![]() If this was a land presently so unsettled, he could picture the shadowed recesses of the corner becoming an excellent location to conceal an assassin. They had been so beautifully and frightfully painted by the utterances of the man when he was carried away. Wars had been fought, and most likely won, by the Count’s boasts. He pondered the glory of this place in past centuries. No, should someone else have fallen victim to the Count’s methods, they could not have aided him. If he had but access to a map, perhaps this might be easier perhaps if he had a guidebook, penned by a helpful personage. He saw movement, and frowned, before realising it was no more threatening than quaint little specks of dust, floating and whirling through the rays of the vivid moonlight. He was quite desperate to get away from the walls of this castle. He was not at his leisure to just lay down his head anywhere, after previous events. He was mindful of his every step as he moved down the corridors, and of the area’s disrepair its danger its traps, left waiting for the unwary. ![]() He had never seen an inkling of such creatures, and presumed they were too afraid of the Count’s diabolical ways to stray into the courtyard, much less fly through an open window.Īnd so, casting that rumination from him, he walked, and surveyed. Would he be left for the wolves, or would his bones be left in some dreadful location in these halls?ĭoubtless, not even the crows or other carrion birds would be able to locate his remains. No, he knew not the hour, as he had thought, nor the method, nor what was to be left of him, if anything. The final letter had been noted as the 29th instant, so he had but five more days. He had held the letter he was induced to write, and then dated it for the Count. In other moments, he found himself slipping into an odd serenity an acceptance of his fate that was, perhaps, dangerous to allow to continue.įor unlike other men, he knew the date, if not the hour, of the day he was to die. He rubbed his arms, both to soothe himself, as well as to ward off a slight chill.Īs Jonathan wandered the corridors, he was by turns anxious at the potential reappearance of his client his captor his gaoler his formerly presumed beneficiary in a splendid deal that may have left him quite well off for his future life. He knew it wasn’t safe to loiter, and pulled his thin jacket tighter about himself. Or perhaps he ought to call them what they were battlements of a bygone age. It was a balmy night within the castle, save for when the wind picked up. He was, by turns, pondering what it once had been in bygone days, in accordance with the Count’s speeches. His steps are not upon thy paths,-thy fields Are not a spoil for him,-thou dost arise And shake him from thee the vile strength he wields For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray And howling, to his gods, where haply lies His petty hope in some near port or bay, And dashest him again to earth: -there let him lay.It was the night of June 24th, as Jonathan Harker did his level best to find a way that would lead him out of this accursed place, and from this accursed land. Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean-roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain Man marks the earth with ruin-his control Stops with the shore -upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown. There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society where none intrudes, By the deep Sea, and music in its roar: I love not Man the less, but Nature more, From these our interviews, in which I steal From all I may be, or have been before, To mingle with the Universe, and feel What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.
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