[private for Armand]
She's gone. I'm...a bit out of sorts.

[Evening spam for Gardens]
[Dracula stands under the arbor, surrounded by late season roses, still as a statue. Dry leaves and dead rose petals pile against his boots. His eyes glow steadily. He knows he has some obligation or another this evening, but he can't remember it. Something gnaws ( Read more... )

[Dracula sounds strangely thoughtful today, and speaks slowly, diplomatically, his accent a little thicker than usual.]
( He's also long-winded.... )