Whitby, Lucy’s Bedroom – Early Evening

The last blush of sunset lingered at the edge of the curtains, spilling warm gold across Lucy Westenra’s pale shoulders. She sat near the open window, dressed in a flowing, off-the-shoulder gown of soft white and lavender - a vision of elegance despite the faint shadows beneath her bright eyes. A book rested loosely in her lap, forgotten.

The air outside was alive with the hush of the sea and the distant cries of gulls. Somewhere far off, a dog barked, its sound oddly mournful.

Lucy looked up as Dr. Seward entered quietly, carrying his bag.

Seward: “How are you feeling this evening, Lucy?”

Lucy’s lips curled into a small, playful smile.

“Better than you look, dear doctor. You worry too much. If you frown any deeper, I fear it will be permanent.”

She shifted, her long hair catching the light, almost glowing. There was something ethereal about her, as though she were lit from within — fragile but radiant.

Seward: (softly) “You gave us quite a scare the other night.”

“Yes, so you’ve said — at least four times today.” she laughed lightly, though her laugh sounded slightly breathless “But truly, I feel almost myself again. Perhaps a little weak, as though I had been dancing too long without rest.”

She glanced toward the window. The breeze stirred the curtains and lifted a strand of her hair.

“When Mina is here, I scarcely think of being ill at all. But now that she has gone… the nights feel so long.”

Her hand drifted absently to her throat, as though remembering something, then dropped quickly to her lap.