(Sable's POV)
The flames faded, and with them, the sky's stars seemed to bend back into a blacker infinity. The colossal doors before us yawned open as though reluctantly, revealing the interior of Dracula's Castle.
Inside, the air carried weight—cold, ancient, humming with power. Shadows pooled between flickering torches set in ornamental sconces, chasing each other across stone walls. Vaulted arches soared overhead, their ribs like the inside of some gargantuan beast. A grand double staircase led upward, its rail carved in spidery filigree that caught candlelight in delicate ghostly patterns.
I swallowed a breath. The silence felt alive; rumor whispered that even the stones remembered betrayals, and I believed it.
Dracula stepped in first, tall as ever, cloak brushing the floor, masked just enough by shadow to feel less sharp. Lisa stayed close beside him—alive, whole, luminous in that harsh light, and unmistakably mortal. That alone shifted the room's gravity.
I followed last, careful to place my boots on cold marble that sighed beneath my weight, unworthy and breathing with secrets.
Lisa's voice came then, soft but piercing: "This way. I can show him the studies."
She led us toward a corridor lined with tall windows of colored glass, shafts of dusk dropped into them, melting flame-like onto the floor. Bookshelves rose along one wall—volumes bound in leather and tarnished copper, a cavern of sunlight trapped in pages.
I glanced at Dracula, expecting something—resentment, curiosity, a flicker of command. Instead, his face held only watchful stillness.
We descended a side flight of steps—it spiraled, tight and silent—and entered what had to be his study: library, lab, greenhouse, and astral observatory combined. Lanterns glowed bronze across metal tables where glass ballistics and astrolabes sat between well-worn tomes. A small indoor garden bloomed under glass and magic; frost clung to orchids like pearls.
Lisa exhaled. Buildings like this felt less crumbling here; even the air was organized like a portrait. She murmured, in awe rather than reverence, "He built this for me."
Dracula's gaze moved to me. For a breath, I feared the storm would reignite. But he merely inclined his chin—permission, at least—and turned back to his wife, support and sorrow held in the same moment.
I let out the breath I didn't know I'd been holding.
Dracula's gaze lingered on me for a breath longer than I liked, and I half-expected fangs or claws next. Instead, he broke the silence with a quiet, deliberate cough into his fist—a sound that somehow carried more weight than most men's shouting.
"Lisa," his voice was low, protective, "you should rest. After what you've been through."
Lisa stopped mid-step. Her eyes fell to her dress—a ragged linen thing, torn and hanging off her frame like it had lost a fight with a farm dog. The sight made her sway, as if the exhaustion she'd been pushing aside finally decided to collect its debt.
Before she could stumble, Vlad moved. One instant he was yards away, the next he was there, catching her gently, a speed that should have been terrifying but somehow wasn't. He lifted her easily into his arms, like she was weightless, her half-protest muffled against his chest.
"The touring will wait until tomorrow." His tone made it final.
"Yeah, no problem," I raised my hands, giving a quick shake of my head. "Totally fine. Don't mind me. I'll just—" I gestured vaguely to the entire castle, "—exist quietly."
Dracula's eyes slid back to me. They didn't burn, but the weight behind them pressed like a wall.
"I will show you to a guest room. We will speak tomorrow."
There was no mistaking it: tomorrow wasn't a chat. It was an evaluation.
I just nodded. Because when the lord of vampires, death incarnate, and the walking embodiment of gothic horror offers you a place to stay, you don't argue.
We moved through the halls, his stride long and silent even with Lisa in his arms. I trailed behind, boots echoing softly against stone. Every corner of the castle felt alive. Shadows clung to archways, chandeliers hung like cages of bone and gold, staircases climbed into darkness as though daring you to follow.
I muttered under my breath, "Yep. Totally fine. Definitely not going to be murdered in my sleep. Great."
A side glance from Dracula's crimson eyes shut me up immediately.
We stopped at a tall, iron-banded door. With one hand, he pushed it open—it didn't creak, it sighed, like the wood itself knew better than to offend him. Inside: a chamber of cold marble, dark velvet curtains, and a bed that could fit a family of six. A fireplace at the far wall glowed faintly with embers, casting long shadows across bookshelves and a solitary desk.
"This will do," Dracula said simply, shifting Lisa slightly in his arms. "Rest. Tomorrow, we will speak."
I swallowed hard and nodded again.
"Yeah. Tomorrow. Looking forward to it."
He gave me one last unreadable look before carrying Lisa deeper into the castle.
The door closed, leaving me alone with silence thicker than stone.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding and dropped onto the edge of the absurdly large bed.
"Congratulations, Sable," I muttered to myself. "You've officially checked into Castle Dracula. No plumbing reviews yet, but hey—at least the sheets are probably silk."