The Red Rose

Chapter XXXVII

I felt like a prisoner in a maximum-security prison, but the Victorian ambiance was evident everywhere. Luxurious hallways, dim lights - I imagine vampires don't require much lighting. Repeated portraits of various vampires changed as time passed, ranging from classic period pieces to some that looked like they were done by a 5-year-old.

The chains rattled, and many vampires made way in certain areas, while I noticed their pupils dilating as I passed through them. This must be how a lamb feels on its way to slaughter, with others watching with hungry eyes.

Everyone was well-dressed, but in different styles. The only things that actually reminded me I was in the present and not the Victorian era were the paintings, sculptures, and people's attire.

"This way, Mr. Aguilar," Dracula said as he personally opened the door for me.

I arrived at what appeared to be a luxury suite, the kind you see when the president meets with his ministers on TV to make decisions, and they had a table at the head for me, away from the rest of Dracula's inner circle.

I sat down, and next to me was Griffin, who was preparing some devices and a kind of syringe with a strange, colorless serum, with a pump that was exchanging my blood with Griffin's serum. He sat beside me, taking notes on a device and timing everything.

I looked up and could see different paintings of what appeared to be portraits of children crying. They were of all ages, from practically babies to children almost in puberty, and I remembered that creepypasta or urban legend. I didn't even want to imagine how the artist might have painted those pictures, which disturbed me as those innocent faces seemed to look at me, as if their souls were captured there, begging for mercy. And I could see in the distance, in front of me, the familiar original painting of the crying boy.

"Oh. You seem to like it?" Dracula said as he turned around and appreciated the painting. "They say that painting is cursed!" He laughed. "Can you imagine how they might have painted it, Mr. Aguilar? That's the original, found in a burning house. I imagine you've seen it. Bruno Amadio, a genius. And as for the rest, they're all authentic replicas. I like expressive, romantic paintings that capture real emotions. You understand, Mr. Aguilar?" Dracula said proudly.

It seemed I was going mad. "How can depravity be so great? So low? I really felt like I was in a dark web video."

Suddenly I saw that they were bringing me food. It was Franky. They had him as a waiter serving people, and he brought me what appeared to be a grilled pig, my favorite. This guy had really found out everything about me.

"Franky? Are you okay?" I whispered.

Franky had his mouth sewn shut, and he just made affirmative gestures while putting the food on the table and preparing a glass of what was orange juice for me.

"He even knows I don't drink alcohol?" I thought indignantly.

I hadn't noticed how different Dracula looked compared to the movies about him. I had already noticed his aquiline face and prominent nose, as well as his medium-length hair. He had a face with strong, thick eyebrows, and a broad, strong chin. The two attributes that surprised me most were that he had slightly pointed ears and a mustache that reminded me of a Super Mario character, surely something new he had invented, in addition to the haircut, which although black and medium-long, seemed to be well-groomed. In general, he looked like a kind of businessman, especially with the black suit and red tie outfit.

"Is it really pork, or a bipedal animal? Does the orange juice come with some organic flavoring?" I asked sarcastically.

Dracula began to laugh: "Haha! Mr. Aguilar. I assure you that the food meets European health standards for human consumption, but if you're not hungry, we can pack it up for later." He finished with a smile.