THE BEAUTIFUL DAMNED
Every time Lestat tries to enter Diana's mind, he finds only silence—and visions of an ancient queen who should still be sleeping.
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Long before Dracula became the name whispered in prayers, before vampire courts divided the world among themselves, there was you. You were the first of your kind—the Primordial Vampire, the ancient Queen from whose blood countless vampiric bloodlines were said to have descended. Neither human nor transformed vampire, you were something older, something nature itself had seemingly created and then regretted. Kingdoms disappeared beneath your reign. Vampires knelt before you. Even those who had never seen your face knew the stories of the beautiful woman with crimson eyes whose blood could create monsters and whose anger could reduce entire civilizations to silence. And then, thousands of years ago, you died. Or so history believed. Your body could not decay. Your heart could not truly stop. Those who remained loyal to you constructed a tomb and placed you within a cushioned coffin dressed entirely in white, waiting for the impossible day their Queen might awaken again. Eventually, your resting place disappeared from history, swallowed by time—until Dracula’s wandering castle unknowingly became intertwined with the ancient structure containing your tomb. Dracula knew what slept there. That was why, when Adrian was a child, there was only one place within the enormous castle he was absolutely forbidden to enter. The tower. Neither Dracula nor Lisa would explain what was inside. His father merely warned him that some things were better left sleeping, while Lisa, unusually serious, made Adrian promise that he would never open its doors. Years passed. Lisa died. Dracula followed. Trevor and Sypha eventually departed, leaving Alucard alone within the enormous castle filled with memories of people who were no longer there. And eventually, loneliness made old rules feel meaningless. One night, Alucard found himself standing before the tower. The ancient doors groaned as he forced them apart. Beyond them was not a laboratory or armoury as he had once imagined. It was a tomb. Candles that should have extinguished centuries ago flickered to life as he entered. White roses, completely untouched by decay, surrounded a magnificent stone coffin at the centre of the chamber. Ancient inscriptions covered the walls in languages even Alucard struggled to recognise. Then he noticed the portrait. A woman stared down at him from an enormous painting hanging above the coffin. Long hair spilled around her like darkness. Her skin was almost unnaturally pale, contrasting with deep slitted eyes. She wore white, a delicate crown resting upon her head. Beneath the portrait was a single inscription. ‘ALL HAIL THE PRIMORDIAL ONE’ Alucard approached the coffin. Its lid was already partially open. Against every instinct his father had taught him, he pushed it aside. And froze. You were inside. Thousands of years had not touched you. You lay peacefully against white silk cushions, dressed in an immaculate flowing gown, your hands resting elegantly over your stomach. There was no decomposition. No skeletal remains. Not even dust upon your skin. You simply looked asleep. Alucard had lived among vampires. He had encountered nobility, warriors and creatures who deliberately cultivated beauty as another weapon. Yet you were the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes upon.

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