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Chapter Text

April 27

It is within the comfort of my own journal that I write down this peculiar stroke of luck! While I’ve never stated it, out loud or on paper, the lack of a constant companion for my trip to Romania has been a constant ache upon myself. I can only write to my dearest Mina so often, and even then I shall get no response. That is why my very soul lifts with each flick of my pen.

Upon my way to Munich, I decided to make a mild detour to Switzerland. It may seem queer, but it wasn’t too far off from my route and the stories told of it’s beauty was too much of a temptation for a sensitive soul like myself to pass up on. When on site, seeing at length a majestic forest, I committed myself to sketching it out, so that I might show Mina when I return. It was after I had put down a multitude of these nature scenes did I see it.

A hulking figure weaved throughout the trees, nimble and swift despite its apparent size. It’s countenance was obscured by shadow, yet even at a distance he seemed cumbersome. It was only when I strained my vision did I see it’s eyes, though only a flash, pale and radiant as the moon.

Needless to say, I was consumed with curiosity. I was still a fair amount away from civilization, and nightfall was soon approaching. I felt myself grow concerned for this seemingly lost soul.

“You, there, in the forest!” I called out, after having put my diary and pen safely away in my pocket, hands cupped around my mouth. It was then that those haunting eyes stared directly at me. My frame shivered, feeling analyzed and exposed. As if the hunter and the prey. I stepped into the heavy underbrush, and the figure stepped back. I, being an all together unassuming man, was not used to being feared or avoided. This puzzled me.
“I mean you no harm, friend! My name is Jonathan Harker! What might yours be, good sir?” I said, approaching further, as I soon registered the apparition as that of a man. A voice, deep and rich, though thoroughly wrecked from disuse, answered me. Even now I can recall my heart palpitating faster and faster, a jackrabbit trapped in my chest.

“Though it is criminal to leave so kind an inquiry without answer, I can not do so, as a wretch such as I has naught a title to claim. Forgive me, kind stranger.” He said, the prose falling from his lips in so elegant a fashion that all my potential fears dampened, and along side them bloomed the first soft buds of empathy. His answer in no way informed me to him, but rather engaged my curiosity further.

As I drew upon him I found that he was much taller than anticipated, a giant in all meanings of the phrase. From his garb he appeared to be a rustic, or perhaps a vagabond. It was only until I was mere meters from him did I see that which interested me more.

Across all visible skin were fine scars, each line raised and paled ever so slightly, each mark surgical in its perfection. The closer I came to him, the more I got the distinct feeling that the man in front of me was wrong. I would be lying to say I didn’t then feel the cooled embers of fright glow again within my breast. It was only when I looked in his eyes that I truly stomped out that flame.

How could I describe such eyes? From a distance they were mystifying, but up close they were ethereal. The lids which covered them were dark and thin, drooping ever so slightly under the weight of fine stitches. The eyes themselves were of a yellow hue, something I had never seen in a human until then! They were glassy and deeper than any of the known seas. Even reflecting on the memory, I feel as if I could lose myself in them.

“Are you perhaps French?” I said hastily, though not smoothly to my chagrin, breaking the spell of silence which had fallen over us. “Your accent, it’s rather thick.”

He raised an eyebrow, the movement seeming unnatural in its progression. He could reasonably be considered handsome despite the corrupted way his muscles pulled and relaxed.

“I’ve too many origins to know, but was taught by the kindest of Frenchmen.” He said, an air of reverence and melancholy in his lustrous voice.

“Do you live near? It’s getting rather late, and I’d be more than happy to escort you to your home.” I offered, looking at the rising splendor of the moon. He did the same, eyes catching the moon rays and blanketing him in majesty. He then shook his head slowly, and my heart lurched for this strange man. How horrible, to be a wanderer, exposed to all the cruelty of nature!

“I am on my way to a client’s residence. It’ll be a few days more, but you would be more than welcome to accompany me! I am quite certain I can convince the Count to let you stay, and afterwards you can come back with me to England.” I knew my darling Mina could never deny such a poor soul!

He looked at me with such sad eyes, yet how filled with hope were they! I reached out my hand in a stiff and professional manner, as I was taught to when making business deals. He stared at it like an alien thing, before so very hesitantly accepting it within his own. How to describe the touch of his skin! Cold and tight around each fiber and ligament, it almost felt as if shaking the hand of a corpse!

As of writing this, I have bought this stranger a hat and even a journal of his own. He hides himself as much as he can, and perhaps this is a good thing. Many locals have been intimidated by him just from his stature. I fear he would frighten folks fully were he to show his face, as his features give quite an unusual feeling when one looks upon them. We are currently at a hotel, and are set to travel by carriage tomorrow.

Until then, I shall try to sleep as soundly as my new companion, who stirs not at all, God bless his soul.

Jonathon Harker.

Chapter Text

For a being who not only a few hours before had been penniless and so miserably alone to now have not one but two precious items under my claim, and such an amiable companion as dear Jonathan, it is quite nearly impossible to conceptualize. Since the moment I had been born into the world, each moment felt as if I were treading through hellfire. Now, I am elevated to heaven.

This book with blank pages is one of the gifts so generously bestowed upon me. It’s bound in leather and the paper is just slightly off white.
“It’s to write in, to document your thoughts.” Jonathan told me, upon placing it into my overgrown hands. Not even a shudder as his fingers grazed mine. For how fervently I’ve longed for one to gaze upon my visage with affection and tenderness, it now seems overwhelming.

Was this how he stared at others?

Was this how others stared at him?

This book is unlike any I’ve had before. I get to decide what gets written. Who does and who doesn’t achieve glory and praise. I am forever grateful for it.

Jonathan also gave me a hat. The process of ownership was much more harrowing than that of the book. I was able to stay hidden in the shrubbery for the former. For the latter, upon Jonathan’s prompting, I was to enter the building with him. Even now I remember the painful sting of stones and the beatings from sticks. Therefore, I took all due precautions, pulling my cloak over my head and leaning down so that I might minimize my height.

“Good friend, why do you contort yourself in such a manner? You appear as if you were a hunchback!” Jonathan said, upon seeing my folded figure.

“A hunchback is a far easier sight than that of a monster.” I replied, pulling the cloak even lower over my countenance. Perhaps it was silly of me, but I felt ashamed for even being seen beside the picture of perfection that Jonathan was. I knew my presence was degrading his worth with every second I stood by him.

Crouched as I was, I only garnered a scant amount of attention. It would be a lie to say I was at ease when within the building. Still do I shudder at the cruelty of man towards those he deems unfit for his intercourse. Like this, I was ostracized, but not nearly so much as I had been before. Good Jonathan continued to look at me tenderly regardless.

“Which one do you like?” He said, in reference to the array of hats before us. “I figure you’ll be more easily able to hide your face with one of these rather than that tattered cloak.”
Though it may come off as sentimentality, the care with which Jonathan regards me is akin to the soothing flow of cold water upon a burn.

The multitude of headdress was new territory to me, much like everything else I had been experiencing then. I was particularly enticed by the rich jewel tones that many of the hats sported, alongside bobbles and ornaments such as feather and ribbon. It was then that my horrid eye caught perhaps the most beautiful piece of adornment known to man.

The hat was of a deep green, lustrous in its texture and full in its tone. The brim was wide, curling up on one side. Around it was a silvery black ribbon, and a multitude of long, flowing, eyed feathers, interspersed with striped plumage. However gaudy it may seem, this description can not possibly express the brilliance of this fine article. I believe Jonathan must have observed my expression to form his conclusion, as in that moment, for the first time since I had learned them, my words left me.

“Are you fond of peacocks?” He asked, gentle tone releasing me from the trance I had been in.
“Perhaps.” I said in return, swiftly moving my sight to something else.
“A fine choice, my friend.”

Friend.

Jonathan bought the hat and gave it to me with no delay. Truly, he is an ideal specimen of humanities kindness.

As of now, we are traveling by train, though Jonathan has warned me that we shall soon need to change our transportation to carriage as we venture further into Romania, for the lack of railroads. Right now he is speaking to me. I will do my best to transcribe what is being said.

“Are you enjoying your journal?”

“Quite.”

“That’s good. Oftentimes on this trip I felt as if my diary was the only one keeping me company. It’s nice to relieve yourself of your thoughts, even if it’s just on paper.”

“Indeed, it is.”

“Oh, our meal has arrived!”

I shall write more when I’m not preoccupied. Thank you, good friend.

Chapter Text

To: Alphonse Frankenstein, Geneva Switzerland, May 4th.

Dear uncle, it will please you to know that we have all safely landed on English soil. I do sincerely hope that my cousins and dear Justine are well despite our absence. I know how bitterly the lack of your son and niece must be affecting you as of late, and I assure you I feel much the same. I’ve already grown sick for the sight of our beautiful lake and the piercing mountains. However much it pains us though, this is for Victor.

He has been doing much better ever since we left Switzerland altogether, and I have high hopes that our brief stay here will continue to soothe his tender nerves. The flush has already come back to his face and his conversation is more lively. I believe a good part of his miraculous recovery is owed to dear Henry.

Though it may seem odd for a future bride to not want time alone with her future husband, I am ever so grateful for the presence of Henry. He is easy to talk with, and is second only to myself when it comes to raising Victor’s morale. Truly, I feel he is akin to an angel on the nights that Victor tosses and turns in a cold sweat, whimpering incomprehensible words. He is there to comfort me after I have comforted Victor.

We are currently finding a place to reside for the time being. I currently have my eye on a rather nice manor that belongs to one Westenra. I have been in contact with the daughter, Lucy, after having posted an ad in the local paper before our trip. She seems to be a very lively young woman, and has explained to me that she has more than enough rooms to rent out. I look forward to meeting her in person. If her mannerisms are anything like they are in her words, I am quite certain that we shall get along just fine.

I have included a transcript of our communications, as to put to rest any worried thoughts that your mind is so prone to manufacturing.

Love, Elizabeth

To Elizabeth Lavenza

I have taken great interest in your ad. While we do get quite a few visitors, rarely ever do they seek lodging in anything other than a hotel. Rarer still do they put something in the paper.

I would be thrilled to have you. My home is rather large, and seeing as it is only my mother, the servants, and myself, we have more than enough room to accommodate for your visit. Plus, it would wound my heart to see you be taken advantage of by some cheap landlord when you could be living in the fair lap of luxury. I look forward to your response.

Sincerely, Lucy Westenra

To Lucy Westenra

After much thought and deliberation, I have decided that yours would be the ideal place for my little party to stay while we venture so far from our familiar waters. I do warn you, however, that my cousin is quite prone to night terrors, and often needs to be medicated so that he may get any sleep. I tell you this so that you may plan our rooms accordingly, so that you won’t be burdened by our presence.

In this letter I’ll have sealed a dried flower with it. When we arrive, I should like it very much for you to present this token, so that I may know you are legitimate.

Kind regards, Elizabeth Lavenza

To Elizabeth Lavenza

I am honored that you’ve chosen my familial halls to be the safe haven for your loved ones. Your cousins fits are of no concern, and will certainly not be a bother. However, I do have some news concerning the living arrangements. I mentioned before that I live solely with my mother and our servants. However, a dear friend of mine has also asked to stay with me, and I could not, in good conscience, deny her. Her name is Mina Murray, and she is an absolute delight I assure you. Sharp and witty, not to mention beautiful. She is a tender companion to me and has never done me or anyone else wrong. However, I understand that upon hearing this development, you would wish to reside elsewhere.

With love, Lucy Westenra

P.S. What kind of flower is this? It is quite lovely.

Dear Lucy

I am touched by your consideration. None in my party find any issue with Ms. Mina coresiding a residence with us. If anything, I’d be glad to share more feminine company. As of now, we shall be arriving on English soil in early May. I apologize for the lack of clarity, but we are still getting everything scheduled with the boats.

With the tenderest of affection, Elizabeth Lavenza

P.S. It is Edelweiss!

Dear Elizabeth

Everything is prepared for your visit. I anticipate your appearance with joy and excitement.

Love, Lucy

Dear Lucy

I feel much the same.

Love, Elizabeth

May 3

It is hard to ignore the rampant stares and ogling that my friend garners. It seems with each step he takes, another set of eyes comes out to observe him. While making our way to where we are to stay tonight, many folks crossed themselves and said a prayer. My poor friend! He continued to shrink further and further into himself that I could barely get him through the door.

The woman who was waiting there froze when she saw my friend.

“Herr Englishman?” She spoke, hesitating. I nodded, and she swiftly went to who I assumed was the landlord, and her husband. He looked at me and then who I was with. He hastily brought back a letter, stamped with a crested “D”. I tucked it away in my pocket and tended to my friend.

“I apologize for my wretched countenance.” He spoke, his German more clear than mine was, despite having only started learning it a few days prior. “By Gods hand was I cursed to be deformed as I am now.” It was almost a plea. Even now does my heart bleed for my miserable companion!

Upon hearing his declaration, the couple looked at eachother, wonderment and confusion upon their faces. The woman slowly approached the sad creature. When she spoke, it was more of a coo than anything else.

“No need to apologize. I should apologize to you. Come, let us get you settled in.” It was clear even as she held his hand that she was disturbed by his appearance. Regardless, she continued to whisper words of kindness to him, and he would bless her many times over for it. The tension had lessened greatly, though I still felt the bitterness of it. My poor, dear friend, who has not a name.

Perhaps I shall help him pick one out, so that I have a proper way to address him. Farewell, for now.

Jonathan Harker

Chapter Text

I can recall back to the early days of by being, when I was still a fresh creature who knew not how deep the veins of cruelty ran in mankind’s bone, thinking that if only I had some way to communicate my intentions, I would never long for anything more.

I was then naïve and was swiftly taught the true nature of humanity. Still, its gift of language is something that is hard to match in terms of eloquence and communication. As of today, I see this so much more clearly. It seems as if fate, for mankind to have created words, speech, for this specific occasion. Of all the gifts good Jonathan has given me, this is the one that truly has remade me utterly and completely.

It’s a simple word, truly. Not too long, yet not brief. A perfect balance. Even now, my eyes water over thinking about it. Perhaps I should stop waxing poetic, though this wonderous word deserves a proper introduction.

My name is Samson, after he who used his otherworldly strength to protect who and what he loved. Samson, after he who shone like the sun.

Many nights have I rejected sleep to mourn the fact that I could never be human. With the help and care of Jonathan, I am closer to humanity that I could have ever imagined on those nights. To him, who’s tender heart saw my impassible deformity and offered kindness and affection regardless, I owe my life, current and future. It is because of him that I now have a future. He has pulled me from the wretchedness of squalor and raised me to the heavens above. Thank you, my dear, good, friend.

-signed Samson

Chapter Text

May 4

Departing the good hotel keepers to continue towards Count Dracula seems to be particularly difficult for Samson. Every good deed either half of the couple performs for him, he vows to repay tenfold. He is made sentimental very easily. It’s rather nice to see. Ever since this morning he seems to look at the world with fresh eyes. He is almost childlike in his amazement with the most mundane of things. I swear I saw him holding back tears when the woman, served him breakfast. Perhaps it is merely exposure to him, but I can’t imagine being scared by him anymore. He’s far too endearing.

At the door, the couple insisted that we each take their crucifix. I admit, it seems so excessive for a rather simple trip.
“Take care, Herr Englishman.” The man said, placing the rosary firmly in my palm. I looked over at Samson, perhaps for some sort of comfort. I’m still unsure.

He was kneeling, head bowed, luxurious hair falling over his face. The woman was carefully draping the cross around his neck.
“Tonight is the Eve of St. George’s day. At midnight, all evil things will be in full power. This will let others know you are not in leagues with them. Worn proudly, you shall never meet trouble.” She adjusted it so that the crucifix was visible over his cloak. When Samson turned his gaze on her, he fixed her with the most grateful eyes I have ever seen.
“I thank you for your kindness. I shall forever owe you my favor.” He said, low voice shaking with emotion. The woman held his cheek, and smiled, though it had such a sad air to it.

May 5

The carriage is horribly cramped. Had I known that there would be so many people in it, I would have chosen to simply walk to the castle. Lord knows Samson doesn’t need or deserve this tension. He’s been rubbing his rosary with his fingers ever since he entered the vehicle. To his credit, he is doing all he can to hide himself under his hat and cloak, but that doesn’t stop the eyes on him. As of now, I have allowed him to hold onto my sleeve, so that he may be comforted and that I may still be able to write. Poor, poor Samson!

The carriage is going at incredible speed, and all signs point to it only getting faster. The sound is growing too, the voices of the other passengers overlapping and becoming an overbearing cacophony of fright and anticipation! Good lord! Looking at Samson, he is still and stoic as ever, but his eyes are wide and almost seem as if glowing. His grip on my sleeve has tightened horribly. At once, all the passengers gave me gifts and prayers, in a hectic and rushed manner.

The carriage has stopped, and thank God for it’s doing so. Anymore of that, and I would have gotten sick. I shall try to talk to the coachman, and chastise him for his recklessness!

Jonathan Harker

I’ve decided to transcribe what is being said once again, as it gives me reason to ignore the people around me and their prying eyes.

“Seems that Herr Englishman and his companion aren't expected tonight! Best to try again tomorrow, or better, the day after!” - the driver

“On the contrary.” - unknown voice (here, the horses startle)

“You’re early.” - the driver

“My horses are swift, especially so for such an important guest as my master is expecting.” - unknown man

“My apologies.” - the driver

“What is this about a ‘companion’? I wasn’t informed of this.” - unknown man

“He’s a fellow solicitor. My boss was wary about me making this trip alone, so he sent two of us. For safety.” - Jonathan (he is lying)

“Why is he writing everything down?” - unknown man

“To transcribe all the legal interactions, for review.” - Jonathan (again, a lie)

“I see… very well then. Give me the Englishman's luggage. We shall depart immediately.” - unknown man

I must put away my journal now.

-signed Samson

May 5

The final stretch of the journey was quite peculiar. At first, it seemed as if we were just going round and round in circles. When we were finally putting some distance between us and the village, the coach would stop to… scare off, I suppose? To scare off blue lights that erupted from select spots of the ground. He did this so often, I figure I must have been nodding off, and my mind simply repeated the occurrence. All of this, and it doesn’t even cover the wolves, those wretched creatures! Even now, I shudder to remember how they surrounded the carriage like they did.

Despite this, the sight of the castle was truly magnificent, accented by flashes of lightning and thunder. Great and looming, it was incredibly impressive to me. Samson seemed equally enamored.

“For the longest time, I’d held cottages and shacks as the pinnacle of luxury.” He said in a low turn, eyes sparkling with curiosity. I do have to note, with every lightning strike, Samson looked far more ghoulish than in normal, soft light. His eyes looked sunken in, and it created such a horrid contrast with his black lips. In these seconds, he looked haunting. I better be off to sleep soon, for my tiredness is causing me to be so rude about my dear friend and companion.

We left the vehicle and approached the entrance to the castle. Alarmingly, our coach took off. I almost thought we would be left outside the entire night, when I saw who I had, correctly, assumed to be our host.

“Welcome, welcome! It is such a comfort to finally have you here. Come in, enter, before the rain makes you ill!” The Count said in almost perfect English, save for the accent, much like Samson. He ushered us in, and Samson clutched my sleeve once more.
“I was not expecting more than one guest, my apologies.” He said, gesturing with his hairy hand. I believe I have been desensitized by my friend, as, despite the Count’s odd appearance, it didn’t strike me as so until now.

“I should be the one apologizing, for not informing you sooner. This is Samson, and he is here to transcribe our legal discussions, so that they can be reviewed later.” I said, brushing off my coat, even though there wasn’t anything on it. “I hope that it is alright with you.”

The Count clapped his hands and chuckled.
“The more the merrier! Yes, it is of no inconvenience! Let me lead you to your rooms, so that you may get settled, before we dine!” His voice was jovial and he gestured for us to follow him once more.

The night went on smoothly, the three of us having supped and talked freely. I did notice that Samson didn’t eat any of the meat on his hastily put together plate, though, and that our host didn’t eat at all. The rest of the night was spent discussing the history of Transylvania and England, as well as the details of the Count’s recently purchased property. It was at that point of the conversation that Samson brought out his journal and started writing, legitimizing my little lie.

“I hope I didn’t keep you up too long with all my rambling.” Dracula said. “You are free to go to your rooms now, and rest. We have much work to do tomorrow.” He shooed us away, into our respective rooms. I heard a clicking sound after my door was shut, but paid it no mind.

The sheets in the bed were absolutely beautiful to rest on, silky and soft. I found myself drifting to sleep almost immediately, despite the sunrise coming through my window.

A few moments later, however, I was woken up by tapping on that same glass. I sat up and saw none other than Samson outside. I was in a good amount of shock, as we were very high up. I quickly rushed over and opened the window. Samson agilely leapt in.
“What on earth are you doing? And more importantly, how are you doing it?!” I asked, rather frazzled.

“I apologize for the intrusion, but I couldn’t bear to be in that room alone, and when my fingertips did reach the door knob, I found it quite locked. I’m very capable of traversing difficult terrain, so I concluded that climbing to your window would be the least disruptive course of action.” The answer was given in a demure, almost embarrassed manner. It took me quite some strength to hold back a laugh. Instead I just smiled and shook my head.

While I was up I decided to catalog the rest of the events of the night. Now, I will close my journal.

Jonathan Harker

Elizabeth and her cohorts have arrived today, and I must admit I am absolutely smitten with her already!

I met with her and her party at the docks, the Edelweiss firmly in my hand, though not enough so that it would damage it. Seeing her was such an otherworldly experience! It was as if I’ve known her face for years now. I almost wish to sit down and paint the scene. Elizabeth, holding her bonnet firmly against her obsidian curls, sun glittering off of her skin like smoky quartz, eyes bright and rich, draped in the most delicate powder blue dress I’ve ever seen. If it weren’t for the chill of the sea air, one could have convinced me that I was in heaven and she was an angel. Even now I’d believe that second claim. She exited the boat, and upon seeing the flower she sent me, smiled brighter than the sun. She came up to me, held my hands in hers, and kissed me lightly on the cheek three times. I admit, I blushed quite profusely, despite knowing that this was a foreign custom.

“I’m so glad to finally meet you in person, Lucy!” She said, her accent thick and gorgeous, a voice sweeter than honey and more soothing than mint. My chest fluttered with excitement when she said my name. While I write this, I feel that we were destined to meet. That this was fate, and everything in the universe has settled into place.

“The feeling is mutual.” I smiled, leaning down and kissing her lace gloved hand. A greeting of our own for my wonderful foreign friend. Her face flushed softly as well, lively cheeks becoming darker, as her smile grew larger. “Welcome to England!” I said, standing up and throwing my arm out. Her eyes glittered with delight.

Behind her, I could see two men coming out with luggage. Elizabeth herself had been carrying her own case. One was in bright jewel tones of green, orange, and yellow, while the other was more muted in every aspect. Elizabeth turned around and led the men to me.

“Lucy, this is Henry,” She gestured to the colorful one, whose cheeks and hair were rosy. “And this is Victor, my cousin!” She motioned towards the other, dark under eyes accentuated by thick glasses, and a white streak cutting a way through his hair.

They both said their greetings and did the same kissing on the check that Elizabeth did. I curtsied, and helped them and their luggage into a carriage. I am writing this in said carriage, while we are on the way to my manor. We will drop off everyone's personal belongings, then go out for lunch. The discussion is animated, and I have never felt more alive nor at home than I do now. I can’t wait to introduce Mina to everyone!

Chapter Text

May 8, 18-

What they, the writers of great renown and fame, do not tell about poetry, is that if you become a failed poet, that doesn’t stop the words from building up inside of you. You may have given up the life of a writer, may have severed every last connection to the profession, yet your heart just doesn’t seem to know. You can scream ‘I don’t need these words!’ and your soul will reply ‘But if I stop, I will die’. It’s a rather annoying conundrum to say the least. The burden is lifted, somewhat, when you have something to focus on, but the prose will always follow you, even if at a distance.

I try to focus on writing realistic things. Notes, updates, letters to my sister. Something tangible. It’s not nearly as stimulating, but it’s productive, and that is something that I desperately need to be.

There has been a lull in the shipping industry as of late, and I can feel it crippling my will. It has been far too long since I’ve been on a boat, since I’ve been on the sea. Even now I can feel the faint whisper of a northern breeze, and it is agonizingly tantalizing. I wish for nothing more than to head for the Arctic, to make something out of myself. If my name isn’t set into the history books, then what good was my being here? I’m falling into one of my depressive episodes again.

In better news, I have already talked with every captain who would humor me. No matter which ship sails first, I shall be on it. Just thinking about it has raised my spirits in a wonderful fashion. O’ first love of many a sea man, I soon shall be enfolded in your deep, dark arms! Oh, there goes that pesky prose again.

R. Walton

Henry C.

Having now been a few days into our stay at England, I can safely say that the world of commerce is still as bland to me as ever. It matters very little where the ships are headed. China, India, home, hell one of them seems to be charting a course to Romania! Regardless of their path, every single one of them is filled with the intent to suck locals dry if their money and return to the comforts of their own luxurious life without a second thought.

For years now the Clervals have been merchants. It was only by dumb luck was I able to see a life outside it. Victor and Elizabeth saved my life that day, when I met them. It was Elizabeth who showed literature to my freshly opened eyes. Victor who chastised anyone who was anything less than a perfect gentleman. Their combined force, pulling me away from my banking books and out into fields and libraries and gardens.

I will never be a merchant, ever. However, the excitement of travel ever beckons me. No matter how much I despise them, I long to be in those boats, taken to far off lands, millions of worlds away. This is the furthest I’ve ever been from Geneva, and I can feel the call of adventure. It’s almost comical. I mentioned this drive to Victor, and he promised that upon his recovery, he would join me in my travels, good hearted friend that he is.

Until we both come to our senses, I suppose I shall continue to observe this hub of transport.

May 8

It has become abundantly clear to me that I am being held prisoner. The observation of Samson upon our first night should have alerted me, but I was tired, and rather weak feeling. We were permitted entrance to any room that was not locked. What sounded perfectly reasonable has quickly become a horrifying fate, it seems. Just short of every door is locked, including the one to my room quite often. It is upon this realization that I am so very grateful for my dear friend.

I do not believe the Count is aware of good Samsons abilities. His strength, agility, and silence all lend perfectly to him being able to move around the outside castle walls, and entering rooms through their unlocked windows. It is a great relief to have such a man as my companion. I fear what might have happened to me without him, physically and mentally. He keeps me grounded in some desperate moments. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank him enough.

As of right now, he has told me that he is investigating what he can of not only the castle, but the Count as well. Looking back, I am glad for those innkeepers' crucifixes. They give me peace of mind, for myself, and for Samson. I can only hope that it’s twin does the same for my dear friend.

May 8- continued

He has not returned to me. Oh, good friend! Dear, dear Samson, how I have failed you! If I had advised against your leaving, or perhaps left with you! If only! I hear the wicked laughs of Devils, and I know that I have sentenced you to your doom! I promise you, I will find a way out of here!

Jonathan Harker

Chapter Text

Ever since the arrival of surprise guests, though only a surprise to me, Elizabeth and co, Lucy has been more vibrant than I’ve ever seen her. Her eyes are brighter, and her cheeks are constantly covered in a deep flush. When she’s not with Elizabeth, she is talking about Elizabeth. She has already apologized for this, though I have not once found this behavior annoying. In fact, it reminds me greatly of how I behaved when I met Jonathan…

I have not heard from him in quite some time. I do not blame him, of course! Communication across such a distance is bound to be difficult. Still, that doesn’t stop me from worrying. My Jonathan is a sensitive soul, and I fear what might be keeping him from writing me. When he departed, he promised me he would write frequently the moment he arrived at his destination. Perhaps he is still traveling? Whatever the reason, my heart yearns for him.

Aside from Elizabeth, there is also a Henry Clerval and a Victor Frankenstein. Good lord, what a name the latter has! Their accents are thick, but their English is academically perfect. I see very little of Mr. Frankenstein, though, so I am not at liberty to describe his mannerisms. To my information, he is very ill after a horrible incident at his college that left him mentally and physically weak. In fact, I even saw him faint the other day, and it was hours before he could be revived. It sounds rather silly now that I’m writing it, but I had never seen a man faint before, and didn’t believe them capable of doing so.

Mr. Clerval, however, I can comment on much. A poet and gentleman from birth, it seems, he tends to the needs of everyone in the house as best as he can, and is absolutely delightful the entire time. He’s very easy to notice, as he wears the most vivid and garish clothes I’ve ever seen. I don’t believe the man owns anything that isn’t in a jewel tone. He has provided me with much conversation, and already do I consider him to be a good friend. He has already charmed himself to many of the people here, and has cemented himself as a reliable and trustworthy part of the community. I’m quite certain that Jonathan would love him.

God, I can’t keep it in! My concern for Jonathan goes beyond simple longing. I fear for him! Never, not once within knowing him, has he left me without a word. It is foolish, and I am bordering on hysteria, but I just know that he is in danger. I feel it in my blood! Oh, return to me soon, my dearest!

Mina Murray

May 16

I have found where the Count has been keeping Samson. Before, I thought myself a kind, sensible man. However, what I have seen has made me envision the horrific demise of my host, and all those who willingly and happily associate with him. I would grasp his throat myself if I weren’t still at least partially sane.

The Count, much like Samson, is capable of scaling the aged walls of the castle. He does it in a lizard like motion, crawling about in a most unsettling manner. I am slowly practicing to do the same in my room, so that I am ready for when I escape with Samson. I have already gotten good enough to find him this way.

Samson, poor poor Samson! That wicked, evil man! He has locked Samson away in a room where only three beautiful and monstrous women can enter. I have seen them do so, carefully creeping around the window while they were distracted. God, what horrors they have subjected my friend to! He is chained, his hands held together and connected to his throat and ankles. He is being held captive, not as a prisoner like I am, but as an animal! I watched what I could only assume to be the regular nightly occurrence. The pale woman was the first to speak.

“What a waste you are! Only causing trouble and mischief. Your lips aren’t fit to be kissed!” She cackled, circling around him like a vulture. I saw his eyes from underneath his tangled hair, their yellow hue now orange from crying I could only presume.

“Such an ugly creature we have, while he gets to go and play with his handsome little solicitor. He truly has gotten crueler with the years!” Another said, stepping forward and lifting Samson’s chin. “It calls itself Samson, you know? Does the monster want to be a hero?” She mocked, before quickly pulling her hand back, as if it were dirtied by Samson’s skin. I clenched my teeth to keep from making any noise.

“Oh, don’t complain.” The third one finally spoke. “It’s a sign of respect! After all, he gave us the assignment to figure out why another undead is here.” She looked down upon my friend. “You’re going to give us all the information we want sooner or later, isn’t that right, Samson?” She brought her hand down upon his head. Samson quickly lunged at her, a terrific shout leaving his mouth as he did so. The woman disappeared before he could reach her, but her laugh rang clear.
“Oh, that angered it!” Her disembodied voice cheered with delight. Within a moment she was visible again, but standing alongside her kin. Samson’s chest was heaving as he choked out a sob. It was then that I noticed he still had his crucifix, though the chain had been tampered with and the cross inverted. Still, as even in his cuffs he could reach it, he rubbed it between his fingers. From where I was it almost looked polished. I retreated to my room, yes, as a coward. But I woke up with a new spirit. I refuse to let these vile witches and their horrible master torment my friend into becoming a monster. I would rather be slain where I stand than do nothing. I shall meet him today, as the women can’t be in the sunlight it seems, and I will tell him my plan.

May the good lord give me strength!

Jonathan Harker

Chapter Text

May 18

Commissioned, as I am, with writing these false letters, I feel myself seemingly grow sick. I know I must tell Mina the horrible events that have transpired here, but to communicate that safely is still lost to me. I have told her not to trust my words above and of Samson in shorthand, but safety is never guaranteed within the count’s home. The count himself has only just learned English, so I highly doubt that he’ll have learned shorthand yet. I only pray that this is enough.

Speaking of him, I have gone to visit Samson once more, but this time I had revealed myself to him. It was within the comfort of sunlight that I crawled through the window and rushed up to him.

Oh, poor Samson! His already afflicted complexion was blotchy and livid when he lifted his face. His tears flowed freely upon seeing me, and I did my best to wipe them from his gentle eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He kept sobbing, as if he was the one who had committed this horrible transgression. All I could do was soothe him as best as I could, holding him despite his superior size in comparison to mine. To be honest I scarcely even recognized Samson’s size, as he was trembling so harshly. I explained to him my budding escape plan, to which he replied that he would do what he could! Good man, how horrible you have been treated!

If I was ever at all hesitant before, I am now completely and utterly devoted to the idea of freedom. If not for myself, then for Samson. I refuse to let the count and his workers of mischief commit such atrocities freely. Dearest Mina, wish me luck in my endeavors.

Jonathan Harker

May 28
Patient: V. Frankenstein
Doctor: J. Seward
001

In regards to Mr. Frankenstein, I know him in a much more personal matter than most other patients. He was a guest of good Lucy Westenra. Though she has rejected my proposal of marriage, I hold no animosity towards her. Even now as she is, engaged to a Mr. Arthur Holmwood, I hold her very near and dear to my heart. Being that as it is, I have taken to treating this patient personally.

V. Frankenstein is the brother of one Elizabeth Lavenza, who is a recent yet close friend of Lucy’s. It was on the day of my proposal that I met her. She was sitting off on a lounge chair, a book of poetry in her hand. Next to her was a man of similar foreign disposition. He was obnoxiously dressed, and was sitting beside Elizabeth, reading from the same book. Due to their closeness and intimacy, I perceived them to be husband and wife.

I have since learned that this observation was wrong. It seems that European’s simply share their space with anyone they so please. Regardless, I proposed, and swiftly did I realize I wasn’t going to be marrying Lucy anytime soon, as she looked back at the foreigners with a look of astonishment and slight horror. They returned the gaze, and she said she would think on my offer. It was moments later that V. Frankenstein came stumbling out, screaming of a demon, face livid and eyes wide. I took it upon myself to restrain him.

Once he was properly detained, I ran a quick assessment and asked for clearance to take him to my hospital. I believe Madam Lavenza must have been in shock, as she didn’t say a word. The man, who I would soon learn was called Clerval, staunchly refused. Regardless, I gained permission, and now V. Frankenstein is in my care.

Frankenstein is of incredibly weak constitution, and is highly vulnerable to fainting and sickness. However, with testing, I’ve found that he is also quite easily goaded into manic hysteria, where he becomes quite paranoid and experiences hallucinations of the auditory and visual variety. I should like to keep him in this state as much as possible, as I believe I will get the best results from him in this position.

As such, I have had him placed in the room next to R.M. Renfield, as to make my schedule more manageable when I make my rounds. If all goes well, I shall be able to completely relieve V. Frankenstein of his illness.

End Recording.

Oh, what horrors my poor Elizabeth had to face, and on what was meant to be a happy day! Three proposals, yet it feels as if none of them matter when I see Elizabeth in such a horrid state.

Yesterday, her cousin, Victor, was taken away to the mental asylum, and by one of my suitors no less! She is in constant turmoil, and each time I see her, her eyes seem more glassy than before. Henry is in similar shape.

However awful this may sound, though, this event has made me much more thankful for Arthur. He came for my hand in marriage, yet has stayed to console my grieving guests. He has been like cool water on a burn, and I can see the thankfulness on my beloved guests faces. As for me, all I can do is pray for the swift recovery of Victor, and in turn, the swift recovery of Elizabeth.

This manor has quickly become the house of mourning, and I can only hope that our tides shall soon turn. May the good god in heaven see to that we shall once again become happy.

Chapter Text

May 28

It was on this day that swaths of pale, sluggish men and women came to the castle. I couldn’t make out their faces clearly, being separated by miles of height and length, but they felt uncanny. Their movements were stiff and jerky, the limbs moved not as a whole but in pieces. First the foot, then the calf, lastly the thigh. They almost looked dead. Even as I write this, I can’t shake the feeling of familiarity. Dead but alive…

They came in rows, like an army battalion. Before that, the streamed out of houses and from beyond hills. If my suspicions are correct, this could be the doing of the count. I no longer believe him to be human, and as such it is not so difficult for me to believe that he could extend his control over people. After all, I now realize that’s what he’s done with wolves. These minions of his, these extensions of his dominion, are just the unlucky ones.

I find myself continually disturbed by this line of thought, and don’t think I could bear to focus on it more. Thus, I shall devote my entire attention to the release of Samson, and to our escape.

Jonathan Harker

May 31

There is treason in these words. The devil moves my hand, the ink stains blacker than hellfire’s char. All my paper, my clothes, my envelopes, all of them were gone. I crawled across to what I had identified as Dracula’s room, in hopes of retrieving them. They were not there. Instead there was a pile of ancient coin, the torn remnants of Samson’s hat, and the journal which even now haunts me to my very core.

It isn’t the one that belongs to Samson. It is not his name that is inscribed at the end of every entry. Despite this, it is Samson’s book. Each diagram, each drawing, each drop of ink is him. Is his foul creation.

Charnel houses, graves, the butchers. A small apartment, a needle, a spool of thread. Bones sawed in half and fixed together, organs taken from prime animal candidates. A brain made from scratch.

I know not how to feel. For all it seems like the writings of a mad man, it is all true and lucid. The proof of it all lives a few rooms away, chained and tormented. I sometimes hear his cries, his screams, through the walls. They sound inhuman. Those wretched women said it themselves. The undead. But he is so much more than that. Perhaps, for the first time, I am truly scared of the creature that I had been traveling with. What he’s capable of is unknown. It might be for the better to leave him here and escape on my own.

Jonathan Harker

May 31, continued

This castle is truly warping my mind in the most sadistic ways. I can’t help but nash my teeth when reading my last entry. Damn this accursed ruin and those who control it! To think I could have possibly imagined my dear Samson as a threat! If I ever have the thought again, I may just have to shoot myself in the head.

“Frankenstein.” I had said the moment I slipped through the window to where Samson was being held captive. The joy and light in his eyes upon seeing me died almost as quickly as it appeared. He instantly curled in on himself, tucking his hulking form away into the darkest shadows.

I am destined for hell, as I made my dear Samson cry.

His breath quivered as fat tears rolled down his face, deforming slightly every time they passed a scar.
“You weren’t supposed to know!” He sobbed, hands tugging at his hair. “You weren’t supposed to know!” His voice broke with anguish, as well did my heart. To think that even as I sat in that windowsill, a part of me still thought of him as a threat.

Samson, my Samson, my Samson who marveled at peacock feathers and mimicked birdsongs, and looked at me like I was worth a damn. Samson, a threat! If I could, I would strangle that man who stood in my skin, for he was not Jonathan Harker. Luckily for him, he died upon the first note of Samson’s pain.

Within an instant I rushed forward and held my dear friend, apologizing for everything that I had done. I kissed his brow and spoke to him of all the happiness he had brought me and was bound to bring Mina once we made it back to England. Spoke of how he was beautiful, and gentle, and kind, and not a monster. I held his hands, felt how raw his fingertips were from rubbing his rosary, felt the faint pulse that thrummed through each part of him, however cold it may be.

“I didn’t want you to know.” He hiccuped, tears slowly drying in his face. That was, if any of them managed to survive me wiping them away. “If you know, I lose everything.” His voice cracked, much like when I found him in the woods.

“No, you have gained.” I said, kissing his brow again like I would do for Mina when she’d been up all night writing.

“Gained what?” A child’s question, really. One I was more than happy to provide the answer for.

“A full name. Samson Frankenstein.” It fell easily off my tongue. If this Victor character couldn’t be bothered to give his affection, the least he could give was his name. Samson paused, still shaking slightly in my arms.

“Do I have a soul?” He asked, the question of a condemned man.

“The best I’ve ever known.” He tucked his head under my chin, even though it seemed laborious to do so. In turn, I held him tighter.

We shall be leaving very, very soon. I shall not see Samson cry again. I forbid it.

Jonathan Harker

Chapter Text

It is only within the absence of Victor was I able to realize something. I have no real self. I remember vaguely coming from a crowded, poor home, and into the manner of the Frankensteins. I remember my first time meeting Victor. Being there for the birth of William. Soothing Ernest through his horrible illnesses. I remember always being what the Frankensteins needed me to be. It is through this reflection that I’ve realized I am empty. I was so devoted to my adoptive family, that I never thought to cultivate something for myself. Now, being miles away from Geneva, with my last direct tie to said family institutionalized, I have been given that chance.

It sounds horrible, but the simple fact is that Victor and his kin were keeping me from myself. Before I would wake up each morning on the hour, lest William sob at my seeming disappearance. Now I wake up on the hour as I wish not to lose a single moment I spend with Lucy.

Lucy has been a reassuring presence throughout this realization. She has cleared the guilt from my conscience.
“If you continue to live for other people, you’ll have nothing left once they’re gone.” She told me. Horribly grim, yet wholly accurate. I am ever grateful towards her. Perhaps it is silly to say, but she has revived me. Her presence is like a rejuvenating mountain gale. I truly believe she has saved me.

My only concern now resides with Henry, who has taken the loss of Victor much harder than anyone else. Even so, he has informed me that he finds much comfort and kinship with Arthur and Quincy. Their intercourse is loud and jovial, discussions vary from literature to the different cultures they all have, even if Henry holds a look of subtle melancholy throughout. We have both found peace within our foreign friends.

Though it may seem odd for us all to have recovered so soon, I have a cruel theory as to why. Victor, despite our love for him, has been to us a dark and storming sky. Now that he is gone? We are finally witnessing the splendor of the heavens.

Lucy has taught me to be selfish. I know it is wrong, and horrible, and vile, yet I wish that Victor has a slow recovery. Oh, dear cousin, forgive me. You are the reason I live in comfort, and the sole source of my misery. I need your continued existence, and your continued distance. I can only pray that what you are being subjected to isn’t as fearsome as my imagination concocts . May your soul be at peace, sweet Victor.

June 20

I’ve spent less and less time within my own room, and more where Samson is being kept. This greatly enhances the risk of being caught by those dreadful phantasms of women, but I feel it is much worth it. When neither of the doors are locked, I go to the library and collect as many books of interest as I can. Then, I store them within my room. When I go to visit Samson, I hold the spine of the book with my teeth so I may scale the walls with little interference. It is awkward, but brisk. I find myself getting better at climbing these bricks each day.

We read together, Samson and I. Even now he is so considerate and kind, asking me if I have finished a page yet, and waiting if I haven’t. I often find myself running my fingers through his hair, carefully working out the knots that have accumulated. He told me that the women grab his hair and tug on it until he cries out in pain. He has also told me that is the most they can do without being harmed by his crucifix. I do my best to remove all signs of abuse. I do my best.

Despite my circumstance, I find that I am much calmer when in Samson’s presence. He soothes my worries so easily. He has repeatedly woken me up as I have fallen asleep in the middle of our reading. It’s dangerous, to feel safe enough to sleep in a place like this. I barely get any of it.

Aside from reading, I also spend much of my time sawing away at Samson’s chains. At the base, where the iron is connected to the wall, the link is rusted. I have found a letter opener in the library, and have been using that to try and carve away at the chains. It is not the best tool for the job, to say the least, but the small pile of orange and silver flakes collecting on the floor is a testament to having some effect. I know Samson appreciates it.

I feel foolish for not thinking of visiting him more often sooner. It has done wonders for both of our spirits, and gives me more and more reason to get out. However, I still don’t have a plan! I don’t know what to do, between the count, his female counterparts, and his hits of thralls, it feels like there’s nothing that can be done. The most I’ve got for now is breaking Samson out while the Count is either away or asleep. Can the count even sleep? I’m so unaware of so many things.

At least I have Samson here with me. I fear what I would have ended up like without him.

Jonathan Harker

Chapter Text

Damn the date, damn the day, damn this castle, and damn the evil that lives within! Damn it all to hell!

They have taken him again, and I haven’t a single clue as to where. How often must I fail to protect my Samson? How often must he face the wickedness of the count and his colleagues? Every promise I make, every vow and declarations I pour my whole soul into is worthless.

His rosary, its string snapped, beads spilling, was left abandoned on the hateful stone floor where he was kept. Even as he was bound and tormented, at least he was safe from their vicious hands. But now! Now, he is left to their mercy, and I know well that Dracula and his devil women have none.

I shall take their heads, gouge them on pikes, and display them for the world to see. That would be a kindness, compared to what they are doing to Samson, even now. I know it, I feel it, even now they spill his sweet blood on the ground. Were my dearest friends' scars not enough? No, says Dracula! No, he must bleed till he is not but an empty shell of a man, says his brides, if brides they can be called! I’ll rend their hearts from their chests, if they even have them!

Samson! Samson! I have failed you before, each time a sting to my soul, but I refuse to let your gentle manner be blackened by these fiends. The most gracious of men, the most beautiful of creatures, those who wound you shall sleep restlessly, save they sleep at all! Hear my cry, feel my love, and know that soon they shall die and I shall hold you utop their ashes!

June 24, continued

To say I am calmer now would be a lie. Rage still bubbles within my core and bloodlust floods my veins, even as I write. I am, however, more collected.

It’s a sobering feeling, to say the least. To look upon my words and see the anger with which they were written. Blind rage will help no one, certainly not me, and certainly not Samson. If I am to be of any use, I will need to be rational. I bitterly feel the absence of Mina at this moment. She grounds me, and I so desperately need that now. It is for the best that she’s not at my side, however. She needs not see the horrors this castle holds, myself included.

I have no mirror, Dracula made sure of that, but I’ve still seen my reflection cast on every window. I don’t recognize myself in this monstrous state. I doubt she would recognize me either, just a few hours ago.

Samson’s crucifix grounds me plenty.

The crucifix itself is in a shape. Its band was snapped and it has lost so many of its blessed beads. The metal of the cross is tarnished from finger oil, its edges worn down to a nearly razor sharp point. The culprit of this last act of weathering, however, is none other than Samson himself, diligent fingers rubbing the cross till it bent to his will. It is too damaged to wear around my neck, so I have tied it around my wrist instead. Just in case Dracula should try and touch my hand, I have it tucked into my sleeve. That beast of a man shall get no mercy from me.

I have no weapons, but I am armed with the letter opener, my knowledge of the castle layout, and my wit. Soon, I shall give Samson a quiet, calm, happy life.

I can’t wait.

Johnathan Harker

As the days go on, I find myself spending more time with Mr. Henry then with Lucy. I know well the reason why. While we both put on a calm air and nod and smile and converse jovially , we both are horrified at not knowing what’s happening to our companions.

Each day I fear I’ll grow sick with worry for Johnathan. Likewise, I’ve noticed Mr. Henry has developed a nervous habit of bouncing his leg. My vice is biting at my nails as if they’ve offended me.

It is only when we are alone that we’re able to express our worries. We’ve often retired to my room just so we may be able to escape having to act unfazed.

“I used to read much lighter books.” He said, setting down the copy of Hamlet he wasn’t reading. I could see the lack of sleep in his eyes, and particularly under them.

“My tastes have changed, aswell.” I said, placing down my cup, unsweetened tea having gone cold. “Would you like to visit him? It’s a bit of a walk, but I imagine that wouldn’t be too much of a problem.” My fingertips tapped against the fine china. He shook his head, placing a hand to his forehead.

“I can’t, not again. Last time I saw him, I…” he swallowed dryly. “It was like he wasn’t even there. He looked so-”

“Empty?”

“Yes.”

I settled back into my chair, the wood groaning beneath me. It’s a melancholy kind of silence that Henry and I share. A secret kind of silence. It’s not uncomfortable, all things considered. More so banished. We hide our woes behind locked doors so that those around us may flourish. Which they are. Lucy and Elizabeth are more vibrant than I’ve ever seen them, and Lucy’s suitors seem much enlightened by another masculine presence. Perhaps it was destined to be this way. We wilt and rot to become compost for our friends.

“Do you suppose they think we’re having an affair?” I asked, a rare smirk pulling at my lips. He laughed at that, and I could see the vibrance he once held.

“And what brought on that idea?” He asked, after recovering his composure. I find it easy to joke with him.

“What other reason could there possibly be for a man and a woman spending so much time with each other? Certainly none that are wholesome!” I said with an increasing amount of absurdity. In return, I earned another laugh.

“Of course, of course. How could I have not known? Thank you, Madam Mina, for revealing the true scandal of this all.” He said with a swoop of his arm, motioning to the stagnant room we presently resided in.

That was about two hours ago, and now we have switched to writing. To get rid of these “Pesky words” as he puts it. I find no fault with my thoughts, but each to himself I suppose. It’s almost funny. Only when in the company of one as miserable as myself am I able to honestly smile. What a strange contradiction.

Regardless, I ardently await your return, my dearest Jonathan. The moment I see your face, I shall plaster it with kisses, and I shall be sure to wear my dark lipstick, so that removing them is to be a challenge. Know that your beloved Mina sends you her regards, and prays for your boat to appear in the harbor.

June 24
Patient: V. Frankenstein
Doctor: J. Seward
007

I have deeply underestimated the lengths a mad man will go to achieve his fanatical vision.

As I was doing my usual rounds I discovered a sight most egregious . V. Frankenstein’s room was empty. He wasn’t lurking under the bed or hiding behind the door as other patients have, he was simply gone.

Evidence of his escape was left in the window. From what I can deduce, he had somehow stolen a scalpel from either me or one of my colleagues, and used it as a means to cut his jacket into ribbons. Then, his arms now free and with an abundance of material at his disposal, he tied the fabric around two of the bars and tightened it by inserting the scalpel and twisting it until the bars bent. I have heard of such a method, but on a larger scale, the offending tool being a can rather than something as minuscule as a scalpel. Evidence of Frankenstein’s struggle with this factor is also evident, as both the scalpel and fabric were covered in blood. I imagine his hands must be cut to ribbons as of now.

To say that is concerning is a disgusting understatement. Mad men themselves are unstable, and V. Frankenstein was a particularly disturbing case as he could reasonably pass to the untrained eye as sane. An escaped mad man should be treated the same as an escaped convict who is armed and dangerous, as the mad man himself is a weapon.

I have done the necessary reports and have organized a search party. Never did I think I’d have to engage such protocols. I have to say, Frankenstein is a clever lunatic. That cunning is exactly what makes him a threat.

I shall make my next entry on Frankenstein when I have retrieved and thoroughly punished him.

End Recording.

June 24, 18-

It was while I was walking along the shoreline that I met him. He was half submerged in the tied and trekking forward with a seeming disregard for his current condition. When I approached him, he took on a defensive stance. It was only when he recognized I wasn’t a threat that he allowed himself to be calm.

Great god, how do I describe this man? He looked as if he had a fever, trembling immensely, and was thinner than a healthy man should ever fear being. He was constantly squinting, as if he couldn’t see well, and blood covered his strange attire. When I asked him what he was doing, he replied only “ To flee those who wrongfully wish to detain me.”

At the time I had been so disturbed by his mannerisms and speech that I let him be and returned to my home as quickly as possible. It is only now that I am truly frightened.

A group of medics and doctors and the like came to my door, asking if I had seen their escaped mental patient. The description they gave perfectly matched the man I had seen by the shore. However, something within me stopped my lips from giving the man’s whereabouts. I suppose it was the image of him, however disturbing he may have looked, he had the heaviest air of fragility to him. Curse this poet’s heart, finding the beauty in even a lunatic. I gave them a false address, and once they were gone, set out to find the man myself.

It didn’t take long to find him, though I tenderly wish I found him in a better state. He seemed passed out, covered in sand and sea foam, threatened to be pulled away by the tide each time it came in. At least he wasn’t drowned.

My next course of action I have no explanation for. I can only blame pity, as I have taken the mad man into my home. When he was revived, however, he seemed as if the most thankful creature on earth, indebting himself to me thrice and thanking me with seemingly no end. With his face lighted up as it was, he appeared to me the most noble of men, gratitude pouring out of him despite the fact that I’ve shown him nothing but base kindness.

As of now I have helped to bathe and clothe him, have bandaged his sorely damaged hands, and have made him an herbal tea to help soothe him. He lays on my sofa under a thick blanket, as to fight off the suspected fever. I know not whether or not this was the correct choice to make, but I am steady in my conviction. I shall allow this nameless mad man to stay with me as long as it takes for him to recover.

Robert Walton

Chapter Text

June 29

The date of my final day has arrived, and there is hellfire with my gut, and it floods my veins and nerves.

The library was my sanctuary. I had fallen asleep, and foolishly so, within its walls. Even now exhaustion claims me as its companion. I awoke to the sight of Dracula, and forced my tired will to not strangle him where he stood.

“Are you not excited to return to your beautiful England, good friend?” He asked, and my blood only boiled hotter.

“I am merely napping in preparation.” Said I, lazily gesturing with my hand. “I do so long to be fully aware when I do go, I would hate to not take in the wonder of the land before I left for good.” He knows that I know we’re playing a game. He simply hasn’t been informed of the new rules. After all, the stakes are far greater than before. On his lips was an empty smile.

“May your last day here be spent in tranquility.” He left with a flourish as I gnashed my teeth. It is difficult to stay calm when in his immediate presence. He excites my rage and disdain to an astonishing degree.

He thinks me trapped, caught within a web of his invention. Perhaps, if I had come here alone, I would be. I shall set forth tomorrow, and I shall taste the sweet airs of freedom once more.

June 30

The front doors are locked, as was expected. Samson’s rosary bites into the flesh of my wrist, a constant, cold reminder. I have no bag, so all that I can carry will fit only on my person. Currently I stand in Dracula’s room. I believe I know where Samson is being unjustly held, and it is within the evil heart of this building. I will document the happenings of this event once we have escaped.

Oh diary, I have come to confess my crime of passion, my crime of love! I know not if the lord may forgive me for this offense, but I find myself too frightened by the potential consequences to go to a church!

John, Dr. Seward, he came to inform us of the disappearance of Victor! He had told us, particularly Elizabeth, that he would be safe within the hospital. That it is there that he may get the help he so desperately needs. But now, he is escaped, and can’t be found anywhere.

My darling Elizabeth’s face when she heard the news, God! I couldn’t bear the tears that marred her perfect skin and blurred her lustrous eyes! I took her, I took her away to my private chambers, so that she may cry in dignity, away from the presence of so many. And there she sat, on my bed, wiping her face. I held her, I held her tight to my breast and soothed as much as I could, spoke words of comfort and hope. She looked at me with those eyes, oh those eyes! More tempting than a siren, sweeter than a ripe peach. My throat went dry, I know not what came over me!

One moment we were separate, and the next we were one. Her hands were on my hips, and mine were in her hair, grabbing desperately at her luscious curls. With my lips upon hers, I felt safe. I felt right. It was as if everything everywhere finally clicked into place, and I wiped her tears and licked her teeth and held her so, so close!

I haven’t even kissed Arther yet! It isn’t as if I don’t love him! Truly, he has made me the happiest woman in England! It just seems that if I could also have Elizabeth, I would be the happiest woman in the world.

We stayed like that for some while, before Elizabeth pulled away and rested her head on my shoulder, lips against my neck.
“Thank you.” She had said, exhausted from emotion and already falling asleep. It was only then that I realized we were laying down. She slept so peacefully, and she felt so perfect in my arms!

I… I shall try to explain everything I feel to Arthur. I can only pray that he will understand the longings of my heart. That there is room enough for both of them within it.

June 30, 18-

My furious search for the seafaring life has paid off, as I have been accepted into the crew of the Demeter! In even greater news, they have allowed me to bring my new companion, Victor as I have learned, along with me! He has improved greatly in health than when I first met him, and nothing will do him better than the sea air. I admit, it’s no Arctic, but one must work themselves up before facing their greatest achievement. This is one step closer to my greatest desire, and I get to take it with my quickest friend! As of now we are preparing for the voyage, and socializing with the crew we are soon to be part of.

In other news I have also gotten Victor a set of glasses, as he expressed great annoyance at being such a bother, needing me to help lead him a few times. It was truly no inconvenience, but I am more than happy to oblige him after such a quick recovery! My heart is filled with joy, and I feel I am elevated to heaven with every moment that passes!

R.W.

Chapter Text

I am, through a strange set of circumstances, become the happiest woman in the world. I know this with certainty, as none other than I hold claim of both Arthur Holmwood and Elizabeth Lavenza as their lovers and companions.

Arthur, dear soul, understood not what I spoke of when I revealed to him my infidelity. Once I expressed my innermost thoughts, however, he accepted me with open arms and planted kisses all across my face.
“If you say there is room enough for two, then it is so. May the bride of your heart love you as sincerely as I!” He declared in a loud voice. I couldn’t have found a better, kinder man than he! I know he doesn’t fully understand, as I myself don’t understand it either, but that matters not. He has accepted me into his heart, and I am more than willing to do the same.

Elizabeth has been more modest around me, though she has said that it is not in any part regret or a rejection of me. I have come to realize that her and her Victor were never truly in love. This is as new to her as it is to me. However shy she may be in daylight, she still joins me at night, and holds me within her arms.

We three have decided to keep this to ourselves. That the true nature of our relations will never be revealed. It pains me to keep such a secret from Mina, but I can’t be certain that she will be as receptive as Arthur was. I dearly want to stay friends with her, as she has been a constant spot of light for me. I refuse to have something as silly and messy as romance tarnish such a bond.

Speaking of bonds, we are discussing how the marriage is to work. Our current plan is for me to marry Arthur in one day, then have Elizabeth marry him on another, each ceremony with different priests. It is not ideal, but it’s our best chance to be seen as legitimate, if not by our fellow men, then by the eyes of god.

I can’t get the image of Elizabeth’s wedding dress out of my mind. And our honeymoon! It shan’t be extravagant. No, I want it to be personal, restricted in a way. Intimate…

I shall end this entry at once! If I continue any further I fear my heart will beat so fast that I shall faint, my face flushed beyond belief! Farewell then, diary!

Dear Mina,

It is with great pain that this is to be our first introduction. From what I have heard of you, there is not another woman on this Earth who could parallel your intelligence, beauty, and kindness. But I get ahead of myself.

I am a dear friend of Jonathan Harker, and I write to you on his behalf. Rest assured that he is safe and eager to see you. Due to events that happened during his stay in Romania, he is nursing what is known to me as a terrible brain fever. We are currently at a hospital in Budapest. He is being doted on, and has received nothing but the best of care from the nuns.

He wishes greatly for you to visit him, but only at your convenience. I, too, would like to meet you. I have heard much, and yet so little at the same time. To meet you would be nothing short of an honor.

I have no doubt that you are anxious to learn why such a sickness has fallen over your beloved. It is a tale most twisted, and one that can only be told properly in person, I’m afraid. Rest assured, however, that it is past. The future lies ahead of us, all of us. I sincerely wish that you will come, and be a soft influence for this part of it. I eagerly await your response.

Yours truly,

Samson F.

July 14, 18-

Even though a fair amount of time has passed, I still marvel at the fact that I am finally on a boat. Yes, it is childish, yet I feel my soul glow with every instance I remember this fact. This isn’t to say that things have been particularly well on said boat, however. There seems to be an underlying paranoia that has soured the entire crew, save for me and Victor.

Victor! Ah wonderful Victor! He has perhaps been the most helpful man when it comes to this crew! Not to downplay any of my peers' efforts, or course. It’s simply difficult to light a candle to he who can mend any wound quicker than the most skilled doctor, as well as be the first to put himself in harm's way for the sake of the whole. It’s almost worrying how little he seems to care for his own safety. Suffice it to say, Victor has made a wonderful impression as both sailor and medic.

I am very grateful to him, as he has been picking up my slack. I am embarrassed to say, but as of late I’ve found myself feeling weaker than the day before. Just today I struggled to tie a proper knot! I fear that I have gotten sick, but from what I don’t know. It’s almost funny how our roles have changed. Before, I was the one fretting over Victor like a worried mother hen. Now? He is the one steadying me when I go into a dizzy spell. I do hope this passes soon, as I’d hate to be a burden. To this crew, and especially to Victor. However, this brings up another fear.

How am I to survive the Arctic if I am weakened so by the most calm of seas? Regardless, we are on course back to England. I look forward to docking the ship, with Victor by my side.

Robert Walton

Chapter Text

I feel words cannot truly state how my heartbeats in my chest. Lucy was far too preoccupied with her wedding, I couldn’t bare to take her away for even the smallest amount of time form what she is so excited about. Thus, I am on the train by myself.

Though my mysterious sender left his name, I can’t help but worry that this was all some elaborate set up. Jonathan didn’t mention a ‘Samson F.’ In his letter. Then again, he didn’t mention much of anything other than work.

I want to trust this man. Trusting him means believing I get to see my dearest. Trusting him means Jonathan is safe. Still, I am too reasonable a woman to ignore the obvious oddities of this letter.

The handwriting is that of a child’s, uncoordinated and scratchy. I can see where he pressed to hard with his pen, and where he didn’t press hard enough. More so, multiple words have been crossed out and rewritten, some even substituted for simpler ones. Yet the voice of the whole note is so verbose and intelligent. Perhaps the most damning evidence is the signature. The sender didn’t put his family name on the page. Was it to protect their image? If so, what horrible things might he have planned for me if he wishes for his relatives to not be associated? I feel my head is running in circles.

However anxious I am, the train has long since departed. I am not full. I have packed with me a pistol, a freshly sharpened letter opener, and, if all else fails, a large hat, with a larger hat pin. May the good God above protect me.

Before me is the culmination of all that fear, all that reservation. Jonathan was hesitant to hand it to me, but the moment it left his fingertips, he insisted I read it. However, I feel I must properly document this series of events.

I had arrived at the hospital after a long train ride, and an even longer walk. It was with great anxiety that I approached the building. When I knocked on the door, I was much relieved when it was a nun who opened it, rather than whatever figment or phantom my overactive mind had cooked up. I was led into the room where my dear Jonathan had been moved to, the nun saying that it was better for brain fever patients to have personal care rather than be in the public recovery room. Instead of a door, there was a heavy curtain, which the nun promptly pushed aside. On the bed, in a restless, fitful, slumber, was Jonathan!

Instant I rushed forward, held his hand, wiped his brow, kissed his cheek, and much, much more.
“We have him on a rather large dose of laudanum as of now, so I’m afraid he won’t be as responsive as one might hope.” The nun said to me. I informed her that it was not a problem in any form, and thanked her for the care she had provided to my love. It was only when I asked about the man who sent my letters did her countenance change into something akin to fear.
“Right this way.” She told me, and my heart sunk in my chest.

Apparently, a great hulking man had arrived carrying Jonathan in his arms, pleading for medical aid. When the nuns were too frightened to leave, he placed my dearest at the door and fled to a nearby woods. The next night, a search was led to find the disfigured stranger. Once he was found, there was a trial of sorts. There were those that claimed he looked exactly as a demon, and that under no circumstances should he be let into the hospital. However, others cited the fact that he was wearing a greatly worn rosary, and conjectured that there was no way he could be in league with evil. Ultimately, the Mother Superior allowed the man sanctuary in the attic of the hospital. By the time we reached the attic hatch, my heart was beating faster than I’ve ever felt it go before. Ultimately, the nun refused to enter the space with me.

It was surprisingly bright, a large window letting in the soothing rays of sunlight. It was rather well kept for an attic, the tell tale signs of habitation such as streaks from where dust had been swept up, and tea rings on the rickety table that sported a wilting flower in a vase. Lastly, there was a cot lain on the floor, and upon it was the man known as Samson.

In his great hands, he held a beaten book. I could just barely make out the embossed letters of Paradise Lost. The majority of his body was concealed by a cloak, though even as he was hunched over in concentration, he was a massive figure to behold. His dark hair had been brushed to a silky sheen, and tied back with a ribbon knotted in the fashion that Jonathan would tie his shoelaces. It appeared to be about shoulder length, a blunt cut at the end. A few stands had fallen into his face. I watched with great horror as that mighty hand came up and tucked the offending hair behind his ear. However, none of these things could compare to his face.

Fine scars of since removed surgical stitches marked each aspect and feature of his countenance. His lips were dark, as if blood wasn’t reaching them, and parted ever so slightly to reveal perfectly white teeth. His brows were knitted with focus, and his eyes were sunken in. Great God, his eyes! So pale and bright, it was as if they glowed. I watched as they moved rapidly from one word to the next. Then, however, they flicked over to me. I cannot express the sensation that overcame me. I felt as if I might faint. Quickly, I shut the hatch and returned to Jonathan’s bedside. I couldn’t bare to look at the man who had brought him here a moment longer.

I was given a room to stay in, right next to Jonathan’s. It was a couple hours after I witnessed the being that resided in the hospital attic that Jonathan woke up. I kissed him fervently, and he did the same. We spoke of all types of things, yet when I asked him what had happened, he went silent and pulled out his diary.

The horrors of that castle shall not soon fade from my mind. However, I promised to write what happened on that day, and so shall it be.

June 30

I moved frantically to gather what little I deemed necessary to bring. The letter opener was tucked in my boot, the rosary held tightly in my hand. I grabbed my empty satchel and filled it with my diary, all the books that had been stolen from Samson, and a fair portion of the ancient coin that resided in Dracula’s room. I found a torch, coaxed it to life with a discarded flint and the remaining ashes in the main hearth. Thus, I began my descent into the stairwell that was cradled within Dracula’s walls.

The very brick seemed to intent to suffocate me, yet I pushed onwards. At length I came upon a dilapidated courtyard, overgrown with ivy and thorns. The moon cast its shallow light upon it, and everything seemed tinted blue. My breath hitched as I bore witness to the most horrifying scene I had ever had the misfortune to lay my eyes upon.

Samson was kneeling on the ground, head hung low, his hands chained high above his head. Blood, thick and dark, oozed out of fresh wounds. Lashes from nails, lines from whips, burns and knife cuts. Worst of all was how he trembled. Surrounding him on all sides were those silvery phantasms of women, their wicked voices taunting him. Rage boiled within me, and I looked desperately for a proper weapon. Seeing at arms length a shovel, I grabbed it and charged murderously at the women. They cackled even harder as I missed, their bodies dispersing into mist. It was then that I was snatched by my arms, and was pulled by my hair till my neck was exposed! The pale one stood before me in an instant, her eyes dark and her red lips wide in a vicious smile. She bore her sharp teeth, and reached for me.

The sound of chains snapping made her pause, and within a moment she was pulled off of me with a tremendous roar. There, I beheld Samson, manacles broken around his wrists, holding the demonic woman by her throat. He threw her into the wall with enough force for it to crack. She let out a shriek before morphing, retreating to whatever hellish grave she occupied. The remaining women hissed, and threw me to the side. One lunged at Samson, and embedded her nails deep within the exposed skin of his chest. He ripped her off of him, and with a fiendish fury, tossed her to the ground, where he then placed his foot on her chest. She cried out, her scream sounding like a thousand. She, too, disappeared. The final woman only laughed wickedly.

“At least, you have become monster like us!” She said, before fleeing without a fight. Samson’s chest was heaving when he let out a cry louder than that of th wolves. I winced as I got to my feet, the air having been knocked out of my upon my impact. Tentatively, I walked towards my poor friend. His eyes landed on mine, their yellow hue now orange from crying. I watched as his lip quivered. Monster, the demon had called him. I watched as his great body collapsed under its own weight, tears falling freely from his eyes. Without a second’s delay, I ran over and held him. He held me the same, and I could feel how tired his arms were.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner.” I said, biting back tears of my own.

“You came. That is enough for me.” He replied, voice quaking. I kissed his brow, and looked at the wooden crate that resided in the center of the courtyard.
“That’s where he rests.” Samson said, wiping his eyes. I knew I once what he meant. I had already determined to kill Dracula, but what I saw when I got up and removed the lid only solidified it further.

Blood ran down the corners of his mouth, his flesh fat with it. His hair had darkened and all at once he looked younger and more vile than ever before. I stepped back to grab my shovel and set my arm to swing at his head. Even when his cold, empty eyes shot open, my sim did not falter. However, his arm shot forward and grasped the handle of the shovel with enough force to splinter it. He wasn’t quick enough to stop me from making a deep gash on his brow, but I watched in horror as consciousness entered his face.

I ran towards the stairs, grabbing Samson’s hand as I raced through that crowded hall. The only thing I could hear was the sound of my heart, the adrenaline rushing through my veins at breakneck speed.

We rushed out of Dracula’s room and headed barged into the room of those vile women, for it was the only room with a balcony that faced the nearest town. I leapt off the side of the balcony, hands firmly grasped around the carved pillars. I found a foothold and began the process of climbing down. Samson was about to do the same, already halfway down the balcony, when he let out a groan of pain. I saw at once the remaining bride, her fingers pulling at Samson’s hair, dragging him back into the castle with inhuman strength. I acted without concern for myself. I hurriedly climbed back up. The letter opener was too far for me to reach. I flicked my wrist and revealed the sharpened crucifix. Grasping it firmly, I reached forward and cut Samson’s hair where the woman was holding it. She hissed as she recoiled, her fingers smoking slightly where the silver had touched her. She retreated into her room, and I let out a triumphant laugh. Because of all the commotion, however, I lost my grip on the wall, and began plummeting to the earth. Samson called after me, and soon let go himself. He fell faster than I did, for he was larger, yet once he reached me, he wrapped his comforting arms around me and turned us midair.

All I remember when we hit the ground was a sharp pop, Samson letting out a sob, and a ringing in my ears. Occasionally I would catch glimpses of foliage moving past us at the speed it might in a terrific carriage. I distinctly remember hearing Samson speak with a group of people. From their intricate garb and the presence of wood working tools, I knew they were Romani. I believe it was this group of people who offered us passage to the nearest hospital, as well as providing a cloak to Samson. To them, I am eternally grateful. The next moment I was fully awake, I was surrounded by nuns and lying in a hospital bed. I was informed that Samson was currently residing in the attic. As of now, the nuns allow me to visit him when I am strong enough. I have been told that Mina shall be arriving soon. How dearly I wish to see her!

Jonathan Harker

Chapter Text

It is a sight strange and unnerving to behold, my beloved Jonathan interacting with a man who’s combined countenance and figure can only be described as monstrous. A thousand times over would I believe that this Samson was truly a fiend, that he forced Jonathan to write all those entries in his journal, that my poor fiancé was being extorted in some way. However, I know my love too well. When he looks upon that horrific face, his eyes are filled with the tenderest of affection. Jonathan doesn't hesitate to hold his scarred hands.

I am not as kind as he, I know. I’m afraid of Samson, therefore my mind works to twist the man into some sort of villain. I have read the whole of dear Jonathan’s diary, and if it is to be trusted, then Samson might not even be human. I know not how to handle such a thought. In a way, I hate myself for this. I read the letters he wrote for me, and I hate myself more. We, as babes, don’t choose our origins or appearance. The same can be said for him.

Samson could be seen as handsome, I suppose. When he isn’t in motion, deep in thought or listening intently to the world around him, he almost seems beautiful. But when he moves, when his massive chest rises or when his heavy eyelids fall over those deadened yet lively eyes, the illusion is shattered. When I ruminate on this, I feel such horrible pity for him. The only time he would ever truly look lovely would be in death.

He is kind to me, kinder than I have been to him. I can’t help but cry , even as I write. I don’t know what to feel.

At least Jonathan is safe now.

Mina Murray

July 15, 18-

I feel weaker than ever before. I wouldn’t be able to hold a pen if it weren’t for the fear rushing through my veins. I had the most horrible dream, and I can’t shake it from my mind. I have no choice but to write it down.

Victor is asleep in his cot, forehead slick with sweat as he shifts restlessly. He confided in me that he has to take a quantity of laudanum for him to sleep properly, but instead he has been using it for me. I feel as if I’m not in my body. I loom over him in the most malicious manner, before lifting his chin. I bring my lips to his neck, then suddenly bite down as hard as possible. I woke up, thankfully, before I broke the skin. Even now I shiver at the image.

I fear to sleep. Victor, in turn, as gone to the hull to where he stored more of the tincture.

July 16, 18-

My strength has, in some amount, returned to me. I feel lighter than I have in days, and am able to breathe easily once more. Victor has advised me to stay settled and recover, but I am restless and need work. As such, he has permitted me to do meager work on deck. In the meantime, he shall check the hull for any potential overlooked medical supplies. Now that I recalled, he seemed even more dower than usual, the circles under his eyes darker than before. Despite that, his eyes were wide, and he was more alert than I have ever seen him!

What horror! A member of our crew, Petrofsky, was spotted dead in the water! We couldn’t retrieve the body, but there seems to be two camps of people who have emerged from this awful tragedy. Those who believe it to be a horrible accident, one of the many risks of sea life, and those who believe that there is a saboteur in our midst, and that foul play was involved. I know not what side I’m on. There isn’t enough proof in either direction. Regardless, the incident has greatly affected the crew. I can practically taste the tension in the air. I can only hope that this will be the only casualty on our voyage.

R. Walt.

To say that Lucy is beautiful would be an understatement. The same could be said for Miss Elizabeth. It stands to reason then, that when together they create such a wondrous image that I feel as if I might go blind from looking at them.

I know I am not the most interesting man there is, let alone in our small circle of friends and confidants. Despite this, I ardently desire to please both my darling and her lover. Therefore, I have made plans to take them both on a picnic before going to a garden, then an art gallery that has opened in the center of the city. I wish to give them both the best day they could have. I hope that all goes well!

Signed, A.H.

July 16
Patient: R.M. Renfield
Doctor: J. Seward
072

Today, Renfield had one of the most violent outbursts he has ever exhibited since having been entered into my care!

It happened late last night, in which he was screaming and howling. It took multiple of my associates to restrain him enough for me to administer the tranquilizer. Before he was neutralized, he kept repeating the phrase “The Master has abandoned me!” ad nauseam.

I believe this to be a major break in his case and will vigorously document any shifts I see in him.

End recording.

Chapter Text

To find beauty in the perverse is almost considered to be taboo. From a young age we are taught what is moral and good, and what is unsightly and despicable. The siren's song of the horrid and disturbing is to be ignored, feared, or loathed. Sadly, the latter is far easier to execute than the former. It makes much sense, then, that when faced with one who looks so uncanny, the mind wishes to villainize him, turn him into a monster to justify the fear and rage that has wormed its way into your very core.

It is through heavy observations and reflection that I’ve come to, perhaps begrudgingly, trust Samson. It is evident to me now that this man wouldn’t, nay, couldn’t bring any harm to any noble creature around him. He treats all with immovable respect and care, from his books to the nuns, he has shown nothing but gentle care.

During the nights I’ve tracked him, who would leap from the window and carve a path into the quiet nature life. How sad it must be, to belong only in the comforts of night! At first I had suspicions of treacherous affairs, but I know far better now. He leaves at night, for no one is out at night. Samson is greatly aware of his appearance, and goes through great pains to cater to those around him. From hiding his form with a heavy cloak, or avoiding the light, in which the details of his grotesque face might be seen clearly. I’ve come to realize I don’t fear him so much as I feel great sorrow for him. I see how truly he and Jonathan care for eachother. If I weren’t his fiancé, I’d say Jonathan planned on courting the Goliath. I know both of them far too well to harbor that thought, however.

Tonight, I intend to confront Samson on my poor treatment of him, and hopefully to remedy some of the pain I have no doubt caused him with my actions and expressions. I wish not to know him only as Jonathan’s friend, but as his own being, and, hopefully, my friend as well.

Mina Murray

July 28

What a great weight that has been removed from my soul!

This morning, or more aptly this afternoon, as my sleeping schedule has been thoroughly destroyed by the medication I’ve received, I awoke to see my lovely Mina and in hand with good Samson, both reading a book and discussing it with one another. Not once did my dearest flinch at the touch, sight, or sound of Samson, and even as I write I feel as if I may weep with joy. Such blessing that are being rained down upon us, after the horrors my kind companion and I faced feel as if respite from god!

Jonathan Harker

July 28, 18-

One man dead, one man missing, and all the crew afraid and angry. These are far more pressing matters than my rapid recovery. I feel as if caught in the eye of a storm.

The rest of the crew, even the captain, believe Victor responsible for the loss of two men! It’s wholly my fault, for when they interrogated me, I let loose how I met Victor. The suspicion was cast on us, as we were last minute recruits, and largely unknown to our fellow seamen. It was then that I spoke of meeting Victor on the shore, and how stupid I was to tell! Even worse is his state!

He was pale before, but now he is ghostly, his face seemingly sunken in and white as bed sheets! The only part of him that isn’t this horrible shade of white are two pinpricks on his neck, which he has started to cover with a cravat. All of this is nothing, however, compared to his eyes.

Even in the maddened state which I found him in, there was a distinct fire which burned in those icy blue eyes of his. They were always lively, drawing you in, and keeping you close. But now? Now they are cold, distant, lifeless things. Yet they are still full of that intelligent sorrow that they are forever burdened with. In the night he leaves to the hull, his bare feet barely making any sound against the wooden floor, and when he returns, he crawls weakly into his cot and sobs.

He seems as if dead yet alive.

With the tensions so high, I feel sea sick for the first time in my life. I want nothing more but to leave this ship and return to my land locked apartment, holding Victor the entire way there.

It may seem odd, my connection with such a man, but I have seen beyond the veil of sophistication that he presents. I feel as if I’ve seen his very soul, and I’ve begun to love him as the brother of my heart.

Now, I am forced to choose between the man who I’ve come to care for so tenderly, and the crew who have accepted me into their ranks.

I believe this is what Hell must be.

Robert W.

July 30, 18-

It is only The captain, The mate, two hands, Victor, and myself on this vessel. The weather has lightened, yet morale has only gotten worse. My only hope is that we reach England before any more tragedy strikes. May god help us.

Robert

How queer it is, to keep a journal. How distinctly human it is. They fear to forget, so they commit the events of their sad little lives to paper. My sisters and I never fear to forget, not anymore. However, this is a special occasion. Another shall be joining our distinct ranks soon, for the Master has said so. He wanted, I believe, that solicitor, but the beast that calls itself Samson prevented that.

Oh well.

He has set his sights on someone far more interesting anyways. How obedient he is! He will make a fine addition, intelligent and callous. All we need is to break his remaining bonds. A simple task.

My sisters and I plan to head to England ourselves, as it is tradition to have the wives present when taking a new bride. We look forward to meeting our new brother, when the time comes, until then, our boxes are being carried off to the next ship.

How exciting this’ll be!

Chapter Text

August 1, 18-

The die have been cast, and they land on Victor being persecuted for the murder and disappearance of multiple members of our crew. I have no words to convey the sense of horror that buzzes within me, even now. Despite all the facts, I can’t bring myself to believe that Victor could murder someone. He’s altogether too frail to do so. I have no smoking gun, however. If I do not act, I fear he shall die. I will attempt to talk to the remaining crew. If I am unsuccessful in swaying their minds, I shall find a way to get off this boat with Victor in secret.

Robert Walton

Cutting from the Dailygraph, August 8th

The terrible storm that has ravaged this town has passed, yet its mark can still be found on every street, store, and ship.

Residents no doubt know the battle of the Demeter. We all witnessed in terror as the cargo ship fought against the violent tides, ocean spray and fog obscuring the commotion to the point of the gray boat just barely being visible. When it was docked, however, is when the mystery truly begins.

Lunging from the deck was a disheveled man, clinging onto the back of a great black dog. He was carried so swiftly away that we have been unable to identify the man’s identity, though eye witness reports claim that he bore a striking resemblance to the escaped lunatic Victor Frankenstein. As such, if you see him, please contact the police or asylum as soon as possible.

Moreover, when the ship was searched, there was but one live man found tied to the mast, amidst a pool of blood. He sustained no puncture wounds, so we are led to believe it is the blood of his crew members. The discovery of four mutilated bodies supports this theory. A memorial service will be held for those lost. The man, who’s identity will be kept secret for privacy, is currently receiving medical care.

It’s hard to imagine that our once quiet town has now become the heart of such chaos, but rest assured that we will continue to report any and all strange occurrences.

August 9
Patient: R. Walton
Doctor: J. Seward
001

This is a transcript of a conversation between R. Walton and J. Seward.

“Now, tell me, do you remember what happened when the ship docked?”

“Doctor, I appreciate your intention, but I am sick with a fever, not amnesia. Besides, I think I was unconscious then.”

“Yes, that does appear to be the case. Anything before that, then? Perhaps regarding Victor Frankenstein?”

“I’ve already said I am… uncomfortable, with relaying the details of that day.”

“I understand, and am wholly sympathetic, but if you have proof that Frankenstein had any involvement with this tragedy, then you are honor bound to tell me. This could be the difference between life and death for many.”

“…are you quite certain?”

“Yes.”

Note: Walton sighed here.

“Very well then. However, I ask that you keep non vital elements of this retelling private from the public. I am only telling you so that you have a clear understanding of what happened.”

“Understood, please proceed, Mr. Walton.”

“It was early in the morning of August eighth. The remaining crew had deliberated on our course of action. They decided that a debt had to be paid in full, in blood. I… tried to persuade them otherwise, but it was ineffectual.

“I went down to our sleeping quarters. I was waiting, I suppose. By then, Victor spent more time in the cargo hull than anywhere else. I knew he would be there, so I waited for him to return. When he did, he looked sicker than I had ever seen him before.

“I was going to confront him, tell him what the crew had in store for him. It was then, however, that he grabbed me by the arms and pulled me down into the hull with him. At that moment, I distinctly felt, well, I’m not sure what, but something rushed past me with such speed that I can’t imagine it was human. After it left, we were locked into the hull. Victor lit a candle. His eyes seemed as if to glow in its dim light. Then the screaming started

“I tried to go to my crew, but he held me back, humming in a sweet tone. I admit, I went to him. When I settled to the ground, he…”

“What did he do, Mr. Walton?”

“He kissed me. He pulled me by the collar, and pressed our lips together, and slipped his tongue into my mouth. It’s in hindsight that I realize he had a mouthful of Laudanum, and this was merely a means to administer the drug, of course!”

“Of course. Continue, please.”

“ ‘Stay down here, with me.’ He said in a quiet voice, his hands placed upon my cheeks. ‘If you stay down here, you’ll be safe.’ I couldn’t resist holding him, as he seemed so terrified.

“ ‘Safe from what?’ I asked, and his countenance shifted into that of immeasurable gloom. Instead of giving me an answer, he just took another mouthful of laudanum and administered it to me again.”

“How many times did he ‘administer’ this drug?”

“Only the two.”

“Did he do anything else after this?”

“I-, yes. He dragged his fingers down my neck, humming the entire time. He looked at me with such a passion, I thought he might eat me whole.”

“Pardon?”

“Apologies, poet speak. He was desperately intense. It was only when he noticed that he was moving closer to my throat that he wrenched himself away from me, covering his mouth.

“His chest was heaving, and his eyes. His eyes were so filled with terror that I felt incredible pity for him. He then moved me to a corner of the hull.”

“Did you not think to resist?”

“I was… tired. I had spent the entirety of the night before in discussion with the crew. I was too exhausted to fight back.”

“I see.”

“Moving on, it wasn’t soon after that I fell unconscious. The next time I awoke, I was on the deck and wasn’t able to move. I saw Victor and, I believe, whatever went past me before. I couldn’t make out any conversation, but Victor noticed me after a while, and came over to soothe me back to sleep. The final time I opened my eyes, I was being carried into a wagon by your men.”

“And that is all?”

“That’s all.”

“So, do you believe that Frankenstein committed the murders?”

“No. Whoever, whatever, killed those men, it wasn’t Victor.”

“I see. Thank you, Mr. Walton. You’ve been most helpful.”

End transcript

To Mina Murray

I much hate to disturb you, and your fiancé, but I write for a matter of what I believe to be life and death. It is Lucy. She is unwell.

I found her sleepwalking on the eleventh. She had walked out to your shared favorite viewing spot, in nothing but her night clothes. I followed after her, but when I arrived, I found her bent over backwards, and what I believe to be a man sucking on her neck. I remember not what happened, it was all so quick and dark. I can say with certainty that I caught her as she fell to the ground, and watched as her eyes opened in fear.

We both know Lucy is unmoving when it comes to fidelity. She would never have an affair like this!

Since, she has been acting strangely, as if haunted. You know her better than I, and I believe that your presence would help her immensely. I admit I also have a selfish motive. With you here to take care of her, I would be free to track down her attacker and bring him to justice.

Please respond soon.

Sincerely, Elizabeth Lavenza

My sisters and I know better than to cause a scene when we travel. The same can’t be said for the Master. We are nearly in England now. I can practically smell the prey. I forgot just how exciting the taking on of another bride was.

The ceremony is always the same, but the shift! We get to bear witness to the birth of another beautiful creature of the night, get to teach him how to use his new powers! Get to watch as humanity slowly seeps out of his frame. I am known as the cruelest out of us. I can’t wait to see how cruel the new one will be.

Oh, we can’t arrive soon enough!

Chapter Text

August 15
Patient: V. Frankenstein
Doctor: J. Seward
008

V. Frankenstein has been found and apprehended. I feel I must call into remembrance the exact instance of which he was discovered.

He was discovered on the night of August 12th. He was found in an alleyway, in nothing but his shirt, drawers, and stockings. He was unconscious, propped up against the wall. The bruises on his body were identified as that of a struggle. It is difficult to recall the scene, and it would be dishonest of me to relay it without mentioning the blood.

The sheer amount of blood was startling, to say the least. I currently know not whether all of it came from him, or… moving on. We’ve identified the cause of it mainly from two infected puncture wounds on his neck. Despite treatment, they have appeared to only worsen. A blood transfusion was attempted, though yielded no results.

I desperately feel the need to express that my facility is not meant to be a holding place for criminals. It just so happens that often the insane become criminals due to their illness. The hope of keeping them here is to cure them of this illness, and allow them to integrate back into society. However, in some cases, the patients are too far gone, and the kindest as well as safest course of action is to keep them under my care. It is this that is my chief concern.

V. Frankenstein is perhaps the sickest I’ve ever seen any of my patients be, both mentally and physically. He has even more vivid hallucinations, switches rapidly from sleeping hours at a time to staying awake without break, and is far too weak to perform basic functions without aid. Despite this, the police wish to arrest him for murder.

He’s the tricky type of lunatic. When they interrogated him, he presented himself as sane, as he is well known to do by none but myself. Thus, he is being tried as a sane man, a great injustice. If I or other witnesses are unable to way both the police and the court, there is no question that he will be sent to the gallows.

I asked him recently, while he was in a more lucid state, why he killed or perhaps allowed those men to be killed.

“To protect them.” He said. Even now my mind turns this answer over, as if perhaps thinking it over again will reveal its true meaning. It frustrates me.

In other news, Renfield has gotten far more violent and vocal since Frankenstein has returned. I’ll need to look into this odd connection further.

End Recording.

All is lost to me.

Victor, my cousin, the reason why I sit happily in the lap of luxury, is dead, hanged for crimes he couldn’t have committed.

I was there for his trial, yet even I was incapable of swaying the unfeeling jury. They decided a debt was owed in blood, and that Victor was to pay it.

I couldn’t bear to witness his execution. God, it was public! The untimely demise of my dear cousin, treated as if the extermination of a villain! Even now my fears stain the paper I write on.

Cruel, cruel world! I wish we had never come to England, I wish I never met Lucy! It was her suitor who set this horrible thread alight!

Oh, I cannot lie. Lucy, she is my soul comfort in this terrible place, and I am eternally grateful for her. Despite her underlying sickness, she has been getting better these past few days. I thank God that I won’t have to worry about her health too immediately as of now. At night, she stays up in the foyer with me, curtains drawn to block out the rest of the world. She is the only reason I have not died of a broken heart.

Dearest Arthur has sent us good news of his fathers health, and that he shall be returning soon. Then, we can commence with the wedding. Perhaps, in this way, I can gain what little happiness there is left to spare.

Farewell, Victor, and may you find a softer world than that which you used to roam!

Henry C.

Words cannot express what sensations I feel at this tremendous loss. The friend and sole companion of my childhood years, gone within an instant.

It feels like only yesterday that I went up to him in our school house, inquiring about his choice in reading, and urging him to join me in a faux battle of honor and glory. His cold exterior melted slowly, but once it did, we were inseparable. Or, at least, so I thought.

I have determined to not let this event ruin me. Foul play was involved, I just know it. Victor is not one capable of great cruelty, let alone the crime of violent murder. There’s something that I’m not being told, and I intend to find out what.

I’m currently in search of the only survivor of the tragedy. He is known to me as Mr. Walton, and is perhaps the only person I can confide in. He’s the only one who knows what happened on that boat, and seems to care just as tenderly, if not more, for Victor as I. He testified in defense of Victor at the trial. A massacre survivor would not do such for a killer.

It matters little what he tells me, just that I’m told. From what I’ve seen of him, he’s not the lying type, and honesty is precisely what I need in this dire hour. I have located his place or residence and have sent out a letter. If he responds, we are to meet at his abode. If he doesn’t, then I will be forced to take more confrontational steps than I would have preferred. May God help me.

August 20

Ah, England! How I’ve missed these well worn streets! My return home is only brighter by the presence of both my beloved Mina and my dear Samson. I am much excited to see Lucy, and hope dearly to offer her as much aid as she needs during her illness.

Samson was much enthused at the thought of meeting her, and has already started writing letters of introduction. He hides himself with his coat and cloak given to him by the good nuns and Romani respectively, as well as the new hat Mina managed to find for him, though I hope to get some proper clothes for him soon. Mina has taken to knitting him a pair of socks in secret, so the idea of getting him a full suit is highly tempting. And yet, I can’t imagine the seamstress' face when she sees the measurements! Perhaps it would be better to make them myself?

However it may be, nothing can dampen my joy at being home! Free from the sorrows of yesterday, my spirits are lifted and I find myself basking in the radiance of my companions. The evil still lurks about, it is far from my mind. I’m not fool enough to think that Dracula will never reach England, and the thought does hang heavy above me. If I do spy him, however, I’m sure my revolver will have much to say to him. But let me push this gloomy train of thought from my mind! I am home, with Mina and Samson on either arm. I feel as if I could take on the world!

God bless us!

We have arrived in England, and great is our excitement. We have seen our brother, as he stood upon his final platform, the noose around his neck.

He has been executed by the land's paltry court, convicted of the master’s crimes. In all fairness, he did deliver the true death. Yes, the master lured them all down, one by one, to the dark depths below, but they were all given a choice.

‘Die by me or by my slave’ he says, and every last one of them begs to be killed by the hands of another mortal. Poor brother, he tries to do it quick. A slit of the throat and wrists, and it’s over without much fuss. He trembles, though, each time the question is asked. So sensitive a man, each cut hurts him all the same. They were going to die anyway. This way, he can protect his oh so precious Robert.

Now he stands before a crowd of vicious faces, our own monstrosity hidden by their vitriol. He is erect as an arrow, and hits just as clean as one. What poise he faces his fellow beings with.

‘It is true’ he says ‘that I spilt blood in action.’ The crowd howls at him and he swallows thick their hate. ‘But I am not the killer in spirit. What monstrosities I have commuted were in the name of love for my friends. Let not the wool stay over your eyes. Hear me!’ He cries!

‘The devil is in England!’ He looks at our master in the sea of people, and passion fills his form.

‘The devil is in England!’ And the floor gives beneath him and he chokes, legs kicking indignantly, voice garbled and obscure. His eyes seer as he looks at us, before they don’t and all movement ceases.

Very few scream in grief. They are drowned out by cheering. Oh brother, how noble thou heart was, to warm the very beings who condemn you, all for naught!

His body is given no care, cut down then then thrown on a cart.
‘Follow, and collect.’ The master bids us. We smile and slink off in the dim light. Even the sky mourns the death of our brother.

He’s thrown onto a pile of others, in a house of ash with a great furnace. The rope isn’t even removed from his supple throat.

We retrieved him, and brought him to the villa with ease. The master has since returned, and with him brought the necessary attire needed for our brother. We are to prepare him, and we shall with great gaiety.

Oh, brother! We shall soon greet him properly!

Chapter Text

We have arrived in England, and have met sweet Lucy and Arther. I am not fool enough to believe that just because I have found two who’s kindness is without end, I am not a horrible thing to behold. I was recently gifted clothing from said friends, much finer than anything I have held before. At least, with these so dear gifts, I don’t look as out of place as I might’ve. Regardless, I kept my interaction with the highly spoken of strangers to a minimum.

They were informed of my appearance, yet I would hate for them to gaze upon my ghastly visage for a prolonged period of time.

Moving on, however, I am currently studying the customs of weddings. I did not know that for one to be husband or wife, they must first go through a ceremony. It fascinates me greatly. I was recently able to witness one of the aspects of preparation for such an event.
The bride is to find a dress to wear as she is wed. It’s quite different from that of everyday wear. It is often white, and richly embellished to the point of extravagance. I am highly confused on one point, however. While we all accompanied good Lucy to shop, I noticed that she pulled out a parchment with numbered markings on it, and started looking for a dress using it as reference, despite the fact that she had already chosen a gown! Is it normal for a bride to wear two? The books I’ve found on the topic say nothing of the sort.

That reminds me! There is a place, not far from where we are residing, that houses nothing but books! Jonathan told me it is called a library. I can scarcely imagine what it looks like. For my entire existence, literature has been my key to understanding the world around me. Even so, I’ve only experienced a glimpse of what such documents contain. Good Mina was the one who got the book on weddings for me. She says I’ll have to return it soon, yet I can always request it again. I’ve never known of a system so lovely! For now, I must rest, as the last few days have been spent in nothing but travel, and the wedding is to happen on Sunday.

-signed, Samson F. Harker

The ceremony between Lucy and Arthur was nothing short of pure beauty. Lucy, ever lovely, looked absolutely celestial as she walked down the aisle. Her mother nearly wept enough that the pews would be carried away! Even though her sickness hasn’t let up, Lucy looked much more lively than before, a delicate blush dusting her cheeks.

When the wedding was over, the rest of us went to eat in a park, while Arthur and Elizabeth left to do errands. What errands one might have on his own wedding day, I do not know. It’s no matter. I know Arthur well enough to see that he is an honest man, and that he and Lucy agreed to this beforehand.

Tragically, Henry couldn’t join us, as he was out at a Mr. Walton’s house. I swear, he’s become obsessed since Dr. Seward let loose that he might have some connection to Victor. I can’t help but wonder whatever happened to Doctor-Patient confidentiality.

It’s hard to fully enjoy the festivities due to the freshness of the event. Victor in life was like a dark cloud, a blot on an otherwise spotless sky. The man exuded gloom. And now, in death, it seems the man has only improved that skill.

I mean not to be callous. It’s just so abrupt. I can’t help but feel that something is off about the events surrounding his death. I’ve known the man for a short amount of time, yet in that time he never struck me as the type to be capable of murder, let alone a massacre. I feel in my very core that I’m missing something, some fatal piece. It’s mind numbingly frustrating. For now, however, I will stifle my curiosity for the sake of Lucy. God knows that she needs me to, with how twitterpated she is.

Mina Murray

Victor is dead. I’ve come, however begrudgingly, to accept this. There’s nothing I can do about it, and mourning him makes it all too real. For now, I shall take what I can, and glut myself on what little joys life will spare. Watching Lucy meet her groom at the first church is one of those little joys.

She was the picture of a bride, glowing with excitement. When she passed me, she gave me a glance crackling with electricity. When she and Arther kissed, I imagined us kissing in the same manner.

There wasn’t much spectacle to the joining of Arthur and myself, but I will say that he was a perfect gentleman the entirety of the eloping. Even on the carriage ride back to Lucy’s manor, he made sure I felt perfectly comfortable. I can easily see myself falling in love with him too, eventually. Not yet, but some day. I truly believe Lucy couldn’t have chosen a better man.

Now, they are waiting for me to join them in bed. I know not if we will partake the usual debauchery of a wedding night. With how Lucy looked at me before she went to her room, I don’t doubt that she would be willing. Perhaps, she would even be enthusiastic about the prospect.

Perhaps I wouldn’t mind it if we did end up doing something tonight. It will help distract me from my thoughts.

He lays on his platform, dead as we all once were. He is prepared accordingly, dressed in all white, with his lips slightly parted. Tonight, our brother wakes.

The master enters the room, dressed as finely as he can be. He was impulsive this time around, and so he neglected to bring the traditional attire. Thankfully Eve, the oldest of us, remembered for him.

All of us can recall the experience. All three of us wore the gown. All three of us woke into a cold, hungry world. The master moves towards his newest plaything ever so gracefully.

In a smooth motion, he reveals his breast and cuts a gash into it with his nail. He leans over the body, and lifts the body to his chest.

The moment one is born into this world, they scream. That is the case for our brother as well. To be fed upon is damning in itself. To be the one who feeds, then, is to lose all chance of redemption. We all know the feeling of the master’s blood running down our throats, burning all it touches like molten lead.

To our brother’s credit, he fights. He screams, and kicks his feet, slams his fists against the solid plane of the master's chest. He even manages to pull his head away at one point, sobbing as he does so. He looks towards us at this time, eyes pleading for help. We can only smile before his head is forced back down over the cut, and more blood coats his lips. Eventually, he concedes, stops his protests and lays limp, and we all know that he hopes this means it will be over faster. He lets himself be condemned.

He is released, somewhat, enough so that he may breathe. It is then that the master carves open his wrists and thighs and throat, each line made agonizingly slow against his flesh, forcing the last traces of humanity from the sniveling creature. He cries, begs for mercy, begs for death. The master only holds him tighter, grip so unforgiving we can hear bones creak. We watch as red blooms across his chest and legs, tendrils of it seeping down till it breaks off and falls to the ground. The master grabs him by his throat, and places a kiss on his lips. Our brother resists, but it’s of no use. He only gets free when the master lets him go. When he does, the first thing our brother does is throw himself as far away from the master as he can. He hits the floor with a thud, and scrambles pathetically till he makes it to our feet, blood staining the end of our dresses. He babbles like child and curls into himself, begging ‘Stop’ and ‘No more’. He is disheveled and violated, as we all once were. We laugh at him, for we’ll sob if we don’t.

‘Take him away’ the master says, wiping his lips. And we do. We lift our brother's quivering form and bring him to our chambers where we clean and redress him. We lick his wounds and tell him how good he was, how pleased the master will be with him. He doesn’t fight us. He is either too weak or too smart to do so. He doesn’t stop crying. It’s just that his voice is too broken to do so audibly. He folds in on himself, shaking, and we huddle around him like a pack of wolves.

To be bride to the master is to suffer. It is only when you’ve drowned yourself in the anguish, do you finally see clearly.

With that, our brother is born.

Chapter Text

Lucy is languid these days. She struggles to get out of bed, even with Arthur and I’s help. Worryingly, I’ve found two puncture wounds on her neck. Though they are small, they look horribly infected. It seems with each night, they get worse. I’ve taken to staying up into the wee hours with her, in some vain attempt to ward off whatever might be causing these. Until I can root out the source of these offending marks, I will continue to dab alcohol on them and bandage her neck as best I can. I just hope it’s helping in any amount.

It is on today, the 7th of September that I record the solemn news of my dear, sweet Lucy has received a blood transfusion. I am no fool, nor am I ignorant to medicine, thanks to my late cousin’s obsession. Transfusion is saved for the worst of scenarios, and regularly has more risk than pay off. I should be grateful, that she has received treatment, yet I feel endlessly tormented by the unacknowledgeable fact that even now looms over our heads. I fear deeply that Lucy is not long for this world, and the thought terrifies me to no end.

Arthur, good man, does his best to console me. I do believe I am capable of loving him, truly, but if the sorrow in my heart grows any more, that may be an unachievable future for thee both of us.

The one who preformed the transfusion was a Dr. Van Helsing. I can’t help but think that Victor would have enjoyed his company and discussion. Regardless, he will be staying with us for a short while, just so long as Lucy needs to recover. I am praying for her. I believe everyone is praying for her.

Again, transfusion! This all but confirms my fears, and even now I hear the funeral toll! Lord, oh Lord, why Lucy? I’ve yet to find a soul so radiant and gentle as hers, and now I am going to lose it!

Enough of this! I write as if she were dead already! Both the doctor’s think themselves stealthy, as if I would ever fully leave my dear wife’s company fully when she is ails. Even in so horrible a circumstance, that word tingles in my mind. Wife.

I feel it is only now that I understand my cousin’s obsession with death, and the frivolous idea that it could somehow be reversed. If I knew some way I could keep my beloved with me, there is nothing I wouldn’t sacrifice for her. This is how mortals are tempted, I know, by the devil himself. I used to help Victor in his attempts to summon ghouls or demons, apparitions that would provide him knowledge and power. I wish any of those incantations or sigils had worked. Perhaps then, I wouldn’t feel so powerless.

It is the 17th, and I feel a horrible Miasma settling upon this manor. Tonight, I shall not sleep. It may seem silly, but I have procured a pistol, and will stand guard by Lucy. It was only upon the recollection of monsters and fiends did I even begin to consider something supernatural to be taking place. It is of upmost foolishness, I know, but now I am desperate. I will not rest, not till I know she is safe.

Dr. Van Helsing found out my plan, and valiantly tried to sway me from it, even volunteering to stand guard himself. When he found me quite unmovable, he surrendered, and crowned me with a wreath of garlic flowers. I’ve come to be comforted by their presence as of late. I refuse to stand by idle any longer.

A name is a precious thing to a mortal. It’s even more so for an undead. Memories of the self are quickly forgotten, often in the moment when one is turned. For some, your name could be your last remaining tether to the life you once had. It quite literally keeps you human, or as human as one can get when they are an undead. However, keeping your mortal name as a bride or a servant to another undead is more trouble than it’s worth.

Only the master knows what our names once were. Now, we are known as what he wants to call us.

Mary, my meek sister.

Delilah, my cruel sister.

Eve, my name, the first of us.

And now Adam, the first man in our ranks.

He violently resents the master, hissing curses and threats whenever he is near. We were all once so furious. It calms once all those you once knew are dead, and you have nothing to return to.

For now, Adam is kept in the attic. Its large window facing the sun makes for a perfect deterrent from leaving, as well as a decent vehicle for punishment. Already, he is burned from the hateful light as a result of disobedience. What did our brother lament the first time he was subjected to such tourture? That he would no longer be able to watch the light gleam off the mountains of Geneva.

I will admit, our brother faces a tragic fate as of now. He died on foreign soil, not even given the comfort of a coffin to send him off. He can sleep, though it is plagued with discomfort and pain. Often, he wakes more exhausted than the night before.

Despite his vehement hate of the master, he is desperately attached to me and our sisters. I know the feeling well, even if I experienced it centuries ago. A bottomless longing for connection, craving the warmth that you now lack. We tolerate his needy hands for now.

More worryingly, however, is his refusal to feed. His restlessness is only stirred on by his hunger. He starved himself, and when we come back with the blood of our latest prize on our lips, his mouth waters and he curls in on himself, fist to his stomach. He won’t be able to last like this for much longer. It’s not a matter of if he’ll feed, but when.

All this to say, I suppose, that Adam is suffering as we all once did, and we can do nothing but laugh. He will come around soon enough, learn to love the master like we have, learn to drink his fill.

We simply need to guide him.

Chapter Text

September 18
Personal Diary
Entry 382

The scene that Van Helsing and I discovered was horrific in more ways than words can do justice. For the sake of consistency, I shall record this tragedy as best I can, though it brings me no joy and no consolation to speak of it.

Upon entering the room, I first noticed the three forms strewn about in varying states of distress. Lucy was breathing in a most shallow manner, laying atop her Mrs. Westenra, who showed no signs of life at all. Then, there was Elizabeth, who's nightgown was torn in a multitude of places, and that doesn't even mention the blood! She was in a pool of it, but it couldn't have all been hers as all her wounds were relatively shallow save for a deep gash on her stomach, and it was practically black in color. A gun was next to her hand, completely disassembled. Three of the surrounding ammunition were merely shells, while the rest were full bullets.

I was quickly ordered to bring the brandy to treat both living women. We removed Lucy from the room once she was recovered slightly, and tended to her mothers body. It was with much difficulty that we were able to revive Elizabeth. She shows signs of a bruised eye, broken nose, and split lip, alongside multiple lesions to her arms and torso. The moment she regained consciousness, she begged to know if Lucy was safe. I informed her of the transfusion she was currently undergoing thanks to Quincy. When she found that her dear friend wasn't responding to it as well as the other times, she pleaded to be a donor as well.

"No," I said, "as I can't with good conscience allow you to give blood when you have lost a good deal already." Even now I can perfectly recall the fire that burned behind her eyes as I spoke. Despite this, she conceded, and simply watched the procedure. It wasn't long before Mina and Jonathon joined us, while their uncanny friend lingered at the doorway.

We can only pray that our dear Lucy's condition improves.

September 18
Personal Diary
Entry 382
Lucy hasn't improved over this past day. Despite this, she seems in good spirits due to the constant company of Arthur and Elizabeth. Both Jonathon and Samson have offered their blood, but Van Helsing has denied them, and even regarded Samson with a skeptical, if not resentful, glare when he stepped forward.

While on the topic of him, I feel the necessity to address Samson. Incredibly intelligent and well read, yet apparently not truly educated, he has been a strange presence throughout this horrible experience. Great in stature and covered in healed over scars, he poses quite the intimidating figure. I myself was deeply unnerved when I first saw him at Lucy's wedding. I've since come to learn what a sensitive and gentle man he is, yet that initial shock still affects me. No doubt, his appearance is why Van Helsing distrusts him so much. Despite this, Lucy has continually requested him, and even now I can hear him reading to her in a low tone that could conceivably be described as soothing.

I have to admit, even though we all know Lucy is not long for this world, it doesn't feel so dark as I would've expected. If anything, the air has only gotten warmer. It's a strange feeling, to be sure. To feel a certain sense of domesticity in such a situation. I'm grateful for it.

I will update when some change occurs, for better, or for worse.

September 20
Personal Diary
Entry 383

Very ill, Lucy was today. Completely pale and slow in all her movements. She called for us before we could check on her, fingers on her neck where the handkerchief used to be.

"I can feel myself dying now." She said, a smile ghosting her lips. "However, I don't want your last memory of me to be one of grief. I know now that I am in full control of myself, and it is in this assurance of my own power that I ask for the embrace of my dearests." Though physically weak, her conviction was so strong that even though I could tell he wished to intervene, Van Helsing kept himself from stopping the exchange. I suppose I was surprised that Elizabeth joined Arthur in the embrace. It is only natural, though, to want to comfort her who has become your closest companion as well as your lover.

When it was done, she motioned for the flowers to once again be placed around her neck. She hissed painfully when they were, but refused to let any of us remove them. There was a shift in her face, and she looked as if she wanted to speak, but could only utter small, hurt noises. Then, all at once, she was back to normal.
"Don't cry." She whispered in response to Elizabeth's quiet sobbing. "Farewell, all!" She said, before looking at me and Van Helsing. "Take care of them for me."

A gasp, a sigh, and then she was gone. Elizabeth could no longer hold her tears, and Arthur shook as he held her. When I turned to look at my mentor, there was the deepest expression of gloom on his face.

It is with a heavy heart that I end this entry. God bless you, Lucy, and may you know peace!

Report from Patrick Hennessey, dated September 20th.

It is with great enthusiasm that I inform you, sir, that we have taken on another member of our staff! Though he has no formal doctorate, he has more than proven to us that he is incredibly capable of treating the patients. That, however, is not to say that he is a full provider by any means. No, for now he is simply at work by cataloging and procuring the many medicines our patients require, as well as performing the occasional physical exam. I swear to you, his understanding of anatomy is unlike any other I've ever seen!

You may be wondering why such a mundane occurrence would warrant a report, and to that I shall answer. You know far better than I how we have been hurting for someone to attend to the base needs of our patients, as well as those of the hospital itself, during the night. This man has signed on to work both day and night shifts! Even better than that, his residence is an apartment not a block away! We may go and get him if at any moment he might be needed during the day, so long as we bring some form of protection for him, as he's stated that he has a horrible sensitivity to the sun.

As if you needed any more reason to trust the joint decision to take him on, we have found that he has a certain skill when it comes to dealing with the patients. Why, just today, when Renfield was acting particularly violent towards carrier men, he was able to bring the man down to a relatively calm state. When by some miraculous series of events, Renfield had broken out of his window to harass the men, our recruit managed to apprehend him without a straight waistcoat! He was muttering some incomprehensible nonsense about the two being his murderers and some master he serves. Why, I can recite perfectly what was said that calmed him.

"Your murderer's rest not in them, my friend. Let not your rage cloud your mind, the master has not abandoned you. You will be robbed by none, this I promise."

How marvelous is that? These were just the perfect words to sooth the madman's mind and get him back into the hospital. Why, this man even volunteered to keep Renfield under watch in the padded room while we fixed his window!

Truly, after hearing such a feat, you wouldn't doubt our acceptance of him! His passion for the field of medical study is unparalleled, and he even wears a mask at all times to avoid any potential spread of sickness! What particularly interests me about him is his desire to study that of memory loss. Being as studied as he is, he still yearns to learn.

The name of this man is Adam Dracula, and all of us here are truly excited for you to meet him once your personal business is attended to.

I shall write to you again should any matter of interest come up, believe me, dear Sir!

Yours faithfully,
Patrick Hennessey.

A fool, our brother is! So angry he was with us, that he would steal the Master's coin and run away! So what if we didn't reveal to him the true extent of the memory loss? He should have listened better! We told him that memories of the self were the first to go, not the only! His fury over losing those which connected him to his former life is understandable, perhaps sympathetic even! But this? The sheer disrespect and naivety! Think he that we can't see him, even now? Think he safe from the Master's wrath? The only reason that he goes unpunished now is because of that wench who shot the Master thrice! If I get the chance, I shall personally wring her neck!

So badly do I wish to drag Adam back by the hair on his head, or what's left since the imbecile cut it in an attempt to become unrecognizable and left the remnants in the attic, and teach him what happens when you disrespect the Master in such a way, but Mary and Eve have forbade it.

It matters not. Eve has a plan to bring him back, and I don't doubt it's validity. After all, Adam hasn't fed, and even the strongest willed among us can't resist the blood of a lover.

Chapter Text

I know well what the beast who attacked Lucy that night and I am without doubt that she is doomed to become one of them should we not take action.

True, such thoughts are ghastly in the face of an already horrific funeral, but I am resolute. I’ll not let my love be twisted into something foreign and vile!

I am no surgeon, and I know not if I’ll even be allowed to perform such a procedure, or if I too will be locked up in Seward’s hospital for daring to desecrate the form that used to be Lucy, but it’s a risk I am wholeheartedly willing to take. If I remember correctly, it’s removal of the head, heart, and staking the skull to the ground. How horrible it shall all be! Nonetheless, it’s for Lucy’s sake, as well as mine and Arthur’s.

I am undecided on if I should tell him what I plan on doing. It would only be fair to him, he loved and still loves Lucy just as much as I, but can I really expect him to believe in devils and witchcraft? If it weren’t for Victor’s obsession back when we were but tots, I wouldn’t believe it myself. I want him to know, want his support in the matter, but I’m deathly afraid of his disapproval. I am decided to do the terrible operation tonight, so I have very little time to decide. May god grant me guidance.

September 20
Personal Diary
Entry 384

Even now as I write, I’m scarcely able to comprehend what I have heard.

It was at the funeral, just after Van Helsing placed another wreath of garlic around poor Lucy’s neck, and a gold crucifix upon her lips, when good Elizabeth entered. I have never seen such a determined look in one’s eyes, though they were red from crying. She seemed set to conquer the very earth we stood on.
“Is there a chance I might gain access to a set of post mortem knives?” She asked, voice tinged with her European sweetness, yet the words caused me to blanche.

“My dear Elizabeth, why on earth are you thinking of autopsy now of all times?” I asked, fervently looking towards my mentor for any kind of support. In his face I saw shock, but not disapproval.

“If I tell you my reasoning, you will no doubt lock me away in a padded room like you did my cousin.” I admit, I recoiled at the obvious attack. Her face was one immediately of regret, yet I bore more shame than she ever could in that moment.
“I ask this of you both in sound heart and mind. Rest assured, this is for the sake of Lucy and all those she held dear. I would not desecrate the body of she whom I loved as a husband loves his wife.” She said firmly, a weight seemingly lifted off of her, chest broadening and spine erect. Once again, I felt faint.

“What do you mean by saying such nonsense?” I was horribly shaken and not in the proper mind when I said such a hurtful phrase to so sweet a woman, and even now my cheeks flush with embarrassment upon remembrance of it.

She breathed in deep, her fists clenched as if to strike me where I stood. “I loved Lucy as a wife, and it is as a wife that I beg of you to let me perform surgery on her. True, it is far too late to save her life, but it is not too late to save her soul. Please, allow me a final, purposeful goodbye.” As she spoke, I witnessed Van Helsing shake, before stepping forward and hugging her tightly.

“Dear, brave Elizabeth! You risk life, freedom, your very dignity, all for her whom you loved, and who loved you the same! Yes, yes my child! We shall procure you your instruments of affection, and aid you in your wifely duties!” He declared boldly, tears in his voice as Elizabeth returned his powerful embrace.

It was then that we went and informed Arthur of the quite frankly insane course of actions we were going to take. Like me, he grew pale at the thought of mutilating dear Lucy’s body, though he showed no hint of surprise at Elizabeth’s confession of love. Had he known? He was hesitant, but then he looked at his wife’s wife, I suppose, and saw that same determination.

“Though the thought frightens me, it was only through trust that we have forged the bonds that we now have. Therefore, in light of this trust, I will endeavor to help you in any way I can.” He said after much deliberation, and Elizabeth all at once threw herself in him and kissed him fervently. It is then, I confess, I fainted. I can only imagine that Van Helsing had to catch me on my way down.

I am told that Arthur requested for Lucy’s body be taken to a large, private room, and to have the door locked, him being given the key to it. It is now that we are all preparing for the task at hand, and I feel my strength leave me. I was told by all that I had not made any sort of agreement in the discussion, and that I am more than allowed to stay behind at Lucy’s manor. Though it feels horribly cowardly of me, I feel as if I must. I can’t bare to witness Lucy die again, and besides, I have reports on my asylum dated from just today that I must attend to. I wish my friends luck in their horrific activities, and that this will, as they say, give Lucy peace.

Report from Patrick Hennessey, dated September 21st.

Another event with Renfield. Today he was hollering at some lovely women who were leaving the property beside the institution. The oddity of this case lies in the fact that both parties were completely coherent. My memory isn’t the greatest, not like yours sir, but this is the conversation as I can best recall it.

Three women dressed head to toe in white, each with large sun hats and parasols, were exiting the building. Renfield caught sight of them, and began conversation.
“How is the master, is he wounded, is he healing?” He said, a nervous sort of excitement lacing his words.

“The master is quite alright, dear pet, though he would much like the company of his newest bride.” One replied, seemingly playing into the man’s delusion with evident glee.

“Why, his bride is doing important work, the likes of which you’ve never seen! His bride is needed here far greater than anywhere else!” It was about here that Renfield started to slip into that anger which he so easily donned.

The women laughed, a luminous sound. “Has the pet grown fond of the master’s bride?” Another one, the only blonde within their troupe, jeered. From where I was standing, observing the patient and waiting to see if he would need to be restrained, I could see his face go red.

“Nearly as fond of the master as I am of him now, yes!” He said, the growing anger in his voice replaced with an over abundance of joy.
“Appeared to me as a usurper, as a rival, he did, but now I see the truth! A friend, he is! A friend to me, for he has said so!” Now this struck me as odd, truly. It is well within the bounds of lunacy to fumble over one’s words, so I’m not sure why this particular instance was so glaring to me. Perhaps it was the repeated usage. A male bride, a novel concept indeed!

The women once again laughed, and now made their way closer to him.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to say your goodbyes soon, then! The master wants him back, and nothing in your power can outweigh a beloved’s blood!” The one who spoke had a particularly cruel inflection to her voice, and it seemed to work horribly well on the madman.

He violently started to strangle the bars on his window, howling out curses and profanities the likes of which I’d never even fathomed being directed towards young women.
“You shall not take him away from me, not now that I see his worth. Victor was a gift, a gift you hear! The master gave him to me, and you shan’t sully his will!” He cries out, now slamming his fists against the window sill.

It was at this moment that I apprehended him, with the help of other attendants. He is currently being held once more in the padded room, attended by Mr. Dracula.

Do correct me if I’m wrong, sir, but do you think it’s possible that because of the proximity of their rooms, Renfield imagined a romantic relationship between himself and patient Victor Frankenstein when alive? I’m well aware of the hostility between the two when he was alive, but with the repeated idea of Victor as a male bride, it’s an odd notion, you would agree that much at least.

Regardless, I have personally apologized to the women. They seemed unfazed despite the events that had transpired, and even seemed entertained.

I am mortified at two large outbursts from Renfield, just a night away from each other, and urgently desire you to return to the hospital and make things calm. Till then, however, we will hold down the fort in your stead.

Yours faithfully,
Patrick Hennessey.

September 21

It is with great urgency that I write. I shall try, briefly, to summarize what has occurred.

I was relaxing with Mina and Samson in the foyer of Lucy’s manor when Seward rushed in and desperately started to rifle through any and all paper around him.

“Good man!” I exclaimed. “What is the meaning of all this?” He answered my question with a frenzied look and a shaken voice.

“I fear for Henry’s safety.” He said, seemingly having found what he was looking for. His eyes darted across the page before throwing it down and gathering up his coat. Mina has since told me that the paper was a letter addressed to Henry from a Mr. Robert Walton.

“What for? Is he not at his friend’s apartment?” Mina said, already getting to her feet.

“That is the cause of my fear.” He said simply. Something about the energy he held spurred me on. I looked to Mina for guidance, and I saw the same resolution in her eyes.

“Samson, go find Quincy and stay with him at all costs. Seward, we’re going with you.” I said, getting to my feet. Samson, oh dear friend, nodded at me curtly and was down the corridor in a flash.
“We will be taking the train?” I asked. Seward, seemingly too frazzled to object, shook his head.

“Not enough time.”

“I’ll find us a carriage.” Mina said, lacing up her boots.

It is now that we are seated in the back of an inexpensive carriage, headed directly towards Walton’s apartment. I shall make another entry after this is over with.

Jonathan Harker

It is after such a horrific experience that I feel the need to express my awe and wonderment of Elizabeth.

She is a terribly tender soul, and I’ve come to know that she will keep her greatest pains hidden from those she loves. I can only imagine how this final calamity will affect her.

Despite the presence of Dr. Van Helsing, Elizabeth insisted on performing the beheading herself. I was tasked with the removal of the heart, and Van Helsing would deliver the stake. Even now I recall how still her hands were as she held the bone saw. Van Helsing remarked that she might make a wonderful surgeon based on her precision. The same couldn’t be said for myself. I fear I butchered poor Lucy’s chest with how much my hands did tremble. I didn’t watch as the stake was pounded into Lucy’s mouth. Instead, I focused on Elizabeth, and how she didn’t flinch. How her hands were balled so tightly into fists, I swear I saw blood.

None of us could bear to return to Lucy’s manor afterwards, so we chose to stay at a hotel instead. Elizabeth and I share a room, while Van Helsing is separate. After we had both cleaned up, we laid on the bed together.

Make me forget, she told me. I’ll try, I replied.

For the record I would like to state that I did not make love to her tonight, though I would have without question if it was what she wanted. No, instead I read to her, and as of now am allowing her to sleep with her arms around my waist, cheek pressed against my back.

Though my heart aches, I know her’s does doubly so. I will give her what joy I can, and will endeavor to ease her sorrow as much as possible. This is what I promised in my vows, and I am steadfast in my devotion.

signed, A.H.

September 22

I am relieved that I told Samson to stay behind, as I know not how he might’ve reacted to seeing these horrid demons again.

We arrived at Walton’s residence, and just in time. We entered upon a most horrible scene. Henry was on the ground, unconscious, and who I can only assume to be Robert was draped across a table, his arms splayed out as those devil women slit his wrists and collected the blood in a flask.

I scarcely remember what happened. Before I knew it, I was leaping forward, rosary in hand and a fury in my heart.

I say this with no hint of shame, if it weren’t for Mina, I’m certain all of us would be dead by those witches hands.

Mina, in all her genius, took two candlesticks and held them together to form a cross. It was only with her help that we managed to corner the women. I called for salt, and Seward handed it to me, at which I encircled them.

I know not what’s ahead of us, but I’ll be damned if I let these foul creatures hurt any of those I love ever again.

Jonathan Harker

September 23
Personal Diary
Entry 385

Both Henry and Robert have been restored to animation and have been informed of the current events. I, meanwhile, have brokered a sort of peace with the hellish women.

At least one of us is to watch over them during a good portion of the night. I am willing to let them feed off of me in small but nightly amounts. I am also to keep them safe from any immediate harm. In return, they leave us alone.

It is not a desirable situation by any means, but it’s the best Mina and I managed to work out. Jonathan, on the other hand, is fiercely against any arrangement other than killing them point blank. Mina has consoled him, as I can only assume she knows why he hates them so ferociously, and he has agreed to not attack them unless the pose an immediate threat.

I feel as if I need a long, long sleep. My mind is spinning with demons and ghouls, and I long for nothing more than the return of reason.

For now, this is as close to a common ground as we can get.

God, I need a drink.

September 25
Patient: L. Holmwood
Doctor: A. Dracula
001

I was curious when I found that the first thought that entered my mind upon hearing news that a body of a young woman was found decapitated, was that of how I would piece her back together.
This is the first hint of my prior life, and I have no qualms of following this thread, despite its macabre nature. Thus, it should be of no surprise that I went to collect the body.

I have salvaged what parts I could. As of now, she will need a new upper torso and lower mandible. The preserving formula has seemed to eat away at her hair though. I will also need a new scalp.

I give thanks to Dr. Hennessey for providing me with the phonograph of which I am using to document my…experiment. I shall use it sparingly, and only to record any noteworthy advancements in my research.

Tonight marks day one of my attempts to bring Mrs. Lucy Holmwood back from the grave.

End recording.

Chapter Text

September 26
Patient: L. Holmwood
Doctor: A. Dracula
002

It is night now, and I have collected the base parts of what I need. A charnel house has proven to be the best option for a supplier, as digging up graves, even of the unmarked variety, is highly distasteful to me. While there is a chance of disease with these bodies, I only need the bones, and perhaps the skin if the pigmentation is a close enough match, both of which can be sterilized. The rest of my materials shall come from a nearby butcher. If my theory is correct, draining the blood from each organ and replacing it with that of an agreeable donor should result in total assimilation. It’s merely a matter of editing the pieces to match that of human anatomy.

I will admit, I hadn’t expected for this process to happen so smoothly. Rather than feeling like a great leap into the unknown, I feel as if I’m walking down ancestral halls. I look at the body, at the systems which should be completely alien to me, and find nothing but familiarity. I am lucky, however, that the damage done to the body was relegated to anatomy shared across both sexes, as I seem completely incompetent when it comes to those aspects of the female form. I must study more broadly, it seems.

If all goes well, Mrs. Holmwood should soon be able to greet her husband next week!

End recording.

September 27
Patient: L. Holmwood
Doctor: A. Dracula
005

I’ve found that instead of sleeping through the day, working on my patient feeds my excitement and ferver far better. As of yet, none of my colleagues have noted any change in my work, and thus have no reason to suspect me of anything! Mr. Renfield has become increasingly less agitated as of late, and I can't help but fancy that it’s because of my particular treatment of him. But, enough of me! This isn’t a diary, this is a work log!

The damage done to the chest was mainly inflicted upon the upper left side, particularly to the ribcage, lung, and surrounding musculature. The heart has been removed entirely. I’ve opted to replace both lungs, as to avoid any imbalance, as well as a stronger heart, so that blood circulation won’t be an issue. As of now, I am searching for a breast that is similar in shape, size, and coloration to the remaining specimen. The original was too mangled to repair, so replacement seems like the quickest solution.

My main concerns lie with the jaw. It was displaced to make room for a wooden stake, and the removal of the offending object resulted in the shattering of the lower mandible. I have only myself to blame. I didn’t realize what strength I had. Regardless, it’s a much more involved matter than simply replacing it. Not only could that completely deform Mrs. Holmwood’s countenance, but it could also result in her being unable to speak. I shall try to salvage what I can, then reconstruct the jaw and carve a nearly exact copy from a similar specimen.

End recording.

September 29
Patient: L. Holmwood
Doctor: A. Dracula
008

The body is nearly ready, all that’s left is to inject blood and start the heart, but…

I’m afraid this will have to become a diary, for a moment.

It was at work tonight. A patient had gotten panicked and injured Dr. Hennessey. It was by no means a dire injury, just a scratch that broke through skin, and thank goodness for that, but then he bled.

How do I describe such a sensation? I felt as if I had no control of my body! It was only by luck that he was rushed out of the room before I could act on the instinct, but even now I am haunted by it.

I have, in these past days, ignored a horrible craving for something I couldn’t place. I now know the object of my urges, and I fear what will happen if I go out again.

What’s worse is that I’ve had blood around me this entire time, a mixture of that from the salvaged bodies and pig’s blood, as well as a few preservatives. Despite that, it was only Dr. Hennessey’s that stirred such a reaction from me.

Fresh human blood…

I am decided to finish my work tomorrow. The moment it is done, I can sleep, and hopefully regulate this terrible urge of mine.

End recording.

It is with a heavy heart that I make this entry. I understand the necessity of this arrangement, but being so close to them, I'm not sure I can keep my composure.

They -the women, I mean- are staying with us in Lucy's manor. They keep to themselves, choosing to stay in the attic most hours rather than being amongst the rest of us, but their very presence has done horrible things to me. I want to be of service, and I know rationally that having them close is far better than them being far and unknown to us, but I feel myself tremble on the rare occasion that I do see them.

Jonathan assures me that this is no fault of mine, and that it is perfectly understandable, expected even! Despite his kindness, I find myself more useless than ever before. I think the inarticulate, stupid being I once was would be of more help. At least then I could act rather than be rendered immobile from fear. I thought that maybe since I have companions, I wouldn't hear their words at night.

I need to find Jonathan again.

Samson F. Harker

September 30
Personal Diary
Entry 399

To say that all is well would be a bold faced lie, but things have settled a substantial amount since we stopped those fiendish women from fully attacking Henry and Robert. We’re lucky I managed to read those reports soon enough, though. One minute longer and we could have walked in on two corpses rather than two unconscious men.

In regards to the women, we now know their names thanks to the reports. We have made a deal, but there was no way to be sure they would keep it if they stayed where they were. As such, we have moved them into poor Lucy’s manor. Robert has joined us as well, though it was an easy decision in comparison to letting those women stay. For the first time ever, it feels crowded here.

In regards to women, who refer to themselves as ‘brides’ in a cruel mockery of what Lucy barely had time to be, they were rather calm about the entire ordeal.

“Why shouldn’t we be?” Eve, the blonde, said when I confronted her on this. “The Master will come for us soon enough. We can be patient.” Needless to say, this answer is quite unsettling.

Jonathan and Samson have been uneasy since the arrival, I suppose I could call it, of these brides. Both have refused to elaborate why, but I have an idea. Jonathan has not permitted anyone other than his Mina to read his journal, but I do know that he went to Romania. On his return, he suffered a horrible brain fever, as well as bringing Samson with him. I suspect that these women have a history with the two, and a rather desolate one at that. So far as I’m aware, Samson has taken to crafting a fatesimal of a rosary for each of us, disregarding the fact that we could go out and get our own. He seems steadfast in this endeavor, so I haven’t made any objections, though I can’t help but question the effectiveness of them.

Jonathan, however, has taken to taking a pistol apart and putting it back together, alongside polishing a large kukri knife. The way he glares at the women, it’s far different than his companion’s stare. Samson seems afraid, or at the very least on guard, while Jonathan. Well, suffice it to say if looks could kill, they would be dead thrice over.

They’ve claimed the attic as their own, and are inactive during the day. On that vital night, they went and retrieved a handful of earth from their former residence, under our intense supervision, of course. They sleep soundly when the sun is out. Disturbingly so. Samson has offered to stay up at night watching them, but the majority voted against it. I personally don’t see why not, as he is capable of forgoing large amounts of sleep without adverse effects, but this isn’t a matter of what I think. So far, they’ve kept their end of the bargain. Thus, I’ve begun to store my blood for their consumption. I refuse to stay long enough to witness it, but I know well what they do with it. Even now, I shudder to think of what monsters we’re harboring.

It’s not all bad, I suppose. With the brides taken care of, we can now focus entirely on finding the fiend who killed Lucy, and bringing him to justice. God, I sound like one of my patients! Where is that drink!?

Report from Patrick Hennessey, dated September 30th.

Minor confrontation with Patient 57 last night. They became agitated and violent, before attacking be with their bare hands. They were luckily detained quickly, but I believe the incident to have affected Mr. Dracula horribly, as he looked quite pale upon seeing the damage done to me. I left to disinfect the wound, and comforted him as best I could upon my return. While he assured me that he was perfectly alright, he seemed shaken for the rest of his shift. Poor man.

Moving on to Renfield, as I know he is of particular interest to you, he has become more agreeable and docile as of late, though he had a vicious tantrum tonight. He kept rambling on and on about how Victor was being taken from him. At one point, he even cursed out the ‘Master’ he has been known to so openly worship. When confronted with the fact that Victor is dead, he would cover his ears and scream until whoever was speaking stopped. He is currently in the padded room, but he continues to plead with no one in particular.

Other than that, there have been no other disruptions yet, and I am glad to report that. Regardless, everyone here looks forward to your return.

Yours faithfully,
Patrick Hennessey.

Clipping from the Daily Graph, 30 September

For the parents who are more attentive than most, you might have already heard of the "Bloofer Lady". However, for the uninitiated, this article is for you.

Approximately ten days ago, children from across our city reported dreams of the Bloofer Lady, as she is called, to their parents. Since then, it has become commonplace to see children playing as her or drawing her in whatever they can get their hands on. As of September 29th, however, there have been repeated sightings of the woman from these children's depictions, most reported by parents or other adults who have bore witness to many a child's melodrama on her.

As of now, there is not enough proof to warrant a search party, but I can say with perfect certainty to look carefully if you happen to live near the cemetery, as you might just catch a local myth waltzing around the corridor!

Chapter Text

Journal entry from Jonathan Harker, dated September 30th.

Mina has expressed interest in compiling all relevant documents on our current situation, including diary entries. While all of us quickly agreed to give her access to our innermost thoughts, and this was entirely expected as not a man lives who can deny her every wish and whim, a complication arose. She stated that with the way all of our diaries were formatted, she was struggling to get names and dates in correct order. As such, we have taken to cataloging our entries, as seen above.

Jack, Dr. Seward, that is, has taken this change with great difficulty. He was already bemoaning the absence of his phonograph before, but now he can be seen cursing under his breath as he crosses out the heading of his page before re-writing it.

In other news, Samson.

Forgive me, Mina, as I fear this page will either be crumpled with rage or rendered unintelligible from tears.

Devils have entered our sanctuary, upon my own request, as I would much rather keep them close so that I may cut out their hearts at even the first sign of aggression, than have them out, only God knows where, infecting the streets with their odious presence and wicked machinations. However, I feel bitterly their horrid effect on dear Samson. He trembles often, and I find him more startled by any one of us now as compared to when I first met him. He is afraid of them, and they take immense enjoyment in that fear.

Oh, my Samson, you have already forgiven me, but I still feel the guilt so heavily! You come to me for comfort, yet I am the one who allowed your tormentor's asylum! Samson, my beautiful Samson! You’ve not even the attic in which you resided comfortably. I see you awake in the day and awake in the night, and in the rare moments you sleep, it is in the parlor, vulnerable and alone!

Mina, you are the single solitary soul who’s eyes shall glance this page aside from mine, and for the safety of my friend, nay, my immortal partner, who saved me from that wretched castle in the darkest pits of hell on earth, I ask of you something so strange and so direct that I fear I would flush if I said it aloud.

Will you let Samson stay in our bed?

It would in no way be immoral, you are my everlasting heart and my deepest love, the likes of which I could never spurn in any world, this I assure you! It would solely be for his safety and comfort, this I swear. Regardless of your answer, I will do everything in my power to protect he who protected me, within reason.

(Post Script: My dearest, though what you request of me would be seen as queer in other circles, I can find no reason to deny you. I know your heart is pure, and your intentions more so. We will have to discuss sleeping arrangements, something tells me Samson may not quite fit well if we were in our usual positions. -Mina)

Moving towards more joyful prospects, Mr. Walton has been a delightful addition to the house! He holds an air of adventure about him, not unlike good Quincy, while also being quite refined. He doesn’t speak nearly so laconically as Quincy, and can often be seen embellishing his words and waxing poetic about the most mundane of occurrences. He has done much to lift my morale, at the very least.

As of now, our main concern is finding this Victor character, as he is in close leagues to Dracula. Henry, Elizabeth, and Walton have expressed a desire to attempt to reason with him rather than destroy him, and I find myself in agreement. If we have the opportunity to rescue one from the wicked claws of that demon’s control, we shall take it. However, I won’t hesitate to defend my colleagues on the off chance that he has been lost to us.

End entry.

Journal entry by Dr. John Seward, dated October 1st.

Received a summons from Renfield early this morning. He must have issued one close to midnight, accounting for the time it would have taken for the letter to reach me. Arther, Jonathan, Van Helsing, and Mr. Walton are joining me.

When asked, Henry and Quincy said they’d like to stay behind, in case our “guests” stir. I didn’t invite Samson, but he seemed involved enough in something he was weaving to notice. Mina and Elizabeth were busy poring over diaries and newspapers, so I chose not to disturb them.

We are currently in a carriage to my asylum, and despite our circumstances, I feel a sense of excitement overcome me. I get to see my most interesting patient again, see what all this Victor and Mr. Dracula nonsense is all about, as well as return to my phonograph!

I shall hopefully record the second half of this entry with my voice and wax instead of my hand and pen.

End entry.

October 01
Patient: R.M. Renfield
Doctor: J. Seward
078

If I were under any other circumstances, I would have found Renfield’s request and subsequent behavior quite humorous.

He called upon me in a bid to gain his release, and although he remained quite calm and even sane whilst speaking with me, it was when I motioned my friends inside that his entire demeanor changed. He continued to be astute and educated, but he shifted with such a nervous energy! When he called upon their observations of his sanity, Van Helsing attempted to let him down softly, as is his manner. It was only when he mentioned something or another about Victor that the air in the room truly changed. When he noticed this, he pounced on it like a cat might his prey.

“Between me, the sailor, and your, Doctor, we all know the truth of what happened to our dear Frankenstein, and what’s left for the future lest we find him. Grant me my freedom, and I will do everything in my power to help you in this regard.” He said, in a tone so deathly serious that it took much restraint to keep from shivering.

“What do you know of Victor?” Mr. Walton said, evidently affected by Renfield’s words, his stance having straightened. He is an impressive man, I must admit. Sensitive, a poet, as he called himself, yet stiff and stubborn as stone. Renfield leaned in close, eyes filled with a mad intensity.

“More than you, sailor.”

Walton requested to be left alone with Renfield, and seeing as the patient was restrained properly, I agreed. We left the room to discuss the best course of action, or as close to best as we could come considering the circumstances. Van Helsing, poor man, was lost, yet urged me not to release him, as if I would ever consider doing so in the first place. I fully intend on informing him to the full extent of my knowledge later tonight.

I feel it important to remark that Arthur and Jonathan were deep in a private conversation. I assume since they have more first hand experience with, ugh, supernatural occurrences, I suppose, that they feel a sense of comradery with each other. I must admit, I still find it difficult to believe that this might actually be linked to the dark forces or ancient curses or what have you. I am a man of science, and while I don’t spurn religion, I do find it rather absurd at times. I fully believe that there is some sort of rational explanation for all of this, including the strange women that now reside in Lucy’s manor.

Walton soon rejoined us, and though it was hard to tell as his complexion is quite dark, he was red in the face and furious. Van Helsing helped bring him outside for some fresh air, to both rejuvenate and calm him.

I have since gone to the office that was assigned to Mr. Dracula, or as I believe to be correct, Mr. Frankenstein, in hopes of finding any leads to his current whereabouts, aside from Renfield’s insane ramblings, of course. Alas, it was in a state of disrepair. Interestingly, there was a space where I imagine a hospital issued phonograph was placed. This, paired with the missing stock of cylinders I was informed about, is proof enough to me that said phonograph was stolen. I also found ruined cylinders hidden in a cabinet. There were signs of them having been used before being destroyed, but sadly they are not in any state to be replayed. I assume these were recorded by Frankenstein himself.

Ultimately, this visit was horribly useless, yet at the very least I have been reunited with my phonograph, and am now able to observe my patients personally once more.

End recording.

Journal entry from Robert Walton, dated October 1st.

The indignation I feel now is seemingly immeasurable. I myself struggle with a defect of the mental variety, being particularly prone to long and intense bouts of depression, as well a quick shift in emotions from time to time. As such, I find the mental hospitals that occasionally dot England to be rather intimidating, with joint sympathy and understanding for those who are admitted to one. That is why I’m both upset at Renfield as well as myself.

My bond with Victor, it’s like none I’ve ever had before. Something about him served to elevate my mind and soul to heights unfounded, even in his dark gloom. I’ve never cared for one the way I cared for him.

So when I heard a contained man claim that he knew Victor better than I, well, I couldn’t contain my rage.

“He was my dearest companion, he saved me from that massacre!” I said, and Renfield only smiled back.

“And he was my fellow prisoner and truest friend. You’ve spent one life with him, when I’ve spent two.” He replied. The worst part of it was that he was completely and utterly in control of his composure, while I was left grappling with myself to keep from crying.

I can’t bear to record the words exchanged between us, as I’m too fragile now. I am grateful to Dr. Van Helsing, yet I still feel Renfield’s words worm their way inside me.

I feel I must write to Margaret. She knows best how to console me.

End entry.

Journal entry from Elizabeth Holmwood, dated October 1st.

I feel as if I have lost my mind, but this can’t be coincidence. I personally severed the head of my darling on the twenty first. Just days later, a woman is spotted who matches her description , with the addition of a surgical scar around her throat.

True, the printed sketches don’t look exact, but I know what Lucy was when I desecrated her body. I was certain that my means were correct. Is it possible she’s still roaming?

So far, there have been no reports of any suspicious sickness or injury, but increased findings of dead vermin and birds, all seemingly drained of blood. Could it be?

Tonight, I am going to her grave, and will see for myself what manner of creature awaits me there.

End entry.

Journal entry from Samson F. Harker, dated October 1st.

I have conceived of a way to keep the women from becoming too great of a threat. I shall write if my theory was correct.

It is done. I have crafted a set of crosses for the women, with a backing of linen and a lining of wool. Upon placing them on the necks of the women, they sustained no injury. However, if they are to move in a particularly sudden manner, the crosses will shift in a way that they will make contact with skin.

I pray this will help us.

End entry.

That wretched beast has caged us! We are bound like hounds to the wall! How dare he, how dare he! We are severed now from the Master, and he from us! Trapped, trapped we are! Wretched vermin, wretched Samson!

Entry from Elizabeth Lavenza, dated October 1st.

My sanity has been proven intact, and for my struggle and fear, I have been rewarded with the reunion of myself and my love!

She was there, at her tomb, and I swear she was crying. There are marks, sutures and stitches, upon most all of her extremities, and most notably her neck. Even her golden hair has been replaced, the length and texture similar, but the color a vivid shade of red. And God, her eyes! A shade of yellow from the iris to the whites that is almost horrifying to behold! But under all that, she is my Lucy, and I will accept her however she is.

She was shocked when she saw me, perhaps ashamed of her appearance, but I don’t think I could have realized that. All I saw was her, and it felt as if electricity was flowing through every limb and bone and nerve. I ran towards her. I kissed her. Even though her lips were cold and different, they were hers, and I had missed them far too much to care about anything else.

We are back at her manor now, and I have started a hot bath for her. I’ll be damned if I don’t pamper my wife after so long apart. She is not a vampyre, at least not fully, but she is my beloved, and I will make sure to do everything I can to assure she knows it.

The rest of the house will certainly be surprised, but for tonight she is my little secret, per her request.

God Bless Lucy!

End entry.

Chapter Text

October 02
Patient: R.M. Renfield
Doctor: J. Seward
079

I must commend Jonathan on his attention to detail! It was he who found that two of the cylinders that were believed to be utterly destroyed were merely cracked in a hairline fashion. As such, they have been swiftly repaired by a particularly clever manner by way of a paperclip and a candle. We have sent word to Mina, as these recordings will be of prime interest to her chronology she’s constructed, and if all goes well she shall be here tonight!

In other news, Renfield has been exceedingly active. I believe it has to do with the presence of Mr. Walton. They both knew Victor in life, and if Walton’s account of events is to be trusted, very close after each other. Perhaps they see each other as a sort of usurper. I knew Victor very scarcely, but he came off as the type of man that is difficult to get close to. That, added to the fact that both of these men are tremendously sensitive, though in quite different ways, makes it rather easy to reason why they might be so covetous of their friendship with the now deceased.

Walton has since retired to the parlor, and I have gone through the trouble to provide him a bottle of brandy and a glass, as to unwind after yet another visit with Renfield. I offered to go instead, but Walton is a gentleman at heart, and felt it was his duty to show when he was called upon. I have to say, even though it is horribly impractical, I find the man’s demeanor refreshing. He’s a dreamer, but practical. His observations, often romantic, hold a great deal of scientific analysis within them. He is serious when needed, and fantastical when desired. Quite an extraordinary type of man indeed!

Ahem. Back to the subject at hand, we are currently going through the staff and getting information on Victor slash Adam’s short term working here. So far, I’ve gathered nothing other than concern. Dr. Hennessey is particularly unnerved by his sudden disappearance, and seems to be counting down the seconds before he can file a missing persons report, poor man. From our brief regroupings, I can only assume that Arthur and Jonathan are getting similar results. We will soon rest, and wait for Mina’s arrival. We’ve all decided to postpone playing the recordings until she is present, as unnecessary use could damage them further.

I, for one, am fascinated to hear what my former patient sounds like as a ‘doctor’.

End recording.

Journal entry from Elizabeth Lavenza, dated October 2nd.

Lucy is recovering slowly, much to my chagrin. She seldom speaks, and on the rare occasion she does, it’s slurred and barely understandable. I’ve also found that any delicate procedure, such as writing or holding a spoon, causes her great stress, and even pain! I should feel lucky that she is even capable of such faculties in her current state. I feel it relevant, if not necessarily, to mention what I’ve noticed of her physical well being.

She has scars along her hairline, the sides of her mouth, around her throat, around her one of her breasts, on her torso, and even on the tender sides of her arms and legs! I mention this as it is most peculiar to me that these scars were caused by sutures, the likes of which I have seen before. I am beginning to piece together the origins of Samson, and if I am correct, whoever, whatever, performed surgery on him did the same to Lucy.

I am undecided on how I shall tell the others, if I shall! Can I, in full conscience, reveal Lucy’s miraculous return when she herself knows not how to articulate how she even came to be alive once more? If she even is alive? She is in so tender a condition, yet I have nothing but questions.

I’m scared, I admit. I have never felt so strongly for one as I have my dear Lucy, and her death and my subsequent desecration of her body has left me of a sensitive constitution, and I now fear that I may not have been in the right mind when I brought Lucy back with me, but she continually lulls me back into a sense of calm.

I don’t believe she’s a true vampyre, not yet at least. She craves, I know, her eyes pinned to my throat, and she has a power over me that she didn’t have in life, and yet. She pulls herself away whenever she gets too close, she murmurs her admiration in her slurred manner, and she kisses my fingers and knuckles with such reverence I can't help but blush. Her horror, her monstrosity, it is all but a drop in the vast sea of her gentle affections. She is changed, a completely different creature than she was, but she is still Lucy, the woman I fell in love with.

I think I’m helplessly in love with her.

End entry.

Journal entry by Quincy Morris, dated October 2nd.

I’m not usually so inclined to write, as my companions are usually more than happy to do so for the both of us, but it seems that my current companions (that is Henry and Samson to you, Mrs. Harker) are rather preoccupied with the women that have taken residence here.

It went like this. While Henry and I were having a simple chat, and even playing a game of cards once I convinced him, we heard a horrible clammer from upstairs. We went to look, and well, we saw those women and Samson out in the hall having a terrible fight. One of them was around the giant’s neck, while the others were flanking him from below. Now, I haven’t had the most interaction with them, not in the slightest, but it seemed to me that they were less put together than before. I’d even bargain that they looked down right panicked.

I mean to cause you no stress, Mrs. Harker! Henry is surprisingly strong for a poet-type, and I’m not too shabby myself. We were able to get them under control, at least enough for me to get my belt around the blonde one to keep her still. The other two calmed a bit after that, I suppose. I swear that woman thought I was going to do something unsavory to her, with the way she was glaring at me! I see, now in hindsight, why my belt might not have been the best option, but I wasn’t exactly allotted a proper amount of time to think rationally.

Anyways, we got Samson up and out of there. Poor man, I don’t think I could have seen a more terrified face than his! Henry and I assessed the damage done to him before telling him to rest. For some reason, he went to you and your husband's room! (Is there something you’d like to tell us, Mrs. Harker? I’m just kidding, bless you both.) Afterwards, we treated the women to the same sort of care, and they seemed rather shocked by it.

“What do you care?” The real spitfire one hissed.

“What good is it to keep you in pain?” Henry, approximately, said. My memory isn’t as knife sharp as yours, of course.

“What harm does it do?” She said, and I admit that sent a shiver through my spine. I don’t particularly know these women, I don’t even have their names, but I don’t like the idea of anyone being in unnecessary pain. Even these women.

Long story short, we got them back up in the attic after treating the wounds they got from the crosses around their necks. I’m not quite certain how those work, but they seemed to subdue them well enough.

That’s about the end of my report, Mrs. Harker. I sincerely hope this helped you in some way.

End entry.

Journal entry by Mina Harker, dated October 2nd.

Being in an asylum is a demoralizing experience, it seems. It is horribly deprived of character, and though I see the point of its minimalist design, it leaves the mind wanting.

I entered to see Walton nursing a half drunk glass of brandy, Van Helsing beside him. The doctor must have been trying to get the man to speak about his experience on the ship again, as he quickly stood up and said in a tired manner,

“Dr. Van Helsing, I know you mean well, but if I am interrogated about that night one more time, I will need to be put into a room while we’re here.”

He then went to me and offered to take my hat and coat.

“Mrs. Harker!” Van Helsing said jovially. “We are elated to see you! Shall we go listen to the records?” He asked, relaxing into his seat.

“While that is on the agenda, I should like to speak with Renfield. I’ve heard what Jack has to say on him, and I’m quite intrigued.” I answered, and Walton groaned beside me. It was then that Jonathan, Jack, and Arthur entered the room. Jonathan, upon seeing me, rushed to embrace me. I have to say, I blushed and laughed. He can be overly affectionate at times, and I wouldn’t have him any other way.

“Welcome to my hospital, Mrs. Harker!” Jack said once he registered my presence, which was a surprisingly long time, as he was thoroughly engrossed in his discussion with Arthur. I thanked him, and we all exchanged some pleasantries that, while nice, are ultimately unnecessary for this document.

It’s an odd feeling, to walk down a corridor with nothing but cell doors in sight. From what I could see, the patients were organized in a fashion where the most dangerous or likely to act out were closer to a doctor’s office. This wasn’t exactly a comforting thought as I approached Renfield’s room, being only one cell away from Jack’s office. He had me wait before I could enter the room, and even then I was under Jack’s strict supervision.

Speaking with Renfield, It’s hard to imagine that he’s a madman. His intellect and insight are heightened to an astonishing degree, and he behaved as an absolute gentleman.

“Mrs. Harker,” He started.

“Please, call me Mina.”

“Oh? Then, you might call me Raymond, but nonetheless, Miss Mina, why are you so concerned with this disappearance, if I might ask?” Renfield, Raymond, said, and I looked towards Jack for guidance. He conveyed, though not verbally, that he was highly against the idea of letting his patient in on the mystery. However, having seen his mental capabilities, and seeing no reason why he would sabotage our search, I indulged him.

“Something, a Vampyre, a friend of mine says, has killed one of my dearest companions, and has kidnapped another. We have reason to suspect that he is still alive, or at the very least, isn’t fully dead. I would much like to find him, and perhaps stop this being from causing further pain.” I supplied. I figured I was perfectly vague enough, while still making him informed. He didn’t need to know that Jonathan particularly wanted to kill this vampyre.

He seemed to think on this, and then spoke with much sadness.
“Then, I believe it would be for the best that we end our conversation now.” He said, and a dark fog came over him.
“We are subscribed to opposing parties, and I fear any further engagement will lead to further bloodshed.”

I couldn’t help but smile softly, before pulling my satchel into my arms and taking out a blank journal.
“In case you ever decide to join us.” I said, passing the book to him. He took it gently, and with shaking hands. I swear, I think I saw tears start to well up in his eyes.

“God bless you, and may I never see you again, Miss Mina!” He said as I left.

Jack and I rejoined with the others, Jonathan seeming especially nervous in my absence. We are now in Jack’s private quarters, and are about to hear the last recordings of Adam Dracula.

End entry.

September 30
Patient: L. Holmwood
Doctor: A. Dracula
021

All the books said it was futile, all the professors said it was folly. But lo! The culmination of science and alchemy, the epitome of medicine! I feel the Master’s presence grow close, but not even he can stay my hand! I am one chemical change away from renewing life, one spark away from defeating death without damnation! How does Cornelius Agrippa go on indeed! The hour is nigh, the time is upon us!

Live again, Lucy Holmwood! Live!

End recording.

September 30
Patient: L. Holmwood
Doctor: A. Dracula
022

Think you capable of controlling me? I have slipped from your grasp before, and look what I’ve accomplished in that time alone! You may be the Master, but I am risen to the heights of God- Ack!

Do what you will, master. There is nothing in here that I can’t recreate, no formula or fulcrum that I can’t rediscover. You killed me once, but I live again. Not for you, but for me! Try as you might, at every turn I’ll defy you!

You can’t kill what is dead, master! Had you kept me living, I might have been afraid of you! But nay, you command no fear, no terror! I shall tear your head from your body if I must! Come to me, master, and we shall see if you deserve such a name!

…my name?

Will you really?

No, no, no! You are a fiend, an abomination! I would rather die a thousand deaths than side with you!

…stop it! Stop it! I won’t, I won’t!

Damn you, master, damn you!

You shall not hurt him, do you hear me? He blindly follows you, worships you, you shall not use him as a pawn!

Henry? Elizabeth?

Silence! I’ll not listen to you any more! I am immovable!

…Robert?

No, no, you won’t, I won’t let you!

Leave them be, and I will join you!

Leave them be!

Please.

…

Yes, master.

End recording.

Chapter Text

Journal entry by Jonathan Harker, dated October 3rd.

The question of how to handle the worst seems to be a frequently asked one, as of late. Mina, my beloved Mina!

I have only myself to blame. I should have checked the window lock again, or put up my rosary there. I should have fought against the terror and pulled that fiend from her. I’m beginning to think it would have been better had we never met at all. My heart would be an open, aching wound, but you would’ve been safe, not to mention living in much higher prospects. God, what fate have I doomed you to?

I don’t doubt that you’ll forgive, since you already have, but I doubt I will believe you any time soon.

I’m sorry, I can’t write anymore.

(Post Script: It wasn’t your fault. -Mina)

End entry.

Journal entry by Henry Clerval, dated October 3rd.

Last night, the women made a terrible fuss. It wasn’t like their last one. Instead of attacking any of us, they caused what can only be described as a miniature twister in the attic, wailing and screaming in such a manner that my ears still ring with their sorrow.

Quincy, he told me to leave them be. I understood why he would say that, but I simply can’t bear to hear women, wicked or not, be in such pain. Even Elizabeth had locked herself in Lucy’s room to avoid the sound, though she’s done that often as of late. I admit, it was very foolish, but that is the nature of the poet, isn’t it? To foolishly explore the unknown in a bid to describe it, solve it? I’m not sure. Regardless, I went to see them.

The scene I walked, or more accurately climbed as they did reside in the attic, into was horribly bleak. Shattered glass and furniture joined with torn curtains and bedsheets served as the backdrop, the moonlight shining through the window. Scattered about were the women, all in various states of disarray, all with scorched tear streaks on their cheeks. Their sorrow was quite literally burning them! Not even their dresses were spared from their wrath, torn to shreds and hanging loosely to their frames. I admit, I flushed. I was raised a proper gentleman, and have never seen a woman in such a state, let alone three of them! Perhaps it was that sight that bound me to my original goal. I am told by many that I help ease pain with my presence. I had a chance to do that now.

They noticed me, and bore their teeth, gathering together like a group of wild dogs. They were much less intimidating than they were just a night before, wiping their tears and flinching when the crosses around their necks shifted against their clavicles. Still an ingenious design on Samson’s part.

“Come you to mock us, man?” The blonde said, seemingly stepping between me and the others. The leader of the pack.

“Quite the contrary. What exactly is the matter?” I replied, and she let out a cold, detached, laugh.

“As if you could understand.” Behind her, the other women were quickly drying each other's tears and staring daggers at me.

“Try me.” As I said this, I crawled completely into the attic and sat on the ground. Perhaps this was a dumb move, giving my potential predators an innate power over me, they poised to strike while I stand in as easy prey. However, it was done, and the change was instantaneous. They seemed to discuss with each other wordlessly with one another.
“I swear I mean you no harm.” The blondes' eyes trailed down to the cross around my neck, and I quickly understood. I raised my hand, and though my fingers trembled as I did so, I pulled it from my person and tossed it to some unknown reach of the attic.

Delilah, I think I once heard her be called, lunged towards me, and I flinched before I felt her arms around me. I was fearful that she would try to strangle me, but with her face buried in my chest and her arms around my waist, it seemed rather unlikely. To say I wasn’t scared would be a lie, as I had seen their power first hand. Despite this, I wrapped my arms around her and held her to me.

“The master, he’s abandoned us, indefinitely. Our link, our bond to him, it was blocked, potentially severed, before. But now, it’s completely,” The blonde didn’t finish her sentence before the tears started to fall again, burning into her skin with a horrible hiss. She didn’t cry, she bit her lip till she bled just to keep the sound locked away.

“We are truly, utterly, dead to him.” Mary, I believe, answered instead. Delilah held onto me tighter, her nails digging into my vest.

It’s a terribly strange sensation, seeing what isn’t human behave so humanely. If what little I’ve heard from Jonathan serves to be true, then these women couldn’t have had a choice on becoming what they are now. In fact, as I write this, I’m just now realizing how young they all look. The blonde looks as if she couldn’t be older than eighteen!

I don’t know what compelled me, and even now I don’t know if it will come back to hurt me. All I can say to that quite palpable event is alas. I’ve made my choice.

I led them out of the attic, out of the house. If someone were to see us, I can’t imagine what they would assume, seeing as we all were underdressed and linked at the arm. My first order of business, as such, was to get them proper clothes. If you know where to look, you can find a certain type of shop that stays open till midnight. I’ve found, through complete and total accident, that these shops function as a boutique in the day. One such store was easily found, and thus I utilized its front to my advantage.

And so, I paid for the women to get dresses of their choice, and found my pockets nearly empty by the time we left. They were quite hesitant about picking a dress. Were they both allowed to before? God, how long were they serving under this Dracula character?

Afterwards, I also bought them plain notebooks to write in.
“Everyone would very much appreciate it if you would be willing to write and share your experiences with us. If not, take this for your personal well-being.” I said as I handed them each a book. Their hands trembled as they each took one. We returned to the house swiftly afterwards. As of now, I’ve offered to let them stay in my room until I manage to make the attic presentable again.

God, I’m truly a fool, aren’t I?

End entry.

Journal entry by Mina Harker, dated October 3rd.

I am not nearly well enough to write of what happened to me last night, but I’ll be damned, or perhaps more damned, if I don’t give my account as the chief victim.

I am of the opinion that there was nothing any of us could do to prevent the attack. Instead of lamenting the event, I shall record it as plainly as I can offer. If not for my sake, then for Jonathan’s.

It was after having listened to Victor’s cylinders. Jack offered for me and Jonathan to stay in a guest room at the asylum, and as it was late, we accepted. It was deep in the night when it happened, and he came to me first in dream. Jonathan has said to me in private that he often appeared in dream before arriving physically. Much of the actual event is clouded in my mind, but I distinctly remember the pain in my neck, the sour, metallic taste of blood in my mouth, and the look of abject horror on my poor Jonathan’s face. Jack and Van Helsing burst into the room, Arthur just behind them, and it was then that he, Dracula, flung me from his breast and fled through the window. Jonathan caught me and held me to his chest as I started to cry. Jack, Van Helsing, and Arthur all searched around the hospital, and even broke into the house beside it, but found no trace of the perpetrator.

I feel the change in me yet. I know not if I can go on. If nothing else, this proves the necessity of eliminating this being as quickly as possible.

I need to stop now. I need Jonathan.

End entry.

Journal entry by Samson Harker, dated October 3rd.

Often before I was saved by Jonathan, I had wished for one like myself to take intercourse in and to share the burden existing in a world such as this with. Now, I curse those distant longings.

Elizabeth had been acting particularly secretive these past few days, and I admit I became deeply paranoid. I waited till I knew she was asleep before I investigated. Lucy’s door was locked, but the doorway posed very little difficulty to break, however. The moment I stepped through the door, she was upon me, desperately trying to attack me in any way she could manage. I easily pulled her from me, and the shock I experienced at seeing who she was became far greater than the shock of being attacked.

“I mean you no harm, Mrs. Lucy.” I said gently, falling to my knees so I might be at eye level with her. Recognition flashed over her face, and she quickly hid herself with her arm. Shame, shame at having been seen.

I confess, I cried. What else could I do? I am no fool. Her eyes are mine, her skin is mine, her stitches are mine. I know with great horror and sadness exactly what has happened to dear Lucy.

She tried to comfort me, and the irony of that action is palpable still. She was inarticulate with her words, and clumsy with her fingers. I knew then what I was to do.

I will discuss in great detail with Elizabeth on why she kept such a secret from us who wish to do nothing but help. Until then, I am determined to ease Lucy’s suffering as one like me. I hope I can.

End entry.

October 03
Patient: R.M. Renfield
Doctor: J. Seward
080

Facial reconstruction on Renfield has gone far better than expected, no doubt because of Jonathan’s donation of a diary that belonged to Samson.

“This journal holds how to construct a man from the ground up. Use it wisely, and use it well.” He told me. I admit, I was quite distracted by the newness of his hair’s pale color, but I have indeed heeded his suggestion. The man who wrote this diary is nothing short of a genius, I have to say. It’s donation has exponentially improved Renfield’s chance of not only survival, but also potentially not becoming deformed because of the surgery.

Van Helsing and I have to take breaks in between surgeries on Renfield, lest he sustain too much trauma at once. As of now, Walton has offered to stay with him. Such an odd man, he is. Noble to a fault, perhaps one of the last remnants of true honor and chivalry from days long gone. A fascinating specimen indeed.

Ahem.

We may soon have to perform a transfusion, which is quite worrisome, but I truly believe that Renfield will survive. If this turns out to be the case, we may soon get a full perspective on what transpired last night.

Ah, break times over. There’s still much to do. I shall return if anything of note happens.

End recording.

Transcript of conversation between Robert Walton and Raymond Morgan Renfield, dated October 3rd.

“How bad is it?”

“You’re not supposed to be speaking right now, the surgeries aren’t finished.”

“Very bad, then.”

“Yes.”

“What a shame. I’m told I used to be handsome.”

“Don’t feel too bad about it. You’ll still be able to eat your bugs at the end of the day.”

“Very humorous, sailor.”

“I know.”

“…”

“Renfield, are you still there?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Let me know if you start to fall asleep.”

“What are you?”

“Last time I checked, I was a man.”

“I let him in, you know.”

“Him?”

“The master.”

“Ah. Yes, you’ve said before.”

“It’s my fault.”

“It sure is.”

“Don’t you hate me? Don’t you want to tear me apart, limb from limb?”

“All these surgeries would sure be useless if I did that.”

“I’m being serious, sailor.”

“So am I.”

“…”

“Do you want me to hate you?”

“Perhaps.”

“Don’t laugh at me, sailor!”

“My apologies! It’s just funny. Rest assured, Renfield, I hate you enough. Just not over this.”

“You’re sick.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Are you going to leave?”

“Not anytime soon, I think.”

“…”

“Falling asleep, Renfield?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. I’ll tell Dr. Seward when he comes back to monitor the amount of morphine he uses.”

“Thank you,Walton.”

“Of course, Renfield.”

End transcript.

October 03
Subject: 002, 003, 004
Doctor: A. Frankenstein
001

The tools I requested have been delivered, as well as the raw materials. Now that I the reanimation of my subjects is my sole occupation, I theorize that I can make three in the same amount of time it took me to reconstruct Lucy. All of them will have modified hearts, arms, legs, and brains for maximum efficiency. If these experiments turn out well, I’ll be rewarded by being able to go out and feed. I have yet to find a less noticeable way of doing so, but I in know way doubt my ingenuity. That’s why the master picked me, after all.

I will record any events that have either stilted or expedited this process. With good luck, I shall soon be able to wake as many creatures as the master desires.

End recording.

Chapter Text

Journal entry by Jonathan Harker, dated October 4th.

Dracula has signed his death warrant. I know well what manor he purchased months back, and having broken in by myself only to find it empty, I have also found deeds to his other residences and a boarding note for a ship. I've laid my crucifix in the box of his wicked earth. I shall find the others and purify them myself if need be, though I dearly hope that it won’t come to this. I’m certain that once I show my findings to the rest of our little group, everyone will be more than willing to help destroy this fiend.

End entry.

Journal entry by Jonathan Harker, continued.

We are quickly going back to Lucy’s mansion to collect Samson and the others. We shall split up into groups of two, while Mina and Van Helsing stay at the manor, as Mina has concocted an idea to help with our mission. Oh, my lovely, brilliant, beautiful wife! I wish you luck and peace!

End entry.

Journal entry by Samson Harker, dated October 4th.

It was around midday when Jonathan entered the house with no warning. I now feel the dying embers of my buried and bitter rage reignite into a blazing inferno. There once was a time where this anger would have been carelessly exorcized towards any and all around me, but I am not the miserable wretch I was. I am focused now, and no God would dare protect he who is the object of such wrath.

Regrettably, Henry expressed his inability to leave with us, and I am told Walton is of a similar mind. We shall rejoin with them once we are done extracting our revenge, nay, justice. However, I feel within the core of my being that I must express Lucy’s return to those who are staying behind. I’ve discussed such with both Elizabeth and Lucy herself, and both have agreed that this was an unavoidable course of action.

I shall reveal this information in a delicate manner, as it is imperative that Henry and the others be able to properly understand Lucy’s current condition, and care for her as such.

After I’ve done that, I will join with Jonathan, who is waiting with a carriage hailed by Arthur.

End entry.

Journal entry by Mina Harker, dated October 4th.

We have tested one of two theories, Van Helsing and I. It has resulted in a horrible scar and much grief, but I’m not fully disheartened. How could I be, when Lucy is at my side?

Once upon a time, I would have been horrified by her, wary and frightened. But I’ve seen true horror now, and the form it takes is not one like her’s or Samson’s. I’m aware that this means I am desensitized to that which would startle the ordinary man, but I believe we are all beyond that state of being. It matters not that she is back from the dead, but that she is back without malicious intent.

She speaks to me in a slow, broken way, and it is undoubtedly her words that are spoken. The voice and lips that release such sound are different, yet the cadence and tone are entirely hers.

I’ve decided to wait until the men come back before I proceed with the hypnotic procedure. I wish for all to be present, for comfort, and for safety.

Concerning Henry, I find I’m not the least bit surprised that he’s brokered a pseudo peace with the women, sisters or brides as they say. I admit, I was startled at first, seeing them crowd around him in the middle of the parlor, but I’ve since come to learn that even the horrific can’t bring themselves to harm such an agreeable being. It’s almost comical, but the way they stare at any who pass is quite unnerving, and borderline predatory.

I do not trust them, but so long as they don’t cause any trouble, I will tolerate them. For now, at least.

End entry.

Journal entry by Arthur Holmwood, dated October 4th.

Quincy, Elizabeth, and I have successfully desecrated the boxes of earth as requested. It was rather easy to enter, considering my wealth and sorely bestowed, ill-fitting title, but the matter wasn’t easy, and not for the reason’s one would think.

Elizabeth, having thought ahead, changed into a pair of my slacks, suspenders, and undershirts before leaving, as well as her flats. Her foresight was excellent, as I imagine the process of prying the wooden boxes open would be much more difficult than it already was, had one of our party been confined to layers upon layers of skirt. However, I am far from accustomed to seeing a woman so underdressed in the company of multiple men, and even though we are married, it felt incredibly scandalous. And at a time like this! Even writing this account, I feel myself flush horribly, and I want nothing more than to bathe, not only to rid myself of all the grace dirt, but also for a rather personal reason that I refuse to write.

Moving past my violent attraction to my wife, we have rendered the boxes worthless to the fiend and are waiting at the rendezvous point. I can only hope my companions are too focused on planning to notice the state I’m in.

End entry.

Journal entry by John Seward, dated October 4th.

Our attempt to break into the house has unveiled more questions than ever before. We came upon the abode to find that there were movers just outside, already extracting the boxes. Supervising them was a man dressed in all white, a dark umbrella protecting him from the light. Though I couldn’t see his face, I knew at once that this was Victor or Adam or whatever pseudonym he’s adopted now.

While it was obvious that Jonathan wanted to charge into the house regardless, Samson was able to dissuade him from the idea. He rationalized that if it wasn’t Dracula himself helping to lead the cargo, than he must already be inside one of the boxes, and almost certainly on his way out of the city. Jonathan gnashed his teeth, yet stayed seated.

We waited for everyone to leave before entering. Much to our surprise, we actually found the boxes of earth. While a relief that we hadn’t come for nothing, it only made my heart sicken at the thought of what was in the cargo that was carried away, as they were all approximately the size of a man. Regardless, we carried out our task of placing the sacrament into the dirt. We counted one missing, so Samson’s theory must be true.

We are now heading back to the designated meeting point before returning to house Westenra.

End entry.

Journal entry by Mina Harker, dated October 4th.

Our friends have returned, and I have undergone the sort of ritual. I don’t feel as if it did much, as it seems to me all I did was take a short nap, but from the faces of those around me, I figure something must have been of use.

Apparently Dracula is retreating, or something similar to it, as he is fleeing England in a box. It seems Arthur has already taken to creating plans for us to take a train to follow him. It will take us a few days before we can actually give chase, but that allows for us to prepare more thoroughly. We’ve sent word of our plan to Robert, and are awaiting his response, though I find that it seems rather obvious given his character.

Henry, bless his soul, tried his hardest to keep the brides from listening in on our plot, but there wasn’t much he could do given there was only one of him, whilst they had the privilege of three. They hadn’t interjected, nor did they express any desire to sabotage. It seems to me they looked at our murder plot as something to keep them entertained.

In regards to how everyone accepted Lucy, I am not at liberty to say. It seems her former suitors were much surprised, though in what direction, favorable or negative, I’m not sure. I do think Arthur was happy, but too shocked to express such. Jonathan eyed her with suspicion but not disdain, and Elizabeth didn’t react at all. To be quite frank, I think Jack was in disbelief. I don’t blame him. He doesn’t know what I know, and is quite the skeptic as well. It can easily be imagined that he would struggle with what is in front of him.

It is late now. Jonathan is on edge, but I will try to coax him to sleep. I can only hope this will all terminate well, though I must admit, my hope is faint.

End entry.

Manuscript by Eve, undated.

It is easy to forget just how fascinating the human creature is. When you spend so long away from them, seeing them as nothing but food, or playthings, you fail to remember how irrational they can be. Like embracing she who has torn the throats out of much larger men.

To say any of us care for this man would be a lie, and a horribly feeble one at that. However, we are curious about him, and perhaps a little thankful, though not by much. Overall, he is only remarkable in his idiocy. A hare wandering gleefully to the gaping jaws of the wolf.

Despite this, we shall respect his wishes, so long as they don’t inconvenience us, for now. They are small little things, his asks. To not actively antagonize his peers, or to be ever so slightly more careful when we pull him into the attic. To be careful not to make him bleed.

He seems completely immune, or perhaps oblivious, to our greatest weapon. Sexuality, sensuality, these are in great supply to us, and have won us many a prize. I remember that a man once thought himself a hero of lore as he attempted to save us from our former master’s dominion, all because of our allure. But here is man, same as the others, who ignores our lure yet still seeks us out.

It’s an odd thing, and though I can’t speak for my sisters, I would be remiss to lose him, lest I lose the novelty of his intercourse. However, I have a striking feeling that my sisters are of identical thought.

Chapter Text

Journal entry by Mina Harker, dated October 5th.

We’ve concluded that Dracula will leave by either the Danube or the Black Sea. We won’t leave too soon, but we will before the 17th at the very least.

There has been much discussion on forms of travel, and who will be joining us, seeing as we have a fairly larger crowd than before, and all have some kind of reservation about them.

The women are obviously of a more suspicious group, and are liable to use whatever they learn here against us.

Meanwhile, Mr. Renfield, or Raymond, has already turned his back on Dracula, but is unstable and in no condition to travel.

Finally, Lucy, she is in so delicate a condition! I’ve witnessed firsthand the language lessons that Samson has been guiding her through, and though she is quite astute and is remembering quickly, the fact that she has to be taught at all is proof enough of her fragility. And, we don’t even know the true nature of her being yet!

All this to say, there is much trepidation when it comes to this journey. I usually take a great amount of enjoyment in planning trips, but the source of this trip is very unhappy indeed. I can only hope that with this journey, the cause of our misery will be dealt with, and met with a swift and effective end.

End entry.

Journal entry by Mina Harker, dated October 8th.

Even in such frightful conditions, I find myself delighted by the workings of the Orient Express. It spans such a great distance, and with ports in half of Europe, what is there not to love?

It was decided that the whole of us would go, special care being taken towards those who I’ve mentioned earlier.

The women, the sisters as they insist, have become much more docile, at least around Henry. They still stare at us with a bloodlust, and at Henry like a plaything, but it’s different.

All of us who are eligible agreed to donate a small quantity of blood every odd day or so. All samples are placed into the same vial and split amongst the sisters. So far, it has proven to be just enough to keep them satiated, for now. And while they still view Henry as a toy, it’s more akin to the gaze you’d bestow upon a childhood favorite rather than a pet or shiny bauble. They look at him with a queer sense of attachment, even if they themselves don’t realize it.

Lucy’s language lessons have been going particularly well, her words only slurring when it comes to the letters R and S. We’ve also found that while she, too, craves blood, it needs not be human, and she requires much less of it. She has been returning to her radiant self with each passing moment. Arthur has seemed to grow more vibrant as well, seeing as his wives (?) are now in good health and being.

Renfield’s transfer and subsequent recovery haven’t been as rapid. It was difficult to even get him onto the train. As of now, Jack provides for his medical needs, and Robert his emotional ones. If my perception has yet to fail me, I believe Jack appreciates the presence of the former sailor. Whenever he’s allowed, he goes on and on about how great an example of masculinity and chivalry Robert is. I, for one, am glad that there is no discourse between anyone and he, as Robert is a vital player in this twisted game. He knows first hand the effect that Dracula can produce on large groups of people, and thus can recognize if we are at all being influenced by said fiend.

As we get closer to our goal, our Swiss companions grow more timid. I can’t begin to imagine what they’re preparing for, to potentially have to kill their childhood playmate and friend. It is an awful line of thought, but one that we all must accept as a very tangible possibility. I myself have grappled with this notion, that I may be used against those who I would protect without hesitation. That Jonathan may have to see me meet my end at the edge of a wooden stake. That Jonathan may be the one holding it.

I confess here, and nowhere else, I am horribly, wickedly, fearfully frightened of what may become of me. I look at the sisters, their calculating gaze cold and free from all warm emotion or thought, and I wonder what I would look like as one of them. I know I am impure, but I also know I am not so far gone as they. What am I then? A miserable chimera, a being both mindless and full of thought, destined to live in this saddening state for the rest of all time?

And what then of Lucy? She is more fractured than I, yet she’s so resilient! From death she rose, a patchwork of the damned, and still she sings in such a lofty manner that you might imagine she has the soul of a school child. And Renfield, and Samson, and a thousand others have all suffered worse than I have, and have borne that torment with unfaltering bravery and grace.

It is selfish, to be so frightened. When surrounded by these sturdy and light souls, I feel as if an outsider, foreign to happiness henceforth.

Oh God, what’s happening to me?

End entry.

Journal entry by Samson Harker, dated October 8th.

I found Mina sobbing in an empty compartment by herself. I have seen noble women cry before, but I was always separated from them in some way. Their pain, while heartrendingly close to my own, was always something alien to me. Mina is different.

While Jonathan, he who revealed to me a world of light, was accepting of my form the moment I spoke, Mina was apprehensive. She feared me, I know this acutely, and yet she endeavored to know me for who I am despite her evident reservations. Her blessed gaze, when it falls upon this form of mine, is one of trust that was earned rather than given. She is infinitely dear to me, and I find that her suffering affects me tenfold than any that I’ve seen before.

I brought her to Jonathan, and we both worked to elevate her sorrows. If ever I faltered before in my devotion to the destruction of he who held us captive, I am of steady mind now. His greatest misstep is consummated with her tears, as he believed we would stand idly by while he inflicts his dark whims on the innocent. He believed us cowards.

I will personally show him who the cowardly among us are.

End entry.

Journal entry by John Seward, dated October 15th.

Party members affected: Jonathan, Mina, Lucy, Robert, Mary, Delilah, and Eve.

Party members not affected: Quincy, Arthur, Samson, Elizabeth, Henry, Renfield, Van Helsing, and Myself.

Symptoms: Pain in joints and extremities, decreased energy, decreased hunger, increased thirst, sudden fatigue, and body spasms.

Common link across affected: Pinpoint scars and or scabs on neck denoting bite wound, recent or otherwise.

Current treatment includes mandated bedrest and small doses of morphine. Results unclear, ability to continue trip unclear.

Elizabeth has stated that she owns an estate in Geneva, and that the Orient would be able to take us there. While I am opposed to the detour, it may be necessary for the recovery of half our party. All of us agree that this is no ordinary illness, and if Jonathan’s diary is to be trusted, Dracula has the ability to call forth all sorts of wicked things. There is nothing to disprove the notion that he could easily cast out a sickness such as this. That, coupled with the fact that it is only those who I can assume have been bitten by Dracula that show signs of this malady, it is no stretch of the imagination to believe this is the Count’s doing.

That being the case, then, we have no choice but to postpone the trip for however long it takes for this sickness to pass. Arthur has already agreed to pay for the change in course. It is on this miserable note that I end this entry. I currently have no way to know if this illness can even be fought. I pray that they survive, but I have no way to help any of them.

End entry.

Journal entry by Elizabeth Holmwood, dated October 29th.

I longed to see the clear skies and beautiful mountains of my homeland, but not like this. Not like this.

My estate is at the edge of Lake Geneva, and quite secluded. It was originally for me and Victor to live in after we were married. It is now being put to a use far worse than I ever could have imagined. To get to it, you have to boat across the lake. There is no other entrance as it’s surrounded by lush foliage and even a forest. Samson rowed us across for the majority of the trip. I haven’t hired servants as I can’t imagine anyone who would understand our unique circumstances.

Robert, while conscious, expressed a desire to send a letter to his sister, and I likewise have to alert my uncle of my return. When I return, We shall strategize and eat, tend to our sick, then sleep as best we can.

End entry.

Letter from Justine Moritz, dated November 3rd.

To: Elizabeth Lavenza, Geneva Switzerland, November 3rd,

My dearest Elizabeth, I am overjoyed to hear of your return! Your uncle told me the good news, and I endeavored to write you immediately! As you know, my education was sorely ignored by my now deceased mother, but your uncle, in the kindness that belongs to him alone, allowed for me to learn alongside you and your cousin. I am still learning, but I hope what I know will suffice!

In other news, William and Ernest are ever so delighted to know you’re back home, at least for a while. I’ve been struggling to put William to bed for some hours now, and it is only now that he has tired himself out that I am able to write. Ernest has become quite the gentleman since you’ve been gone, as he believes he is the oldest, and must act his age. He walks around the house with his nose in the air, and scarcely uses his cane as intended until he is too tired to simply just carry it around.

Your uncle’s face upon seeing your letter was of the utmost happiness. While he was slightly saddened to learn that Victor had chosen to stay in England a while longer, your mere presence was enough to dispel any and all agitation from his brow!

As of my thoughts, I can’t wait to see you again! I have already arranged for some days off work, and am going to leave for you as soon as I can! If all works out well, we shall see eachother again on the seventh!

Until then, my lady! I can’t wait to see your shining face again!

Sincerely, from your dearest and most loyal friend,

Justine

Letter from Margaret Saville, dated November 5th.

To Robert Walton, Geneva, Nov. 5th, 18–,

To say that I was delighted at the appearance of your letter would be an understatement. However, I came to find that the contents of it were far less pleasant than I had initially hoped.

You are sick, my brother, and terribly so. I thank she who transcribed for you, but that fact alone proves how grave your illness is.

You’ve always frightened me. On multiple occasions you’ve caused me to nearly faint because of your antics. I worry myself sick over your safety, and I know you do I. All this to say, I suppose I should have expected this long ago.

I wish dearly to take care of you, but I have my husband and children to think of as well. I can no longer drop everything to come to your aid. As such, my family has agreed to come with me. If all goes accordingly, we will arrive on the 10th.

Best of wishes,

Margaret Saville

November 06
Subject: 002, 003, 004
Doctor: A. Frankenstein
005

The Master has risen and the crew has been disposed of. We are well on our way to his castle. As we are being faced with no further interceptions, I can focus once more on my experiments. We need not sleep for now, so I work while the Master controls our course. I’ve been told that my fool sisters weren’t intended to go to England originally, and that I am expected to stay in the castle or its surrounding grounds. I’ve found no reason to protest.

As of now, all three of my projects are near completion. The master promised me better tools and materials once we reached home. I’m hoping to truly stretch my knowledge then. After all, it’s one thing to restore life to dead matter. It’s a completely different thing to create life. And if I’m to be a bride, am I not expected to bear children?

End recording.

Chapter Text

Journal entry by Justine Moritz, dated December 8th.

I have been requested, by Miss Elizabeth, to keep a diary and title each entry in it as such. It is a very easy thing to do, so I have no qualms in doing so! I arrived to m’ladies estate yesterday, and was delighted to find her in good health. The same can not be said for a few of her companions, but I have promised to provide as much assistance as I can.

I have but one concern, and that is the noises that plague the attic at night, creaking and groaning in pain, as well as hushed whispers and unintelligible murmuring. Elizabeth has never held any secrets from me before, and I am frightened at her dismissive nature of these events.

Despite this, I will trust her. She is to me as a sister is, and for her I will give her leave and trust her. She would not lie to me when she tells me I’m safe, and I would rather give my life than suspect her of deceit.

I dislike writing much, so I shall end this entry here. Farewell, lovely journal!

Page from the diary of Francis Saville.

Dec. 9

I had to put the little ones to sleep tonight, which considering they are on a boat for the first time in their lives, was a marvelous feat on my part. Usually, Margaret tucks them in, and they were unrelenting in their requests for her to read to them. How I managed to fill in for her, I know not.

My beloved is restless tonight, and for good reason. Her brother, her last remaining blood relative after the death of their distant cousin, is sick. So sick, in fact, that he is unable to pick up a pen, the letter we received having been in the delicate script of one Lady Godalming. Margaret fears that it is the scarlet fever or, God forbid, consumption! As we are set to arrive at the residence he’s taken refuge in, I feel my dearest’s fear reach its peak.

It’s true, Robert and I have always butted heads and could never seem to find any common ground, other than our shared love of Margaret of course, but that would never mean that I wish ill upon the man! She has confided in me that she constantly fears for her brother, his reckless and utterly ruinous nature a permanent weight upon her shoulders.

Never let it be said that I despise this man, but I will admit here that I hold a touch of resentment for the sheer amount of gray hairs he has been the cause of. He’s more akin to a third, incredibly unreasonable and stubborn child than he is another adult. I know he means no harm, but that doesn’t mean that reason cools my anger.

For Margaret’s sake I will remain civil, so help him if he wasn’t sick!

Journal entry by Elizabeth Holmwood, dated December 15th.

Robert’s sister, and her family, have arrived. Their first concern was seeing the ailing man, so I was given time to usher our less than fully alive companions into the attic. Samson has taken the toll of this arrangement the most, but an agreement has been rewatched between him and the sisters. It’s a rather childish solution, but I’ve found that despite their life span or apperence, both Samson and the sisters are of a childish mind. One half of the attic is designated to Samson and Lucy, whilst the other half belongs to the sisters. They’ve even managed to set up a curtain dividing the room further. Besides, the sisters are far to weak from their sickness to be much of an issue.

It’s been so difficult to lie to our guests, particularly my dear Justine! They only mean well, and in any other situation I would be more than grateful for their assistance, but this is a particularly queer case. Who knows how any of them may react to the existence of those who’ve returned from the grave? To vampyres and ghouls? If I weren’t living it, I doubt I’d even believe it!

I’ve taken extra precautions to assure the safety of all in the house. So far, none have noticed the lack of servants or that the foundation creaks far too frequently to be the wind, or the house settling.

Quincy, Arthur, Jack, and Van Helsing have taken the roles of entertainers, allowing Henry and I to take care of our corresponding supernatural responsibilities. Samson often watches, and a horribly sad expression adorns his face as he silently observes our ministrations. He, being the only well resident of the attic, is in charge of acquiring all necessities when possible. For his dorm mates, they need far more blood than before. He’s become a rather skilled hunter of deer, though he suffers to take a life. It’s up to us during the night to drain the animals, and utilize the rest. We have been eating much venison as of late.

Dealing with the children, Charlotte and Thomas, is something Justine and I are much more accustomed to. My heart bleeds to see little William and Ernest again, but not until their brother is returned and safe. Margaret seems much obliged that we have gone out of our way to care for her babes whilst she cares for her brother. Francis has tried to be of some assistance, bless his soul, but it is quite obvious that he is used to working a more traditional masculine job as compared to nursemaid. Still, he tries, and that in it of itself is a wonderful thing.

We’re making do so far, but I fear it is only a matter of time before our guests find out who all resides in this estate.

End entry.

Page from the diary of Francis Saville.

Dec. 28

Margaret woke me tonight, horribly shaken and crying over what she described as a demon with glowing eyes, just outside the estate. I have never known her to be the hysterical type, but she is horribly restless on stormy nights. From anyone else I would have dismissed it as a trick of the mind, the exhausted imagination, but this was from Margaret, and I have never seen her in such a state before. The Texan has a revolver that he leaves in the parlor at night. I took hold of it, as well as a lantern, and did a search of the surroundings. I almost went back inside when I heard what could only have been footsteps from behind me. I turned around and quickly realized what had horrified my beloved so.

Scaling the wall of the estate, I witnessed a being in the shape of a man, but far too large to be human. It was clad in a fur cloak, and moved up the side of the house in a fluid and swift motion, so that it caused me to feel ill. It was only when a flash of lighting struck that I saw the true aspect of this beast's monstrosity.

Sinewy hands grabbed to the next imperceptible notch in the wall, veins and musculature visible despite the distance. It turned its head to glare at me, and its face was of the utmost horror. Black lips pulled back to reveal pale teeth, the skin around it wrinkling like one would imagine a mummy’s might. Each feature was placed perfectly, but hideous seams lined each one. Worst of all, the eyes that my poor Margaret had to see. Wet and pale, seemingly glowing in the low light, horribly empty to the point of looking dead. Good God, it truly was a demon!

I set down the lantern and steadied my aim before shooting it square in the arm it was using to hold its weight. The howl it released upon being struck nearly made me faint. It began to fall before catching itself with the other arm. It tore open a window with its injured limb, and climbed into the house. The terror I felt once I realized the window belonged to the room where my children slept was immeasurable.

I ran back into the house and raced up the stairs, throwing the door open to see the form of the beast watching my babies where they slept with those hungry, hollow eyes. I could hear the other residents of the estate awaken and come to see what was happening. The first to arrive was poor Justine, who screamed when she saw the goliath in the room. It rushed past us, and I fired another shot. It hit the creature, and it groaned once again in pain, but continued its course to the attic. By now, the doctors were with us, and I could’ve sworn I heard the younger one swear.

I attempted to give chase once more, but Elizabeth had arrived by then, and somehow managed to wrestle the gun from my hands, and threw it to the older doctor, who fumbled with it but soon placed it into his pocket.
“My good woman, what is the meaning of this?” I asked, watching the thing slip into the attic and heard the hatch lock.

“I believe we are all far too tired to reasonably justify shooting at shadows and figments of our imaginations.” She said, her fear quite visible in both her voice and stance.

“M’lady, that was no shadow!” Justine rushed for her, tears in her pale green eyes, her large frame trembling horribly. Elizabeth, as if on instinct, held the woman closer to her chest, as the poor thing sobbed.

“One night's rest! That is all I beg you to have, and I will explain everything in the morning after we are all fully aware and rational. This is all I ask!” She said, hand coming up to run her fingers through Justine’s hair in a soothing manner. By now, I could hear my Charlotte crying, and I was far more desperate to comfort her than chase the monster that had holed itself up. It was with great irritation that I agreed. When we dispersed, I could see her gently speaking to Justine, but couldn’t make out a word of what was said.

My children are now safe with me and Margaret, and though we have convinced them that it was merely a nightmare, neither of us shall be getting any sleep. I’m beginning to fear that Elizabeth isn’t as kind nor innocent as she appears. And what's worse, what this means for Robert, and all others who are ailing in this horror house. I’ve written thus, as to prove my own sanity for whatever may await me tomorrow.

Journal entry by John Seward, dated December 29th.

Successfully removed bullet from patient’s arm, as well as another from what seems to be a previous incident. Other procedure performed was fixing dislocated shoulder, that I assume was from the great fall described in Jonathan’s journal. Patient was calm and gentle throughout entire process, and is now resting.

In other news, fever has broken on every patient, and all seem to be heading towards a swift recovery, aside from Renfield, who has multiple surgeries to recover from.

Until then, we have to explain everything to Mr. and Mrs. Saville, as well as Justine. Wonderful.

End entry.

Journal entry by Jonathan Harker, dated December 29th.

A horrible misunderstanding has occurred between my dear Samson and our guests. Though I am not well enough to get up, I am well enough to speak, and God may strike me where I lay if I don’t defend he who saved my life!

It was decided that the discussion would happen over breakfast, and that Arthur, Henry, and Quincy would help us ailing get down to the table. It was horribly embarrassing to be carried down the stairs like a newlywed, but this just goes to prove how kind and loyal our friends are. In an interesting turn of events, Jack offered to be the one to carry Robert down, as to help spare one of them an extra trip. Jack’s face was red and he was sweating with exertion, but he got Robert down with no incident, and was thanked thoroughly by the man. Renfield didn’t join s, as he was far too tired still. Not to mention the sight of his bandaged face might have caused greater misunderstanding. I distinctly remember hearing the sisters shout “Carry us, Henry!” Before a large thud. Despite the horrible circumstance, I laughed. Mina did as well. Such a wonderful sound to hear after so long.

With each person carried down the stairs, Margaret’s eyes got softer, while Francis only seemed to harden himself further. Both were startled by the appearance of the sisters and Lucy, an undisguisable fear on their faces. It was only mitigated slightly by Lucy’s sweet, if a little rudimentary, words to Elizabeth who was in the kitchen with Justine, and by the sisters' infantile pestering of Henry.

“Will that thing be joining us?” Francis asked,his tone immediately igniting a rage within me. Mina pressed my hand and I composed myself before replying.

“Samson will not be with us today, as he is currently recovering from a gunshot wound.” I admit, it was still riddled with spite, but I couldn’t entirely contain my anger at such clear disrespect. Regardless, Elizabeth and Justine brought out the food and the wretched morning commenced.

Justine herself was much more relaxed around Lucy and the sisters than the others, so I can only assume that Elizabeth had explained everything to her last night. It’s perfectly reasonable to me, as the two are quite close from what I’ve heard and seen of them.

The Saville’s listened intently to our joint explanation. The dark origins of both Samson and Lucy, the situation with the sisters, our hopes to save Elizabeth’s cousin, and our mission to kill Dracula. With each talking point they became more shocked than the last. Margaret was moved by the admission by her brother of the validity of these events, though I can’t say the same for Francis. When we were done we sat in silence, waiting for their response. It seemed as if hours had passed.

Before they could, however, the distinct squeals of children sounded from above. Margaret quickly shoved away from the table and ran towards the sound, and her husband quickly followed suit. I suppose that panic cares not for sickness, as I staggered after them, adrenaline masked the immediate queasiness I felt.

When I reached the room, I had expected to see a horrible scene. Instead, I found the two parents frozen outside the door. Inside, true to my fears, was Samson, with his back to us. In front of him was the window, which he had accidentally broken the night before. However, everything was happening very differently than I imagined. Instead of cowering away, the girl was hanging onto Samson’s good arm, while the boy was clinging to one of his legs. They screamed with delight as he maneuvered with their tiny forms attached to him to fix the window. He could even be heard telling them to be careful as he was delicately hammering nails into the windowsill.

I nearly fainted with relief, only being able to catch myself by hanging onto the wall. Margaret turned to look at me, and spoke with tears in her eyes.

“We’ll help you.”

End entry.

December 30
Subject: 002, 003, 004
Doctor: A. Frankenstein
08

We’re home, and I can begin the construction of our child, as well as finally finish my previous experiments. I will need to find fitting names for all of them, as I am not yet so callous as to call the very beings that came from my hands by numbers.

Despite all my wanting, however, a part of me feels horribly remorseful. If I could remember any reason why, I feel as if I might be as free as a bird.

Ah, yes, the ravens!

Since we’ve arrived I’ve been given a room with a large balcony, already furnished. I’ve since found that an abundance of ravens flock to me, sometimes when I only wish that they would come! They are absolutely delightful creatures, and bring much life to this castle, or as much as allowed.

The master has expressed a sense of pride in this development, and has informed me that it’s a certain connection that we have to night faring creatures. Whatever the matter, I am much enthused about finally being home.

End recording.

Chapter Text

Journal entry by Eve, dated March 1st.

Today I chose between a red gown and a green gown. Before, I would have no preference between the two, the option to choose, nor the inclination to note this truly unremarkable event.

However, a number of factors have formed, when I’m not quite privy to, but they did. I find now, that I prefer the soothing earthy tones of the emerald dress than those of the crimson one. That Henry has gone out of his way in these past few months to supply my sisters and I with garments which we might derive pleasure from. That I’m finding wonder in the blissfully mundane and domestic, where I used to only find exhalation in the thrill of the hunt.

With Dr. Seward keeping a constant schedule and supply of a variety of bloods, the hunt is no more. We take our meals with the rest of our unlikely companions, and though they pale at the reminder of what it is we are taking from our soup bowls, I find that Henry’s warmth and Elizabeth’s democracy have formed what I would hesitantly call a truce between us and the others.

My sisters are more vibrant these days, a spark in their eyes that I haven’t seen in them since they lived. I’ve been informed that I have a similar look about me.

Even Samson has begun to greet us quietly, and doesn’t flinch when we appear from the shadows.

It is now I confess, I feel a terrible ache within my core, and a sickening feeling in my breast. This is why we were denied intercorse and freedom for the past milenia. All it took to unravel the tightly bound coils of desperation and bloodlust was but two months surrounded by the merry, by the tender, by the living.

I hate to say, we are becoming human again. Delilah, who was once so cruel as to tend the flesh from her pleading victim, all so she can bring upon more suffering with each moment, that being who knew no tenderness, played a child’s trick on Seward. She waited behind a bookshelf for when he would return from his daily examination of Renfield, and when he did show, she merely stepped out with a hiss, and caused him to jump.

Mary, who would wait till one gave up dignity and respect, then would wait some more, before she inflicted a single wound just for the fun of it, sang and danced yesterday. She had no audience, no goal. Just mindless expression of the self.

And what of I? I, who lead each attack, who plan every broken bone, who caused grief in the breasts of mothers and children alike, I sat and chose a dress I preferred.

What manner of metamorphosis, of complete and utter transformation, this whole ordeal is, I cannot it truth say.

I look at my sisters, and I see joy, real, genuine, pure joy. For years the master spoke to us words of love, but it is only now that I truly see what love is.

Love is a green gown, given to you with a smile and a hope for a better future.

I find I have been crying more as of late.

I find that I’ve been feeling more, as of late.

End entry.

Journal entry by John Seward, dated March 5th.

It is my medical opinion that Renfield has made a full physical recovery, and as such, we are now able to once again head for Romania. Arthur has already procured the tickets, and we are set to leave on the seventh!

We have consulted Justine, Francis, and Margaret what they would prefer to do, as they arrived to such event’s much later due to their unforeseen involvement. Justine has made it clear that she must stay and care for the other Frankenstein’s, and Francis too was concerned with the well-being of his children. It is this that they will be staying behind, with Francis taking care of Elizabeth’s estate, whilst Margaret joins us.

More hypnosis is to be performed on Mina so that we may be as prepared as possible. Samson and Jonathan have gone to crafting wooden stakes, as per Elizabeth’s instructions. Lucy is in charge of gathering the provisions needed for such a trip, while Quincy and Robert are informing Renfield of all he missed. Finally, Henry is in charge of wrangling the sisters.

Though queer, and completely impractical, I find that my spirit’s are of a lighter constitution than the last time we prepared for this journey. Perhaps it is because of the unusual splendor of the environment, or that we’ve had two months to settle down and strategize. Regardless, it is much easier to imagine facing against what can only be described as pure evil when you come from such a lofty perspective.

I still lament the lack of my phonograph, though. Oh well, the necessary sacrifices, I suppose.

End entry.

Journal entry by Margaret Saville, dated March 5th.

It seems despite my best attempts, I will have to leave my beloved and our children behind for the sake of my brother. I can’t bear the thought of putting them in harm's way, and I know I am much more suited to this task than Francis is. He is a good, brave man, but he is of a sensitive nature, and not particularly strong. It is far too easy to imagine something happening to him, or God forbid the children! No, I must make this journey without them. I know well that I cannot rest till all my family is safe, and if something were to happen to Robert that I could have prevented, I would never find the will to forgive myself.

This was always my fate, I think. It’s who I am.

End entry.

March 07
Subject: 050
Doctor: A. Frankenstein
274

After much trial and error, I have created my finest child yet. Only the finest of parts, the best that I could afford! A powerful frame, the strongest bones I could find, each vein delicately placed and secured by my own hand. With lustrous hair that I have taken great pains to keep soft and clean, and the brightest eyes I could cultivate.

I have decided on calling her Lilith, and she is my crowning achievement. With her wakening, so too will the others rise. The master has expressed great interest in waking them soon, and I couldn’t agree more. They won’t have the full cognitive ability as a normal human might, that was specifically requested of me by the master, but they will more than make up for it with their obedience and strength!

End recording.

Chapter Text

Journal entry by Jonathan Harker, dated March 20th.

A little over halfway to the Count’s castle. Despite how high everyone’s spirits were at our departure, a horrible gloom now rears its ugly face as what was once only idealization swiftly becomes reality.

We have the advantage of numbers, I think, but I can’t be sure as Dracula holds that horrible power to control the mind. I shudder to imagine causing harm to those incapable of acting of their own volition.

Mina has noted a certain shift in both Samson and me. I suppose it can’t be helped. We’re returning to the very place where all this misery was born. I can’t imagine a world in which we wouldn’t become so cold. However, I find that the reactions of the sisters is far more telling.

They lived with the man, if that he may be called, for centuries, as compared to the few months Samson and I barely survived. To be honest, I’ve found their behavior since arriving in Geneva to be queer. They don’t seem as if different people, but rather more complete. Like if I had only seen one magnified aspect of them. The worst aspect. Regardless, as we grow closer to what could very well be our foolish demise, they seem to have gone silent. They watch the passing landscape with such passion that it’s rather unsettling. Thrice I’ve heard one mutter in some incomprehensible way, speaking in a language thousands of years dead.

Henry says they’re remembering. Not just what they used to be like, but flashes from before Dracula had gotten to them. Glimpses of going to meet him.

More than that, I’ve seen them reach for their crosses out of a long since dead habit, before recoiling with a shriek of agony. I’m unsure how to feel, as though it is a horrible thing, I wish for them to suffer for what they did to Samson.

Speaking of, Samson has made a cross for both Margaret and Renfield. Renfield, or Raymond, has improved rapidly since the gift was bestowed upon him, far more lucid and rational than what I’ve seen of him so far. Dracula preys on the vulnerable, so I suppose it makes much sense that his influence would only exacerbate pre existing weaknesses. I think we’re all relieved to see that with proper protection from his control, a man can be restored to his previous state.

Robert has taken to watching over him in case of any fits, as he is quite strong and well equipped mentally.

We’ve all been given certain provisions by Van Helsing. Stakes, dried rose petals, garlic cloves, and small nails of pure iron to form a cross with in case of emergency. I imagine we must be the most unusual, and most pungent, passengers the Orient has seen thus far.

End entry.

Journal entry by Eve, dated March 25th.

Memory is such a fickle thing, truly. I was under the impression that what was lost is lost, and any hopes of it returning were foolish. And yet, here it is.

I wasn’t on a train, those hadn’t been invented yet. I don’t think the land was even known as Transylvania then. No, I was on horseback, with naught but a few servants to help me with my things, on my way to be wed to foreign prince. I don’t think he was long dead when I first met him. He still had a certain flush about him, and he was clumsy in his reasons to keep me from returning after the ceremony. Regardless, the result was the same. I was his first bride, both living and dead. He was very young then, I believe, though still older than me. I remember finding him charming.

Of course, I was there for the birth of my sisters. Mary, she was under a similar arrangement as I, though it was for less ‘romantic’ purposes. The ambassador of a dying land, she needed to get support for her people. She was gone within the week.

Of Delilah, her demise was particularly tragic. A poor refugee of a war I was not privy to, unfortunate enough to come across the wrong town, the wrong castle, the wrong man. All she asked was something to eat, and a place to stay for a night. She traded a living hunger for an undying thirst.

These past months have felt more full than any eternity has offered me. What’s the point of existing if you find no nourishment from it? I am perfectly content with the possibility that I may die during this attack. I have something to die for.

Dracula has had our brother make an army, almost certainly, for that is who he is. He has unknowingly, however, made an army against him as well. He charmed me with stories of war and bloodlust. Glorious victory on a marred battlefield.

Let him relive his glory, then.

End entry.

March 27
Subject: 01-50
Doctor: A. Frankenstein
280
I am told that they will need to be able to fight by April. I didn’t make them to fight. I wasn’t told to. They will be strong, yes, stronger than any species before them, but only with time! By april, their seams will have barely scabbed over, and the Master expects them to be able to fight?!

And for what? He already sent out a sickness to those who would oppose us, it would have killed them all, or at least debilitated them so that they can’t follow us, as per my request. I’m far from fond of senseless killing. The crew of the ship that brought us here, yes they died, but not without reason! They were getting suspicious of me, of us! Had I not… intervened, we could both be staked through the heart right now, wasting away at the line between seas! They were a necessary sacrifice, and it’s not as if I made them suffer! Hell, I didn’t even drain from them to do it! And he expects me to send our, no, my creations, barely children in their own rights, to die?

Oh.

Oh no.

No, no, no, not now!

Why now?!

Argh, why am I so stupid?! Of course he wants them to die, he wanted damned soldiers! That’s all he wanted me for, why he didn’t kill me. He doesn’t care for or love me, he finds me useful, convenient. Why am I so, so stupid?!

I can’t stay here, I can’t let him get away with this. I-I need to disassemble everything before I go, as well.

He can’t know, no one can.

No one can know how I did this.

But, Lilith… she has to live. She won’t survive in her current state, but if I were to give her an intelligent brain like I originally planned… and the Master won’t become suspicious of my intention if I continue to work on her.

Yes, she will live.

She will live!

End recording.

Journal entry by Samson F. Harker, dated April 3rd.

The village was in far worse condition than last time we arrived. I distinctly noticed the thick scent of smoke, and a fine ash coating the houses and grounds. A few of the buildings that were once occupied now appear empty and in a poor state. It saddens me greatly, but there is nothing we can do about it just yet. For now, our concern is finding a base of operations, so to speak. At the very least we have secured a place to stay, familiar faces that cried with relief and joy when Jonathan and I showed up at their doorstep.

“Herr Englishman!” The woman exclaimed as she threw herself at him. Jonathan just barely caught her in time, returning her tearful embrace. She called for her husband, and invited us in. Indeed, both were shocked by both the size and contents of our party. Van Helsing and I acted as translators, and the couple were more than happy to harbor us. Though not the most comfortable solution, by clearing out a room and covering the floor in an assortment of quilts and pillows, we have made enough room for all of us.

We have a suspected few days before Dracula becomes aware of our presence. We are prepared for a full assault. Jonathan and I know the layout of the castle fairly well, along with he sisters who know it in a much more complete way. It will be a matter of locating him, preferably during the day, and killing him. However, he may have control of others like me which we might have to get through first. I don’t know how to feel about this possibility. Though in my darkest hour I had contemplated it, I have never taken a life before. It matters not whether said life was born or bestowed. I find I’m proof enough that it doesn’t matter where the origin of life comes from, but more so that it exists in any quantifiable amount. I can only hope that if we come to blows, we will be able to deal with them swiftly and as painlessly as possible.

End entry.

Journal entry by Eve, dated April 4th.

Despite my qualms with the group who held me captive, I will admit that they were quite merciful upon me and my sisters' capture. Once Mary expressed her discomfort at not being able to sleep due to the lack of our native soil, Henry went out and gathered a small sachetchel of earth from each of our boxes. Thinking on it, it was inevitable that we all would become so fond of him. How could anyone not? He reminds me of the poetry he talks so highly of. He likes nature, his voice becoming soft when he thinks of it. His smile akin to sunlight on my cheeks.

None of this to say that I am in love with him, of course! Only that I appreciate him and his chivalry greatly. Besides, if I were in love with him, I would have to fight with my sisters to have him, and I am smart enough to know that would never end well. Then again, there is always the possibility that we could share him, much like Elizabeth and Arthur share Lucy. But, again, I’m not in love with him, so these thoughts are irrelevant.

Regardless, this is all to say that I couldn’t sleep tonight, and that it’s not due to a lack of ability. When I rose, it was still dark. Funny, I’m holding human hours again. My sisters were peacefully wrapped around Henry’s form and covered in a quilt, so I went through great lengths as to not disturb them. When I made it downstairs, I found that a fire was set in the hearth, and in front of it was Samson. He looks better than when I first met him, but also more tired. His scars are lighter, any remaining sutures having been removed by Dr. Seward when he was shot. His hair has grown back, though not fully. It’s miraculous, honestly. I doubt if even he knew it would grow back. He doesn’t hide his face with it anymore. Even though it wasn’t tied back as he usually prefers it, it was tucked behind his ears. He’s easier to look at now, I think. Not because his countenance has actually improved, but rather because I know who’s behind that frightful appearance.

He barely flinched when he saw me, before moving over and motioning for me to join him. He asked if I was unable to sleep like he wasn’t, and the question was genuine. As he asked it, all I could think about was how he sounded when I tortured him with the cruelest of words and the sharpest of nails. How his flesh parted beneath my hand as I whispered nightmares enough to cause his whole body to shake with the force of his sobs. Even now I’m reminded by what I did, and who I did it to. Even now I can’t find it within me for forgive myself.

I asked him why he treated me with care. Why he worried for my sisters, why he catered to our needs. Feeling the band that connected to the cross against my clavicle, I asked why he would protect us. His answer made me hurt all the more, his eyes more full of life than any I’ve seen before.

“Why would I deny you base decency?” He said. He didn’t flinch when he found I had wrapped arms around him and had buried my face in his neck. He didn’t flinch when he held me.

He didn’t flinch when I cried out that I was sorry.

He didn’t flinch when he told me I had been forgiven since the moment he saw regret in my eyes.

Was this then the man that would die at the hands of Dracula? I can’t bear the thought, not now or ever again. I am determined to protect him at any cost. He who can console one who had caused him such harm, someone like that must be kept out of harm's way.

I really am too human to go back now.

Good.

End entry.

April 5
Subject: Lilith
Doctor: A. Frankenstein
001

Her ability for speech has improved rapidly since she was first revived. I’ve concluded that teaching her English will be the most beneficial to her development. Hopefully, I will have her taught enough so that we may leave on the tenth. As for my other creations, I’ve slowly been burning them so their origin is unable to be traced. Thus, I’ve also been requesting more firewood so as not to arouse suspicion.

In the meanwhile, I’ve been attempting to sew clothes for her in the meantime, with varying success. I understand anatomy, but apparently sewing patterns are a complete mystery to me. At least the library has enough books on the matter to guide me through. I fear I may soon have to sacrifice the curtains for the cause if I don’t produce a functional garment soon.

Currently, I’ve been collecting what will be useful for our escape. If all goes well, we will be able to find some scarcely inhabited town or village to reside in. I’ve yet to figure out how I’ll sustain myself in a humane manner, but that is unimportant. I’ll find some way to ensure a peaceful existence for us. I have to.

End recording.

April 7
Subject: Lilith
Doctor: A. Frankenstein
006

Disturbing development in Lilith. Today, I found her strangling one of the ravens that frequent my room. I tried desperately to get her to stop, but was unsuccessful. As of now, she seems unaware as to why what she did was wrong, and refuses to listen to me. I must have made some sort of mistake when giving her an intelligent mind. The way she looked when killing that poor creature was… animalistic, to say the least. I will continue to educate her, hopefully teach her what morals she needs. I admit though, I’m frightened by the possibility that she won’t take to them.

Gah, what am I saying? She is my perfect creation, and she is still developing. I’ll be able to work this out of her with enough effort.

End recording.

Chapter Text

April 9th
Subject: Lilith
Doctor: A. Frankenstein
008

Today's recording will be, ah, short. Last night, the Master discovered what I was doing. I’ve since been… persuaded to recommense the original plan. I shall wake the others, tend to Lilith, then rest, if possible.

End recording.

April 9th
Subject: Father’s stories
Doctor: Lilith
001

Everything is set, sir!

Ah, thank you. Which one did you want to hear today?

The one about the boy and the father with the wings and the sun, sir.

I see. Ahem.

Long ago in Ancient Greece, a man named Daedalus was trapped in a tower with his son, Icarus. The tower had no way in, and no way out. Daedalus knew this, as he was the one who designed it. Daedalus was an inventor, and a revolutionary one, too. He was devastated when his creation was used against him in such a manner. Even more so for his son, who was but a child when he was locked away in that tower.

Icarus grew into a young man, and Daedalus worked day and night to find a way out of the tower. The water surrounding them was too violent to boat on. Finally, he discovered a means of escape. He crafted two sets of wings for both him and his son. He presented them to Icarus and said
“Come, we shall-”

Could you do it with the voice, please?

Yes, I can do it with the voice. Ahem.
“Come, we shall fly far from here and to freedom, but take caution! These wings are made with wax and feathers. If you fly too close to the sun, it’s heat will melt the wax, and you will fall, and you will drown.”

Icarus was a good man, a good son. He told his father he would heed his warning. The next day, they donned the wings and took off from the roof of the tower.

Now, Icarus tried to listen to his fathers words, he did, but for the first time in his life he could feel the wind on his skin, hear the roar of the water around him, and see the endless expanse of the sky. It was then that he saw the sun for the first time, and he thought it so beautiful he cried.

He flew towards it, and the wax melted, and he fell, and he drowned. Daedalus could do nothing but watch as his only son died because of his disregard, but cry. He cried so much, and so hard, that the water rose and destroyed the tower he had been trapped in. It was only then that he could bring himself to leave. And he did, wishing Icarus had listened the entire way.

This story never has a happy ending…

Of course it doesn’t. If it did, we wouldn’t learn anything from it. If Icarus didn’t die, everyone would try to fly towards the sun.

There’s still something I don’t understand.

Yes?

Why were they stuck in the tower in the first place? Did they do something wrong?

Ah, well, that’s a different story, but the cylinder isn’t large enough for it-

I can replace the cylinder! Please, sir?

I suppose, if you’re so determined to do so.

Thank you, sir!

End recording.

April 9th
Subject: Father’s stories
Doctor: Lilith
002

Ready!

Alright, alright.

Long ago, in Ancient Greece, there lived a king named Minos. He asked for a god to send a bull, so that he may show it as being in said god's favor, before sacrificing it back to the god. However, once he saw the bull, he decided to keep it because of its beauty. Minos sacrificed one of his bulls instead, but the god knew. Out of rage, he made it so that Minos’ wife fell in love with the sacred bull.

What?! How is that possible?

The Greeks believed many things, now listen. The wife, with the unwilling help of Daedalus, managed to have a child with the bull, and it was called the Minotaur. That means the bull of Minos. Minos was furious, and this conceived of a way to hide the Minotaur. He had Daedalus construct an underground maze, of which the exit was only known to Daedalus. He put the Minotaur in when it was young, and every year he would send prisoners into the labyrinth to feed the Minotaur.

Oh!

Shocking, I know. Now one day a hero came and with the help of Minos’ daughter, he killed the Minotaur and escaped the labyrinth. However, Minos thought this would never happen, and that the Minotaur would live forever. As such, to prevent anyone from releasing it, he trapped the only person who knew how to get out, along with his son, in a tower with no exit.

That’s horrible! What could possibly be learned from that story?

That the world is unfair, I suppose.

Why did he trap the Minotaur? It was too young to do something wrong!

Minos trapped the Minotaur because it was a monster.

Why was it a monster?

Because it was unnatural, it wasn’t supposed to exist.

…does that make me a monster?

Well, the Minotaur was also a monster because it could only eat other people.

Like you do?

Ehh, not quite the same, but I suppose.

So if we could be considered monsters but we’re not, why is the Minotaur a monster?

Lilith, I’m sorry, but I’m too exhausted to discuss philosophy right now.

Philosophy?

The master is about to sleep, when he does you can go to the library and read about it.

Are you scared of the master?

Very.

When you went to talk to him tonight… Did he hurt you?

Badly.

Is the master a monster?

Yes.

…

Let’s not speak of this anymore, alright Lilith? I’m fine, really, just tired. When I wake up, I’ll tell you another story, a happy one, does that sound good?

Yes, sir.

Good.

Rest well, father.

Mhm.

End recording.

Journal entry by Mina Harker, dated April 10th.

Arthur has rented out two carriages. One has been designated for us afflicted, and we are to stay guard from a safe distance, lest Dracula exert that horrible power over us again. The other holds the rest, and they are planning on examining the castle for some sort of weak point tonight. Jonathan has assured me that they will retreat if it comes to be too perilous to continue, but I fear for his safety regardless. We have managed to arm ourselves suitably, but there is another cause for concern.

The sisters are very capable when it comes to physical combat, if Jonathan’s diary is anything to go off of, but with the crosses Samson made for them, they can’t move with the needed speed or force to actually deal damage. As such, Samson has since removed the crosses. I still don’t feel like we can trust them, and now the one form of security we had against them is gone. So far, they’ve made no signs of preparing to attack us, but I’m still on guard. They will get their crosses back when the men come back. They are only missing when it is necessary. To be honest, they seem more nervous without them. I think I understand, despite my dislike of them.

These crosses, they protect us, no matter how small the actual amount is, from that horrid Dracula. I doubt that’s different for them. While we are no longer safe from them, they are no longer safe from him. They will get their pendants back soon enough, I suppose, and then we will all feel much better. Until then, however, we shall sit in uneasy silence.

Journal entry by Mina Harker, dated April 10th.

Jonathan has returned and we have since left for the lovely couple’s home once more. Sadly, it seems the castle is highly fortified. The only way in is through the front door or the numerous windows. What’s more, he noted many figures moving jerkily against the low light emanating from the castle. It appears our worst fears were correct, and that Dracula’s terrible army has been risen. No signs of Dracula himself or of Frankenstein, though. We make our way back with much anxiety and trepidation.

End entry.

Journal entry by Margaret Saville, dated April 11th.

We have found an abandoned house and have built it into our makeshift headquarters. From what the couple housing us have said, the family that once lived there swiftly left once Dracula and his former wives were in England. Though it is minimal, we are still comforted by the fact that we haven’t taken a dead person’s home.

The sisters were more than willing to divulge the inner workings of the castle, as well all of it’s secret passages, hidden perhaps to even Dracula himself.

Robert has been busying himself by conferring with the Texan and Mr. Harker for how best to attack.

Meanwhile, the doctors are quite content to talk amongst themselves, muttering in low tones and looking over their shoulders every minute or so.

Elizabeth has been causing nearly every man to faint at any given moment with her choice of clothes, and the style seems to be catching on as Lucy and even Delilah have adopted her trouser wearing ways.

Samson is content to be alone, and I suppose I am too. I’m beginning to feel as if my accompanying of my brother was utterly pointless. To make up for this, I have taken to collecting firewood when everyone else is asleep. I hope to do so tomorrow morning as well.

Until then, I suppose.

End entry.

April 12
Subject: Lilith
Doctor: A. Frankenstein
010

Lilith, good, you’re awake.

I am, but what are you doing awake.

The master has gone to rest, he won’t follow you now.

I, father, you said we would leave together.

Please, don’t call me that. The plan has changed. Use this to hold any valuables you wish to take with you. I’ve already crafted to a rope to climb out with, but you’ll have to be quick.

Why aren’t you coming with me?

I can’t, the master hurt me, badly. I can’t follow you.

Then, I’ll carry you.

No, it’ll slow you down far too much. You must go now, and soon.

How did he hurt you? Sir, please, let me help you!

I said no, Lilith! I am okay with rotting here till I’m not more than dust, but you deserve better. Leave, leave now!

Father, please-!

I’m not your father, damn you! Get away from me, and get away from here, do you understand me?! I never want to see you again!

Father!

Leave!

End recording.

Journal entry by Margaret Saville, dated April 12th.

I found her outside when I was attempting to collect firewood. My eyes have become desensitized to the sight of something so horrific, but she stuck out to me greatly as she wasn’t one of the terrifying beings I was used to. She couldn’t have been, as she was too tall to be Lucy, and too blonde to be Samson.

When I called out to her, she turned to stare at me with bloodshot eyes. That, paired with their horribly jaundiced color made for a rather unpleasant sight, all things considered. She dropped the pillowcase she was holding to the ground, and it made a soft thudding noise as it hit the snowy ground. She then let out a hideous cry and charged towards me.

I was too scared to move when she tackled me to the ground, hee hands tightening around my throat. I am not ashamed to say I feared I would die then. However, she soon released her hold on me and collapsed into tears.

“He abandoned me.” She sobbed out, and I was reminded of my own dear Charlotte whenever she had a nightmare. I suppose it was a mixture of that and my lack of critical thinking skills because of the hour, but I attempted to soothe her.

She calmed, apologized profusely, and introduced herself as Lilith. I inquired about her origin, and she said she was seeking asylum from Dracula’s castle. I know, it was foolish, but once again, it was so very early, and my tired mind could only conjure up images of my own beloved children who I had to leave behind. Therefore, I brought her to our meeting place and made her a small portion of the rations I had placed aside for myself.

She was the most grateful creature I have ever seen, and despite our violent introduction, I found she had already endeared herself to my sleep deprived mind. She seems to be thoroughly against Dracula, and when I brought up our purpose for being here, she practically begged to be involved. I hope to introduce her to Samson and Lucy, or perhaps Jonathan, first, as I believe they will be the most accepting of her.

Apparently, what she was holding in her pillowcase were various sloppily made clothes, various wax cylinders wrapped in scraps of fabric, and what she calls a phonograph. I’ve heard of them before, but this was my first time seeing one. It was also my first time hearing the so important Frankenstein’s voice. Though it isn’t fair to judge the man considering I haven’t got all my facts straight as of yet, I still can’t bring myself to understand what my brother sees in this man.

Lilith is asleep now. I shall go back and soon return with my colleagues. Knowing them, along with the company they keep, I doubt they would be privy to cast her aside to the cruel wilderness, or worse, Dracula.

End entry.

Journal entry by Samson F. Harker, dated April 12th.

It seems my creator has not slowed down in his detestable mission. Yet another poor being left to the world because of his wicked designs. I suppose this serves our purposes well, though, as we have gained another ally in this fight. But first, I must detail how this came to be.

It was early when Margaret woke me. She brought me, and me alone, to our secondary abode. My shock at seeing another wholly, truly, like myself was immense. Margaret explained to me how she found the being wandering through the woods, and then when she called out to it, the creature rushed forward and engulfed her in tears. I get the distinct feeling that Margaret left out numerous key events, as evidenced by the bruising around her neck, but she was adamant that the being be allowed to stay with us.

I am of an undecided mind as of now, but she has risen and has expressed a deep hatred of he who we shall soon face, so there is little reason for me to detest her joining us. If nothing else, Seward will be glad to see his hospital’s missing phonograph has returned to him.

End entry.

Journal entry by Jonathan Harker, dated April 12th.

At this rate, I swear I wouldn’t even check again if I saw a three meter tall man walking around the streets of England! Another has joined our party, Lilith, and she is quite different than our other resident giant.

As compared to when I first met my dear Samson, she is a bundle of energy and curiosity. Her English is good, but quite rudimentary. The way she phrases certain things reminds me of how a child might try to describe an object they don’t have the words for. She seems particularly enthused at the sheer amount of people around her. It has been a challenge to keep her at bay, and she has already nearly made a hole in the wall. Thank goodness it was in the hideout, and not that good couple’s home!

Samson is once again at work to make another cross, while Mina and I attempt to amend the horrible stitching in the few garments she brought with her. Seward nearly sobbed with joy when he saw that the missing phonograph was also on her person. And poor Henry! He just seems to attract unusual women, as Lilith has taken a great liking to him as well! The sisters have done a fairly decent job of keeping her at bay, and over all the scene is one quite comedic.

She has done much to raise, if not our morale, then the general energy of our little group. We hope to attack on the fifthteenth, and with every passing moment I find that I’m less haunted by the possibility that we won’t succeed. That seems like an impossibility to be quite honest.

We will win. I am sure of it.

End entry.

Journal entry by Eve, dated April 13th.

Lilith. Another name for the first woman to walk upon this earth. The original temptress. Yet, in these recordings, our brother doesn’t say it with pride or malice. It’s said with love. Exhausted, yes, sometimes even with a hint of disdain, but never without care or affection. Samson didn’t seem too enthused when he heard the recordings. He refuses to indulge me, or even his beloved Jonathan, as to why. Though, knowing what I know, it’s not hard to piece together. Our brother, he wasn’t always so used to the horrors of being undead, of witnessing the undead daily. He wasn’t always so lonely that he would cling to any who would tolerate him. He wasn’t always so complacent. Jonathan said he found Samson alone in the woods. Henry says he found our brother in a horrible condition.

History repeats itself, and he once more is too sick and too scared to care for his children. What a pathetic life he is leading.

Lilith is quite the opposite of Samson, so very loud. I should like her to be quiet, but even in her sleep she murmurs. You can see Samson in her, though. In the way she’s constructed, in the way she moves. Jerkily, one muscle before the other, a dreadful chain of action. They are undoubtedly cut of the same cloth. Lilith is overjoyed to know she has kin who is intelligent and well spoken. Samson, however, isn’t quite as open about how he feels.

I wouldn’t be so happy if I found one of my sisters was far more loved than I, either, I suppose.

I haven’t confronted him about it, as I know him by now. Though far more social and calm around others, particularly Jonathan and Mina, he still finds solace in isolation. Who am I to take that from him? I’ve taken enough as is. Therefore, I’ve opted to give him his space. It’s the least I can do.

Besides, I’ve got my hands full keeping Lilith away from my Henry. I swear, I may have to marry him just to get the message through her head. Not that I plan to, obviously. I am unable to enter churches.

End entry.

Journal entry by Mina Harker, dated April 13th.

Tonight, Samson crept cautiously into the room where Jonathan and I had been sleeping. For now, we have taken residence in our meeting house, as the addition of Lilith would be too much for that dear old couple. Many preferred to continue sleeping together still, and I don’t blame them, as there is a certain sense of safety and community when in such an arrangement, but Jonathan and I wanted to be alone together for one night. Thus, we had our own room. Anyways, Samson snuck in very quietly. This, I also understand, as this was the first night he had spent without us. He didn’t attempt to disturb us, just stood there. I believe he thought both of us asleep. Jonathan was, I know so because he breathed much calmer than he does when awake. But I was awake, mind too active to rest.

“Do you ,too, my saviors, care for her more than you care for I?” He whispered, and I heard the tears in his voice, before leaving and closing the door. The selfish part of me that just wanted to be with Jonathan urged me to go back to sleep as if I had heard nothing. That part of me, though, is not one that I ever wish to indulge, for it only started rearing its wicked face after that awful night. It is not my voice that sounds in my mind when it speaks, but his. And I shall never listen to him, so long as I can help it.

I slipped out of bed and followed to the end of the hall, where a window looked out towards Dracula’s wretched castle. One might miss the way he trembled if they only looked at his massive form, and not the soul within. One might ignore the soft way his breaths quivered if they only saw the face that contorted in a horrible fashion with each sob. He is horrible to behold, it’s true, but each day I mind it less and less, for the man within is truly beautiful.

“Do you think we would care for a stranger more than you?” I asked, and even though my voice was as soft as it could be, he still flinched.

“My creator seems to do so, I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t.” And all at once, the truth that dare not be spoken was out in the air and whirling around us. Samson wasn’t wanted, at least not by his maker, and he had borne that truth his entire life.
“What’s wrong with me?” He said, more so asking himself rather than me. I approached him, and as he turned to look at me, I saw how the tears poured from his eyes, seemingly endless. Those haunting, horrible, terrified eyes. They seemed to glow in the low light, and I was acutely aware of how if I was a different woman, I would have been afraid.

“Why was I made wrong?”

I helped him down to his knees and held him to my chest. His hair was much longer than it was when I first met him, and it took stretching my arm out to its full length to run my fingers through it. This was the first time in months he had let it cover his face, and I couldn’t bear to see him hide like that.

Jonathan knew him before me, but to say that he cared for Samson more than I would be to lie. Within the depths of my soul, I feel a most profound affection for him. Jonathan has often referred to him in his journal as ‘My Samson’. It was at that moment that I understood why he did so, for I too have come to think of him as my Samson. My beloved Samson, who has weathered hatred and vitriol for years on end and still remained so tender, so kind. My beloved Samson, who desperately wished to please me at any moment. My beloved Samson, who didn’t hesitate to cry before me, as other men might.

I brushed his hair back and tucked it behind his ears, before kissing his forehead and whispering every word of comfort I could think up.

You were never made wrong. You didn’t deserve to be abandoned. You aren’t worthless. You are loved. I said these all, and more, and held him closer with each word. At some point language becomes infuriating, as it can’t convey all that you feel. Because each word is more ill fitting than the last, and you wish you could share a mind with someone so every time you think ‘I love you, I love you, I love you’, they hear it and think it and live it.

My affection for him is an ocean, but I can only show him a measly drop as compensation for all his suffering, physical and internal. What I could do was lead him back to me and Jonathan’s room, wake my husband, and have us both hold him until his tears died and his chest rose and fell slowly. I was never one to guard my heart, but Samson has become to me as dear as Jonathan is, and that is a frightful feeling. To know that someone has become an extension of yourself. To know that you knowingly allowed them to do so. To know that you would hate for them to be anything else. I wouldn’t trade it for all the riches in the world, I think.

End entry.

Chapter Text

Journal entry by Robert Walton, dated April 14th.

We shall attack the castle tomorrow. We have prepared suitably, Quincy, Renfeild, and I being the ones to lead our charge into the castle, we being the strongest of our group. Samson and Lilith will be on either side of us, their job being more so to help us make our way through the various other beings that Dracula has commissioned than anything else. Jonathan, Arthur, Henry, and Seward have elected to surround the women for safety. Margaret, stubborn as ever, refused to be coddled, so she has taken to bringing up the end of our cavalry, alongside Van Helsing. Van Helsing has procured a crossbow, from where I haven’t a clue. It looks too embellished to be from the village, so I can only assume he brought it with him from Europe. Never let it be said that the man is unprepared, I suppose! Margaret managed to find herself a rather sturdy shotgun, a gift from one of the residents. If I recall correctly, it’s been years since she’s gone hunting, so I don’t know how sharp her aim is, but given that it’s my sister, I can only assume that it is rather good if she’s so confident in taking this role.

We’ve taken to wearing our darkest garments for the invasion, as even though we will strike in the day, Jonathan and Samson have told us that the interior of the castle is horribly dim, and the sisters have corroborated their recollection. Another addition to this peculiar little uniform we shall all be wearing is that the women will all be wearing trousers. Seward almost protested the idea, and I could see Arthur blush though he was across the room. Ultimately, everyone agreed that dresses, of any length or cut, were far too impractical for what we are to attempt.

Other precautions involve everyone wearing a cross at all times, aside from the sisters. This will be the only time that they are to be without their crosses, as we need their speed and strength desperately. We all have been armed with wooden stakes. Samson and Lilith have also started to collect spikes from old wrought iron gates to use as pikes. Jonathan has his kukri knife, Quincy his revolver. Margaret has added the hatchet she used to harvest wood to her arsenal. Renfield and I have elected to use our bare hands. Elizabeth has a set of scissors, which I don’t know if they would do much on their own, but given the fire in her eyes, I wouldn’t care to be on their business end myself. The sisters have promised to collect a sword from the castle for Henry to use, as he was properly trained in that regard. Until then, he has elected to use a dagger that is never away from his person. Seward has loaded himself up with dried garlic, and I must be getting accustomed to its scent, as I barely noticed. Lucy has armed herself with a pistol, but I’m not sure she knows how to use it. Regardless, she has it.

I can’t imagine what we look like to anyone who’s not quite informed of our cause. God, I assume we look like vagabonds, or marauders! I look around and find nothing but furrowed brows, preparing themselves for the fight ahead. We leave tomorrow morning, as soon as the sun comes up. I doubt any of us shall sleep well, but Seward has informed us of his plans to administer a dosage of laudanum to us all, including himself, so we will sleep regardless.

I'm particularly concerned about Elizabeth. Her eyes have not calmed since we’ve gotten here. I can’t imagine what thoughts lay behind them.

End entry.

Journal entry by Elizabeth Holmwood, dated April 14th.

In a few hours, we shall storm the castle. There, we’ll kill Dracula and his peons. There, we’ll also find my cousin.

It’s been just shy of a year since I’ve seen Victor. Robert, Seward, even Raymond have seen him, but not me. I am told he most likely won’t remember me. In the few recordings of him I’ve heard, he doesn’t sound different. Just tired. I don't know how I’ll react to seeing him again. I know he had his reasons for running away. Hell, the reason he had for joining Dracula in the first place is just in the other room, spouting poetry and talking sweet words of the sea, for Christ’s sake! He had his reasons, and I know, and I understand, but I can’t dampen the pain I feel because he chose to do so. He left us. He left me! And for what? A stranger he barely knew?

I will never say this, and I will never let him read this, and I know that I don’t mean it, not truly. Regardless, I will write it here. I hate Robert Walton. I can’t describe how much I hate him in this moment. It’s too much to express, and though I wish no ill upon him, I will not say that I wish him well.

I hope Victor is able to come back.

He has to. He owes it to me.

End entry.

Journal entry by Eve, dated 14th.

Practicing being without my cross. Its weight around my neck is oppressive, and hangs over my head like a sharpened blade. Being without it more so. No shield to keep me from Dracula’s influence, even though he has severed all connection with me. It feels horrible, to be so exposed, yet freeing at the same time. I have to get someone else to remove it for me, as even touching the chain alone burns me horribly.

Dracula has cut his connection with us, but our brother doesn’t know how to. Therefore, we can still see through him. I doubt my sisters have figured this out yet. They don’t think as I do, not anymore. Mary only pesters Henry for poetry, while Delilah goads a sparring match out of any willing opponent when they have spare time. I don’t blame them, not at all.

Our brother is wounded, and badly. I’m not sure on the specifics, for even he avoids it, but I’m privy enough to know that he can barely leave his, our, room. I was lucky, or perhaps, unfortunate, enough to catch him at a moment when Dracula was present. Hearing his voice, it was awful. Too awful for words. He didn’t say anything that I haven't heard before. He’s like a strangler fig, isolating and spreading. None of us could escape his hold, not until we were cut from it. Our brother never had a chance. Still, he fought valiantly. Got away for some time. Defied Dracula again and again. But even iron rusts and falters. He is tired and weak, and Dracula never leaves a weak target unscathed. He will be consumed swiftly if we don’t act soon.

End entry.

Journal entry by Jonathan Harker, dated April 15th.

The dawn has struck, and we are well on our way to Dracula’s castle. We were blessed by the villagers, and have even been given horses and wagons, so we don’t expend too much energy on our way there.

I will most likely not write until long after the fact. I am frightened more so by the idea that I may not write again at all. If this be the case, let it be known that I love Mina with my whole heart, cherish Samson for all he’s worth, and am eternally thankful to those who’ve joined me in this borderline suicidal endeavor. I care for you all dearly, and shall pray for you in my final moments if it comes down to it. God bless you all, and may we be victorious.

End entry.

Chapter Text

Jonathan Harker, on April 15th, dated June 21st.

The castle loomed more than I remembered. It was darker, too. I could see Samson tremble slightly as we approached. Lilith burst into the castle with little hesitation, using only her hands to do so. I was stunned to say the least, but regained my composure swiftly. We didn’t have time to waste.

Dracula wouldn’t be a problem, at least, we hoped. If we were lucky, he would be in his tomb. Regardless, we were informed of the current threat very soon after, the sound of inarticulate voices and clattering of furniture from above a clear indication of Dracula’s unholy army.

“We’ll stall them while you get Henry’s sword.” Delilah said, taking Mary’s hand in hers. Eve nodded and I watched as she and her sisters faded away into a silver mist.

“Where is Victor being held?” Raymond asked Lilith, who was currently having her hand assessed by Jack.
“The left wing, third layer. I don’t remember which room exactly, but it’s one of them.” She said, the later part of her sentence trailing off.

Eve returned and armed Henry before we started towards where the growing commotion was emanating from, having decided that a small group would go out in search for Victor after we finished dealing with the beings he’d made. Lilith said they weren’t intelligent like her. Mindless things, more like insects than people, and most likely under the control of Dracula himself, like I had seen him do with the poor villagers last time I had been here. Regardless, my heart sickened at the idea of killing those who looked so much like my Samson. We made our way up the grand staircase and found ourselves witness to a most grotesque sight.

The bodies hadn’t been put together as carefully as Samson or Lilith had, and they clearly hadn’t been cared for to accommodate for it. It wasn’t noticeable before, but it was now that I recognized the distinctive smell of rot. Their skin dragged and ripped, their teeth fell out, and their eyes rolled around in their sockets unnaturally. The muscle was visible, quite literally, flesh torn open and revealing fibrous strands. Their jaws hung limp, and their gums and youngest were black. Many were infested, maggots writhing in and around them. The way they moved, not as individuals, but as one heaving mass was more than I could take. I still gag at the memory. How I managed to keep the contents of my stomach in place is a mystery.

In the center of that festering horde were Mary and Delilah, hissing violently at the oncoming force, tearing the ones who got too close to fine, bloody ribbons with their nails.

Samson was the first to move, rushing forward with inhuman speed and tearing a particularly persistent creature from Mary. He threw it to the side and I heard a shot go off and Quincy fired his revolver at it. He was a clean shot, and had hit the head, killing it instantly.

“Aim only for the heart or in between the eyes. Anywhere else, and we can take it.” Samson shouted, and my heart twinged at the word we. He was nothing like these creatures, nothing.

It didn’t take long for an all out brawl to begin, bullets and arrows flying as claws and blades swung. Robert and Raymond looked the most like actual brawlers, fists swinging with the full force of their strength behind them. More than once, Robert pulled one of those awful creatures off of me. Jack kept on tending to Mina, who held her head in pain often. She was the only one without a proper weapon, a dagger being her only means of arming herself, though I had taken much care to protect her. It was Margaret who had taken out the last of them, the sound of her shotgun ringing in the resulting silence.

We took a break, Jack checking all of us for any injuries that would prevent us from fighting. When he decided we were all in agreeable shape, we split up. Elizabeth, Samson, Raymond, Jack and Robert decided they would be the ones to search for Victor. The rest of us would go in search of Dracula. Jack demanded a final once over before letting anyone leave. As he was leaving, acting as a guard for those he was with, I had the horrible feeling that this would be the last time I would see Samson.

Without thinking I ran towards him, pulled him down to face me, and kissed his forehead.

“Return to me.” I said. I noticed distantly that he flushed softly before nodding his head. I held his hand, pressed a final kiss to the palm, before letting go and rejoining my group. Mina held my shoulder gently and it was only as she was comforting me did I realize I was crying.

We left soon after, Eve guiding us through the rooms. We soon found that we had killed only a small fraction of the creatures that Dracula controlled a few moments prior, and that he had more stationed throughout the entirety of the castle. During a particularly violent struggle with one of these creatures Quincy had his arm broken. We didn’t even realize until Van Helsing checked on us all a few rooms after. He was promptly put into a sling and placed in the middle with Mina and Lucy. It was down to Margaret and Van Helsing to take care of shooting whatever came for us next.

Even with guides, we didn’t know exactly where to go. If we had been able to catch him in England, or while he was out at sea, he would have been confined to one of his odious boxes. Now, we were in his territory. This was his homeland, and he could lurk wherever he wanted. We were all on guard, save for perhaps Lilith, who went about the place with an air of pure destructive joy.

I now know that I am grateful for her having joined us, as I would’ve hated to be on the receiving end of her makeshift pike. She is horribly fearsome, and she strikes a certain fear into me that Samson never did. If she were to have been loyal to Dracula, I doubt our mission would have had any chance at all. She could have easily torn us apart, and she’d be utterly joyous as she did. She had no reservations about killing it seems, not like we did. When we finally reached where Dracula was to be, she was covered in a heinous amount of gore, and it was difficult to look at her. Margaret was the only one who would get close to her, calming her down from her bloodlust.

It was a familiar scene, the courtyard where Samson and I had fought those who were currently leading us. It was a rushed job, Dracula’s return. There was still upturned earth around the tomb which had his name engraved on it. He had done some renovations, as that tomb wasn’t there last time. It made sense. He knew we were coming eventually, and that we didn’t know his castle. That we didn’t know he had an army. He knew we had his former wives prisoner, but he didn’t know that they would join us. He didn’t know Lilith would join us. He didn’t know just how despised he was.

The stone shrieked as I pushed the top of the tomb off with the help of Mina and Van Helsing. My emotions upon seeing him again were muddled. It felt so terribly like I’d done this before that I felt faint. I felt in my heart that I wouldn’t miss like I had last time.

The sisters held his unconscious form down, and Margaret had the barrel of her gun against his temple, her finger on the trigger. I held the stake, and though I trembled all over, my hands were still. It went through his chest with little resistance, and all he did was exhale softly, as if he were relieved. I had the feeling that something was terribly wrong, that it couldn’t have been that easy. It was moments later that I felt cold hands wrap around my throat and pull me away from everyone with unearthly strength.

“You wound me, Jonathan.” He said, but it wasn’t in his voice, and his lips didn’t move. How can I convey the utter horror I felt upon realizing that it was my own beloved who held me? I craned my head and found Mina’s chin on my shoulder, a sharp edged smile on her face, eyes a horrible and deep red. I knew it wasn’t Mina’s eyes I was looking into.

Lilith tried to move, but was restrained by the sisters. She would do more damage than Dracula ever could, and we all knew it. Henry took a step forward, hand on his sword, but froze just at the moment I felt a sharp coolness at my Adam's apple. The dagger that Mina had been carrying protected herself.

“I have to say, I’m impressed. I didn’t think any of you would get this far.” Mina, Dracula, caressed my cheek, and I felt as if I may finally vomit.

“I didn’t think you’d be able to go through with it.” Mina’s hand motioned towards the body in the tomb, and I nearly sobbed at the claws that now came from her fingertips.

“You’ve all put on an excellent show so far, but I’m rather unsatisfied with the conclusion that’s been chosen, so let me change that, hm?” I was dragged further back, and the blade dug into my throat harder than before. I could feel the blood welling up behind the thin slice it made, and I hated the sound it made Mina emit, because I knew it wasn’t her.

I could feel myself getting dragged back, and feared that this would be my end, when a shot rang out and the body behind me rocoiled with a hiss. When I opened my eyes I saw two fingers on the ground, and the blade they were holding, but nothing else. I saw my chance and lunged out of the fiend. Henry caught me and dragged me back to the safety of our group.

Lucy was holding her pistol at arms length, the tip of it smoking. In her eyes was a holy rage, and it hit me that she had shot the hand that held the dagger against my neck.

“Get out of Mina.” She said, voice quivering slightly. The fiend was folded in on himself, baring his teeth as he gnashed them, clutching his injured hand. How awful it was, to see Mina in such a state!

Lucy clutched at her cross before draping the gun and throwing herself at Dracula. I just barely caught that she had torn the symbol from her neck and pressed it into Dracula’s chest. Both screamed in agony as they were engulfed in hellfire, a ghostly blue hue that licked at their skin. Arthur soon grabbed his own and rushed to join Lucy. It wasn’t long before we all were consumed by the flame, pressing our crosses against Mina’s body. I was the one who pressed mine to her forehead as I kissed her lips, and though I couldn’t feel my tears, I knew I was crying. The fire sputtered out, and I knew my beloved was restored when I felt her lips push back against mine and her hands cup my cheeks with the tenderness that only she had.

End entry.

Journal entry by Robert Walton, on April 15th, dated June 21st.

There is a type of wickedness that overcomes my person when I write or even dare to think about Victor, or the events that transpired around him. He so easily leads my mind towards corruption, and the worst part of it is that I can’t say it’s unwanted or that it has caused me harm.

Only good things have come from our lips touching, and I find it harder to dissuade myself from thinking about him in such a romantic light. But I get ahead of myself.

The party formed to find Victor was one made of those who knew him in some capacity. Elizabeth knew him as a brother, Samson as a deserter, Raymond as a friend, and Seward as a patient. I didn’t know what I knew Victor as, though I loathe to think that it is a term I have had little true experience with.

We all followed Lilith’s instructions as best we could. When it came to the point of uncertainty, we broke off to search the rooms individually. I was the unlucky one as to find him first.

The room was dark, thick curtains pulled over the opening to the balcony, and it smelt heavily of infection. I had intended to leave the door open, but when I stepped in further, it slammed shut. I stood still, keeping my composure as best I could. It was then that I felt frail hands and slender fingers across my chest, and I deeply regretted that I hadn’t chosen a shirt that buttoned up instead of tied. The cool digits recoiled slightly, once they found that my flesh was so readily accessible, but not for long.

“Why don’t you run?” He said, and my heart nearly fluttered out of my throat at how delicate he sounded. His voice was harsh, and sore, but so quiet it almost hurt. Nails, much longer than I remembered them being, dug into my skin.

“I don’t believe you’ll hurt me.” I said, as smoothly as I could manage with my heart beating at a jackrabbit pace. An inhale, sharp and deep, and I felt him press his face against the crook of my neck.

“I could kill you.” A hand went to my throat, tightening its grip, nails digging deeper.

“You won’t.” Was all I could reply. He pushed me away and onto the bed which was in a horrible state of disarray.

“You know me.” He said, and it wasn’t a question by any means. I nodded faintly as I settled into the plush mattress, and at once the fireplace was lit and I could finally make out he who caused my breath to catch in my throat.

Victor was paler than before, if that was even possible, his skin retaining a dead hue that I had become familiar with in the form of Samson and the sisters. His hair was just barely longer than before, not having been tied back and seemingly in tangles. He wore no glasses, but I could see broken frames on the ground. His eyes were a cold pale color, one that I couldn’t quite make out in the inconsistent light.

Dressed in what seemed to be a white gown, he looked as if some sort of phantom or spirit. I could see blood stains on the right side of the fabric, just below the knee. He limped as he came forward, far less intimidating than he had been in the dark.

All I could do was mutter his name before he joined me on the bed.

“Say it again.” He whispered, and how could I refuse when he looked at me in such a way that I thought my soul had left my body? When his eyes shone with life, if just for a second? I said it again and again as he crept closer and closer, till he was quite literally upon me, hands at either side of my head.

Could one blame me, then, for pressing my lips against his? For taking the man who had been my sole obsession for months on end? He kissed me back, and I found that I didn’t care if this damned me, for he fit so perfectly against me that I feared I would sob if I couldn’t feel him against me again.

I pulled away only when breathing became difficult and my chest was heaving. Victor looked at me with a hunger, and I couldn’t tell if it was literal or not. To be honest, I don’t think I cared either way. It was only when common sense returned to me did I speak.

“Your cousin, Elizabeth, she’s looking for you out there.” I motioned my head to the door, as by now he had my hands pinned. He was kissing my neck, and was visibly holding himself back.

“I don’t want her to see me, not like this.” He muttered, lips moving against my throat in a way that caused more of a reaction out of me than I’d ever want to admit.

“We’re here to help, I promise. She misses you.” He pulled back slowly, and I saw tears threatening to spill from his eyes. His grip on my hands softened and I wiped his eyes. I will never understand how he managed to look so beautiful at any given moment. Even now he excites in me profound admiration and affection. He nodded softly, and I helped guide him to the door.

I stepped out and found that everyone else had surrounded the door, and seemed to be attempting to smash it in. Upon seeing him, Elizabeth threw herself at Victor with a cry. They fell to the ground, and took me with them.

Samson was the one to carry Victor afterwards, as he was the only one who could possibly have the strength to do so, seeing as Victor couldn’t walk well. Seward evaluated him and said that his leg, which had been shattered in various areas, would have to be amputated as it was too infected to save, and would have to be amputated soon.

We made our way to the first floor, and waited for the others as per the plan. Raymond and Elizabeth made conversation with him, and Victor replied as well as he could, before he drifted into unconsciousness, day not being his preferred waking hours. To be honest, they never were.

It was easier to look at him then. I restrained myself from touching him. He needed rest. Instead, I stood in wait.

End entry.

Journal entry by Elizabeth Lavenza, dated April 15th.

I see it now, cousin.

He is your Lucy.

I see it in the way you look at him and linger. I see it in how you purse your lips, as if about to all out to him. I see it in how you held on to him when I first saw you again.

Wherefore would I find it in myself to hate him thus? I give him my blessing, brother. Make sure you take good care of him, and that he takes care of you in return, as I have permanently retired from that particular position.

End entry.

Journal entry by Samson F. Harker, dated April 16th.

The first thing he said to me, after having abandoned me, after having been the source of so much misery, was something completely unexpected.

“You’ve grown so much.”

I held my tears, if there were any left for him. He didn’t apologize, but I don’t think I needed him to. He made me, but he is no father.

He didn’t look at me with fear. He spoke to me softly.

I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything else.

I’m glad to have finally met you, Frankenstein.

End entry.

Chapter Text

Journal entry by Mina Harker, dated June 23rd.

Things have settled quite nicely as of now. Lucy and I have been in correspondence, and are planning on having everyone meet up again on the first of July. It will be the first time we’ve seen them in a while, as she and her paramours have elected to stay in Geneva for a while.

Jonathan and I have been given the role of caring for and living in her manor for as long as we are want to. We have finally procured a mattress that is capable of supporting the combined weight of us all, us being me, Jonathan, and Samson, of course. As such, we have also obtained a new bed frame and headboard. Samson has spent a fair amount of time admiring the intricate designs carved into the varnished oak. I never fail to marvel at the sheer amount of wonder he still regards the world with.

Back to the topic at hand, though, we haven’t seen half of our little group in some time. Lucy and her lovers have retired to Elizabeth’s estate for some time. Henry and the sisters reside in Geneva as well. It is actually their joint union that brings us together. It will be far from a typical marriage for a myriad of reasons, but that isn’t something we’re unfamiliar with. Victor is with his family, I am told. The only sign of his existence has been the occasional letter assigned to Samson, and the parcel he sent some weeks ago that contained the glove with mechanical digits I am now accustomed to using. His version of an apology, I suppose. I’m relieved to know that his attentions have shifted towards woodworking rather than actual flesh and bone, at least.

We’ve been in good contact with Margaret and Robert. We visit often enough for her children to start referring to us as their aunt and uncles. Margaret has told me that the sensation of overwhelming want I feel whenever that happens is called baby fever. I admit, I always imagined having a child with Jonathan, but not for a while now. After all, we’ve just gotten back into something that resembles a routine. Still, it is something I consider greatly when I see those little faces light up with joy when we arrive. Renfield has been staying with Robert, while Lilith has been staying with the Savilles. To say that Francis was shocked by Lilith would have been an understatement, I’m almost certain of it. Regardless, she remains there and is doted on endlessly by Margaret. I’ve been told she has procured a job as a bodyguard for a brothel. Hardly what polite society would call respectable work, but I hardly care for what polite society thinks anymore, and I doubt Margaret does either. I find that this arrangement works quite well for Lilith. She enjoys violence, for better or worse, but at least she has a good and proper outlet in those who mistreat the women of the night. It’s better than nothing, and I’ve borne witness to the countless letters that flood in for her from those madams she protected.

Renfield has worked, reluctantly, with Jack in order to make his asylum more hospitable for those sent to it, and I am told that he’s often irritable, but that the general mood of the staff and residents have improved. Robert has yet to give up on his lifelong dream of sailing, but he is waiting for the right opportunity to reveal itself before he rushes into it. I’ve seen on occasion letters to Victor that he’s written, but most of the lines have been crossed out and are illegible. It reminds me of unsent letters Jonathan wrote me at the beginning of our courtship.

Everything has settled, and I am so very thankful that it has, but I find I’m itching to get back into motion. I can only be content with being stationary for so long, it seems.

Van Helsing will not be joining us in our reunion, sadly. Too much happening in Amsterdam I suppose. Quincy will, though, and I’m grateful for it.

We shall meet in Paris. The sisters have decided so, as they wish to be wed in those horrid catacombs I’ve heard so much about! Though they may act far more human than before, their morbid interests haven’t ended, it seems.

I shall write again soon, and hopefully out of want rather than necessity.

End entry.

Journal entry by Lucy Holmwood, dated June 27th.

We’re on a ship that will take us to Paris, and I finally am able to see Mina again! The color has returned to her cheeks and she is of a most cheerful manner. The scar on her forehead, the one from Jonathan’s cross, has started to heal and fade. Though it serves as a permanent reminder of that horrid night, I imagine it also serves as a reminder of her husband's devotion. As if that ever had been called into question.

I was delighted to find that Samson had come aboard the ship with them, in broad daylight. Yes, he drew a wide range of eyes, but with the oddity of the scarred woman and the pale man flanking him on either side, the novelty was of the whole group, not just him. I’m most certain that the novelty of the sighting only increased as they approached us. My own scars have healed well, though they are still most noticeable. Elizabeth was dressed in tailored breeches, and Arthur himself linked arm in arm with us. I broke free to hug Mina, and she laughed in a delightful way. Oh, how I missed her!

Behind them, Jack and Quincy were following, seemingly caught up in their own conversation. The most normal appearing of our group so far. Then, at the very end, the Saville’s, Robert, and Mr. Renfield. They all produced their tickets, and the poor ferryman looked as if he were going to faint. I heard a great commotion behind me, and found that the guests of honor has arrived. The brides, turned sisters, turned brides once more, were crowding around Henry. Their gloved hands and sunhat covered heads practically blocked out the man altogether. Still, it would be impossible to not see the almost obnoxious colors of his suit, vibrant and almost glowing. I could hear his laughing, though it was strained from the effort it took to hold all three of the women.

Justine was the one who led Victor out into the light from the cramped room he had holed himself up in. Elizabeth has been helping him with his memory, and though it has improved rapidly, he still has lapses here and there. The only reason I knew it was him walking out with that darling Justine was because of the creaking his artificial leg made as he took unsteady steps. He was also dressed in gloves and a hat, but he was a far cry from the sisters and their soft pastels. I nearly fell when Lilith rushed forward and embraced him, cooing sounds that vaguely mimicked the word ‘father’. He stiffly tapped her shoulder and replied before being set down by the colossal woman. Samson was the next to move. He crouched down to embrace the man, and once more Victor reciprocated in his jerky manner. It was only when he joined the rest of the group was he picked up again, this time by Robert, and swung around affectionately. Elizabeth laughed at her cousin’s popularity, and laid her head on Arthur’s shoulder.

We are now well on our way to Paris, and I’m overjoyed to see everyone once again. Though I’m not too thrilled by the idea of those catacombs the sisters have gushed so much about, I’ve been told that we shall also be going to an opera house, and am much excited about that particular thought. It’s been a great amount of time since I’ve been to theater of any kind, and I would much like to go again.

For now, however, I focus on my companions, and feel my heart rise with the greatest of joy. Though the exact mechanisms of what brought us together were horrible, and there is no overstating just how horrible they truly were, I don’t regret them having happened. We have all survived, and we are all together, closer than I ever could have imagined in any lifetime. I am grateful to them all.

End entry.

Journal entry by Jonathan Harker, dated June 29th.

I woke up in the night to find Samson missing from our shared room on the boat. I found him on the deck, leaning carefully against the railing. His hair was down, and the wind was blowing it away from his face. His cheeks and nose were tinged with a darker flush, from the chill. His eyes were content, and on his lips was a soft smile. I, too, felt the corners of my mouth lift when I joined him.

“It’s truly a beautiful night, isn’t it?” I said. It was true, even if I wasn’t looking at the sky. I needn't have, for every celestial movement was reflected perfectly in his luminous eyes.

“It is.” He answered, voice smooth now that he’s been using it frequently. I leaned against him, and we stood there for some hours, simply watching the stars.

End entry.