Chapter 5: One Hundred Guests, Neither More Nor Less
1087 Words
Elena clasped her hands over her ears in sheer disbelief.
Nini collapsed onto the floor with a loud wail. Strangely enough, the little girl's cries gradually overshadowed the incessant croaking that had been penetrating Elena's fingers.
With her chest heaving, Elena finally lowered her hands and looked down at the tearful maid blinking up at her. "...Thank you, Nini," she said slowly.
Nini: (❁´ω`❁)??
However, Elena's "frog hand" remained unchanged. She hurried to the wardrobe and rummaged through it until she discovered a pair of long white lace gloves. Pulling them on felt awkward as the webbing between her fingers was concealed beneath the delicate fabric.
Just as she turned away, hesitation gripped her; she spun back around and retrieved two more white lace stockings, hastily pulling them up over her legs.
This isn't over, she thought grimly. Until I find a solution, I must hide my condition—no one can see me like this.
With everything covered up, Elena finally exhaled deeply; for a moment, she felt "safe." Yet an unsettling weight in her chest only grew heavier.
What is happening to me?
How do I fix this?
She had no answers.
Who can help me?
Then Mary's sixth rule flashed through her mind:
"Ask your father for help. He loves you."
A flicker of hope ignited—until it was immediately eclipsed by Mary's seventh rule:
"Don't trust your father. He'll kill you."
Elena paced in her heels, the rhythmic click-clack echoing throughout the room. Finally, she came to a stop.
"Fine. I simply won't believe a word he says."
With determination, she strode to the door and flung it open.
"Where are you going, Master?" Nini inquired, licking frosting off her fingers. "If you don't eat this soon, I'll finish it all!"
Elena turned back, a smirk playing at her lips. "No, Nini. You're not eating; you're coming with me."
[Nini's Favorability -10]
Nini's screams had clearly drowned out the eerie croaking sounds—this little human shield was joining her.
Elena marched down the hall with Nini in tow until they reached the grand banquet hall. Servants bustled about efficiently arranging tables with practiced precision.
"Your Highness."
"Princess Elena."
The maids curtsied as she passed by them.
Elena's gaze swept over the room: ten long tables stretched beneath the dais, each set with ten ornate chairs adorned with name cards before each seat.
One hundred seats. One hundred guests.
"Has anyone seen my father?" she asked.
"The Count is in the first room behind the hall," one servant replied promptly.
"But His Lordship is… in a rather poor mood," another added cautiously. "Perhaps it would be best not to disturb him at this time, Princess."
Elena frowned slightly. "It's my coming-of-age ceremony; why would he be upset?"
"The Count is indeed delighted for today," asserted the first servant reassuringly. "He personally oversaw every detail of these arrangements and adores you dearly, Your Highness."
"However," admitted the second servant hesitantly, "there has been a minor complication regarding those arrangements."
His Lordship desires perfection for your ceremony—not even a single flaw will be tolerated."
Ah... So Father is a perfectionist after all.
"What kind of complication?" Elena pressed further.
The servants exchanged glances.
"A small one."
"His Lordship invited exactly one hundred guests. But we just heard that one can't make it."
Elena felt a chill run through her.
Mary's fourth rule:
"100 guests at your rite. No more, no less."
She didn't know why it was such a big deal—but this was bad news.
"I need to see my dad. Right now."
She grabbed Nini's wrist and rushed toward the back of the hall. Behind her, the servants shot each other another look.
Looks like the Princess is just as obsessed as her father...
As Elena got closer to the Count's chambers, she could hear his furious shout booming from inside:
"OUT! ALL OF YOU! I WON'T PUT UP WITH ANY IMPERFECTION FOR ELENA'S CEREMONY! YOU DON'T GET IT! YOU NEVER DO!"
"My Lord," came the calm voice of the vampire steward, "it's just one missing guest. We can easily find someone else—"
"WORTHLESS! I told you, you understand NOTHING!" Her father's voice was almost hysterical.
"What's so hard to get?"
A smooth female voice cut in—Elena recognized her stepmother's tone right away.
"You're still hung up on that human woman," Marguerite sneered. "That's why you spoil Elena so much; that's why you can't stand giving her anything less than perfect!"
Her voice turned sharp with bitterness.
"Dracula! I'm your wife! I gave you a daughter! But in these six years since you've brought Elena here, have you even looked our way once? If you'd show us half the love you waste on her, I'd die happy!"
Elena lowered her eyes. So it's not just about blood for her stepmother—it's jealousy too.
Which meant... her dad really did care about her.
"GET OUT! JUST LEAVE ME ALONE! I can't—I won't—" Dracula's growl turned wild. "Don't make me rip you apart!"
"My Lady," the steward chimed in nervously, "maybe we should—"
"We're leaving." Marguerite's voice was icy cold.
The door swung open—there stood Elena and Nini.
"Oh! Princess!" The bald, ghostly pale steward with a blood-red cravat bowed deeply. "You look stunning today—like fresh red wine."
"Elena." Marguerite smiled as she flicked open her lace fan. "Congrats! After tonight, you'll be a real vampire princess."
Elena curtsied smoothly. "Thanks, Aunt."
Marguerite smirked slightly. "You've met Alucard, right?"
"Yep. My brother will take me to the ceremony."
"Great. Really great." With that, Marguerite brushed past her, ending their chat.
"Elena?"
Inside the room, Dracula was wrapped in black; his sharp breath could be heard as he forced a smile. "What brings you here?"
Sure! Here's a more casual and conversational version of the text:
"Like all vampires, he was ridiculously good-looking—timeless, looking no older than thirty even though he'd been around for centuries.
Elena shut the door behind her. "Sorry to barge in, Dad. But... I've got a problem."
Dracula's expression changed instantly; concern flickered in his eyes. "What's going on?"
Taking a deep breath, Elena pulled off one glove—showing him her green, webbed hand underneath. The weird discoloration had spread up to her forearm now.
Dracula went pale as a ghost.
"Oh no."
His voice was filled with fear.
"Elena... what have you gotten into?"
- Writer
