Vincent's eyes fluttered open but there was no light in this place. He turned his head towards the window but still nothing. He groaned, sitting up, and felt the back of his head. Bandages? Then that stranger must've helped him after all...

He looked down at his body which was fully exposed and briefly wondered where his clothes had gone. The door creaked open and a tray of miscellaneous items was pushed in. "I'm not certain what your kind eats so I just guessed..." the soft voice from before. Why was he always hiding behind things? 

"Thank you very much," Vincent replied. He stood up, barely able to stand, and went to the door. He shivered from the cold air and stared at the food or whatever it was. Some of it edible and other parts extremely not. "I suppose I can't complain since I am being a bit of a nuisance by just appearing out of nowhere. But, if it isn't too much trouble could you please tell me where I am?" 

"I apologize but I cannot allow you to know the location of this place. Once you leave you could bring others back and that could be fairly troublesome for me." Troublesome? In what way? You live in a giant castle in the middle of nowhere? Isn't that a bit of a statement? How has no one found this place yet? Or, was he planning on drugging him and dragging him out, leaving Vincent in the closest village? 

"If it was that much trouble why didn't you just kill me outright?" Vincent placed his hand on the door and opened it a bit. He could see the glow of two shining eyes and nothing more. Such a lovely shade of yellow and green. He gripped the side of the door tightly as his vision lost focus once again. The back of his head must be more of an issue than he thought. Could he be seeing things? He shivered again. Maybe he just lost too much blood. 

"You're cold?" 

"Yes and no, I think I might be getting a fever..." Vincent coughed. "When I asked where I was I meant the time period...not the location...if you could give me some context I can..." Vincent shook his head and coughed again his body shook terribly. He already had a vague idea of where he was...in the time of mystics and ghosts. There would be no modern medicine to help him. He could really die this time. 

"Here," the shadowy figure reached out a hand and resting in his palm was a small vial of red liquid. It looked everything like what Vincent believed to be a healing potion. His fingers were long and delicate with nails sharp and black. Vincent moved to grab it but lost his balance. The stranger caught him, pulling his head back by gently pulling his hair, he opened the vial and poured it into Vincent's mouth. Some of it trailed down his neck and he coughed. It tasted quite foul. But, at the same time, it filled him up with warmth too. The taste was soon forgotten due to the niceness of the warmth welling up in his chest. 

The pain on the back of his head quickly went away. He didn't feel the lingering effects of a fever either. "Thank you?" he said, a bit confused. He couldn't see the stranger clearly but his eyes still glowed in the darkness. His touch was gentle despite being such a standoffish creature and Vincent felt as if he could trust him. 

"My name is Vincent, by the way," he introduced himself. He forgot about the closeness of the two and didn't want the stranger to leave so he ignored it further. He also conveniently ignored the fact he was still naked. Might as well put off the embarrassment a bit longer. The stranger, on the other hand, pushed him away. 

"Dracula," he replied. Dracula? Really? As in that Dracula? From the novel? Good God, where did Vincent end up? 

"Is that really your name?" 

"It's more of a title, an inheritance, my actual name is something I cannot disclose to a stranger."

"Oh? So 'Dracula' is like 'King'?" Vincent grinned. "Well then, Milord, I appreciate your kindness to a stranger." 

"Think nothing of it," and he departed just as he came. 

Vincent wrapped himself in a sheet and wandered the halls of this place. There were so many dismal paintings and other things. He could barely see two feet in front of him but he could smell the dried paint of a portrait anywhere. He found a candle, at last, and tried desperately to light it. After much trial and error, he could see a bit more than before. 

He held the candlestick out and stared up at the portraits. Each one was of a different person but they all had the same defining traits. White hair. Red eyes. Except for the last one at the end of the hall. This man's hair was a shade of grey, silver maybe? And his eyes were the yellow-green Vincent had seen before. The label on the bottom read: Vlad Dracula II. The others had all been 'Dracula the III' or something like that...but this one was Vlad? That had to mean something. Was he an illegitimate child? A fake somehow? 

Vincent wandered a bit more until he found a library. So many books and so little time. He picked one up but it was in a language he didn't understand. How was he able to communicate with Dracula if they didn't speak the same tongue? Or, maybe there was another bit of magic involved. "I'm going to have to learn the language..." Vincent sighed. He had a multitude of languages under his belt but he'd never found something with this strange of an alphabet before. 

"I'm so glad he has books. Books should be something too expensive for the common folk in this time...from what I've gathered..." Vincent felt the pages delicately with his hand. This wasn't your typical paper. It felt as if it was made out of something alive. Skin? 

"What are you doing?" Dracula's voice. Vincent turned around. 

"I'm the curious type," Vincent laughed a bit. "I've been looking for books and I found them but I can't read them..." He closed the book and placed it back on the shelf. 

"You know what these are?" Dracula's eyebrows furrowed. The light of the moon was shining in through the window. This was the first time Vincent could see his face fully. Even then, he couldn't see all of it. Long bangs covered his eyes. He was dressed in black as if in permanent mourning. 

"Is it that surprising?" Vincent ran his hand down the spines of various books. 

"Humans shouldn't have these..." 

"I'm sure that the poor ones don't but the rich always have a way of getting what they want." Vincent sighed and sat down in the chair by the desk closest to the window. He stared out at the forest still shrouded in fog. Was it always night here? "Say, you aren't human, are you? So...what are you then? Are you a vampire?" 

"Why would I answer that?" 

"That's true, you don't really have a reason to," Vincent shrugged and stood up again. He opened and closed books until he found one closest to his spoken tongue. So, it wasn't magic. The magic here was that he knew the language. Now it was just a matter of particulars. "Hey, Milord," Vincent smiled, closing the book. "What do you say we have a bit of a trade?" 

"A trade?" Dracula scoffed. "You have nothing to offer me." 

"I'll tell you about the future and you can teach me about the past," Vincent grinned.