Countess Erzsebet Bathory really existed. Holding absolute power in 16th Century Hungary, she could fulfil all of her monstrous deviant fantasies. When she finally dies, in her walled up castle, she is raised by one who loves her and cannot believe what has been said. Anton, her creator, shortly becomes her devoted lover.
In this excerpt, she is recalling everything she can in order to save him centuries later, from being destroyed for he is close to the great abyss from which no vampire returns.
"There is nothing in my memory after that except just ﬁnding myself in a shadowy place. At ﬁrst I thought I was dead. But then I saw you, my love, looking at me. “I am Anton...” you said. “And you must drink.” You raised a goblet toward me, plain and unadorned. I shook my head but you persisted. “You must for you will die in agony if you do not drink...”
As I saw the goblet come closer to me, I smelled the saltiness and tried to push it away, but you said, “It is my blood...” Raised Calvinist, I knew enough of the Catholic faith to be reminded of the Eucharist. Take this, all of you, and drink from it: this is the cup of my blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant... I looked at you and you looked the part! Could it be the Lord? I wondered. Was I forgiven, after all? My many murderous perversions? Was that possible?
Perhaps this was all part of some miracle! I watched you carefully. Handsome with high cheekbones, your eyes intently gazing into mine, you were imploring me to drink. Were you a priest or perhaps the Son of God?! Then, as if hypnotized, I took the goblet and drank. You were pleased I did and told me. “You are safe now...” I recall nothing else after that. Only the feel of your arms as you carried me to a pallet and told me to sleep. “Sleep, my lady, and dream of your new world. The one which has been waiting for you.”
The dream I had was confusing, just an intermingling of shadows and voices, each indeﬁnite, the shadows fuzzy and indistinct. The voices were mere whispers, although I thought I recognized some of them: Darvulia’s and possibly even my mother’s. My mother’s sounded angry and it frightened me, though this did not surprise me. Darvulia’s was kindly. The sound of choked tears dominated her tone. The dream continued and I heard whispers that seemed to come from indistinct people calling to me, encouraging me onward, calming me. Reassuring me. I felt as if I was ﬂoating, I am quite certain of it.
Then you spoke, or at least I think it was you. “You will become used to your new world...just don’t ﬁght it.”
end of excerpt
5 stars "A blood-soaked rendition of the fictional life of a real-life multiple murderer, history's 'Countess Dracula'