Light of all lights
Dumbfounded by the sight unfolding before my eyes, I come to a halt. Without any kind of forewarning. I cannot refrain from gazing, utterly fascinated, through the hall-door window of the small flat belonging to John Seward, my former student, one of the worst manifestations humanity has the ability to imagine.
Clinging to the handle of bronze, I watch a woman clad in a white nightgown. A woman whose voluptuous silhouette is easy to perceive underneath her diaphanous fabric. Madam Mina. Delightful Mina. Maiden with a generous soul. Radiant Mina. Light of all lights.
Clinging to the handle of bronze, I watch a richly dressed man. A man arrayed in a deep-blue garment that highlights his aristocratic origin. Count Dracula. Nosferatu with a black soul. Dark Dracula. Eclipse of all eclipses.
Mesmerised, captivated, unaware of my surroundings and of the reassuring presence of my four comrades standing behind me—the brave Jonathan Harker, the energetic Quincey Morris, the careful John Seward, and the noble Arthur Holmwood—I look. At a man. At a woman. At Dracula. At Mina. Ad infinitum, their names repeat in my mind. Their names mingle. Until it gets impossible for me to separate them. Until they give substance to the abjection unfolding in front of us.
The vampire and his victim are kneeled on a bed; the blankets are disarranged. The enemy’s palms tenderly stroke the innocent child’s back, whom my companions and I are supposed to protect, while he sometimes sheathes his fingers in her splendid jet black hair. For a few seconds, the executioner and his torture victim stay entwined. To my horror, the demon does not content himself with this embrace I describe as vile; he indeed decides to brush the bride’s creamy nape with his lips. Upon it he puts numerous kisses. They create shivers of delight to their beneficiary. Appearing to appreciate the attention greatly, she throws back her head, before pressing her stomach against her accursed lover’s. Whereas he pursues an undertaking he seems to find to his liking, his hands slide down the astray sheep’s sides, in order to reach the immaculate veil-tails that conceal her curves. With exquisite tardiness, they lift the hem of the material, allowing nails to scrape her ivory flesh. Forced to cease the activity of his mouth, the fiend takes off her piece of clothing swiftly, then lets it fall on the floor.
Suddenly, the shock. A sight the monster, three of my comrades, and I should never have been exposed to.
Madam Harker; naked. Mina; as vulnerable as a newborn baby. Sylph revealing her nacreous skin.
God forgive me! For I am sinning. In the worst possible way. Unable to move, bewitched by the apparition, I cannot put a foot in front of the other in order to save a soul in perdition. Unable to open the glassed-in door, captivated by the show, I cannot prevent my hand from settling over the protuberance that deforms the front of my trousers.
Then a languorous coming and going starts; blissful, licentious. Downwards. Upwards. This act brings me an intense pleasure while I admire, embarrassed, feeling guilty, the body of she who, of all women, is forbidden to us. In truth, lust has seized my mind and my reason. Impossible for me to stop.
The fallen prince now takes off his precious attire. One by one, he removes his patrician garments nonchalantly. He finally appears undressed before us. Muscular, imposing. Broad shoulders. Narrow hips. An athletic build. Absolutely everything to lead a decent girl astray. An aquiline nose. A penetrating gaze; a gaze with embers smouldering in its depths. Masculine traits. Absolutely everything to compel an innocent lass to give in.
To my great embarrassment, I let my pupils look at the demon's turgescence, future instrument of profanation. Proudly erect, defying the Lord with insolence, it nearly touches the sculpted abdomen of the Romanian. He catches his partner's slender hand, who stumbles slightly but whose black irises darken with desire, in order to place it over his throbbing phallus. Afterwards he begins a slow back-and-forth. Mina seems to need a few moments to get used to the indecent contact. Yet a glance at her lover's face, which conveys a bliss beyond words, persuades her to put her heart and soul in her adulterous activity, thus the rhythm raises.
Fascinated by this insistent movement, I follow its cadence, my palm willing, sheath half covering my hidden member.
Obsessed with the awful sight, I reach the very depths of human baseness. Damned for all eternity, but unable to cease. I shamefully revel in witnessing a manifestation as infernal as it is arousing. God forgive me!
All of a sudden, Dracula stops his activity. He encourages subsequently the bride to sprawl on the white sheets, arms out-spread, legs apart, dark hair all around her. Our radiant protégé smiles at the vampire who eventually reclines next to her. With his left hand he starts stroking his mate's generous breasts, hefting the globes of alabaster, gently nipping the pink and hardened peaks. A sigh of contentment then gets away from Mina's creamy throat. This exquisite sound feeds my lust, that is why I increase the pressure on the front of my trousers.
Eager to explore new climes, the Nosferatu's prying hand leaves the twin elevations to take care of the centre of the world, shrine concealed by rebellious curls. Whereas the nobleman of the Carpathians captures Madam Harker's lips, kissing her with revolting ardour, two licentious fingers violate a sacred temple that should have belonged to Jonathan only, her groom. So they enter, they come out. They penetrate; bury themselves deeper at each invasion.
Subjugated by the obscene sight, I increase the rhythm of my caress over my manhood and moan in the collar of my linen shirt. Also captivated by the monster and the ingenue, my comrades in arms have not heard me.
Once more paying attention to the abomination, I get a glimpse of Mina arching her back, throwing back her head, her face transfigured by bliss. What an enthralling show! Thus a shameful delight seizes me, mingling with the carnal pleasure I feel. My Lord, I beg you to grant me forgiveness for the crime I commit today.
While he gets up in haste and sits on the edge of the bed, Dracula catches the maiden's right hand in order to conduce her to stand up. His voice avid, he commands her to settle astride his muscled thighs. Seeming intimidated and excited at the same time, the astray sheep complies and becomes impaled on the infernal blade without delay. A rale of satisfaction escapes the demon's throat, who grabs the strumpet's buttocks firmly. Then he starts fierce, furious comings and goings; he thrusts deeply, wild, enraged.
Entranced by a heat without parallel, the now perjurer wife hugs her lover's head to her bosom, sheathing her slender fingers in his long brown locks. She meets the fallen prince's strokes with her pelvis, whimpering and grunting with effort.
This manifestation exceeds by far what I am able to endure. Highly aroused, I increase the pressure I apply on the expression of my divine transgression, speeding up the rhythm of my crime. The flames of Hell rise inside of me, consume everything that I am, everything that I incarnate, pervade my entire body. Rapture explodes violently. Unwillingly, I cry out in delight while I witness, eyes half-closed, a sight that should never have occurred.
The Nosferatu has sunk his glistening fangs into our light's shoulder, in order to absorb her ruby essence. Yet the attractive monster does not satisfy himself with this abjection. Non content with drinking at the forbidden fountain, he removes his canines from her tender flesh and cuts into his pectoral with a sharp nail. Several crimson drops get away from the wound. Putting a gentle but insistent hand on his mistress' nape, the aristocrat keeps drowning in sin, for the bride savours his vitiated nectar.
Without any warning, I regain my clarity of mind and every faculty that I possess. I am no longer under a spell and I can move as I want. Thus this disposition enables me to comprehend the truth of the terrible sight unfolding beyond the glassed-in window. Indeed, my friends and I are not witnesses to an abomination but to a complete misunderstanding. Mina has not copulated with the demon and has not willingly swallowed the blood meant to turn her into a creature of the night. Everything has been an illusion created by the base villain!
Before us, our lovely protégé, clad in her nightgown now smeared with blood, tries to resist the Romanian's iron grip, who forces her to do his will, whereas her husband Jonathan—whom I had thought to be in my back!—sleeps soundly next to her.
In a burst of uncontrolled anger, unaware of the discomfort caused by my previous crime, I violently kick the obstacle separating us from the couple and Dracula. Then the four of us—John, Quincey, Arthur, and I—storm into my former student's flat and hotfoot after the fiend. Finally glimpsing us, he prefers to flee by evaporating after casting a hateful glance at us, instead of facing us. He has taken the form of a foggy cloud we are not able to catch. So we turn towards the unfortunate victim in order to calm her down and to get her version of the attack. Poor child! How can such a thing have happened? Madam Mina, so delightful, so radiant. Light of all lights. She does not deserve what has befallen her: the death threat on her beloved, the assault, the obligation to ingest the carmine poison. She does not deserve the treatment inflicted on her.
I swear by all that I hold dear I will do everything in my power to avenge you by eliminating the vampire who has defiled you. Light of all lights, I take a solemn vow to give you back your magnificent soul.
You have Abraham Van Helsing's word.
If there are any grammatical mistakes, misspellings, conjugation or punctuation horrors, they are solely mine. Indeed, English is not my mother tongue and the translation of this story—originally written in French—is my second try