Eternal Night

(II) Chapter 2: I Don't Want To Talk About It

And yet, it was strange – she couldn't readily recall a single time in their acquaintance when he had truly lost his temper in the way so many had often contended, nor had she ever witnessed him to be particularly ruthless or unfeeling. If anything, the Vladislaus she knew was very much in control of himself – just guarded. Perhaps it was because he was in hiding, though she suspected it ran a little deeper than that. There had been moments between them, before they had parted ways, where she could – with hindsight of course – recognize the signs, hints of the true Dracula slipping past the façade, but never anything in full.

He had always been muted, almost; concealed from her sight.

No – the only encounter she could think of where he had been more "himself" than the alias of Vlad Leinhart was that evening in Carmen's cellar when he had kissed her. Though his skill and the depth of his passion proved true to the tales, it was the way his presence had made her feel that left Frankie often pausing in reflection.

She recalled how four centuries prior, after their paths had first crossed in Venice, her cousin Alayna and their mutual friend, Lucia Ghilardi, had discussed the man's ability to "suppress his presence", masking his true power and strength so he could better blend in with normal society. She had witnessed a mere fraction of that power the night he had disposed of Morene, but when he had kissed her... it was as though he had suddenly become the sea and without even realizing it, she had begun to drown in him.

Not that the experience was as frightening or unpleasant as going under would otherwise be – in fact, it had proven quite the contrary. It felt natural, effortless – as if her body and soul recognized his authority, his sovereignty, his dominance. And it had left her to instinctually submit without even realizing it.

But had he intended for such a thing to transpire or was it something he could not fully control? Was it even him? Maybe it was just him bringing out the real her – the one buried underneath centuries of trauma. Or perhaps it had been the prophecy in action... the universe reacting to their brief moment of shared intimacy.

The more Frankie pondered the matter, the more questions she had.

There was this intuitive part of her that seemed to already know and understand him, but it had grown difficult to trust her feelings on the matter, to articulate or make sense of them. And so, in some vain effort to help remedy her lingering sense of internal conflict, each night she would listen and re-listen to the digitized recordings of her interviews with the Dracul Sânge on her laptop. She'd relive those evenings in her mind, jotting down details she hadn't noticed before and realizations that came with having her future children's memories in her head – and slowly but surely, the dots were gradually beginning to connect.

No, her subconscious would often interject whenever she would accidentally think of the Dracul Sânge in terms of being her progeny. They are not your children, nor can they ever be. Not unless a miracle occurs and you're somehow cured. You and Dracula will never be blood-bound, and they will never be yours. He will never be yours, and you can never be his. When will you get that through your head, Francesca?

It was a dreadful reminder, but one which she did not have the heart nor evidence to contradict.

It was the truth, after all.

Irrefutable and by no means easy to accept or digest, even after all the time that had passed.

Francesca and Vladislaus would never, could never be one in the way that the prophecy demanded, in the way some secret part of her longed for more and more every day. Not with her blood condition and the very real threat it posed to not only his life, but possibly to the whole of their species as well.