A vampire's passion.
A secret love.
A legend reborn.
Countess Dracula may be immortal, but she has not felt true love for what seems like an eternity. Longing for companionship, she travels from her dark and lonely castle in the mountains of Transylvania to the bright and vibrant city of 1897 London. Mina Murray and Lucy Westenra have been best friends since childhood, but now they both must face the harsh reality of what it means to be a Victorian Woman, all the while secretly harboring a burning desire for one another. When these three woman cross paths, they soon begin a passionate romance that transcends not only the bounds of their society, but the very nature of life and death itself.
A serialized novel in three parts, MADAME DRACULA is a sensual, queer, feminist re-telling of Bram Stoker's classic of gothic literature. Giving his familiar characters a brand new bite.
“I am Dracula,” said the vampire, letting her voice come back to her in waves across the castle walls. She cleared her throat.
“I am Dracula!” This time she spoke in a tone that was a bit too cheerful for her taste.
“I am Dracula,” hat sounded queer to her ears. She let out a sigh. The solicitor from London would arrive at any moment and she wanted to make him feel as welcomed as possible. It had been hundreds of years since she had known what the day-to-day customs of mortals were, to carry on a conversation, to laugh, to engage in social decorum. In her estimation, she was doing a very poor job of it.
She had dressed the part, to be certain. Had she looked into mirror, which she had not done in a very long time, she would see a striking figure. Her red hair was tied tightly behind her head like spun fire. Her gown was jet black along with her cape with rose-colored lining that draped delicately around her shoulders.
The mistress of the castle turned her worries away from her appearance to that of her humble abode. The castle may not have been modern to the human eye but it was what she had called home for longer than she cared to. There were many bats that lived in far off corners, cob webs had lined themselves along corridors like the foliage of a jungle. She had always felt that its age was what gave it its character. Unlike herself, it would crumble and decay, it would wither as time went on, only she would stay the same. It was comforting in a strange way, as if the old fortress understood her. But much to her disappointment, she had to tidy it up a bit for Mr. Harker’s arrival.
She had cleaned the cobwebs, covered the cracks in the walls with silk tapestries and oil paintings that had not breathed air for decades upon decades. She had lit the candles and chandeliers, giving the castle an amber glow unlike the dark blue of moonlight that she was more accustomed to. She had even cooked a delicious meal of chicken and red pepper, a feast which she no longer had an appetite for. All in the service of a lawyer who was only visiting all this way for the sake of contracts.
There was a knock at the door that startled her. The boom of metal against wood echoed through the large foyer. Dracula walked over and opened it, making it creak with a loud scream. Wind and snowflakes drifted in and Jonathan Harker entered clutching his coat tightly around himself with one hand and a satchel in the other. “Countess Dracula?” He asked, shivering and taking off his hat.
“I am Dracula,” she responded in a tone that finally hit the conversational target that she had desired. “And I bid you welcome, Mr. Harker, to my house.” She raised her hand for him.
“Oh, yes, pleasure to finally make your acquaintance,” he gave it a short shake that was neither generous nor unkind. “The driver who sent me here, he seemed. . . “
“Anxious?” The Countess asked.
“Yes, a bit. Can’t expect anything less from someone as ancient as this part of the world,” he gave a short laugh, but she only responded with the faintest hint of smile. Harker cleared his throat. “Shall we discuss the details of your property?” He held up his satchel.
“Indeed,” Dracula said. “But first, I recommend we dine. Are you hungry, Mr. Harker?”
“Oh, very much so!” He smiled. “All I had on the train was some filthy local stew. I’ll be very much glad to have a taste of your more aristocratic meals.”
“Very well, then. Follow me,” she turned and lead him towards the stairs. As he began to walk, he slipped on some melted snow and nearly fell over. He caught himself and gave her a reassuring glance. She picked up a lit candle from a table nearby and walked up the giant stone stairway. Their footsteps echoed against the walls and Jonathan stifled a few coughs into his jacket sleeve. “Are you healthy, Mr. Harker?”
“Yes,” he replied through a few wheezes. “It’s the dust that’s bothering my lungs. Perhaps you should clean the place up a bit? It’s filthy, if I do say so, myself.”
“Your constructive criticism has been noted,” she said and winced at the memory of the hours spent removing the webbing. They reached the landing and in front of them, was a mighty dining table made of polished oak. On the table were goblets, plates, and silverware made of gold. A fireplace large enough to house a small carriage lined the wall.
“Oh, thank heavens!” Jonathan cried and ran to the fire immediately.
“Your dinner is ready at your leisure, Mr. Harker,” she gestured to the large cloche at the center of the table.
“Lovely!” He said, rubbing his hands together and walked over to the table. “What are we having, then?”