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Three days after my twenty-first birthday, I became a wife. Six days after that, I became a widow.
It was a two-week trek to Andrei’s village, where he would take me after our wedding and where we would build our new life together. My mother had dreamed of this day, my father had paid a handsome dowry for my betrothal, and I had nodded my head in acquiescence every step of the way, having known deep inside my heart from an early age that I had no choice in the matter.
And so, I was handed over to my new husband whom I had just met hours prior, in front of our priest and our family, and I said yes. We kissed. His moustache had pricked my skin and his heavy musk had stung my nose, but I smiled nonetheless, even though I knew it did not reach my eyes. There had been no money for a wedding portrait, but my younger sister had drawn a charming miniature of us as a parting gift, and I took it gladly, placing it against my heart as tears swelled in my eyes. We hugged and kissed, with the knowledge that we were unlikely to ever see each other again, miles and miles of mountains between us now, probably more when she was herself married off.
My new husband was a hard man of a large build but quiet demeanour. He barely spoke, barely even acknowledged my presence beyond his brusque thrusts inside me when we retired to bed at nighttime. His hardness pressed into my centre painfully, and that pungent breath against my skin. I shuddered every time, and yet I withstood it as that was to be my life as it had been for every woman in my family.
Slowly we made our trip, up and down valleys and mountains, and the days blended together as I counted them down as I did with Andrei’s thrusts. On the sixth day, we stayed at an inn. We were in Bistritza then, and the crisp autumn air filled my lungs as we unpacked our carriage. This was a larger town than my home in Moldavia, so I stared wide-eyed at all the signs of life around us, even as Andrei rushed me over into the inn and our room for the night. He did not want me to look into this city and appreciate its grandness, I knew, because where we were going was back deep into farm country, and I was to be holed up again, forever, to have his children and take care of the homestead. There was no choice for me in those days, there would never be any choice, at least I never imagined that there would. I didn’t even know what year it was, that we were in the eighteenth century, and that further West, artists and revolutionaries were creating things I could never conceive of.
I went up to our rooms to get ready for bed while Andrei found a table at the tavern to have his nightly beer. Beers, to be honest. He reeked of them every night, a wretched smell that I was certain I would never grow used to. As he did so, I sat by the vanity, staring at my own visage in the mirror. My countenance betrayed the sadness I felt in my heart at the inevitable direction of my life. As I braided my long dark hair over my shoulder, I hummed an old song from my home country and thought of happier times – of playing in the mud with my sister, of learning embroidery from my mother, of running through the fields, imagining that if I ran so so fast I could be far, far away.
My reverie was interrupted by Andrei bursting through the door in a drunken stupor. His face was bright red behind his moustache, and his hat was askew. He barely even looked at me as he fell backward into the bed, making the thing shake with the weight of his massive body. I stared at him as he snored loudly, his chest heaving up and down, up and down. I hated looking at him already, I hated where he was taking me. I hated this life that I was being forced to live even as I knew no different. I felt the soreness between my legs already, the bruises against my thighs, and felt cold in my veins at the thought that this would be my life until I died.
Or until he died.
It must have been the devil coming over me, some spook or some demon taking over my body at that very moment, because suddenly I could take no more of it all, and I approached the bed, having thrown my long plait over my shoulder to hang limply against my back. It swung side to side as I picked up a pillow and held it to my chest, hovering beside Andrei, who still slept soundly and loudly. I felt no fear, only determination. Some anxiety to be sure, though mostly for the unknown. The demon in me roared to life and urged me on as I held the pillow over Andrei’s head and then rested it against his face. Then I pressed harder, smothering him completely. In his inebriated state, he barely reacted until it was too late and he’d been too weakened by the lack of air, though he did put up a struggle. Though he was easily twice my size, he did not manage to overpower me, as that demon was much stronger, and I held and held, pressed harder against his face, heard the crunch of his nose and the gargling from his throat as he tried to swallow for more air. It had been hours, it had been seconds. I could not say how much time had passed, but soon it was over, and Andrei was lifeless, limp on the bed, tree-trunk arms akimbo next to his body. His face was pale, almost grey, as the life drained out of him completely, the redness from his drink completely gone. The pillow fell to the floor and all at once I was faced with the reality of what I had done. I had killed my husband.
*
I’m still not sure how I ended up by the river, it was all blurry in my mind as I hurriedly gathered my things and escaped the room with the dead body. I can remember cinching my stays, pulling my hair into some sort of updo, and picking up as much as I could carry before I threw on my cloak and quietly left the inn. Soon, I was running through the cobblestones of Bistritza, down narrow streets and back alleys, and into a clearing that led to the forest entrance, which got heavier and heavier with thick spruce trees and firs the further I went along. My feet were tired, heavy in the dainty shoes I had been wearing, and my stockings were growing wet and cold with mud, but nothing could stop me as I trekked ever forward, heedless of direction, just aiming for away.
The darkness enveloped me in its cold embrace, and I had nothing but the moon for company as I gingerly picked my way through the forest towards where I could hear the river flowing. I would follow it in any direction until I found civilization again. I would make a new life for myself away from the trappings of my farm peasantry.
In my imaginings, I was too distracted, and was surprised by the howls of wolves all around me as I reached the edge of the river. The water flowed powerfully, glittering in the moonlight, splashing against the rocks. I could not see the wolves, but could feel their presence as their howls grew louder and louder. My breast heaved with heavy breaths as I ran, though I knew not where, as it felt as though at every side of me there were wolves waiting in the shadows. Would I be mauled to death, was this divine intervention – my punishment for mariticide? Tears streamed down my face and in front of me was only darkness. My cloak was so heavy, and I would have dropped it to run faster, but it was still so cold and my hands were near-frozen, rolled into fists as they held the cloak closed at my front.
Then, a rock. My foot hit a rock, and with the ground wet I had no grip, and fell in a heap. I hit my head on the side of a tree and after that it was all darkness.
*
It was dark still, or rather, again, when I opened my eyes. Though there was no clock nearby, I could tell by the stiffness in my limbs that I had slept a long while. My head was pounding, a bruise starting to form where I had hit my head earlier. I rose to sitting and looked around myself, taking in the stupendously ornate canopy bed where I had been placed, with thick velvet curtains hanging open on every side. There was a blustering fire in the hearth which emanated a warmth which had thawed my frozen fingers, and every inch of those stone walls was covered in old paintings or tapestries. The bed where I rested was the softest thing I had ever laid upon, and the blankets which covered me were of a rich fabric that felt luxurious to the touch. Underneath, I was only in my undergarments, and I could see my dress, stays and cloak hanging by the hearth, drying. They looked almost dry already and not for the first time I wondered how long I had been asleep.
“You are up,” a voice said from a corner of the room. There entered a woman carrying a tray of what looked like soup and tea. Her voice was soft and quiet, and her hair fell down her shoulders in thick, gold waves. She had the most beautiful face, delicate and pure white, with lips red as roses and large blue eyes which seemed to sparkle against the light from the fire. Her dress was elegant, but simple, the small waist cinched in tight by her stays and accentuated by the roundness of her skirt. She placed the tray next to me on the bed and sat not too far away, where I could smell something delectable and sweet on her skin and hair.
“Where am I?” I asked. She smiled and held my hand in hers, which was small and cold, nails beautifully filed into pointed edges.
“You are in Castle Dracula, my darling,” she said. “Our wonderful Count found you lying in the grass barely alive, and has brought you here to recuperate. We have been watching over you for the past two nights.”
“Two nights?” I shuddered, thinking of how much time had passed, and how close I was still to the village, where they had surely found the body of my dead husband and were likely looking for the culprit of the heinous crime.
“Yes, but it is no bother. You are safe now,” she said, speaking in what felt like an old way. She spoke the way my grandmother would speak, language left behind by time. And yet she looked young, maybe my age, perhaps a little older. “I am Margareta, the lady of this manor.”
“You are a Countess?” I asked, shocked. So young for such a title, but she simply smiled and nodded.
“In a way. But come, you must eat. There is some soup here, and some tea to warm you up.”
So I did, as if in a trance as I held her eyes, which seemed iridescent almost, her beauty preternatural. Eating the soup and drinking the tea, I soon forgot my earlier anxieties, and no later had I finished my meal than I felt my eyes heavy with sleep again. My Lady left me then, taking the tray with her as I fell back on the goosefeather pillows and sunk back into sleep.
Nights passed this way for a week, as I rested and recuperated. I saw only my Lady Margareta, who brought me my meals and helped me with the wash basin as I slowly regained my strength. Her dutiful hands carried me through, and I had no thoughts beyond the beauty of that smile, even with its sharpness. I had no cause for fear because I felt loved there, loved and cared for like never before in my entire life, not since I had been a babe.
Enough time had passed that I wondered if my family had been informed of my escape. Was it even considered an escape? Perhaps they thought I was dead, that someone had broken in and killed my husband then taken me. Would anyone care to look for me? I did not care, really. I spent my days sleeping and wandering the empty halls of Castle Dracula until my Lady came to join me at dusk. She only appeared at night, and I had yet to meet the Count, not that I minded too much, as I had been enjoying the company of the lady of the house so much. I had never had a chance to spend so much time with another woman before, outside of my mother, sister and grandmothers. But Lady Margareta was unrelated to me and had worldly knowledge I could never conceive of. She spoke of countries beyond the borders of our own, beyond Moldavia and Transylvania. She spoke of art and music and literature, of scientific discoveries and astronomical phenomena that were entirely foreign to me, and all I could do was listen with rapt attention. I fell under her spell quickly with no hesitation.
But even then, I knew there was something afoot. I couldn’t put it into words then, but there was an eerie strangeness in the air that felt supernatural in nature. Just as when I held that pillow against Andrei’s face, I felt the pinpricks in the air of something not quite right. Perhaps it was the conspicuous absence of this Count, or the permanent darkness of the castle, but the longer I remained, the stranger it all seemed. There appeared to be no servants, and never any visitors. Time seemed to have stopped in the castle, even and I and the Lady talked for hours, well into the early hours.
I would have dreams at night of something heavy on my chest, of a wetness around my neck, and wake up shivering in an empty room, nothing but the whooshing sound of trees outside for company. The wolves would howl and I would burrow deeper into my covers, hands over my ears as I attempted to go back to sleep. Afterwards, I would feel a soreness around my neck, but there were no mirrors anywhere that I could use, and besides it would fade as quickly as I got up, and then with my Lady for company I soon forgot any hauntings.
It went on like that, the suspicious eeriness and beloved company mingling together, making the days pass faster and faster until I couldn’t say how long I had been kept in this castle. There was never any mention of my leaving, the Lady Margareta seemingly happy for the company, and I had nowhere else to go regardless, so I basked in the hospitality even as the dreams became harder and harder to ignore.
Then, one fateful night, I had settled into bed when the Lady came to sit by me, hand on my hand. She cupped my cheek gently and pressed a loving kiss to my lips, staring deeply into my eyes.
“My darling, the Count will come to see you tonight,” she said. I shivered in confusion.
“What?”
Lady Margareta smiled, her rose lips lifting at the sides most charminly.
“I have decided that I would like to keep you here with me, my darling. You are to be my companion in darkness,” she explained, though I still failed to understand what any of this could mean. “I have not had company such as yours in an age, I have been so happy these past weeks with you. The Count has agreed to let you stay with me, but he must visit you here first, to meet you and to bring you into darkness.”
“Darkness?” I stuttered. She smiled, not unkindly. Another kiss pressed into my lips as she closed her eyes and nodded.
“Yes, darling. Please say yes, say you will stay with me here, be my companion.”
I didn’t know what she meant, what any of it meant, but a sense of excitement grew in me at the thought of staying here, staying by Lady Margareta’s side, of being with her always. I was transfixed entirely and there was never anything that I could say other than–
“Yes,” I said, and a sudden exhaustion came over me. My eyes felt heavy and the rooms began to spin, but the Lady did nothing but gently help me back against my pillows. The last thing I saw with my mortal eyes was her face as she lowered me to the bed and pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead.
The nightmare had come back but when I opened my eyes, instead of an empty room and the whooshing winds, I had company. The Count, looming over me, casting a deep dark shadow over the bed. His eyes dark as the moonless sky, thick moustache covering a red mouth, large, thin hands held firmly in front of himself.
“Anna,” he said in lieu of greeting. My entire body burst with shivers at the depth of his gravelly voice. “You will stay here with Margareta, stay in the household of Castle Dracula,” he added. His accent was even more ancient than my Lady’s. I could understand him but barely, something dark and ancient coming out of him in waves.
I was petrified in the bed, unable to move, though he didn’t seem to mind. My neck was throbbing with that familiar ache, and this time it did not go away. The Count’s voice was wet even as it rumbled out of his chest, and I had the distinct sense that he had drunk from me. My blood. By god, he had drunk my blood. But I felt no fear, I felt nothing but nausea and anticipation, and he could feel it in me because a calmness washed over me that seemed to be coming from him. He lowered himself to the bed, looming ever closer, and my nose filled with all the powerful scents of him – something musky, dark, ancient. Something mildewy and wet, something floral. Mystified, I could do nothing but stare wide-eyed at this monstrous creature, even as he pressed his hand against my mouth and said sharply – “drink.”
As the logical part of my brain attempted to interpret this order, my instincts took over, and I bit forcefully into his hand, drawing blood. He did not flinch, did not react, simply hummed as I swallowed the blood that burst out, which was thick and strong, not metallic as I had tasted before in my own hands. His blood was like nothing I had ever tasted before, not quite sweet and not quite savoury, yet it filled my stomach and I felt it pounding in my veins, warming up my insides which had been so cold before. I drank and drank until time fell away and the Count pulled his hand away with a sharp “enough, child.” He seemed to heal himself, unbothered by the blood loss, and looked down at me again from his full height, which seemed to me enormous as I lay on the bed.
Perhaps he said something, though I could not remember. The bed felt liquid, I felt out of time completely. My limbs were tingling, and pain seized me like never before, as if I had been dying. And I had been, in actuality, dying. Leaving mortality away to enter the darkness where I would meet my Lady in eternity as her companion. I did not think of this then, simply howled like those wolves as the pain took over my thoughts, and then I fell back asleep, with sweat covering every inch of my body and the fleeting thought in my mind that I might never see the sun again.