When the thirtieth mark was carved into the windowsill, Martha arrived with a letter.

"Miss Anna, a letter has come from the orphanage."


I was in the library, a half-read book forgotten in my lap. At the sight of the envelope, the tome tumbled to the floor.

"Let me see it."

I snatched the letter with trembling fingers.


The Dean's familiar handwriting filled the page. She wrote that the children were thriving, with plenty of coal for warmth and abundant food. The youngest had recovered from his illness and asked daily when I would return.

The final line read—


"Anna, everyone misses you."

I stared at those words, my throat closing.

"Miss?" Martha's voice held concern.

I tried to respond, but tears came instead.

I buried my face in my hands, shoulders heaving with silent sobs.

I missed them too.

God, how I missed them.

But I couldn't return.

Not for ten long years.

"Miss..." Martha's hand rested gently on my shoulder. "Let it out. Tears can heal."

I wept until I had nothing left, the sky darkening beyond the window. Martha offered a handkerchief and a bowl of steaming soup.

"Drink this. It will help."

I cradled the bowl and sipped the warm broth.

"Martha..."

"Yes, miss?"

"Are all blood servants like me?"

Martha hesitated before answering.

"Each one is different," she said softly. "But everyone suffers at first."

"What about the one before me?"

"She wept too," Martha whispered. "Nearly every night that first year."

"And after that?"

"Later... she grew accustomed to her fate."

I set down the bowl, words failing me.

When darkness had fully claimed the day, Martha returned.

"Miss Anna, the Count awaits you."

I wiped my face and followed her from the library.

Candle flames danced along the corridor. I watched their hypnotic movement as I walked.

When I entered the familiar room, Dracula stood waiting.

After he had taken his fill, I sat up, pressing my hand to the fresh wounds.

"My lord..."

"Yes?"

"A letter came from the orphanage," I said hoarsely. "They're... thriving."

"Yes, I received one as well."

"You... got a letter too?"

"I did."

"They mentioned you sent additional funds."

"Part of our arrangement." His voice turned cold. "Don't read too much into it."

I lowered my gaze.

"I'm not. I just... wanted to thank you."

"Unnecessary," he replied. "You've paid with your blood."

His words stung like a slap.

"As you say, my lord."

I rose and moved toward the door, dignity intact despite my hurt.

"Anna."

I froze.

"Yes?"

"Don't let me see your tears again."

His words caught me off guard.

"I wasn't—"

"Your eyes are swollen," he cut me off. "Go rest properly."

I bit my lip to keep from saying something I'd regret.

"Yes, my lord."

Outside, I sagged against the cold stone wall.

The chill seeped through my dress, matching the coldness in my heart.

I drew a deep breath and released it slowly.

The next morning, Martha's breakfast tray held a small crystal bottle.

"What's this?"

"From the Count," Martha explained. "He says it will help you sleep without dreams."

I stared at the bottle, unsure what to make of this gesture.

"When did he...?"

"Before dawn."

Outside, the snowfall had ceased.

Sunlight pierced the clouds, catching the bottle and making its contents glow crimson.