SHE REMEMBERED SINKING. That, and darkness. All she remembered before she blacked out as burning then being thrown into the frozen seawater below. She wasn't unconscious for long until her lungs were practically bleeding as they begged for air.

Arabella began to struggle in the chilly water, but the more she wriggled, the further she sank to the bottom of the seafloor. Arabella's wrinkled, pruned and frozen fingertips fumbled with her dress, desperately ripping open the heavy dress she wore. After several agonizing moments of Arabella thrashing around, she was finally free, leaving her in her white underdress and undergarments.

Although her efforts did prevent her from hitting the murky seafloor, it did not mean she was any closer to being saved. She was too weak and frail to swim closer to the surface, and her hopes dwindled as she painfully watched the dim moonlight fade further and further away as she descended further into the depths of the ocean. Her eyes burned from the water, so she decided to close her eyes and accept her deadly fate. 

Before she could hit the sand, she felt her saviour enclose around her. Only it didn't feel like a human nor an animal. Actually, her saviour came in the form of a net - a large fishing net, to be specific.  Hundreds of fish flapped around her in the net, trying to find their escape. It seemed Arabella was the only tame creature in their makeshift cage.

A moment later, the surface came in sight and Arabella coughed and spluttered out water from her chapped lips, taking in as much air as she could. The net she laid in was hauled up and landed on the deck of a small fishing ship. Two fishermen hovered over her, shock ridden across their faces.

"M-merci," Arabella chocked out before passing out once again.

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The fishermen brought her back to their home town - Hull, England. For the next few months, Arabella stayed in a hospital until she was fully recovered. Her skin was littered with burn marks, scars and bruises. No doctors or nurses knew her name, and Arabella wouldn't tell them. All they knew was that she was French - or at least spoke it, and she was drowning in the middle of the ocean, with no other ships around. Apparently, her immortal powers had protected her underwater for days until she regained consciousness.

If she told them her real name, they would look her up and notice that the only Arabella Victoria Andrei that ever lived was born in the 1400s and would immediately be scared and refuse her treatment. Yet, if she gave them a fake name, they would look that up and realise that the girl in their hospital bed doesn't match the photo on the records.

It was something that she could easily change with hr powers, but Arabella was too tired to try. That, or she simply couldn't be bothered.

For the next 200 or so years, Arabella lived in Britain with no issues. Sometimes, she changed her appearance so no one would suspect her being a witch or immortal, but every 50 or so years, she would go back to her usual, young, tanned and brunette self.

She travelled all over the island, going from Plymouth at the bottom of England all the way up to Durness at the top of Scotland. There was no county, city, town or village that Arabella didn't visit.

But her favourite by far was Whitby. The atmosphere, architecture and the people were all - dare she say - heavenly.

In the early 1990s, a hospital and research centre opened dedicated to Johnathan Harker - the English lawyer that Dracula slowly killed in 1897. Arabella knew that only meant it was someone close to him. Considering Johnathan had no children and Mira died before she could either. So the only other person that Arabella could think of the only other person that survived Dracula's massacre and would've had children to tell their stories of the vampire, witch and lawyer, and it didn't sit well in Arabella's stomach.

It had to be a descendant of Agatha Van Helsing.

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just a Lil filler to fill in the major space between 1897 to 2020 :)