What was this? I needed to focus, rather than trying to separate each smell on my own.
The first smell was unmistakable, and actually easy to identify. It was blood. A lot of it, fuming like a spreading disease up my nostrils. It was coming from right underneath me, but I couldn't twist my head enough to peek down there.
What could hold such amounts of blood? A pool?
The notion made me nauseated, but it also made me realize I was wet. Turning my head, I saw blood trickling down my arms and legs tied to my sides. Had I been soaked in that pool and brought up again? Why?
I followed the trickling blood and pressured my body to a brief twist, which hurt my limbs and made me scream in agony. Finally, I could barely glimpse a surface underneath me. This time I could see what it was.
I was floating above a bathtub. A bloodbath of sorts.
The bathtub was filled with blood. But not only blood.
There were other liquids I couldn't recognize immediately—because seriously, it didn't make any sense to mix them together.
What kind of mixture was that, and why?
The blood was mixed with something white, which spread like swirling tree branches through it.
What was that? Milk?
Then there was something else I hadn't enough time to see with my eyes. My limbs ached and begged me to turn back to a normal position.
But I could smell it.
It was something rare and preciously desired by kings and queens at that time. A treat for the elite only. Chocolate. Dark chocolate.
I knew it because, similar to the Vampire Craze, there had been a Chocolate Craze in my time. In Styria, chocolate had been prohibited, and the poor couldn't afford it anyway. Only the likes of my mother had a few precious amounts she offered for the elite kings and queens who visited us. The reasoning behind the prohibition had been announced after renowned physicians from London and France claimed chocolate caused madness. And madness had always been linked to diseases, which recently had been linked to being a vampire.
But there was no more time for me to analyze why I had been dipped into that mix while my body was hung in the air. I decided I would annoy my captors with the only weapon I had.
My scream!
I screamed and screeched and squealed from the top of my lungs, wishing for a response or clarification why I was here—and where was here?
All the shouting I did could not free me. The dungeon smelled of all things evil. It was as if the walls were smeared with rotten apples. I could tell there were tens of cloaked men and women standing silently in the shadows, not uttering a word. But I didn't understand why they didn't talk. Was this some kind of a ritual? Where they waiting for someone?
A few moments later, I could see a raven and dove fluttering beyond the barred windows near the ceiling. That was when my torturers slowly emerged from the darkness, pulling their black cloaks back and staring at me. Men and women with pointed teeth. Pale but beautiful faces, even with their unusual golden eyes. Those were definitely the Sorrows, my family's greatest enemy since the days when my ancestor escaped Transylvania.
One man came a step closer to me. Everyone was sure to grant him enough space and slightly bow at his proximity. He seemed uglier than the rest. His eyes were red, not gold. He had long silver hair and a bushy beard, and edgy features—a bit too edgy, his cheekbones too sharp. He had a scar running sideways on his left cheek.
The man rested both his hands on a cane. I could see his long white fingernails shining in the dimly lit room. They were old hands, though. I had no doubt it was Night Von Sorrow, because I hadn't seen anything scarier than him in my life. I hadn't seen anything more cold-blooded. The slight parting of his mouth, showing his fangs, confirmed my fears. He smelled of blood, milk, and chocolate.
"Is she the one?" Night asked in a raspy voice that sent shivers to my soul.
"Carmilla Karnstein in the flesh," someone answered him.
"Weak is the flesh," Night said, taking a step forward and bending over. He held me by the jaw and parted his lips slowly, showing his sharp fangs again. "Strong is the soul that lives forever," he added, almost admiring me—or whatever his eyes were scanning my body for. "I can smell her soul already," he mumbled with envy and hatred, probably because he had no soul himself.
"I know who you are!" I spat on him, wondering from where I got my feistiness. After the incident with my mother, this was the second time I'd realized how much anger I had inside.
"Then you're not as afraid as you should be," Night said. "Although I despise all Karnsteins, I have always admired their foolish bravery." His eyes met mine. They were piercing, as if looking for something beyond me. "You're such a beauty, Carmilla, just like the ripe Blood Apples the Karnsteins produce." He laughed in a low drone as his long fingernails almost scraped my cheeks. "We have been waiting so long for you."