The Mill and The Cross

The thought that Miss Marianne, a naive young girl filled with innocent joy and boundless curiosity, had once almost placed her life and fate in the hands of a cruel monster, deeply troubles Lawrence Van Helsing. The pain in his heart is akin to a slow-acting poison. But now, everything is in the past. In the ruins of the old mill, where unholy ashes mixed with ordinary dust, there is no longer any danger lurking for the small village or for his Marianne. Or so it seems. As he watches her step into his room with a tiny candle, smiling gently and warmly towards him, Lawrence's lips twitch in an unsettling manner, revealing sharp white teeth. "I came to bid you goodnight," she says softly. In the glow of the fire, her thick red hair reflects a golden sheen. The shadows timidly retreat to the corners, avoiding alluring candlelight. In these moments, Lawrence's doubts hold an otherworldly power: instead of politely responding like a gentleman, he simply revels in her with his gaze, unnaturally shamelessly and openly causing the young lady to blush and wrap herself in her shawl. Her lace chemise is stark white, resembling both a wedding dress and a shroud. Lawrence's thoughts contradict his gaze: while voices in his head urge caution and modesty, his blue eyes fixate on the hollow between her collarbones before trailing up her neck like a sharp blade. He once again experiences that unexplainable, peculiar mix of delight and fear, as if he has fallen under the bewitching influence of a full moon. His breath quivers with a nervousness akin to a cornered predator. Thankfully, the dimly lit room shields Marianne's eyes from observing the subtle transformations that have been occurring within him lately. "Why cannot we leave this place for now?" Marianne cautiously perches on the edge of his bed, oblivious to his mounting unease. The silence of the night swallows her question. If only the answer weren't that uncomplicated... If only Lawrence could be certain that his bodily trembling, strange and frightening visions, heightened senses of hearing, smell, and sight were merely a product of frayed nerves playing tricks on him in the dark, or were brought on by an approaching fever. He longed to believe that these were not transformations of his soul and body, given to him by the deadly kiss he received at the old mill... But evil is too persistent to be easily overcome. With great effort, Lawrence speaks again, avoiding eye contact with Miss Danielle. The scent of her stirs something within him. If this was a test set by the devil, it was surely the most malicious and cruel one yet. "Miss Danielle, I must find the traces of evil within Meinster Castle. The Baron was turned in a bloodsucking entity there and it served as the breeding ground for his abominable rituals. There must be something - books, objects of bloody worship - that should not fall into anyone's evil hands. And you...I worry for your safety. As long as I am by your side, you are protected." Marianne appears calm, but her next words imply a sense of embarrassment. Spending most of their time together and developing a genuine friendship, they are finally able to openly confess to each other. However, sometimes glances and touches can convey more than words ever could. "Oh, how I long for us to escape this place as soon as possible", she laments. "You've been a shadow of your former self since that fateful evening..." She tenderly places her palm on his sweaty forehead, smoothing back his unkempt hair. Yet, she quickly pulls away. "My goodness, you're ablaze! At first, I considered the intense glimmer in your eyes as a mere figment of my imagination..." The pursuit of the root of evil led him into the dark, dreary night, drenched in autumn's pouring cold rain. It wasn't until the end that he revealed his sickness to her. "Now, dear Lawrence, I will myself take care of you, my loyal friend and valiant rescuer... It's my time to protect you", she whispers softly watching him finally falling asleep. * As dawn breaks, a local doctor arrives to lend her aid. She meets a bit familiar jolly old man, often slightly inebriated and carrying a large suitcase filled with archaic medical tools. When they come in, she notices the Bible that rested by Lawrence's bedside all night now lies abandoned in the room corner. "Keep your preconceived notions to yourself! I have no sins to confess!" Van Helsing hisses with disdain at the doctor entering his room. "Forgive me, but this is sheer disrespect! I am a doctor myself." "Ah, kind sir, we doctors often forget to take care of ourselves. So, let yourself heed the advice of your colleague this time. Its Miss Danielle who has invited me, being so concerned about your well-being," the elderly man's words proved to be quite persuasive as the intrepid vampire slayer, his eyes flashing with disbelief, finally gives up. As they make their way out, the doctor's optimism starts to wane and turn into doubts. "This fever is definitely wrenching him from within. The nerves mercilessly play with him as well. Yet, I must admit it's kind of a peculiar and unfamiliar case...I cannot pinpoint its exact nature but I'm certain that in the end, his strong body will triumph over any ailment, my dear lady." On the ground floor of the tavern, the doctor awaits a glass of sweet red wine while Marianne is caught off guard by a heated argument between concerned villagers. * Nearly ten days have passed since the old mill transformed into burned out ruins, and now the town is buzzing with dark rumors and premonitions. The old miller, who was half-blind and rarely seen by anyone, has vanished without a trace. Some say he drank himself to death in a far-off tavern or perished on his journey. Others speculate that he may have drowned in the treacherous swamps. "This cannot be! He was a stubborn old man. A typical death couldn't claim such a being..." The innkeeper's wife shouts impatiently on the giggling kids in the corner. "He inherited some sort of power and knowledge from his father and grandfather, dabbling in wicked deeds along the way. It's no wonder those creatures of the night were drawn to his mill! It was written in his blood to serve darkness!" The innkeeper himself accidentally finds that his wife actually has some point. Marianne listens to these blasphemous rumors with a baited breath. "Perhaps they dragged him away to the underworld! So why bother searching for him? He's gone now; just where he belongs." Such eerie stories can evoke fear not only in little children sitting frozen on a bench in the corner, but in a rational and European-educated young lady as well. Marianne, who has already experienced terrifying events in the Transylvanian wilderness, can easily trust anything she hears or witnesses. * Lawrence's behavior and mood are unsettling for her. Every day, he tries to leave his bed and search for remnants of a dreadful cult. She struggles to keep him lying down, hiding his outer garments and instructing the maid to make sure the sick professor stays put in his room. As Marianne spends countless sleepless nights by Lawrence's bedside, she too becomes pale and fatigued. As she sews up a torn sleeve on his velvet jacket that rests on her lap, she inhales the soothing scent of lavender from the soft fabric, then tenderly pressing it to her cheek. Today, Lawrence almost manages to escape from her. The terror that seized his sad gaze upon seeing the water vessel in Miss Danielle's hands will surely haunt her memory for quite some time. "Marianna, please don't... There's no need for water... No, please... Don't touch my with a holy water! It stings my skin! It burns me!.." A cry is stifled as he breaks away from her grasp, hastily throwing on his beloved coat and retreating towards the poorly secured window. "Why are you acting like a naughty child? It's just ordinary cold well water. Your fever is high, Lawrence. It's an unpleasant feeling, indeed, but please, let me take care of you! Please!.." Marianne rushes after him, latching onto his sleeve, but he abruptly shoves her aside. The distinct sound of fabric tearing echoes in the air. Marianne's big mesmerizing dark eyes brim with genuine bitterness, scorching Lawrence's heart with a fervor surpassing any infernal flames. In defeat, he slowly melts into her embrace and relinquishes his fevered passion to her, attuned to the frantic rhythm of her pulse. Though not his usual state, he tenderly kisses her hands, now salty from tears that she had wiped away. Gently savoring the salt of those droplets on her trembling fingers. "Miss Danielle, I beg you, please be careful. Something strange is happening to me. Something eerie... that I cannot explain." * Marianne strolls silently around the inn, mulling over Van Helsing's words. Anka, the youthful maid, simply smiles as she watches her pensive musings and empathetic care for the ailing savior. "Oh Miss" Anka sighs while taking a load of damp towels from Marianne's grasp, "Men hardly understand our sacrificial love. He should to kiss your hands!" The maid isn't entirely wrong in her observation. It seems men struggle to fully comprehend a woman's affection. These tumultuous emotions within Miss Danielle's heart trouble her more than the recent brush with death. Who is she? Just a small-town teacher yearning to explore this big amazing world, make new companions, and find authentic love... It's unlikely her aspirations align with Lawrence's sense of chivalrous duty. As Marianne gazes at the sleeping Lawrence, she wonders what he truly thinks of her. In her mind, she berates herself for being such a flighty woman, recalling her abominable affair with a bloodsucking monster, who wore a genuinely noble mask. But as she gently touches Van Helsing's feverish forehead, she realizes it was all just a hypnotic trance and not genuine emotions. His sweaty face is drained from an unknown illness, making his already prominent features seem even more elongated and pale. The fragile skin on his sunken cheeks appears almost translucent. The compassionate innkeeper tries to console Marianne, reminding her that Mr. Van Helsing is still young and healthy enough to withstand his fever. Pouring them each a mug of dark ale, he praises the brave man for saving their village from the monster and believes that God will surely grant him aid and protection in return. However, it seems that the Lord is somewhere really upset with the brave gentleman who saved Marianne, but it's unclear why. There seems to be something going on with Lawrence... Marianne's drowsy thoughts are becoming increasingly disorganized and confusing. She desperately tries to push away memories of that intense, alluring gaze that had once been directed at her in the night. Of course something is happening. Staying up all night reading at the open window has taken a toll on Van Helsing's delicate nerves. Marianne realizes this and doesn't want to add to his suffering by mentioning rumors about the mysterious miller's disappearance.