Today marks my eighteenth birthday.
As always, I take the time to prepare for my day.
Today is supposed to be a special day, yet how could it feel any different from others?
My parents have already given me all a count's son could desire:
a proper education, servants, comfort, and the quiet life that comes with privilege.
There is naught more that I ought to ask.
All I desire is time-some time alone with myself.
My days feel meaningful.
I suppose I enjoy writing, reading, painting, and playing some instrument...
but none of it truly fills me.
The sun cannot breathe on my skin.
Some affliction prevents me from venturing out during the daylight.
I spend most of my hours within the walls of this castle.
I got everything I need here, but it still feels empty.
Though I lack nothing, emptiness lingers.
Only when the sun hath vanished may I go outside.
Thanks to my father, some establishments remain open late, solely for my sake.
I despise summer-the sun takes forever to leave.
Autumn pleases me far more; darkness arrives sooner.
Granting me the freedom to wander the silent streets of Transylvania at night.
People say my condition is contagious, or that God punished me.
Perhaps he did, mayhap he did not, I cannot bring myself to care.
Didst thou know that "Dracula" means the devil's son ?
It is the name the townsfolk whisper when they speak of me.
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Strangely, I have come to accept it.
There's something soothing about writing while walking through cold, deserted streets.
The world feels quieter, almost honest.
Today, as on every birthday, I visited Old Gina's bookstore to choose a book.
They had been warned of my arrival.
I expected to see old Gina herself.
The shop hath belonged to her family for generations.
A fact Old Gina repeats with great pride.
That's how I understood that family business meant a lot to her.
Instead, I met thee.
I had always thought my mother had been the most beautiful woman alive, but I may have been mistaken.
Thy eyes were grey-so clear I almost saw myself reflected in them.
Thy gaze was cold, piercing, capable of stripping a man to his thoughts.
Yet thy smile brought warmth-the sort thou wouldst feel beneath blankets on a winter's morn.
I had never seen hair so bright; had I not been careful, it might have burned my fragile skin.
Even thy perfume lingered as if a garden of roses surrounded us both.
Thou wast out of this world.
Thy name was Aslaug Muninn.
We spoke briefly.
I wanted to know more about thee-and thee, despite trying to remain professional, seemed curious about me.
I do not often speak with strangers, so I allowed myself the luxury of conversation...
until thou cut it short, asking what book I sought.
For the first time in my life, my mind failed me.
I had no answer.
I asked thee for a recommendation.
"Thou shouldst read Frankenstein," thou saidst.
I had already read it twice, yet something compelled me to accept.
Why not a third time?
"I am looking forward to see thee again, my Lord," thou saidst as I left.
Didst thou mean it? Or was it simply politeness?
I am not accustomed to wishing to meet anyone again.
And yet... I told thee it would be my pleasure.
I cannot stop thinking about thee.
My birthday was meant to be ordinary, yet it hath shifted somehow.
Thy perfume clings to my thoughts, drawing me back into that moment.
No gifts this year-none except the unexpected one of meeting thee.
Surely that counts.
To my new friend, I hope.
- V. van Helsing
Aslaug Muninn first concept
Vladimir van Helsing by _lighty___
art by https://www.instagram.com/_lighty__/