Page 24 of My Carmilla

“Amen,” she said.

She propelled me forwards. The wind whipped my stinging cheek, carrying the echoes of my unspoken pleas into the air.

Chapter 11:

Back at the schloss, the general had already arrived. We were all settled neatly in the parlor after Madame Perrodon dragged me back from the lake. She had given me a rosary for penance, fifty Hail Mary’s the start to my punishment, while she conversed with my father downstairs. How much she told my father, I did not know, but it must’ve been enough because my father didn’t even look at me.

“Do not be cross with Laura,” the general spoke lowly. “I will still accept her, and you must, too.”

I curled my hands into my lap. The irony that the general was standing up for me in his own twisted way. I couldn’t bear to look at the man I was supposed to marry, the man who I felt nothing but loathing toward even before I met him.

“The fiend lures in innocents with her charms,” the general said. “Then she feast on their blood, an elixir that offers her a fleeting taste of life before plunging her deeper into darkness.” He closed his eyes. “Your late wife came from the House of Karnstein, no?”

My father stiffened. "A distant connection. What are you insinuating?"

“That she might’ve succumbed to her unfortunate fate simply based on her connection.

Blood calls to blood. Legend has it that vampires torment their living descendants…even the long-lost ones. What I mean to say, you cannot blame Laura. Your daughter has only been a victim in this. The she-demon thralled her, a wicked spell that caused a lapse in judgment.”

“She didn’t thrall me,” I burst out. “I went willingly with Carmilla.”

“Carmilla.” He spat the name like it was a curse. "Millarca, Mircalla…masks for the same beast. A thousand faces, each a lie. To Bertha, she was Millarca. They met at a soiree. Bertha, my sweet, innocent girl, was captivated by her charm. And then…" His voice cracked, betraying the grief that simmered beneath his anger, a grief so raw it scraped against my soul.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. How could I explain that Carmilla wasn't some malicious entity, but simply…existing? Just as humans needed water, she needed blood.

"So am I. I won’t let what happened to Bertha won't happen to you."

“What do we do?” asked my father.

The general's response was a cold, clinical plan. Isolate me. My governesses would take turns watching me, preventing Carmilla from visiting. The general and my father would see the priest, then visit the Karnstein ruins.

Once again, the men in my life were making decisions that would dictate my fate, leaving me as a pawn on their chessboard.

My voice cracked a whisper. “What will you do once you reach the ruins?”

“We end it,” he said coldly. A murderous gleam in his eyes. "We sever the head from the serpent."

The air in the room turned suffocating. The image of Carmilla's lifeless head rolling in the dust of those ruins filled my mind. A strangled sob escaped me.

“Forgive me.” The general’s voice lost some of its edge. “These words aren’t for a young woman to hear, especially my future wife.”

Bile rose in my throat, a rising tide of nausea threatening to spill over.

“Madame Perrodon,” my father called out. “Please escort Laura to her room, and keep watch.”

“Of course, sir,” she said as the men left.

I had to reach Carmilla, to warn her of the general and my father’s plan. I would find a way, even if I had to tear through these walls with my bare hands. Her life hung in the balance, and I, the pawn on the chessboard, refused to play their game.

***

Across the room, Madame Perrodon sat hunched over a quilt, her arthritic fingers working meticulously. From time to time, she'd cast a furtive glance in my direction.

I stared at the bible in my hands. Its words held no solace for me, offering only a hollow promise of redemption I no longer craved. I pretended to read while my mind scheme an escape.

My governesses kept vigil over me, their shifts changing like clockwork, ensuring Carmilla wouldn’t show her face. They couldn't watch me every moment. Surely, they needed sleep sometime. I focused on the window, on the gnarled branch that stretched out like a beckoning hand.

Evening crept in, and De Lafontaine took up her turn. An hour elapsed, and her rhythmic knitting slowed, her head nodding slightly. I waited until her snores filled the stillness.