover to her husband far from home.  letters not received in the book that bore his name.  he had kept them safe,  kept the parchment dry.  sometimes he would read them and stroke the delicate pen’ as though he could feel them being writ.