Memory

One of them was unfashionably late, and they stared out of the window at a threatening ribbon of light on the horizon willing her home. There had been a time, when another of them was captured and lost, that he had stood by the window in a mood and posture similar to the one he presented now; he had been unmovable (as if carved from stone) with all muscles taut, until he'd whispered, "I will kill everyone between this spot and where she is found - on this you can rely. Take to your knees, and wait for me." At sunset on the following day, he'd set out and proceeded to wipe three villages from the map; the guilty had hidden themselves in the catacombs of a local church, so he had torn that (and them) apart at great injury to himself. He slept for nearly 50 years thereafter and woke crying as if the whole thing was yesterday. They heard the sound of wings and, sighing with relief, turned to the door to welcome her. She greeted the other wives, but Dracula did not turn from the window. "I'm sorry to be late," she whispered, and saw him nod. "I need a minute," he said quietly, and moved away down the corridor. "Leave him," one of the others said, as she made to go after him. "He lives differently with his memories after a thousand years; he has incredible strength of will, but there are more and more of them that will never let go."