Le cadavre exquis boira le vin nouveau.

[bleodswean]

Collaborative storytelling format in comments!

An exquisite corpse refers here to a collaborative storytelling format where multiple authors will write a small story in rounds. Each participant contributes a section as a comment, and the narrative progresses through each author's contributions until the story is completed. This method allows for diverse perspectives and creativity!

Anything and everything goes in the Dracula 'Verse! Add a sentence or paragraph! It begins with one comment and threads down from that comment. You are welcome to contribute as many times as you like between contributions of others!

Comments

[bleodswean]

The calendar struggled to tell the truth. Late spring, yet it had rained every day. May a sodden soaking mess of a month, blossoms shredded and left to hang like drenched corpses swinging on thin swaying gallow posts. That was outside the fogged glass. Inside, it was damp and chilly surely too late in the season to be burning coal. They wandered, ghost like, through the house, wrapped in woolen cloaks that had very briefly been packed away in cedar chests. Windows were kept closed with a reluctant frustration, but in her room, she would rise after the house was well and truly asleep, listening in the hallway for the heavy sounds of the resting human being. In her own chamber, she would then open wide the double doors and scurry back to her bed, cocooned in the feather and down and velvet dressing, listening to the rain sing a song. He would refer to it as a dirge. If she closed her eyes the words appeared as though written in a hand that only she could translate.

Each night, just past the witching hour, she would sing herself softly to sleep. A lullaby taught ...

[earthspirits]

Yes, a lullaby. The one he'd taught her had been one of the soul, a song only the two of them could hear, as they'd loved during the night. She thought of it now, as she readied herself for yet another day without him.

She preferred this weather, there was something soothing about the rain and the cloudy sky. Quietly, she slipped into her hooded cloak, and stole from the house, careful not to disturb him. Lately, they had grown apart. Nothing unkind, but really, they had little in common. She wasn't sure how much longer they would even stay together.

Turning her hood up, she walked slowly down the street. Meandering through the country lanes, she finally reached the little stream that bordered their village. She perched on a nearby boulder and stared into the water, enjoying the soothing music it made as it eddied and rippled over its bed of pebbles. There was a splash, as a frog slid from a partly submerged tree branch into the stream.

She felt peaceful here, at one with nature, listening to the rain, and the rising birdsong. The bank was overgrown with spring grass and weeds, vividly green against the grayness of the early morning, sprinkled here and there with wildflowers. Leaning forward, she reached into the stream, and plucked a pebble from its sparkling depths.

Roughly heart shaped, it shone like a jewel, water clinging to its smooth surface. She held the stone up to the dim light, studying its mottled coloring. A pretty trifle, but its shape reminded her of him. Of how his beautiful hands had held hers over his heart, the night they'd pledged their love to one another, for all eternity. Oh, how she missed him, with every beat of her own heart.

[bleodswean]

Uneasy and perilous in the place between sleep and dreams and wakefulness. He struggled to anesthetize himself, put his mind to rest, follow the beckoning black down down down into sleep. Do the wicked sleep he wondered. Does the widow in the high corner of the room, half hidden in the crack of broken mortar, sleep? Or is she in a state that no human creature could ever know? Was he human? He knew he was not. Not any longer. He'd traded that experience for this, unbeknownst what it would entail when the dark offer was made. He grimaced, the rictus of the mummified. Yet, that was not his lot either. He wasn't dead, not really.

Somewhere in some far-flung place, she lived. He didn't know how he knew this, how he could be sure. But like the spider that spins its web and waits, he knew a trap had been laid and soon she would become ensnared. She might not recognize him in this guise, but that could be overcome.

[earthspirits]

Once upon a time, two enchanted princes slept, hidden away in darkness. They had each found a sanctuary, deep underground, away from the damning light.

One waited, a spider in his web, plotting to trap his prey. Obsessive, demanding, all appetite and arrogance. A prince who would have obedience and blood. When the time was ripe, he would reach out to the object of his twisted desire and make her his.

Immersed in dreams, the other's slumber was peaceful: Sunlight and redemption, love eternal, a sacred joining of hearts and souls. And in that healing sleep, he watched over his beloved, longing to keep her safe and happy. From time to time, his mind would merge with hers, in the quiet hours of her dreams, or during the day, when she was still, her thoughts drifting.

Today, he caught a brief vision - a heart-shaped stone, glistening in the light, beckoning for him to awaken, and return.