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Chapter 2 - Red Rose

  Wednesday, October 31st, 1838.

  


  


  The moon shines brighter tonight.

  I have always been more drawn to the moon than to the sun.

  Mayhaps because, like me, it keeps itself apart from the sun.

  On my way home, I could not stop thinking about thee.

  I desire to see thee again.

  Why? I know not.

  Is it because thou saidst it?

  Either way, thou seemest most intriguing.

  I like to take the time to write down my thoughts, especially in the empty street of Transylvania.

  It is something I can only enjoy at night.

  I think all should document their days like this.

  As I write this, I heard a scream echo through the alley.

  A woman's voice.

  I ran toward the cry.

  


  


  Could it be thee, Aslaug?

  What am I thinking-It cannot be thee.

  A man is harassing this woman.

  A thief, perchance?

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  I must stop him; perhaps I can scare him away.

  The man attempted to strike me with a knife.

  I dodged, and with the Frankenstein's book thou gavest me, I struck him upon the head.

  He fell unconscious.

  The woman thanked me.

  Whilst she held me, I looked at the ground.

  I saw blood.

  Whose blood is it?

  Mine? I feel no wound, or perhaps is it that woman's blood?

  No, she seems unharmed as well.

  Did I just accidentally slay that man ?

  I barely touched him.

  The scent of blood thickens.

  The woman clutches me tightly.

  Of course, she is afraid.

  Yet why doth she struggle?

  "Everything is fine," I told her.

  More blood flows, gleaming under the moonlight.

  'Tis beautiful.

  The scent compels me, I crave more.

  Before I noticed, she bleeds.

  The taste of blood pours into my mouth.

  


  


  How?

  Blood coats my lips?

  Did I do this ?

  'Tis exquisite... why doth it taste so divine?

  Blood-I have never known aught like this before.

  What am I even saying?

  Did I just drink that woman's blood?

  As I regain my senses,

  I check both her pulse and that of the aggressor.

  Both were dead.

  I killed them.

  Did I? This vile thief pursued her.

  They struggled for her purse; he stabbed her in the jugular.

  In a surge of adrenaline, she pushed him against the wall.

  He struck his head, lost consciousness, and bled out.

  That is what occurred.

  I should not even be writing this, but didst thou know blood could taste this good?

  - V. van Helsing

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