Continuing my weekly journey through a range of characters in film and literature and their assorted, imaginary love letters, to lost loves and thereby, to themselves.
This week? DRACULA.
Ever wondered how he became a vampire? True story. It was not the whole Coppola take on ‘oh my wife died so let’s stab a crucifix’. That was bollox btw and an insult to Bram Stoker, cinema, Gothic literature and horror.
Instead? The entire lore of a predatory vampire as titular menace started with a WOMAN! Course it did. Doesn’t every good story begin and indeed, end there? JS Le Fanu gave us CARMILLA, the female baddie blood sucker. LONG before Stoker used Dracula as thinly veiled satire on sex, Ireland, Catholicism and Victorian angst.
And so, with that in mind? I give you a love note. FROM DRACULA. TO CARMILLA. No copyright issues this time as all is public domain.
NB: ASSORTED MUSIC/FILM CLIPS USED FOR ATMOSPHERIC MARKERS; SUGGESTED ACTOR PORTRAITS DO NOT INDICATE THEIR CONNECTION TO OR ENDORSEMENT OF THIS BLOG. YET. 😉
Here. We. Go!
My Dear C
I hope this finds you well. Or as well as one can be, given that we both, are bound, by being undead? Immortal: devoid of sensation, soul and any sense of self. Believe me, one sympathises.
By way of catch up? What’s it been now, a month? Could be a century? Our timelines are fluid. We are destined to do this, forever.
I would remind you that it was your vampiric curse which first both enchanted and imprisoned me. Carfax, wasn’t it? Certainly, Oxford, England.
The briefest of meeting. Sealed my fate, forever.
You sucked my blood, drained me dry and yet thereby empowered my status. I returned to Transylvania, a man renewed. Took down my enemies. Ruled with ruthless rigour. Never looked back.
But I did miss you, C. A lot.
The benefit to that was the self-indulgent, self imposed exile that enabled my takedown of any blood, anywhere. Man, woman, animal, anything. The burden was that nothing could ever recapture that first moment of seduction; of realisation and recognition.
No victim, villain, victory or vascular taste could abate or quench my absolute thirst, for YOU.
Your disappearance was disturbing. I sort of ‘knew’ and yet did not wish to ‘know’ why. Crucifix? Stake through heart? Or worse still, had you simply lost interest, in me? Some new victim out there; another budding Dracula. Would they be as transfixed and yet thereby, as tortured?
I genuinely feel a strong swell of pity for whichever soul(s) you subsequently stole. Because Hell would be preferable; death a mere weekend break, next to the famine and frost that one endures in the wake of Carmilla.
And yet? I have only myself to blame. Because you DID re-emerge, of course. As I said, recently, so. After that Godawful Harker debacle (another story; Mina/Jonathan/Carfax, again: I survived, contrary to reports), I was lost. My power and purpose had been drained, like the blood of my victims.
But across the ether, you emerged. Flying in, propelled on the fleet of your crimson red Pre Raphaelite hair: locks of damnation fire to warm even the coldest of vampiric temper.
You consoled and counselled me, Carmilla. And yet? You did so, with that note of caution. ‘I drain human blood and break the heart and you, even as a Vampire Count, must never forget that’.
Except of course, that I did just that. In my passionate adoration of those majestic moments; the glimpses of mutual vulnerability and almost human embrace? I neglected the ‘why’ of your brief re-emergence.
Blinded by your beauty from legs to eyes and chest to fingertip, I had put aside the rationale for your very existence on this cursed earth.
You are the FIRST VAMPIRE. And the LAST. Carmilla is the Goddess, the muse, the untouchable fire that reminds me to enjoy simply being bad.
And so it is, that as you slip away once more from my ether? I now feel recharged; replenished and yet hungrier and thirstier than ever, forever, for BLOOD. For CONQUEST.
Mortals call that ‘work’, I suspect? But even a vampire craves status. And Castle Dracula, should it be rebuilt / franchised/ packaged? Must have its most ruthless and demonically determined C(o)unt at its bleeding, icy heart.
In THAT sense? Your purpose, was to remind me of MINE. Still on me to win and take and destroy, without remorse. But you, dearest darling Carmilla, yet again, proved a vital catalyst.
And for that? I remain, eternally in your debt. Until we meet again (next century? 1000 years? tea, in a month?), at your explicit command (or indeed, mine?) and without ambiguity; I must return to the business of blood.
And I am now, readied. Thank you, C.
I wish you the very best in your own vampiric adventures. Good Hunting.
HAPPY WEEKEND, ONE AND ALL. ESPECIALLY FOR THE BANK HOLIDAY IN THE UK.
NO ACTUAL VAMPIRES WERE HARMED IN THE MAKING OF THIS FAN FICTION. 😉