A/N: this occured to me as i walked around a nice big lake just outside of copenhagen, and it had been tormenting me about getting written, so here you are:

A Ballroom Conversation

Count Vladislaus Dragulia's palace/residence in Budapest, 1762

He had been dancing all night, from woman to woman, lady to lady, girl to girl. They had been smiling with glee of being with him and had sent angry looks at the women who afterwards danced with him as well. To him, it hardly made a difference. His attention was drawn to a woman he had noticed. She looked fairly young, hardly a day over 30, who had put him in observation all night. She was drawing and very attractive.

A midnight-blue velvet dress adorned her, which had strange looking embroidered threads running down her sleeves, bodice and skirt, which made it look as though the woman had cried blood tears all over it. A few places it looked torn, but it looked deliberate. He loved that dress. How beautiful, and so like him. She wore a black mask painted with gold as lines making up the curves of the mask.

When he passed by, in the middle of a dance, her eyes would have a red blink, which he rather dismissed as nothing. She had full, deep red, painted lips that glistened in the light of the candles. Looking at her for so long had made him grow tired of wondering about who she was, and he would like to find out, so he walked over to her, as she stood by the punch-bowl.

"Good evening, Medamina," Dracula said, inclining his head slightly.

"Yes, sir Count. It is a wonderful evening. So full of life, love, and lust," she replied, and he enjoyed the sound of it.

"I have been wondering, who have you arrived with, or have I forgotten to remember a guest?" he asked.

"I have come with no one, Count, and neither do I have an invitation. I came on my own accord," she said confidently, turning her head to send him a daring smile. He saw her smile and looked at the crowd and smiled to himself.

"Do you not fear the consequences, or did you not know it was a 'closed' party," he asked, not really caring, since he was entertained by her, anyway. She gave a small beautiful laugh and said,

"I do not fear your household, Count, nor do I fear men, as a matter of fact," she said looking at the crowd as well, catching glances from women who looked sourly at her.

"I see. Do you not fear me?" he asked, pulling off his mask and placing it on the table. He took up his glass, which held what looked like blood, and took a sip as she made a low snort and replied.

"Are you a man, Count?" she asked, sounding serious. A moment he glared at her, as she herself took off her mask, only to reveal a pair of green-stricken, brown eyes, which held a certain enquiry.

"Yes, Medamina, I am. Are you insinu-," he started.

"Then," she said, cutting into his words as she walked up very close to him and brushed her lower lip over his lips, enjoying the sharp intake of breath he made, "my answer is 'no'. And to your information, I am a 'Medama', not a 'Medamina'. My face, and form may seem young, and I may never have been married, but my age, is worthy of 'Medama', dear Count. And I insist on you to call me that, please?" she said, a pinch of mockery in her voice as she drew away from him. He nodded, graciously.

"Very well, Medama," he said, nonchalantly.

For a few moment, silence then ruled as they both drank of their different coloured 'punch', and surveyed the crowd. Being met by many angry woman faces, then seeing how lustful they looked at the count, which in her eyes, was about the most handsome man she had ever had the pleasure of meeting, the woman smiled devilishly, much to the Dracula's confusion, as he had noticed nothing of the women here.

"What, Medama?" he asked looking from the crowd to the woman, and back again.

"Oh Count. I was just admiring your trophies. Not one woman in here looks at you without a keen interest of love, or lust," she said, nodding in acknowledge, her grin getting broader as he smiled along with her.

"No," he stated plainly, "but even though the men in here look admiringly at you, in their eyes, you are nothing but a simple, free whore," he said, putting a pressure on the last three words, still looking at the crowd, as if nothing was said. A red sparkle, from the direction the woman was standing, caught Dracula's attention, but when he turned, nothing was there. Just the woman who he recently had insulted, and sensing her soul was ablaze at the comment, he laughed inwards.

She looked at the crowd, trying to hide the anger, keeping down her wrath and sustain herself from hurting him. As she looked further more, still sipping of the cup, she saw another angry woman face, two, three, six angry woman faces, not staring at her, but at the Count. Her devilish smile came on her full lips again.

"Hmm, my, Count! Did you promise these women more than a one-nights-stand, or did you give them more than a one-night-stand, hmm?" she asked with mock interest. "Maybe, a little granddaughter or –son for the Devil, hmm?" she continued.

Her anger, not quite dead, but hidden by a smouldering feeling of success and glee, as she knew she had hit home on that one. He turned, his face expressionless, but his eyes betray him, flaming up like hell's warmest, deepest fires. She leant up the table and went for another glass, as Dracula leant over her, and whispered into her ear, as he poured a new glass for her.

"Do not for a second think I do not know, that you know this," he said with a velvet voice, as his eyes changed into an unholy blue and his fangs elongated as he continued, "about me."

He drew back and stood next to her, talking again.

"You must be her. The one everybody is talking about, the witch, yes? I had feeling it was so. The red blinks from your eyes were rather deceiving to your figure, Tamika," he said. "I have even put a few coins in on catching you, as well," he said smiling, still not looking at her.

"Be conclusive, Count. I am afraid I cannot trust your word," she said, half denying half submitting to his truths.

"Why is that?" he asked, looking at her, but not getting the look returned.

"First, I am an mystic Lady, then I was men's whore, then a witch, and finally your hunted, precious fox. What am I?" she asked.

"The soul of every woman," he said, giving of a small laugh and a broad grin. Tamika snorted.

"And you are the same. The soul of men. Evil, abusive, handsome, the son of the devil, and a heartless heartbreaker. You are quite a man," she said, the last without any mock-anything. "I am the Queen of the night," she continued.

"And she needs a King, if she will have him," he said, standing very close, his eyes starting their mind game, which Tamika wanted to have no part in.

"I will not be controlled by you, Vladislaus. You owe me that much credit," she said turning away from him.

"Tamika, I've known you for long. Your beauty have shaded me from the woman I knew. Where is she?" he asked. Tamika snorted, once again. Turning around to face him, an pained and hurt expression across her face.

"She went and stayed with the woman you left behind Vladislaus. I waited for you. I grew old, before living my life, as you so harshly had put a hold on. I heard of your death, but I knew you: death could not stop ambitiousness itself. You would have to get terminated before you would be gone, but still you did not seek me out. The Queen does not want the King, anymore," she spat the word 'king' as if it was a lethal disease, and her voice trembled.

"With these brainless idiot-brides you have decided not to feel, you don't want to, Vladislaus. You can imitate all you want, but that..." she trailed off.

"It was a good evening, until you came along," she said, gaining full control of herself, giving him a very piercing look, full of disdain, disgust and incredulousness. She walked slowly away from him and into the night, spreading her wings of fire. Inside Dracula felt a few moments of pain and loss, but continued dancing, not sure that he really cared...

A/N: please don't scorn and/or flame me too much/hard... i'm only 14, and danishhold hands up as protection!!!