By the time I fully recovered, the weather had turned surprisingly sunny.

That afternoon, I was puzzling over an ancient text when the library door swung open.


I looked up to find Dracula framed in the doorway.

"Good afternoon, my lord."

He nodded and entered.


"What are you reading?"

"A book... I can't decipher."


He approached, lifted the book, and examined the pages.

"This is Ancient Elvish."

"Can you read it?"

"Yes." He turned several pages. "It discusses vampire origins."

"Could you... teach me?"

He glanced at me, eyebrow raised.

"Why would you want to learn?"

"Because..." I chose my words carefully. "I'll be here for many years. I'd like to understand this place—and you—better."

He considered my words for a long moment.

"Alright."

He took the seat opposite mine and began translating, explaining each word and phrase methodically.

His deep voice held a hypnotic quality. Sunlight streamed through the windows, catching his silver hair in a soft halo.

I found myself noticing how strikingly handsome he was.

"Are you listening?"

"Yes! Of course I am!"

He gave me a skeptical look.

"Then what did I just explain?"

"...I'm sorry."

He sighed.

"Never mind. That's enough for today."

He rose and moved toward the door.

"My lord."

He paused.

"Thank you for teaching me."

He didn't turn around.

"It's nothing."

But as he left, his steps seemed less hurried than usual.

In the days that followed, Dracula visited the library each afternoon to continue my lessons.

I discovered he possessed remarkable patience; despite my slow progress, he never showed frustration.

One afternoon, he spoke of the vampire's curse.

"Vampires are proud and long-lived creatures, but terribly lonely because of it," he explained. "We trust neither humans nor our own kind."

"Why?"

"Because we endure too long," he said. "After watching countless people enter and leave your life, you learn to stop forming attachments."

I studied his face.

"So you... expect nothing from anyone?"

He was quiet for a long moment.

"When I was newly turned, I still had hopes," he admitted. "But I soon learned that hope only leads to heartbreak."

"But..." I ventured carefully, "without hope, isn't existence unbearably empty?"

He regarded me with curious intensity.

"Emptiness hurts less than disappointment."

I shook my head firmly.

"I disagree."

"Why?"

"Because," I met his gaze steadily, "without hope, you can't experience joy—even when something wonderful happens."

He stared at me for what felt like an eternity.

Finally, the corner of his mouth lifted slightly—barely a smile, but his crimson eyes held a warmth I'd never seen before.

"Perhaps you're right."