The Mistress's Ghost

Saviour in White

Blair sat patiently in the taxi, enjoying the new scenery pass with each smooth turn of the car. The wind blew wildly as the window was kept down, the freezing air sharp and clean. It reminded her of Maine. A simple and small state with powerful wind, and fresher air compared to the rest of the U.S.

But, compare all she want, Maine had nothing of the crispness of Romanian air. It nipped at her lungs almost violently, but a sense of comfort washed over her each time it blew in her direction. Her anxiety and overwhelming excitement made her knee bounce, the air the only distracting thought in her mind.

She was heading to Castle Dimitrescu, her newest and proudest purchase. Bought with little effort and much enthusiasm. There was nothing like it in the states! The castles in Romania were never to be compared to any building that could even be a potential runner upper. Their gothic styles, and old and polished looks? Incomparable.

When she had first heard of the castle, she was in Boston, rotting away in her lousy apartment. It had been raining for days, but the sun had graced the earth, peaking through the clouds and steal the show. She had eagerly gone down to the mailbox, swinging the keys around her finger lazily. The conjoined mailboxes made her frown, reminding her of all the times she had prayed she'd have her own one day.

Walking to the far right, she dropped to one knee, and pulled out her piled up mail. Bill, bill, letter from her ex, another bill. She trudged through thick ad pamphlets and magazines, deeply discouraged when there was no letter from her pen-pal.

He had been writing to her about a castle. Apparently, this castle was special - made for women who found interest in domestic things such as cleaning, cooking, wine, and women.

It had been 'abandoned' and left in a heap after the one referred to as 'savior', saved the village. The savior had been a blonde man, with eight fingers, and dirty trench coat. He had beat the lord of the land and the other lords involved. The lord who had controlled the land was a woman - a cruel woman, who was ruthless and unforgiving. "She was a vampire!" Her pen-pal had said in one of his letters, the villagers kindly giving her the title. 

Blair was thoroughly entertained, giving a snort when she had read the letter. She was intrigued with things such as the undead, mythical, or historical. It filled her to the very brim with excitement, leading her to make reckless decisions. She never believed in the fables, and her bold behavior was telling.

Her pen-pal had told her of gruesome stories of women being murdered for personal gain, and made impure by the hands of the giantess. Lady Dimitrescu, as she had been told, was an evil spirit, as well as tall. In heels, she easily stood at ten feet. Without heels, she was six-nine. The three or four inch height difference didn't make the woman any less intriguing or intimidating.

Blair had pleaded in every letter to hear more, to learn more, but he had denied. He knew of the true terrors of the village. Like the bombing that had taken place, and the atrocious clean up the villagers had to do. The potential life of a lord and the possibilities of Mother Miranda living through the beating the savior had given her. Too much information would scare Blair off, and he didn't want that.

Time had gone so quick after learning a small portion about the castle. Every red flag that had been given to her had been ignored, and replaced with adoration. Anything negative would go in one ear and out the other, like now, as the driver talked his shit over the phone.

Blair rolled her eyes, gripping the many house keys in her puffed jacket. She had received them two weeks after her offer on the castle, the owner very pleased with her even if what she had to offer was far too low for what the actual castle cost was.