Lost Loves

“Help me! Help me, please!”

She cries out to him like she always does. She screams just five feet away from him, holding out her hand for him to grab it. Once he would have, once he did, but now every time he did, he was only welcomed with dissapointment. Everytime he grabbed her hand, making her smile, she would then scream, and be killed in his arms.

So he just stopped rescueing every time she called out to him.

Which was every night when he went to sleep.

He had seen her so often now, he swore to God he would recognize her face in a crowd. But of course he’d never get a chance. The face he knew died hundreds of years ago anyway.

It was a time of war. Crusaders had invaded his home, he was unprepared, he didn’t have a chance to grab his sword. The Crusaders came into his house, and grabbed his wife. They took her away, with him chasing after her. Now he just simply walked behind them, lowering his head, he knew what would come. And then they would stab her in the back, and she would die in his arms.

It always happened that way. His dreams always the same.

And her blood would drip onto his chest. They would fall to the ground, and everyone will run past them, blood continueing to spill to the ground. And he will stare down at her, her beautiful and long blonde hair, with her blue eyes.

“I love you…” She would whisper.

Before he realized all this was just a dream. Before this dream repeated, he would whisper back, I love you too, and kiss her with tears in his eyes. Now he only holds her, and waits for her to die, and for the dream to continue.

And now as the life leaves her, he looks down at her, and brushes the hair out of her eyes.

“Who are you?” He asks the dead woman, but she never answers him.

This woman he held, this woman he reconized, this woman he once loved, was lost with so many memories. He once loved her, he knew that much, but he had no idea who she was. He didn’t know who he would give his life for, he didn’t know who he would cry for, but this woman he would. He didn’t even know her name. He didn’t know anything about her.

Then his home is set fire, and the flames burn the both of them.

All he sees then is war, and people dying under the full moon, their blood staining his hands. And he doesn’t know if he truly is killing them. He knows it is a dream, but it still hurts, it still feels so horrible, and he can’t stop it. He then begins to drown in the blood, the red taking over his vision, and filling his lungs.

And the red becomes the color on her beautiful dress. Her brown hair braded in a bun, with a silver necklace, she looks amazing, and stares at him with her green eyes. She walks to him, as the ballroom music begins to play. She wraps her arms around him, and kisses him on the cheek.

He begins to rock them slightly to the music.

They are in a golden ballroom, and they are the main focus.

She closes her eyes, and allows him to lead in the music. He turns them perfectly, as if he had been dancing for years.

He then dips her, and kisses her on the kneck.

“I love you.” She whispers.

Before he knew this was all a dream, he would answer, I love you too, and smile back at her. Now he simply stares blankly at her, wondering like the last who she is.

He turns to see her father smiling at them, the king smiling at him.

Then he focuses back on the woman he once loved from a life as dead as the last. He leads them in dancing again, and waits for it to happen.

“You have to tell me something.” He says.

“Anything, my love.” She smiles at him.

Then men with swords and torches run in, screaming. Immediately they kill the kill, and the woman runs into his hands, and cries. He only holds her tightly, continuing to rock slightly to the music that is now silent.

The invaders begin to kill everyone there, people in fine dressing try to run, but their clothing stained in their own blood. Blood stains never come out. And he still holds the woman in the red dress in his arms. He doesn’t know her, he doens’t know her name, only that at one point he loved her.

“Who are you?” He finally asks.

But it is too late.

A spear is stabbed through her chest to his. Blood drips from her mouth, the pain too much, that she cannot even scream. He stares at her blankly, feeling nothing. Then they fall to the floor, pinned together.

All he can do is look up at the burning ballroom. The people screaming, begging for mercy, and being given none. People being slaughtered. The blood staining the curtains. Then the blood touches the side of his face, and everything goes red again.

Then the red becomes the color of her lips, as she leans down to kiss him.

Once, when he didn’t know this was all a dream, he returned the kiss will all his love. Now he simply humors the woman with pitch black hair and blue eyes. She looks spectacular.

He looks to his right, the row of giant windows show the full moon, and the city of Translyvania below.

Then she smiles at him, grabbing his arm, and tugging him behind her.

“I have a surprise for you.” She giggles.

Then she stops him, and stares at him.

“I love you. Now wait here.” She says.

“Just tell me who you are.” He whispers, but she does not hear.

Before he knew this was a dream, he would have smiled, and said I love you too. But now he stands there, and watches her go into her room, and close the door. After all these years, he still doesn’t know what her surprise for him was.

Then he walks to the windows, and puts his hand to the cold night. He breathes on the window, and lowers her head.

Then he hears her scream, and he closes his eyes.

“Where is she!?” A man comes in, someone who he thinks is her brother.

He says nothing, and only stares at him.

He watches as the man runs into her room, and he follows slowly.

They see her window and mirror is broken, and her screams come from outside. They run to the window, and she him, carrying her in his arms, and fangs coming out of his mouth.

The devil gave him wings, and he used them to fly.

“Vladius Dracula! No!” The man screams.

And he looks up to see the woman staring at him.

“Abraham! I love you! I love you!” She screams at him, reaching for him.

Before he knew this was a dream, he would have yelled the same thing, with tears in his eyes.

And then Dracula bites her on the neck, ready to suck her dry, so that she may stay dead. And he throws her body to the far ground, and laughs.

“Oh, Gabriel…” He calls to him.

And he only stares as Dracula then flies towards him, fangs drawn, and dripping with blood.

Then he dies for the fifth or sixth time.

Then he awakes almost screaming, like he does every night. For the dreams continue to show many more people he doesn’t even know die in front of him, or by his hands. Horrible scenes that he can hardly remember, only the screams and deaths. Everything in the dreams then slips away, the details dulling, just like any other dream. And only the woman and the deaths are remembered.

And he is a little thankful that God took his memory away. He doesn’t want to remember those people, those woman he loved so much.

Then he drifted from his bed to the Roman church.

For what would happen if he did remember those woman? What would happen if he remembered why he fell in love with them? If he remembered their names? His heart would die three times again, he knew he, man with monsters, not even he would be able to take that.

Afterall, his heart was still weeping, still bleeding for his lost Anna.

But were’t all those other woman his once?

Yet death had seperated them, taken them away from him, or him away from them.

He walks to the church, under the holy cross.

He lowers to his knees, and holds his hands in prayer.

He wants God to not take the memories he bears now away from him. Don’t take Anna from me, he begs. He doesn’t want to forget her. He doensn’t want to forget what love was like.

He doesn’t want to forget what he once had.

He wants to remember, unlike the women in his dreams.

He doesn’t even want to dream about those women again, because if he remember them, then…Then wouldn’t the pain of their deaths grab his heart. And wouldn’t the brief love he felt with Anna be dulled?

He didn’t want that.

He didn’t want to forget Anna. He’d never forget Anna.

Even if she was killed by his hands, his claws. Even if she died for him. He wanted to remember her.

He didn’t want her to be lost in the many memories of his past. The many woman he now reconized, but were nameless to him. He didn’t want the name Anna to be lost in the list of the forgotten.

He didn’t want Anna to join his lost loves.

He knew he wouldn’t be able to wake one day and not know her name. To have her join the women in his horrific dreams.

He knew he had to have her in his life, he needed her to go on.

A brief love that was all he had, all he remembered.

He never wanted to ask Anna who she was.

And he prayed in front of God, with tears rolling down his eyes, that he wouldn’t be cursed with Anna’s nameless face, haunting him in his dreams. He wanted to remember Anna forever. Remember the words she spoke about death, how Translyvanians saw death as just another world, and how maybe they would be together someday.

That maybe one day he would die, and not come back to life, to go from the left hand of God to the right.

And he prayed until morning, wondering if God heard him.

He walked out into the sun, ready to go on another mission. Ready to go to Carl and see the new weapons. Ready to remember Anna.

“I love you, Anna.” He whispered.

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