The characters featured do not belong to me. This work is not for profit and meant as artistic expression inspired by the original work.
Flame-drawn
by Beth
There had been a fire, he thought. A village torched by slave-raiders, seen on the road from Moldova to Transylvania, and a white rage as he rode towards it. He did not remember his thoughts then - revenge, perhaps, for his own slavery and the whips and his brother, twisted and broken and theirs.
Gabriel had got there first.
That was what he remembered: the fire, the huddling villagers, the dead raiders at Gabriel's feet. No words, though some had been exchanged - in anger, joy, surprise, he could not recall. The flames had reflected in Gabriel's eyes, but he was the one blinded.
He shivered and drew his cloak closer. No use thinking about fire, he chided himself. It was always cold in Castle Dracula.
His ring finger was hurting.