The Vampire's Mirror: Gothic Mysteries of Dracule Book I

"And this is the wretched thing that has done the mischief. It is a foul bauble of man's vanity. Away with it!" And opening the window with one wrench of his terrible hand, he flung out the glass, which was shattered into a thousand pieces on the stones of the courtyard far below."\

                                                                                                                                                    ---- Bram Stoker, Dracula

Transylvania

1580

The doors of Briarwood Manor slammed shut on poor Giselle, banishing her to the icy doorstep. She pulled the fur collar of her coat close around her shoulders and stared across the snow-glazed forecourt to the gate. Beyond the gate, the forest loomed, and the mountainside climbed into the mist. Somewhere out there was a village, but it was rumored that a plague walked there, making it no refuge.

Her badly shod feet were already numb.

Tears spilled down her face; she dashed them angrily away. It was her own fault, after all. She wouldn't call herself a thief, but like a magpie, she was fascinated by bright, beautiful things: jewels and bangles, rings and beaded sashes, embroidered reticules and fans. The mere sight of a pair of earrings lying unattended on the dressing table would set her fingers fluttering to enclose them, secretly, in the palm of her hand, to be nonchalantly dropped in the pocket of her apron. Only cleaning, she'd tell herself. My Lady shouldn't leave valuable things lying around like that.

At night, in the privacy of her little hole under the stairs, she would admire each object: the gleaming softness of silk, strings of pearls, bracelets of diamonds and fine kidskin gloves... Pilfered gems sparkling in the light of her one meager candle inspired fancies of things magical and strange, adornments never meant for one as destitute as she.

In time, she'd gathered quite a hoard.

It was inevitable that Lady Cira would catch her. Screaming that she should drag the little wretch to the dungeon and leave her nasty, selfish, lazy little self to rot out of existence, her Ladyship chose the most expedient path, hauled Giselle out of bed and threw her out, out into the dark, the morning dark, at the edge of the shivering world.

Giselle set her jaw and took her first steps toward the lofty, black curlicues of the gate. The sky had grown so heavy it seemed to be sinking the entire world under its clouds. A few snowflakes drifted down. Contemplating the endless vista of the wilderness, the dungeon seemed a mercy. And it was so early she hadn't even broken her fast.

Tears welled up again. Why did God punish her so? The rogue knights, raiding, killing everyone: her mother, her father, brothers, sisters... all were put to the sword. The kind Baron taking her in as maid to his beautiful young wife, Lady Cira, with her glossy midnight braids and violet eyes, had seemed a blessing. But it seemed she'd been spared one death, only to be confronted with another. She didn't mean to steal. There was just a hunger in her soul that couldn't be fulfilled. Everything had been taken from her. Everything. Leaving a void inside that hungered for things of beauty.

The gate was weighty as she pulled it against the snow bank, silent on its well-oiled hinges. More silent yet the cushioned earth, quieter still the tapering green of the pines, and other, barer, branches reaching up as if to beseech the higher powers for mercy. A breeze poured frost around her neck. She gulped her terror down and prepared to blend into the white as if she'd never been.