The castle was a fantasy all its own. Evette caught herself wishing she had grew up in such a place. She could hear her own quiet footfalls, small and innocent and imaginary. She had come too far to daydream in the dark—had fed too many of her own starving demons to earn such a contentment as the one she dreamt of. She deserved love, and forgiveness, and a daring second chance, though she refused to give those things to herself, and thought most who were truly righteous would not want someone who was truly broken.

Evette passed by shadows as she entertained herself in the silence, taking an unenjoyable stroll while hugging herself tight, in hopes to ease the discomfort she felt in her empty stomach. Regret settled there, once it was forced down her throat by her own conscience, the only resource she had left to chew on.

Warmth radiated through her when she reached the second set of black, colossal doors at the front of the second hall she had found whilst walking in the dark. Rays of colored light flashed beneath the thin cracks at the bottom of the heavy doors, before fading. Eve used every ounce of her energy to pull open one of the heavy doors, weakly tripping on air, falling onto the hall floor as a familiar laugh echoed around her. It was her own, quiet and humor-filled. She stumbled to her feet, smiling.

The center table stretched wide, white and gold and deep purples colliding under platters of tarnished silver. Sharp points of silverware were bent out of shape almost laughably. The wax of candles draped stiffly over the edges of overflowed holders, and the flames that flickered in their wicks were not bright. They were little flames of shadow, flickering and popping as if they were just as bright as the real thing. Evette drug her feet until she reached the far end of the table, where a tall chair awaited her, the fabric stiff and unworn. It was pulled away from the table slowly, shadow accommodating her. Her arms would have been too weak to pull the piece of heavy furniture. She sat, staring cautiously at the edibles that had been placed before her. She was hungry enough to eat every piece of fruit, and every slice of bread, and every sliver of the strange, cake-like pastries, but refused to reach for them.

The quiet sound of slow movement sounded from behind the body of her chair, and she stiffened. She did not turn her head to see who had started toward her. His hands gripped the sides of the round chair, his long fingers tapping against the metal edges. Suddenly, Eve felt self-conscious of her posture— the way she could not fully sit up straight because her body was still healing. He had stitched up the ragged cuts in her clothes, and she realized how underdressed she must have been, how plain and modest her clothes must have looked. He was so regal; unlike anything she had been seen as by others.

"I have no interest in seeing you in finery. The days of such vain thoughts are long over." His voice startled her, but it did not show. Eve swallowed, tilting her head to stare down at her chapped hands in her lap.

"Some thoughts are hard to escape," Said the girl, embarrassed.

"Yes," It was a quiet roar that was barely audible. It was an agreeing rumble belonging to a beast without fur or fangs. "But gone are the days of royalty as such. You are found here. You are freed here. You are lost here."

"Do you allow all of your captives to sit at your table? Or do you make exceptions for little elves like me?" Her tone was mocking and sarcastic and cold, and Dracul knew that she was trying to conceal her nervousness.

"You are not little; you said so yourself," he reminded her with a dark, unseen smile. "And you are not my captive."

Evette blinked. The sound of his nails tracing the edges of her chair disturbed her, and seeing his pale fingers curl closer out of the corners of her eyes made her want to rush to her feet and run away.

"Then," her eyes darted around as she stared through the cracks between her loose strands of dark hair. "What am I to you?"

"I take no interest in your heart, or your body," He was so close. So near that her heart thrummed in his own ears. "Your soul, however, is unlike the others I have encountered."

"And if I am not willing to give my soul?" She asked.

"I did not ask for it."

"Hmm," Eve breathed. "Will you ask for it one day soon?"

His hand was soft at her shoulder through the fabric of her shirt. "No," he promised. "The soulless do not posses the power to steal the souls of others."

It angered her to hear such a statement, and in haste, she barked, "That cannot be true. You yourself have taken many a soul— the souls of many elves."

A paled hand slithered down her shoulder, hovering over the shallow of skin where her heart lie, thundering against her clothed chest. "The heart is a thorn;" his smooth cheek brushed against hers, his nose nudging at the side of her neck, inhaling as she exhaled. "The soul is a rose." His presence was pulled from pages of old, and the sin of new. The coldness of water and the spark of fire, all held within his touch like the cliché of love she had witnessed in the hopeful eyes of others. "I have rid this world of many thorns, but have never captured a rose."

A hand covered his, and Dracul's hand was trapped where it rest over her heart. Eve held him there, an expectant moment floating in silence. When she ripped his hand away from where it rest, shoving it away, he groaned at her fire. The defiance his undead beast despised.

"Why did you send for the girls?" The question opposed her demeanor. Her need to push him away.

Dracul rounded the chair, pressing a closed fist to the solid table to the left of Evette's seat. She wasn't prepared to see his eyes— storm clouds of purple rain caught within their depths— and she knew then that she could never be used to seeing the hollow of despair hidden there.

"For reasons that no longer concern you." He frowned when she rose from her chair. Pain shot through her sore arms as she pushed away from the table, leaving the banquet that called to her with every passing rumble of her stomach.

She stalked passed him, nearing the place where she entered the hall, tall, heaving doors staring down at her. Dracul stared at her as she walked away, but caught her by the arm before she could hurl herself through the double doors to escape him. She freed herself of his grasp once more, but turned to look into his eyes, barely lifting her head to his comparable height.

"Tell me why, or I will do everything in my power to leave this place." She warned.

"What makes you think that I want you to stay? That I do not wish to make good on my promise?" He asked, his expression hardening.

"You do want to finish what we started. To keep your word, yet, there is something else. You want something else."

"You are right, there is something else," he nodded stiffly. "I would like to come to an agreement with you."

Eve frowned. "I know better than to make a deal with the likes of evil like you."

Dracul sighed, a deep, frustrated sigh that could not be heard. He could hear her stomach rumble quietly, and could not focus. "Eat," was his command, extending a long, bony hand toward the seat that awaited Evette. She glanced at it almost longingly, but did not obey his command.

"I will not eat from your table. Not when you order me, nor if you ask me nicely."

"Ignorance is not an attractive quality to posses."

"You are not my father, or my husband, and it is not expected of me to obey you." Evette huffed, unmoving.

"Eat," His voice grew loud; the storm in his eyes grew uproarious. "Then I will tell you the reason."

"You will tell me now." Evette's hunger had vanished at his second command. All she felt was adrenaline and anger and annoyance, and the aches in her bones had long left her.

"You need your strength." He kept his arm raised, concern concealed by his expression.

"I have strength enough to be told why."

Dracul smiled, but it did not touch his eyes. It was lifeless. Empty. Evette did not receive a third warning. When he came for her, she was prepared to feel him close, gripping her by the arm in an attempt to make her see reason. To feel his reason. His concern. They struggled against each other for a short moment, then down they went, falling to the lavish floor like two animals, clawing at each other as they fought.

Down came the long, dust ridden banners that hung near the front of the hall, their fabric rolling around two sets of legs. They were bloody and tired by the time they finally slowed their dark feats. Evette pulled at the jewels lain in silver wire hung at Dracul's shoulders, shards of true crystal thrown against the shadow covered walls like his cold body when they stumbled past the long table. His lean body weight slammed against the blackened brick, and as if he was the size of a roaring dragon, the walls groaned at the weight of him, tipping the hanging candle beams until they fell the distance between the floor and ceiling. Heavy chain fell to the floor, touching the soles of the boots Evette had placed on her feet once she had found her strength. They smelled of her blood, and of the cold, and when she pressed her foot to Dracul's chest in a fit of kicks, the sole crumbled away from the body of worn hide.

They tussled under the table, throwing platters off of the table top; bending utensils even more out of proper shape. They knocked over the only chair that had remained in the hall, and when Evette was thrown against it, one of the iron legs bent with her spine, and through two tired eyes, she could see the small morsels of shadow scatter away from the fallen chandelier, only to reconvene at the center of their master like loyal servants. He lifted his right hand, and Eve could feel shadow start to rip away from where it had rejoined her body. Dracul tore at the string at her throat, unraveling it from her skin mercilessly until blood ran down from under the place where her hand clamped down over the parting skin.

In one final bout, Evette pulled herself from the wreckage of century old nothingness within the large hall's confines, one hand gripping her own throat as she sucked in a final breath. She held it deep within, and when she got Dracul on his back, straddling his bare chest, she brought both of her hands to his throat, bathing his skin in the blood he drew from her, unapologetic.

"The one who stitched your wounds, can easily rip away their work," His broken words came suddenly, before Eve could tighten her grip. He remained still, trapped, yet comfortable there, held within the embrace of something between the darkness of life and the beauty he thought the light of asphyxiation to be. "If I am to die, you will be sentenced to a fate the same."

Dracul held Eve with blackened magic, and she held him with two blood-soaked hands, and when tears ran down from their eyes, they came to a silent agreement. The promise they had made held nothing to their vows. Blood ceased to leave her wound. It began to close, and as she released her hold on his pale neck, she fell onto her back beside him, panting. Dracul held her will to live, as she held his wish to meet the grave, and as life flooded her numb limbs, her stomach rumbled with a ferocity that commanded her to eat from the table, at which darkness feasted.

• • • •