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Chapter 7

The Romance in War/

Letters from Bran Castle

Though Dracula was not in the room physically, the legend of his past was impactful in the sense that it signified something great. It may have signified something terrible. It really just depends on who’s side you were on that day. You see, on this day, the 1st official day of autumn, the good souls to that which were still alive and damned, were in a balance that favored the future of evil.

With time having fallen back an hour and darkness gaining an hour, Satan saw an opportunity for his rule. He saw a takeover coming. He had questions about the monocle and the afro pic. He had suspicions about The Father of Nothing. He read his body language. He noted that the wine of the council had not been touched by him and only he. Satan though, in all his backwards glory, was more powerful than ever. He was fragile, furious and vulnerable. When a man is those things, he is threatening. When Satan is those things, it means something else. Something no one on Earth or in Hell could imagine.

Satan stood. He looked to the ground.  Inside Dracula’s castle was the only place in Hell that the ground was protected from fire. He thought hard for the right words as he gazed at the stone floors that somehow did not burn. Not feeling a burn under his feet gave him a sense of peace.  This peace made him feel uncertain. Dracula’s castle could make even the ruler of Hell feel uncertain, yet strangely at home. Mysticism poured deep into every inch of the castle.

Satan looked up. He looked at the Father of Nothing and then at The Woman. All the images, all the focus, all breath was in a balance. Anticipation grew as Satan stood. He looked calm and powerful. His eyes told a story of tragedy. Abaddon’s fate raced inside the thoughts of Satan. He could see his son taking his 1st steps. Most children… no… all children have the chance to fall when learning to walk. The sons of Satan though only could walk. For if they were to fall, they could die. Infants in Hell didn’t exist. Satan remembered Abaddon in his life. They scrolled backwards and forwards through the memories as he looked at The Council of Doom.  Then he took a deep breath. Then he spoke…

“We are gathered here today, under the grace of protection by my eldest ally.” He laughed at the thought of him mocking men of the cloth by his opening remarks. He thought in his head while he spoke.

“The time has come for Hell to be free. The time has come for liberation. The time has come because I sense equal evil to good ratio in the air up on Earth. The time has come to wage war.” his words shook the room though he spoke in an eerily reminiscent and calm voice.

“Dracula is back on Earth. He is looking for keys to this, our come up. He has written me a letter and invited us to Bran Castle, on this occasion.”

Satan reached back. He opened his palm. He extended his fingers. A servant entered the room. He was in full cloak and could not be identified by anyone in the meeting. The servant handed him singed paper with ink written on it. Satan looked down at the paper, which he held up and began to read.

“Dearest Council, that of which is part of me, I truly hope you find comfort in my home. I am on Earth now, searching for Mina. This, my war has gone on since time began and I wish it all to end. I’ve heard words of my love which has led me to a desert. There is a place on Earth that the locals say, Satan lives. This place also has been said to be the residence of the love I have walked through time for. I shall pass on any information I find for what is soon to no longer be my quest, but yours.

To the powers of evil, to the toast of the wine of my own homes comfort, I bid, you raise a glass and gather your thoughts. Drink to the vision of one day finding peace again without the judgement and curse of God and his son. Nor fear the fury of Mary the mother, for she has not the power to create but for herself. While you and I have suffered for so long, I can tell you one thing… We were never alone.

Brilliance in accomplice and always against God

-Dracula”

Satan looked up. His voice cracked with emotion as he spoke. Tears falling again at the sentiment of Dracula’s letter and the thought provoked that he could one day see his son again. See his son alive and without the curse in which he never had deserved, for he was a child and he made no mistakes except for that of being born the son of Satan.

He again, reached back. He opened his palm. He extended his fingers. He waited for the cloaked servant to re-enter the scene.

The servant walked in. The servant served Satan with blank pages and quill pens and ink from the coals in Hell.  The servant then began to walk away. The stride of the servant was with an injured limp. The body of the servant under the cloak looked to be mangled and smelled of pure shit.

Satan requested one thing.

“Servant! Stop right there.”

The servant stopped.

“For the memory of this Council, uncloak yourself. Allow us, the heads of this nature, to see your face. For our memory of this war, we must see your pain. After that, and only that, you may leave.”

The cloaked servant began to uncloak.  He had glasses that had broken lenses. He shook non-stop as he removed the cloak. He had relatively good skin for someone condemned in Hell.  His black hair was combed forward. His eyes were black as night and he now stood naked and shaking in front of the Council of Doom. His chest had no definition. His legs were uneven and his belly fell into his gut from malnutrition.  

“Speak your name servant,  then leave us.” said Satan.

The servant stuttered and shook but in the time he did, he stammered out the name. His name. Aldo…

Then he walked out from the castle. Naked, pathetic and without a clue of how not to live in suffering.

Satan looked at the unmoved yet motivated faces of the Council. He instructed as he handed out the paper and quill pens.  

“Write your place in this, the war of our time. Make it your own. Make it yourself, for what you make it is soon how we shall rule. Make it the way you will live it and leave the finished letters here for our comrade to read. I will review your fortunes as well and we will meet once more on the day that marks day one of the war.”

Satan left the room and the doors of the castle, under Dracula’s spell, locked. As did the windows. The only lighting in the room was black candles that lit themselves and only lit in a way that the author of each letter could see. They could only see what they wrote.  They did not converse with each other. They focused on their deepest thoughts and feelings. Then they both, simultaneously wrote…

The Woman took a sip of her wine.

She had a song stuck in her head as she picked up her pen. It was a song as ancient as the curse of Dracula. It was Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata.  

She played it with her fingers. The quill pen was still in her hand. A black crow’s feather waved and bounced  the cryptic melody played itself in her head. She was calm and focused. She was anxious and deep in thought. She bit her lower lip and dipped the tip of the pen into a coal-based ink that was melted by the fires that Hell had provided.

“Dearest Mina,” she wrote…

She, in her fundamental self, could not ask a man for the power she wished to obtain.

“As I sit here in Dracula’s castle,  I envision how your regrettable sin was your greatest asset. To wait in the Holy Wars for your husband to come back must have been torture. The same torture by which Vlad would tribute you by his tortures to the Turks.

I can feel your heart going out as you go yourself from these very stories of this beautiful home. I can feel your making in these confines. You have set well, your home. I could not have done better. Every corner of this home is covered in shadows. Every corner by the look of another woman, is clean. Every windowsill is wiped, and every table is washed. The floorboards are immaculate. Your back must still ache from the grueling work of a woman from your time. I could imagine but not comprehend the feeling you had when you heard the rumor of your lover’s fall.

I too would have escaped life at such a turn in fate.  Though you acted in haste in mistaken death, you were condemned to Hell.  Because of your intent and purity of heart, you were scorned by the God who guaranteed you the gift of life. What kind of fuckery did you deserve?

You did not end your duties at death though? Knowing that a loss in a Holy War meant you and he would be condemned either way. So, you set up your home in conditions you knew you could bear because for you, life was Hell.  What could have possibly been worse?

Though it was your soul who was damned, your heart still made this castle a home for you and your man. The tragedy of love from my view is comical to the burden that you bore.

I write to you because it is your beauty that powers the moon. I want that. There is a weakness your eternal love is out seeking. As simple as it sounds, it is obvious. He is searching for what is not present. Power. I own it like Athena, Aphrodite and Queen Mary the first all have. But as Satan can attest to, it was the moon which was given to you that is key to this war.

Dearest Mina, from Woman to woman… Relinquish its power to me and soon the sun will be yours and I vow you and he… Dracula himself, the missing piece, which is day. Then in eternity and peace that you deserve, can you rest.  

With desire for victory,

THE WOMAN

It was with the drop of the quill pen that the windows opened once again. Hell’s light shined in through the doors. The heat was followed by flames and somewhere in the desert, the moon lit a new tone of red.

The Woman stood and lit a cigarette.  She took three puffs and stood up. She found an ashtray shaped like that of a cross on a coffee table in the living room. She ashed the cigarette and laid it down while it burned its smoke into the air. She looked at the ashtray with a familiar gaze. Her eyes went soft and she bit her bottom lip, just off to the side of her ruby, wine stained lips. She blinked hard. A vision of her own past that carried a sentimental memory flashed through her mind quickly. She walked away into the heat. Not a single drop of sweat even dared to escape her and her power on this occasion. It was all inside her and she had never been as powerful or empowered as she was right then.

*****

To whom it may concern,

Dark Lord, I must say everything is going to plan. How is your son? Wait, that was harsh. Where are my manners?  

I knew when we sent your son to kill Father Rahm he would not return, and yes, he was murdered by Shiloh with the Blade of Azrael. By the way if you could kindly return my monocle, and the hair pick of my associate.

As I sit in the home of my old rival and friend; I can’t help but ponder that it’s funny how things work out isn’t it? Who would have ever thought we would make it this far, but the war is all but won.

The thing that I love about you is that for all of your evil, fire, and brimstone you still have a sliver of love, and goodness in that black heart of yours. You wear your heart on your sleeve.  I used to look at it as a weakness, but I now see that I was wrong. It keeps the balance and allows you to wield the power that you do.

At our last meeting before you sent your son to meet his fate, I spoke to you of a weapon that would end the war, and that weapon is you. Your pain, your tears, they are all fuel. The balance of evil has shifted, and now it is time to strike. I’m sure as you read this your eyes grow red with rage, you want to kill me more than anything or anyone. But we both know that you can’t, and you won’t.

Where is my place in all of this you ask? The answer is this right here, right now. It’s time let’s return to the realm of men and rain fire on their pathetic souls.

Yours truly,

The Father of Nothing

P.S. My sincerest apologies for all of the theatrics, but you wouldn’t have sent your son if I told you the truth.

(to be continued)