I've bandaged your bruises, you've held back my hair

[beloyaltome]

They were a good team. Carmilla to ruffle the feathers and then Lenore to soothe them. To enter the devastation left in Carmilla’s wake and make nice with a sweet smile and an easy laugh. Oh, yes, Carmilla can be so awful sometimes. I do understand. I’m sorry about all that. She does have a point though, doesn’t she?

Lenore had made easy work of Hector. Carmilla had made easier work of Godbrand. They’d almost gotten mixed up on their targets—Godbrand had almost cornered Lenore as prey and she’d burst into a cloud of bats and been hiding from him ever since—but once they had their plan straightened out, it had all been easy. Dracula had moved the castle to Braila and Carmilla’s army had attacked. And then it had all gone to hell.

By the time the fighting started, Lenore was supposed to quietly recuse herself from the whole affair. Secure Hector and get him outside of the city for collection once the battle was over.

Except that when Dracula’s castle had begun stomping its way in and out of the city like a mad drunk, Lenore had gotten separated from Carmilla and Hector. The castle slammed down almost on top of Lenore, and she had decided that it was safer to be inside a castle gone mad rather than in its stomping range. Not that the spaces inside were much safer—the lower levels flooded with holy water, the rest of it torn with conflict. Lenore’s fortunate that her abilities bend toward flight and stealth. Everyone else is being so loud and drawing so much attention, all she has to do is make her way as far away from all the noise as possible, to an insignificant corridor in an immense castle, and then hide herself inside a wardrobe, hanging in the dark upper shadows as a flurry of bats while she waits for the conflict to die down.

Once it’s quiet enough that the castle has settled and the worst of the conflict has finished, Lenore peeks out again only to find that the castle is no longer in Braila. It is somewhere else, somewhere unknown, somewhere without her allies and the waiting Styrian forces.

She regrets her choice to take shelter inside Dracula’s castle, but there’s no changing it now. Maybe the decision saved her life. Maybe it only delayed her demise.

More sounds of battle float up from above, and Lenore hides herself once more. When she emerges a second time, in the safety of night, it is quiet.

The quiet unnerves her with its finality. There are no sounds of armies, nor servants, nor night creatures, nor livestock—human or otherwise. Outside the castle she can hear the natural sounds of the forest: birds and bats, a distant wolf howling. Within the castle: nothing.

Over the next day, she runs reconnaissance. As shadows and mist, she listens to the Belmont, the speaker magician, and the son of Dracula discussing their next steps. She understands that Dracula is dead and whatever remains of the Styrian forces was left behind at Braila. This is … somewhere near the ruins of the Belmont estate. Perhaps literally on top of it.

She is alone. Her only hope is to run, but that is a dangerous course. Styria and Wallachia are both populated more by forests than by people. Finding shelter in barns and caves sounds like a manageable thing, but she has no map and no allies. If she misjudges the distance for even one night and finds herself in the wilds without any suitable caves… it will be the death of her. Lenore has spent her life in courts, with people like Morana arranging all the difficulties of travel. Even in the most miserable times of her life, Lenore has never traveled without a carriage or an escort.

At one point, while she eavesdrops on the Belmont and the speaker, she thinks that the son of Dracula has caught her at it. He stops as he approaches, a mere dozen steps from where she’s melted into the shadows. It’s only as he continues on and speaks to the others that she realizes it was nothing. He hesitated to intrude on their conversation, perhaps. Or he wished to eavesdrop upon it for a moment.

Perhaps a vampire as powerful as Dracula truly could have sensed her, but such an ability is rare, and he is only a half-breed. And if he had sensed that a vampire survived the slaughter, he certainly would have called up his hunter friends and put an end to her.

Instead, he says his farewells to them. She can hear the last of their conversation outside as the wagon rattles away, and the son of Dracula comes back inside alone.

It will be safer for her to leave once the speaker magician and the Belmont are well on their way. The half-breed hasn’t noticed her yet, so he’s unlikely to catch her without the aid of his friends.

Lingering in the shadows on the mezzanine, her own form made up of shadows and mist, Lenore leans forward only just enough to see the son of Dracula in the middle of the vast entry hall. He’s more beautiful than any creature she’s ever seen, and his beauty is sharp enough to cut in a moment like this when he seems so heartbreakingly lonely.