Dracul stood stiffly as he looked out over the dark battlement 0f Drogen. The looming castle he had called his home for over twenty two years. His soul had spent more time lingering in the quiet halls than his physical body had. The details did not matter, at least, to him they no longer did. Whether he had spent a century as a troublesome spirit, or a little over two decades as a man in the flesh, he was the same person. The same monster who had tore young men away from their families for the sake of the great war he had hoped to win. He did win, though he lost in more ways to count.

Dracul was the same beast who had dared to test the patience of the young woman he now knew as Evette Star, the elf who had disrupted the natural balance of existence he had once created. She was a flame that burned so bright before his eyes he simply had to force himself to glance away. The hairs on the back of his neck stood straight at the fresh remembrance of the wet tears that had stained her dark cheeks. He was the one who had brought tears to her eyes the first and only time he had ever truly been in her presence; had sparked a flame all around her that set her heart on fire. She hated him. She would come for him. Evette would tear down one castle wall at a time to search out his soul, he knew.

He could not sleep, albeit, his body did not require it of him. He once enjoyed the feeling of closing his eyes to rest, as it once brought him peace, but that peace had long been disrupted. That peaceful silence was no more Dracul realized, and the lightening in the dim sky rumbled and crashed in noisy agreement. He thought of the girl he had hurt, and of the sky that further darkened with smoke each day that turned over unto the next. He wished that he did not have to witness the sun rise over the burnt horizon each dreadful morning, but he had no choice. He had to keep an eye on the horizon. His non-existent heart beat another day, and so, he could not free himself from the chains of immortality, or break away from the constant chill that radiated in his pale bones.

A dragon of hollow bone; a man of hollow feeling, he hated what he had become. He shattered every mirror within the castle walls, disgusted by the appearance of the vessel that his soul occupied. He knew no other vessel, as only one was created for him. Only one could match the appearance of the spirit that lie beneath, beautiful in ways he could not see; grotesque in more ways he could not bare. Raven haired, with pale, violet skin, and a lean figure, Dracul was a vision that could evoke envy in men, women, and any conscious supernatural alike. Knowing that many he had met longed to hold such a graceful allure as he, did nothing for his ego, as he barely felt any emotion besides sadness, and the occasional bout of anger. He once rid himself of those who simply wished to stare, as he only payed a second glance to those who wanted more of him than his earthly looks. He wanted to evoke an emotion within the few who looked upon his face, but not just any emotion. He wanted them to feel the pain that burdened his existence, the burning sorrow that ate away at the gore that lie beneath his semitransparent skin. He was no stranger to the feeling of sadness, as his creator had wrapped such a feeling around his being.

Dracul found that the days moved at a pace so slow, he found himself droning. Words escaped him, though he knew no one could hear him. He allowed the shadows at his hands to amuse him as they parted and danced around like tiny dancers beckoned to please only his eyes. He amused himself with tricks, and few sad, distant memories that seemed to cheer him instead of sadden him further. He felt like a child again, nodding along with the voices that spoke into his pointed ears. When he was young, the voices were quiet; barely above a tedious whisper. As a grown creature, the voices spoke without caution. They no longer wished to keep from frightening him so. They hissed like a snake in the stiff, browned grass, wild and untamed, rattling their tails with ferocious force. Some sang, and some screamed at the top of their blackened lungs, reminding him of the innocent children that had once haunted his nightmares. He had created the fire that pooled at their feet, and he had been the one who ordered their ears dulled. Their tongues cut out. Their pride torn away.

A large bird perched itself on the edge of a jagged stone that faced the walls core by gripping soft mortar. The fowl's head twisted round, its golden eyes bright with a humorous glow. Dracul stared back at the creature. With the round, forward-looking eyes of an owl, and the sharp, black talons of a yellow-footed hawk, it was clear that the half owl, half hawk was that of a little whimsical daydream. Dracul was not dreaming. He had looked upon his brother's creaturely face many times before. An Owke they called him. The squirrels that bounce about in the early morning do not see him coming, and the mice who run in blind shadows during the eve hate him, as he is quiet and swift.

"You're staring into the distance again. A coin for your thoughts, brother?" The voice was chipper; young sounding, though Octavian was older than he. As Dracul turned back toward the creature that had moments ago perched beside him, he was not surprised to find a grown man leaning against the brick of the wall.

"I do not want your money." Dracul turned his attention back toward the horizon, resting his pale elbows on the brick as he leaned over the battlement with relative ease.

"I don't plan on actually giving you a coin if you tell me what's on your mind, you know. I'm trying to be nice." Octavian frowned, turning down his lips in momentary awkwardness. He eyed his brother, taking in his pale, sunken features and darkened violet eyes. His power grew weaker by the day. His strength was leaving him to waste away.

"Don't you have someone else to bother?"

Octavian's eyes sparkled with flecks of gold as his expression darkened. Dracul knew he was angry with him. "Since you have taken away all of my little friends, I have nothing to be amused by. No one to talk to except you, and we both know you're a stick in the mud." He tied back his long blonde hair with a huff, the strands lifted away from the outline of his rounded face, drawing further attention to the side of his head where dark markings shone under the short golden fuzz that covered the sharp, unnatural curve of his skull underneath. A deformity, Octavian and his brothers called it, but they knew it was not a birth defect. Though the second to youngest of the four, Octavian was never lost amongst his father's disinterest. Though Dracul was the rebellious son; the one who was defiant, that did not mean that his brothers were easily broken.

"They are only asleep. I will wake them when I am ready." Dracul said, his tone stiff and ungiving.

"How do you do that? How do you not feel remorse for sentencing those poor girls to rewatch your memories over and over again?" Octavian glanced away, reminding himself that his brother was not the type who cared if he was hurting others feelings. "You say they're asleep, but I have watched you enter the minds of too many innocents to know that they're not. Our father turned us into monsters, yet you swore you would never be like him. I see now that you have lied." He regretted not holding his tongue the moment two cold hands reached to grip the collar of his golden coat. The long fabric swayed as he did when Dracul pushed him up against the sharp of the battlement, the center of his back forced to bend as his brother held him over edge.

"I am no villain," Dracul's sharp tone matched the jagged edge of the his long black nails. They dug into the thick fabric of Octavian's coat, ripping holes in the fabric as his grip tightened. The side of his paled face turned to bone under the red gleam of the darkening horizon, exposing his true nature as his violet eyes swirled with fine shards of bright white anger. "I am not the evil you should fight against. I am not my creator. I am not the devil who wishes to haunt your guilty heart, or steal hope from innocent souls. I have forced our new guests to watch my memories as if they were happening before their eyes, because watching their reactions have been the only thing keeping me from going utterly insane." He spoke as if he was trying to convince himself that his actions were justified. As if attempting to clear his conscience.

"You ease your pain by torturing others," Octavian reached to remove his brother's hands from where they began to tear his favorite article of earthly clothing. "And that, brother, is exactly what Immanuel did."

"Never again speak his name in my presence." Dracul warned, refusing to release his brother from his grasp.

"Or what? You'll disown me? Send me away like the others?"

Dracul pulled away suddenly, turning his back. "Our brothers chose to leave us. To leave this reality in my care, have you forgotten? They were the ones who wished for me to end their existence here, so they could pass over into Eurora."

"Maybe it is time to bring them back from the other side. We will need them by our side if we plan to win another war." Octavian took a step forward, again extending a hand to place on his brothers shoulder. Dracul shrugged away.

"Immanuel has found a way to cross back over, but perhaps he does not wish to go to war. He is vengeful, but what could he possibly want from us?"

Octavian sh0ok his head. "You're not a fool. You know why he is here—to take back what you stole from him. To reclaim what he built all those years ago. If you believe he is simply here to embrace you and tell you that he forgives you for defying him, you are lying to yourself, brother."

"I know," Dracul sighed. His brother was right, he was no fool. He simply did not want to think of all the reasons why his father has come back to haunt him. To slowly drain Dracul of his power until he has reclaimed the land that he had once ruled over. "I just do not want to believe that he has crossed back over. With the help of the necromancer I freed years ago, no doubt."

"I warned you not to trust her, but you didn't listen." Octavian glowered.

"You should know by now that I have a certain weakness for raging hearts. I saw fire in Aválene, and I could not bring myself to send her back to the hell she came from." Dracul spun on his heel, his silken hair shifting as it rests at his shoulder.

"I just hope that you won't make the same mistake again. I hope you have learned your lesson."

"What are you suggesting?" Dracul's tone turned icy, like the brisk breeze that touched his exposed skin beneath the jewels at his collar.

"You already know what I'm suggesting. . ." Octavian's eyes widened. They were both angry.

"Do not remind me of my mistakes if you do not wish for me to remind you of yours. Did you feel remorse on the eve you took advantage of one of our guests, like you do on the nights you scurry about in the shadows and feed on little helpless creatures?" He asked, his expression hardened.

"I already told you, it was an accident." Octavian growled in response. "You know that I cannot control my urges. I apologized to the girl."

"The poor girl was still afraid of you! I had to force her to forget what you did. You are lucky I still posses the power to erase memories."

It was pointless, they knew, but they did not care. They had discussed their moral transgressions countless times before. They still held grudges.

To the untrained eye, Octavian was the sweet older brother; always the gentleman who would allow a lady to go before him. He would hold the carriage door even as royalty himself, not because he cared for the woman that stepped in before him, but because he wanted to gain her trust. Each year, he plucks single a peasant woman from the small of her father's home, and carries her away to the fantasy that awaits her in the dark, brooding castle that rests between the black hills behind the ancient stone foundation. They willingly follow when he beckons, but they soon choose to run when he chooses to chase. Their eyes tear at the sight of him, a monster with a craving for the blood that pulses through their kind hearts. Unlike the wolves who crave only during their transition, his need is insatiable. His need is constant— it taps him on the shoulder to wake him from early slumber, and some nights it keeps him from closing his eyes. Dracul hated to remind him of his bloodthirsty demons, but he also enjoyed holding the knowledge over his head, like a demented, immature child who takes pleasure in his brother's pain. Perhaps Octavian was right, he is indeed just like his father. Perhaps he is just as evil and disturbed as him.

"Don't pretend like you care! You probably don't even remember the girl's name." Octavian turned away. They refused to face each other.

"Rosalie," Dracul murmured. "One of the girls who came here to vie only for the king. Instead, she took a liking to you when she arrived, oblivious to your true nature. Oblivious to all that you are— a murderer."

"You're one to talk," Octavian snorted, shaking his head, his thin arms crossed over his chest. "Maybe if you would have left your chambers to address them when they first arrived, you would have won their hearts. God knows, you're afraid to show that ugly face of yours."

"I had no interest in getting to know them." Dracul's tone softened.

"Why not? You were the one who sent for them." He wondered, a single blonde brow raised.

"I want for one woman. My heart does not yearn for her, my soul does. I have longed to free myself from the pain I feel. She has vowed to free me of that burden, and I await her in shadow. I await her in darkness, hoping she will one day force me to look upon the light that awaits me on the other side." Dracul closed his eyes, shutting them tight until the memory of Evette's soft expression left him. He cursed under his breath, the sheer beauty of the flecks of darkened hope in her eyes took his breath away. Death was what made him feel alive, and he wanted her to show him what it feels like to truly fall for the fire that burns in the nothingness of the afterlife. The feeling that burdened his soul was numbness, but not a true numbness, simply the illusion of death. He had always wanted to feel the real thing.

"An elf cannot kill you," His brother murmured. "No one can."

"Even so, a man can hope, can he not?" Dracul frowned as his brother smiled. It was just like Octavian to ignore what was before him. He laughed, grinning wide as he patted his brother on the shoulder like he had times before.

"You're usually a bore, but you occasionally do find a way to make me chortle, if that is what the common people call laughter nowadays."

Dracul hated the emotional distance Octavian put between the two of them. He momentarily feigned happiness, faking a smile that did not reach the outer corners of his eyes, not that his brother would have caught on if he had not. With the powers he possessed slowly returning to their original master, and the thought of a certain promise fresh on his mind, he was in a fragile state. He proved himself vulnerable, once again dipping his toes into the water that washed along the shore in search of warmth. Dracul knew no warmth awaited him in the shadow of his brother's heart, yet he tried again and again. His brother could not hear his quiet cry for help.

"Shall we check on our guests? It has been quite a while since you have walked amongst them." Octavian offered, removing his hand from where is rested.

Dracul shook his head. "Not yet. Not until I am ready to wake them."

Octavian grumbled. He was tired of keeping himself company. He did not care for the company of books, and his brother was just as plain and stale as their old pages. He did not hear voices, or hold power to control amusing shadows. "When will you wake them?" He pushed, his blonde brows furrowing angrily.

"When I can look upon their faces and not wish to kill them." Dracul murmured.

"So, a very long while then." Octavian whispered to himself, frustratingly sighing under the glow of the darkened sky. He turned away, disappearing amongst the blackness as his wings carried him away, leaving his brother alone to wither in silence.

The broken company had arrived days ago, shaken by the memories they were forced to face when Dracul decided to put them in a temporary trance, like he had every living person who reside in his kingdom. The shadow swept over the ground, trailing toward the commonfolk like a serpent prompted to tempt. It swept over their faces like mist on a breeze, their bodies forced to fall as the color of their eyes darkened, possessed by knowledge. Octavian made certain they were all asleep, including the loyal soldiers and mutinous commanders.

Dracul and Octavian were alone in consciousness, while others awaited the moment they could wake to the knowledge of magic. If the innocents were ever freed, they would retain the memories Dracul showed each of them, and would surely rise up against the true tyrant.

Dracul walked alone, shadow carrying his body on air as he retreated. The walls of the castle blanketed him from the outdoors. He usually never allowed himself to witness the sun rise in the morn, and he rarely ventured out into the night. He tricked himself into believing that he enjoyed the quiet, cold embrace of his chambers, but he truly longed for something besides the thick, stuffy air. He longed for something darker than the shadow he called to cover the nearby open shutters with.

He paused when he reached the rooms filled with the bodies his magic had captured. Noel lie amongst them, away from the girl who's long blonde hair hung over the side of the dark upholstered chair she lie on. Seeing the bloody marks at her neck pulled Dracul from his thoughts, reminding him of his brother's obscure taste. If presently he was not so void of feeling, Dracul would feel bad for him, and the girl whom he hurt, and the three other girls beside her. He could not recall their names, as his brother spoke little of them. Rosalie was Octavian's favorite, and he had mentioned her name. Dracul had never spoke to the girls, though he could guess that they were too good for the likes of him and his brother, surely.

Dracul expected six elven women to arrive, all vying to marry in hopes to secure peace, but only four showed. Four woman, and one man, who shivered as another image flashed before his blinded eyes, earning a smile from the man who stood over his paled body. The image was of Evette, reaching to touch her lover's chest, lips entwined with his. Even in sleep, Noel felt jealously. She stole a kiss, and before her bound wolf could pull her closer, a different vision replaced the last teasingly. Mockingly.

He left the room without a word, traipsing a trail of darkness behind. Dracul refreshed his memory of the intercepting halls, cold stone and black metal greeted him as he approached the large entryway that lead to the front of the stronghold. The guards lie face down on the ground, metal armor covered by the dirt that blew beneath the fortified entrance. Puffs of shadow covered the dark metal, pulling the impossibly heavy doors open before attaching themselves to the vertical latticed gate, the bars thick and practically impenetrable. The darkness lifted the portcullis, allowing Dracul to step outside into the outer court, away from where he had entered.

Wilted roses lined the pathway, vibrant in their state of decay. Gravity forced the iron barricades to fall shut once Dracul's shadows released their hold. The sound that the sharp metal made was loud, and the chains that once pulled the portcullis open were rusted and brittle. He had broke a chain, the metal rings now scattered about on the ground, twisted and tangled.

He stared blankly for a moment, standing near the wilted flowers that silently called to him, hoping he would nourish them. Wishing that he would quench their thirst. He made no effort to ease their suffering.

A trail of blood led through the fog before him. He bent to touch the liquid, pale fingers reaching toward the streaked droplets. A low sound interrupted his investigation, and his head shot up. The fog cleared as he stood, sweeping the clouds away with a gust of shadow.

Fractals of darkened flesh were scattered over the path, and though unbeknownst to him at first, a fifth girl had arrived. In pieces.

The wings came first, cut and broken as they lie twitching. A set of thin arms came next, fingers bent and broken. Then a torso, two legs; a pretty head dangling from a single windpipe. Titian colored hair covered her face, brown eyes red and bloodshot. The sound that escaped her was soft and barely audible.

Dracul's bloodstained fingers touched her cheek, careful to not move her head. Blood pooled at his knees, staining his garment as he calmly exhaled.

A sound escaped Evette once more, desperate yet distanced. She met his violet eyes, repulsed by the sight, yet relieved. She had been carried to his kingdom no doubt, by whom Dracul did not know. That did not matter now.

"You are going to be alright." He breathed, smiling honorably down at Evette. He wanted a fair fight, not one that proved the odds were in his favor. "I promise, little devil." Darkness rose from his fingers, covering her eyes with a joyous memory. Shadow began to stitch her back together, one piece at a time.

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