I had hung my shaving glass by the window, and was merely get downing to shave. Suddenly I felt a manus on my shoulder, and heard the Count ‘s voice stating to me, ‘Good morning’aˆ¦ In get downing, I had cut myself somewhat, but did non detect it at the momentaˆ¦ there could be no mistake, for the adult male was close to me, and I could see him over my shoulder. But there was no contemplation of him in the mirror! This was startlingaˆ¦ I saw that the cut had bled a small, and the blood was dribbling over my chinaˆ¦ When the Count saw my face, his eyes blazed with a kind of diabolic rage, and he all of a sudden made a grab at my pharynx.

I feel a sudden, lay waste toing stab of fright and the demand to get away this God-forbidden fortress right off. I would make anything to acquire off from here everlastingly. Overcome with giddiness and happening myself excessively weak to sit unsloped, I unwisely begin to fight from the place of lying on my dorsum, wining merely in falling off the bed. The Count gimmicks me before I can ache myself and topographic points me quietly on my side with my back confronting him. My fright is non put to rest now that I can non see him, or by the fact that he catches me gently as though I had been a kid.

I feel him drag one crisp fingernail along my cervix. “ You should non travel about so much. You ‘ve lost a batch of blood. ”

He spoke the truth. I felt really ill, cold and swoon after losing a batch of blood. My ain custodies felt similar ice as I raised them to gingerly touch my, gratefully, still-clothed thorax. I urgently try to talk, to state him that I am non an animate being to be devoured, but it is excessively hard, for my pharynx feels paralyzed, like the remainder of my organic structure, with fear. At last I shut my eyes, brace myself, and manage to inquire, “ What have you done to me? ”

“ Jonathan Harker, you are now mine. ” I can experience him behind me and all of a sudden, his icy custodies are on my pharynx and in my hair. What I thought I remember go oning was non a dream. I rapidly realized precisely what he meant: I am his quarry, his toy, here for his amusement. He could make whatever it was he wants with me. It is possible that he might desire to see me dead or torment me in some manner if I protest. The idea terrifies me more that I can state, but I do non make bold to demo it. He could utilize my fright against me as a mark of uselessness and slay me instantly. Right so, I believe I still want to remain alive.

An unexpected pang of hurting Pierces the sinew of my cervix, and I heedlessly scream out as the Count ‘s crisp nail interruptions my tegument. The bed sheets where I lay become besotted with blood as it drips down from the lesion, along my pharynx. Soon, my pillow becomes drenched as he opens the cut more, a dark ruddy watercourse spills across my flesh, and I feel the smoothness of glass underneath my pharynx. I do non understand what he is making to me ; absolutely horrified of what he is about to make to me. I shake in shared trepidation and failing as his lingua slithers across my cervix, savoring me, but halting the flow of blood. At least for now, I am still alive.

He flips me onto my back once more, so that I am forced to look up at him keeping a cup full of blood-my blood. I want to shout in panic, but I am excessively weak and can non talk. My eyes turn heavy as he drinks his fill, wholly emptying the glass, and bites into the flesh of his ain carpus to make full it once more. It feels as though I am in fact natation by the ceiling, staring down upon my hitch organic structure as the Count lifts my caput and holds the cup to my oral cavity.

“ Drink, ” he says. His tone is non unkind, non demanding, and still I feel I have no other pick but to obey. I shut my eyes and drink from the cup of his blood. The gustatory sensation is out of the blue metallic, but non unpleasant, and seems to convey back some sort of life to me as I hang on the brink of decease, reuniting my psyche and organic structure. The trancelike fatigue passes off, and I am alive and wake up, although I am drained, about dry.

I lick the hints of blood from my lips. “ What- ”

Before I could complete what I was traveling to state, he disappears, go forthing merely a swoon light-green mist in the air, and I am entirely. Even as I write this in my diary, I wish so severely to believe that everything that happened up until now was a arrested development of my imaginativeness, but the bloody sheets and pillow force me to confront my frights: that he intends to either slaying me and run out my organic structure wholly, or to alter me into whatever evil spirited animal he is. I am non certain which decision would be less awful.