Princes of the Undead

Part 24

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Agatha's first thought upon waking was that she felt so relaxed that she never wanted to move, the second was that she was sore, the third was that she wasn't the only one awake...or at least part of Dracula was.

Blinking her eyes open, Agatha took in the sunlit room. They hadn't closed the curtains properly last night after Dracula had arrived, and there was a thick strip of daylight cutting the room in half, illuminating the end of her bed, and amusingly enough Dracula's large bare feet that stuck out over the edge of her bed.

Agatha had always been tall, first for her age, then for her sex. Yet Dracula still towered over her, and Agatha wondered if there had ever been any bed he hadn't hung half out of? Her feet whilst not exactly dainty, looked exactly that when placed near his, his hands made hers look ladylike and perfectly proportioned for once. They just seemed to fit together, and it seemed strange to Agatha that two people so clearly created for each other should be born centuries apart, and yet still find themselves thrust together by the strangest of circumstances.

Was this the proof a divine plan Agatha had spent her mortal life searching for, or was it merely coincidence, or worse psychology? That two people, having been through what they had together, would inevitably be drawn to one another. That it was no sign they were special, or intended for one another, and anyone who Dracula went through everything they had together, would have earned his love? That thought made Agatha far more jealous than Isabella ever could. She wanted them to be special, she wanted to be special, and to not just have been in the right place and the right time.

"You are thinking much too heavy thoughts for such a morning." A deep baritone muttered from behind her ears. "I can hear you frowning."

"Why do you love me?" Agatha asked him suddenly, surprising Dracula who had resigned himself to napping some more.

"Because I do."

"No seriously I need to know...I need to understand why me, after all those centuries, after all those other women, what suddenly makes me different. I'm not special."

"I beg to differ on that point." Dracula huffed, resigning himself to dealing with an early morning philosophical debate.

"Then please explain, because I am going around in circles trying to understand why someone like you could possibly love someone like me?"

Now it was Dracula's turn to frown, and he lifted his head from the pillow to watch her think. "Agatha if you are having doubts again...If you doubt me..."

"No." Agatha replied softly, shifting so that she could face him, and smooth away the worry from his face. "No, I believe you, I do, I feel it whenever you touch me, whenever you look at me. I know you really do love me."

"Then what is this really about? Explain it simply, I am not quite ready for a proper debate at..." He paused, taking one glance at the watch on his wrist and groaning. "It's not even seven yet..."

"I just don't understand why me? No listen, I know I am not particularly beautiful, but I am not unattractive, I know I am more intelligent than most, it was a point of pride I could never really shift. Yet I am stubborn and difficult, and hardly what most men would want in a significant other. And do you know how I know this? Because I heard it every day when I was growing up, and not just from my father, but from the other women as well."

"So, you are not what conventional people would want in a wife." Dracula scoffed. "Do I strike you as in anyway conventional?" He added, pleased when Agatha shook her head and smiled that broad brilliant smile of hers, the one that brightened up her whole face.