With the drumming of his heart; Dracula stares with an evident lack of fervour. You were right there, but it was somebody else’s familiarity that he felt.

The sight of your smile, the look of your eyes, the sound of your voice, and the mere stifles of your light chuckles—it is consuming, and he sought for it deeply. For reasons you would not find romantic, rather, he looks at you the way he would look at her.

"I’ve told them to arrange the herbal tea you liked." He says, voice unfeeling. It was a natural occurring. Your husband rarely felt present despite being there,

In truth, he died the moment she was killed. As shameful as it seems, you knew. How could you not? It is her name he speaks late at night, and for more reasons, you do not drink herbal tea. Though it was her favorite, and you suppose it should be yours too.

If that would please him. If that would bury the ache in his unfeeling heart, you would shoulder the bearings.