"You are not a man, stop acting like one."

"A woman's duty is to serve and a man's duty is to protect."

"Men have it worse."

"Be more like a girl. It's bad enough you look like a giant with man shoulders! Men don't like such girls."

"He is a good guy, given your... situation. You probably won't get anything better at this point."

"Have fun living alone the rest of your life, whore!"

"Mavis, you have to start thinking about your future and your own home, you're nineteen!"

"I think you'll do better in art class."

With that last voice, I awoke with a gasp. My eyes shot open to meet, it was still almost noon, and the descent to land had started.

After all, even Satan's most fatal flaw was pride.

Another night, another nightmare. I must have fallen asleep at dawn, I concluded.

Sleepily stumbling off the narrow staircase that led me down to Romanian pavement was when I felt something strange. I'm not sure what it was, but it just felt like something had changed. I hadn't felt this way for two years. It took me a while, but I figured it out what it was. Quickly, I rushed to the nearest trash can. In my frantic beeline, I knocked aside some girl standing in the middle of the curb.

"Hey, what the fu-!?"

The metal rim of the trashcan dug deeper into my hands as I clutched it to keep me from collapsing into it. Good God, the smell was disgusting. I made a mental note to never eat suspiciously gray eggs and stale bread with shit-smelling coffee ever again with this airline.

"These goddamn junkies are ruining this country..." Someone said, I flipped them the finger without looking.

"Well, that food was pretty nasty." Said the girl who had been sitting beside me in the plane.

"No shit Sherlock." I grunted silently.

That nightmare must've shook me to my gut. Needless to say, I had stopped having them for a while before I hopped on this plane. Gee, I wonder why.

Checking was horrible. As everyone knows in an airport, the mind-numbingly long line was followed by a number of lines longer than the last. Like a traumatic memory, it always seems foggy in retrospect.

However, once I got out, everything was a rush. When one gets out of the airport to a foreign country, they expect everything to be different, but it's not. It was a sunless day with an ombré of dark clouds, the grass bright green, and the buildings were still modern. Somehow, I expected something different.

I guess I should blame it on that goofy book about a moody sparkling vampire and that weirdo chick who kept obsessing over him. I mean, I couldn't be the only one who gets sucked into a world while reading about it.

I glanced at the instructions on my phone. As excessive as it was, it still stung a little that my father didn't bother to actually write me directions to get there; rather the automated message sent to business partners or investors when they come to Romania to meet him for business dinners or something.

The entire notion of traveling by myself given my background is pretty confusing, right? I suppose  you gotta try it before you knock it.

My dad's a really big perfume CEO here and already comes from a long line of wealthy ancestors. See, before that nobody would've taken me for a rich kid, or at least the child of a rich father which brings me to the next part of my answer. Me and my father disagree on a lot of conventional issues, for instance whether a girl running away to another country is a big deal or not. However, we both believe in rising up ourselves without help, it's kind of the motto of my family which my half-brother has pretty much lived up to, by the grace of God.

If you ask me, dad probably thinks that I'm greenware porcelain and dreads the idea of having to take care of a useless carpenter girl that would have a hard time being hired for any civil engineering position anyway due to workplace sexism.

Come to think of it, flying solo is the most selfless thing I've done. If I died, nobody would be squabbling over responsibility for me.

Thanks a lot, dad. I thought sarcastically, while staring at the car.

My biological mother though, she's a charmer. Her side of the family comes from a long line of infamous adventurers and pirates  from around Turkey. All I remember is high cheekbones on a pale slender face, bright eyes, and curly raven hair from when I was a toddler perhaps. Perhaps the curly goat hair is probably the similarity I share with mommy dearest.

"Emine Dogan." I said my mother's name to myself. She was quite the looker from what I've heard.

Even at a young age, I had acknowledged the glaring difference between the honey gold orbs of my father's glare and the steel bullets of my mother's gaze. I don't know why they split up, because what I do know is that they did because of me. Trust me, I wouldn't wanna have it any other way either.

I look nothing like my either of my parents despite having proof of my relation to them both through a DNA test taken entirely out of trust issues.

I walked to the stop and sat down on the concrete curb, leaning on my backpack.

A piece of metal came flying into my face, and that was how I spent fifteen minutes kicking an empty can around with my foot, back and forth with to the kids who'd been playing with it.

The bus to Argeș finally came, greeting me in a puff of nasty smelling smoke and a deafening screech.

"Multumiri!" I called out as I climbed on. (Thanks!)

I looked at the dim fare price blinking on the broken screen beside the driver with a gap toothed grin and reached into my sweat pocket, sifting through my jumble of coins and scarce bills. I ended up having to give all the leus I'd converted.

With one glance around while walking through the aisle, I could count the number of passengers aboard that vehicle on one hand. I sat down in the back, plopping my stuff next to the empty seat beside me and my feet up on the empty row ahead of me.

To my shitty luck, the smoking laws in Romania were hardass strict on tourists. The locals could be snorting strips in front of city hall, but the Interpol Narc department would be on my ass ten seconds flat. There was no way I could-

I looked to the right, and there sat a man, swaying side by side from the soft jostles in the moving bus, just like me, and that was the only similarity between us. He wore a three-piece suit and a newsboy cap that covered his eyes in the shadows. His elbows were nestled on the windowsill like some kid gazing at the mountainous terrain for the first time. More importantly, he had a burning cigarette pressed between his full lips, and it looked pretty recently lit. I guess I was wrong, we had more in common than I thought. Relieved, I took out my cigarette from my backpack and leaned over to the aisle. Here's a thing about me, I hate interactions with strangers.

"Gimme a light?" I asked the man, snapping him out of his thoughts and turning his head sideways to partially face me. According to the clenched yellow teeth so visible under his jaws, he was irritated.

I held out my cigarette for him to light it, praying he would get the message. The chapped lips around his clenched teeth molded up into a grin and shook his head, clicking his tongue and turning back to gazing out the window to look at God knows what. I was not in the mood for a bus brawl, so I did the right thing and cursed him under my breath, rolling my eyes.

After a mind numbing ride of three hours, I stood in front of the forest entrance in late afternoon. By the looks of the inhumanly narrow trail, I definitely wasn't getting there in a jiffy. I took out my book, and began reading.

Suddenly, the bus jolted to a stop. I remembered that I had to get off on the first stop of the bus.

I shot up from my seat, and began packing up as soon as I could. A few of my things clattered off of my lap. I bent down to pick them up without realizing that the man across the aisle got up at the same time and-

"Ow!" I exclaimed as the man who bumped his forehead into mine winced. I straightened back up while he gathered my things and handed them over to me. I nodded in gratitude and skittered uncomfortably through the narrow aisle of the bus towards the exit without another glance.

Stepping out to concrete again, I realized that daddy dearest had a more scenic journey planned head of me, because I was right in front of the Ansari residence.

Right in front of its giant open arch of twisted metals and some hellishly cherubic statues leading to a dark trail within the stone walls containing this wilderness from the modern world outside.

"Bismillah." I said, shuddering in the late afternoon breeze and walked through the giant rustic arch. (In the name of the Lord)
—————————————————
Thirty Minutes Later

My clothes had turned ragged and my hair had twigs and all sorts of horrifying discoveries yet to be made, probably by a Romanian pathologist examining my corpse in the future, because judging by where I was and the eternally giant indigo blanket smoothly cooling down the patchy reddening sky to the last glimpse of crimson, that's what I was going to be soon. Dead.

I decided to stop and pray. The sun was about to go down, and I really didn't want to miss it. There was no imminent danger, and I had stopped caring about my public image a long time back.

I had to weirdly angle my head to read the compass on my pocketknife, and thankfully it checked out. Minimalism for life, y'all.

Taking out my water bottle, I got down on my knees and poured a bit on my hands, then carried out the rest of the ritual of wudhu. It was probably a blessing that I forgot to take the water out of my backpack before hauling everything on the storage compartment above, otherwise I would've emptied it. What was not a blessing was having to eat airplane food since I was too lazy to get my backpack down anyway.

I prayed the dusk prayer, and perhaps it could've been better, could've been worse. My hands still shook from fear and I was tempted to break the prayer and look around me. I felt like I was being watched.

However, I wasn't going to deny the solace of the forest, the tall trees basking in the pink twilight glow and the birds chirping, as if they were praying alongside me.

After the final verse, I raised my hands and prayed for strength and guidance to face the unknown. It was my usual wish from Allah, but this time I was desperate for it.

I checked my phone, but it didn't turn on because the battery was dead.

"Teri maa ka..." I cursed.

Treading along the damp soil was pretty nice though, and I could tell by the condition of the trees here that this place wasn't exactly new.

I found myself walking into a large clearing where the path ended, and a large estate of ornate window frames, grey stone outer walls and brick red roofing done on fat spires above already three storeys came into view. Silently thanking the Lord, I broke into a run for some utterly stupid reason. Like, who starts sprinting for no reason when they're fresh out of water? God, I hate primal human logic sometimes.

Soon after, the grass turned to concrete beneath my shoes, and my backpack started shaking from exhaustion.

I almost crashed into the bars of the metal gates, but hopped to a halt.

There on the other end of the gate the greatest bane of my existence, what I feared each time I would leave my apartment back in Morgantown when an animal lover had moved in across from me.

"RRRRRuf! Ruff!" The giant German Shepherd started with a growl, then a resounding bark when it noticed me.

A loud sound of microphone feedback stung my ears, and brought my attention to the intercom.

"Rano! Calma!"

Rano? Seriously? A Sindhi name?

You can take a Desi out of the country, but you can't take their dialect as long as they live.

The big dog, Rano, suddenly stopped barking. I walked in before they were completely opened and took my backpack off my shoulders, swinging it in my hands like a giant purse.

Uncle caught up to me and blocked my way.

"Please wait here, ma'am. I must inform them you have come." He told me. I internally screamed, but just groaned and rudely grunted to say "go".

I sat down and set my backpack behind my head and laid back onto the pavement. Then, I remembered the cigarette I had in my backpack's side pocket. I had gone through the trouble of airport security for bringing tobacco, so I might as well have reaped it. I still needed a light, though.

"Your parents are waiting for you, and please don't be late again." Uncle came back right as I found my cigarette. I fumed at the timing, quickly shoving both it back into my backpack. I groggily stood up to my feet from my squat.

And there he sat in his elegant foyer, icy cold as ever. The one and only, Junaid Ansari. If his grey three-piece suit didn't scream of a plot to silently belittle me, then his stoic posture and expression definitely did the job.

"Assalumualaykum." I wished peace upon my dad, and repeated it to my stepmom who sat beside him, to which they returned. Despite the warm and fuzzy questions of what was going on with my life, both of them sat with their postures straight and held distant expressions.

Dinner was quiet, excluding the incident of me accidentally flinging the fork backwards into the giant tank full of expensive fish. Thankfully, nobody noticed.

"Bhaiyya se koi baat hui?" I asked. (Have you spoken to my older brother yet?)

"Apne dosto se kab milrahi ho?" My dad asked me. If ignoring my question could start a good conversation and break silence, I didn't mind it at all. (When are you meeting with your friends?)

"Abhi, shayed." I told them truthfully. How could I forget my childhood friends living here? (Right now, maybe)

Sonia Rao was the closest person I had here to a best friend, the type of girl who has bleached hair and promotes natural beauty. The only difference was, I could only see her once a year. Sadly, my aloof self tended to cut off feelings or care for people I didn't speak to for long periods of time, including Sonia. There was also Azra, but I think one would need to observe her themselves to understand her. Let's just say she's one of those show-don't-tell type of people.

After going back up my room, I decided to take a shower and call her with the landline.

"Get your ass down to the pub Fântâna Vieții at ten. No fucking excuses. Sneak out your damn window if you have to. Azra's coming too." Sonia's bossy tone told me before I could even greet her.

"Hello Sonia, nice to meet you too." I said monotonously, before I heard her scoff and hang up.

Let's back up. How do my friends and my family happen to be in the same place, and I'm not? Well, to put it simply, my dad had actually moved from Pakistan to the UK when I was younger, with back 'n' forth trips, I was bound to feel more at home with my motherland (ironically not my 'mother's land'). However, it was in London was where I met these two characters, and they were the ones who helped me with my decision to move to the good ol' States. Why I moved, now that's another story all on its own.

I was going to study Business, and so did Sonia and Azra. When my father started an internship program with his rising company, you'd think I'd jump at it the first chance I got, right?

In the bigger picture, it all seemed to work to my favor back then, the distance growing between me and my father, the heckle of being born with a golden spoon in my mouth, my fading interest in Entrepreneurship, and that one last spot left that was meant for me. I'm not going to lie and say it was all a basket of roses, but it certainly is better than how it was going to be.

Ting ting

I snapped out of my thoughts and checked my phone.

"Hurry the fuck up, loser." The text said.

Bent over my suitcase, I fished out a green long-sleeved lace shirt, an oversized B&W graphic tee of an anime I had long forgotten from my days of teenage Hot Topic devilry, my green scarf, black and white striped shorts under blue leggings, and giant block heeled boots. It was a perfect combination for me, I suppose I lucked out with rushed packing.

Man, it's uncomfortable to put on a maqna over my choice of clothing. So is stuffing your hair inside the scarf so it's not in your face. I prayed in the large prayer room of the house, and at the end asked to be forgiven for the sins I had done and would do. You know, just in case. Who knows what could go down in a pub?

I crept downstairs, and not in the whole Misson-Impossible-style, since there were security cameras everywhere. I may have been my father's child but it still didn't mean I lived here.

If there's anything to certainly know about my father, it's that he takes his work more seriously than his marriages, but come on, who'd ever take jokes seriously anyway?

To name a few symptoms of a workaholic: Paranoia, neglect of other aspects in life, and finally, disorganization. Baba always had this habit to keep his wallet close by in case he needed one of his credit card numbers.

"Mahwish."

I yelped and stumbled back, then turned around when I came to the conclusion that I was in no danger.

How long was I just standing there?

"Ammi." I identified my stepmom, I had no problem addressing her has a mother. One thing I noticed was that my accent had changed when I spoke to her on reflex, though I spoke to her in English for the most part.

"So how have you been? You practically never call, dear." She asked me.

"I try. I wish I didn't have so much college work." I told her. She nodded in understanding.

"Mahwish beita, aao betke baat karte hai." she said more seriously, obviously changing the subject. (Mavis dear, come let's sit and talk together)

She led me to the family room, where we both sat across from each other in these maroon regal-looking chairs with gold studs, polished teakwood, all the jazz worthy of a nouveau-riche in Eastern Europe.

"I know you don't think of me as your mother, and I know there is nothing I could do to change that." She began.

Where is she going with this?

"I want you to know that your father and I love you very much, despite how much you think we don't."

Huh? Why's she putting words in my mouth? Despite the past, I never, ever, ever thought they didn't love me. Never had I ever doubted that. Sure, I sometimes complained about the differences we had, but I'm not that juvenile. Think about it, if they'd truly didn't care, they would have made it clear they didn't want me here. That's to say, they don't approve of my life decisions but they're still family. Family didn't disown family, could it?

"I can only hope we may come to an understanding one day. Therefore, I will take the first step in giving you a gift," She reached for the back of her neck, and I was so scared that she would accidentally unhook something else while sifting through the locks of the chains and necklaces she wore. She finally untied what seemed like the knot of a string.

The knot was of a thick dark brown twine string with intricate twisting patterns. This conversation had just gotten more interesting.

It was a necklace. Its pendant; a flat wooden falcon with its wings spread. The engravings of each wing, from its roughly whittled eyes giving off a shrewd look, the sharp protruding beak to the barbs of the tail feathers and wings. Right in the middle of the body, there was a moon and a star burned into it with a thin white-hot iron stick. I knew all the details behind its makings, after all I was the one who made them God knows how many years ago.

"Shukria..." I thanked her gratefully, taking it gently from her hand, and tying it around my neck so it was hidden by the scruff of my hair.

"It belonged to my grandfather, he had a love for carpentry." She said.

I ignored the lie. It's not like my father would've told her I made it for him and even if he did, she was doing me a solid in her eyes by ignoring what was perceived as a flaw within me. Where we came from, respectable women weren't supposed to be good at masculine skills.

"But how-?" I feigned utter shock and joy. I saw the awkwardness flash in her eyes, because I had never been a good actor or a liar.

"Your father knows you better than you think, Mahwish."

She smiled back warmly. We both sat there in silence of mutual understanding until I realized I was expected somewhere.

"I have to go now, Khudahafiz." I told her suddenly, and stood up to leave. I didn't even care if I was rude or not. (Goodbye)

I heard her respond behind me but I was just too desperate to get this wretched trip over with.
___________
Entering the the pub. The old, crowded, wooden, rustic, surprisingly karaoke pub. The decor was pretty cool, brass accents and antlers on the wall.

"Hey guys!" I called out to my crowd when I found them.

"Hey, cowgirl." Sonia joked, referring to my accent. Truth be told, I barely even recognized my own voice at this point.

"What are you, ten? Grow up." Azra coaxed when I walked back to our table with a glass Coca-Cola bottle. It paled pathetically in comparison to Azra's vodka and Sonia's whiskey, but I wanted to avoid increasing my chances of burning in hell anymore, so no special drinks for me.

"I just got off a damn plane, do you know how bad my head's pounding?" I scolded. "And as for my choice, you should be the one justifying your drinks." I snapped at Azra. "Y'all should be thanking me for even coming into this shithole." I commended myself.

"It's not like I didn't fly down here to meet you losers either." Indira said.

"Neither is it like you were invited or anything." Azra commented back.

I looked at Indira, an unexpected face to see again. I remember her from high school, a friend of a friend. All I knew that she's quiet, broody, and a practicing nurse these days.

"Alright then, if you're not such a pussy anymore, then prove it." Indira calmly said, her pastel green eyes staring audaciously into mine.

"We want to go to Dracula's Castle. Now." Sonia said challengingly.

Indira looked at her in mild surprise before shaking her head and waving her hands in refusal.

"Count me out, I need to fly back to Heathrow tomorrow."

No, no, no, no. Out of all the dares in existence of dares, they had to pick this. Why go to that stupid castle?

Just like that, my mood was sour again. I liked creepy things, but that didn't mean I liked fucking with places where pure evil had once been. One history lesson about Dracula's history was all it took to make me avoid vampires in literature for a long time, because I didn't want to have anymore nightmares. Not that it helped, the mere mention of that cursed name out of a sudden made my skin crawl. A superstitious voice in my head warned me that something was very wrong. The fact that I'd been having so many strange dreams about that very castle when this trip was right around the corner. It hadn't even been one night here and the name was already invoked.

"Dare rejected." I stated, while staring off into space. Suddenly, I looked at them both and my lips curled into a smirk. "What about you, Azra, anything you want me to do?"

"Sing." She challenged me in complete and utter boredom. Life's taught me that in terms of marriage proposals and dares, continuous rejection starts hurting the reputation at one point. I attempted an eyebrow raise, receiving a perfectly mocking one by Sonia. If only I could do an eyebrow raise myself.

"What do you want me to sing, Desi or Western?"

"Just get your ass up there and sing, daredevil." She taunted, using my old nickname.

"Okay, then." Total impulse had taken over me. I had already rejected one dare, rejecting another would

I stood up quite normally for someone with shaking legs and rapidly beating heart.

"Hey." A man in a leather jacket gestured at my forehead.

I wiped my hand across my forehead to see what he was referring to, and wasn't too surprised to find that more moisture than the Amazon rainforest was forming on my skin.

"Multumiri." I thanked him in probably the worst accent possible, and went on to talk to the DJ in front of a small IPad kiosk at the podium. (Thanks)

"Can I sing the next song?" I asked the guy with headphones around his neck and glasses.

"Which one?" He asked. Thank God, he spoke English.

"Blood in the Water by Grandson." I blurted out the first song that came to mind, which I knew the best. He typed it in, surprisingly unfazed by my choice of song.

"Name?"

"Mavis... McCarthy." I told him, slowly saying the last one. He eyed me suspiciously before starting to type down my name in the queue, because my last name was obviously not 'McCarthy'. I mean, wasn't 'Mavis' an Irish name?

Right on cue, the man singing finished when the DJ finished typing my name down.

"Go."

"Următor, 'Blood in the Water' de Grandson cantata de Mavis McCarthy." He announced half-heartedly. He motioned me to go up there, and I couldn't move for a few seconds.  (Next, Blood in the Water by Grandson sung by Mavis McCarthy)

My brain registered what the hell I just did, and now there was really no going back. I gulped down the access saliva in my mouth with difficulty. My legs started shaking once again.

Pain shot up my legs as my shins hit the edge of a slightly raised platform in the middle front the stage. I collapsed onto my knees up on the stage.

My hands and knees were pressing into the seemingly ancient grains of wood, making me wonder how it wasn't snapping from the pressure. I crawled to the middle of the stage, sitting on my shins and facing the logo on the wall.

The music started, and I had to stop myself from singing at the first bar of the intro, since there was a long prelude before the first stanza.

"We'll never get free, lamb to the slaughter."

"What you gonna do when there's blood in the water?"

"The price of your greed is your sons and your daughters"

"What you gonna do when there's blood in the-"

At the first line, a lot of people's heads went up in intrigue to the song, then they finally noticed who was singing. Some whispered to each other, gesturing to their necks and a finger making a short circle around their heads and probably how strange my scarf looked.

"Look me in my eyes, tell me everything's not fine."

I delved in the emotion of the song, the boom of the electric guitars through the speakers made my guts swerve.

"Or the people ain't happy, and the river has run dry."

"You thought you could go free but the system is done for."

"When you listen real closely, there's a knock at your front door."

I started stomping my heel to the beat.

"We'll never get free, lamb to the slaughter, what you gonna do when there's blood in the water."

Unaware of my actions, I started angrily pacing around as the music sped up more aggressively for the pre-chorus.

"The price of your greed is your son and your daughter, what you gonna do when there's blood in the water?"

"When there's blood in the-"

The music started up again and I took a breath to notice that ALL heads were turned to me. Sonia and Azra had their jaws dropped, guess I still had it after all these years.

"When there's blood in the-" I slightly hummed the rest of the music, which accidentally went into the microphone. I was completely invested into this song now.

"Beg me for mercy, admit you were toxic,"

I lay in a grassy meadow under a purple dusk in the sky. My eyes were a half-shut window to the macabre soul that once lived yet still stayed within, my mouth hung agape in lament of all the unsaid things I wanted to say, and my skin eerily pale.

"You poisoned me just for, another dollar in your pocket."

I was being dragged by two people holding spears, and towards the giant throne of gold.

"Now I am the violence, I am the sickness."

They both heaved me up and positioned me to sit on the throne.

"Won't accept your silence."

My limp body easily contorted to a sitting position as if it had always sat there, albeit now a bit slumped to the side. The two strangers straightened me up, then hammered long nails into the back of my hands onto the armrests.

"Beg me for forgiveness!"

I snapped out of it and looked ahead at when I heard a loud thump, like a hammer pounding down on wood. Turns out I had just stomped my foot out of emotion.

"We'll never get free, lamb to the slaughter, what you gonna do when there's blood in the water, the price of your GREED, your son and your daughter, what you gonna do when there's blood in the water,"

I melodiously screamed the final line with the ferocity of a rockstar.

"WHEN THERE'S BLOOD IN THE WATER!"

A round of applause thundered with hoots and whistles galore.

I got off the stage after the song ended, adrenaline rushing through my veins.

I almost skipped back to our table, never more happier to return to reality, and to my friends who rolled their eyes at me.

I marveled at my strength. I could go from not wanting to talk to strangers to singing my lungs out in front of countless of them. Come to think of it, I could do anything.

Now only remained one last fear, which was begging to be crushed. I was definitely going to Poenari Castle now.