Angelina Jolie

 

Angelina Jolie

Dracula crafts a plan to lure Angelina to his estate. She won't be brought in by vanity or petty ambition. No, he must lure her with a cause. She has recently been publicly sparring with a dictator, one whose polity if close to Dracula. He does not leave his borders, not for New York, not for anywhere a revolutionary can get to him, where human rights lawyers can impede his return. Dracula offers a chance to mediate, on neutral ground. On one hand Angelina is hesitant, the thought of being in the same room with this person. And yet...if she can save one life, maybe two...

She arrives at the castle gates. There she spots him. Her adversary. The dictator. Dracula then appears, greeting them both. The dinner conversation is terse, of course. The dictator is proud, unapologetic. Smug. Angelina barely eats. The dictator says that hard times create hard men, as a descendant of Vlad the Impaler, Dracula understands. Dracula smiles, saying as he recalls, his country's forces didn't quite fare so well against Wallachia. The most successful men...adapt with the times. Subtlety is required in this day and age. His eyes dart back to Angelina.

The conversation continues, until Angelina has had enough, she asks to be excused. The dictator laughs, a dismissive comment uttered after she leaves.

Explore Angelina's private reflections as she enters the quarters Dracula provided her.

A mist enters the room, coating her. Angelina murmurs, she tries to fight it, but she's been a woman of appetites as well as convictions. Dreams enter her, of pain mixed with pleasure, of biting, of blood drinking, and she grows wet.

Dracula soon materializes. She's shocked, but her mind is still clouded, Dracula gazes into Angelina's eyes. He whispers of power in the face helpless. He talks of Angelina, once the wild woman of Hollywood and now the matronly diplomat, has been suppressed even as the world grows wilder. Her mind grows cloudy. He scratches her neck, causing her to tingle, he licks the blood off his fingers. Then, he draws his own blood, giving Angelina a taste.

The debauchery heightens. The side of her thought long buried is unleashed. Not Angelina the mother or Angelina the diplomat. Angelina the hellcat. Angelina the husband stealer. Angelina the woman who like a little blood and knifeplay in bed. The Angelia Dracula came for, and is enjoying after a decades long release.

The dictator wanders the hall, hearing her cries. He is intrigued, she steps forward, lascivious smile on his face, though even he is unprepared tor the intensity of what he sees. Aroused but almost feeling it's like more than he bargained for. Then she cries out one last time before dying. Her sparkling eyes now glassy and blank. A smile on those famous lips. The Dictator is a little unsettled. He nervously chuckles that's one way to shut her up. He'll be going now. But Dracula says to wait.

He then notices Angelina's finger twitches, she rises. She looks at the dictator with a hunger on her now fanged lips. And throughout the halls. Dracula laughs.

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