Dracula's Daughter - Sex Stories

Dracula's Daughter

... Helen neither replied nor turned to look at her, remaining on the garden bench and watching the flowers bob in the wind. Even when Gwen took her hand she responded only by glancing at her, once, and pursing her lips. She looked pale and her hair was thinning. Gwen did her best to smile. "Hello, Helen. How are you?" No reply. Helen held a single flower blossom, which she plucked the petals from one by one, shredding them with nervous fingers. "Dr. Seward says you've been drawing again. He says you drew...the castle." She rushed over the word, fearful, and then plowed on. "He asked me to ask you if you might keep drawing. It could help him understand how to help you." Gwen's sister looked at her without speaking. Gwen saw the wan features, the bags under her eyes, the hollow cheeks. Worst of all, she saw what lurked behind those eyes: complete and total defeat. She made small talk for a bit longer and then promised to return. Helen did manage a "Goodbye" and kissed Helen's hand, but that was all. Wiping her eyes, Gwen marched down the hill to where an astute, pipe-smoking man waited for her. She shook her head. "She wouldn't say a word." "That doesn't necessarily mean you've failed," Dr. Seward said, taking her by the arm and walking her back toward the main house. "If she continues to find an outlet in her art, it may mean she took your comments to heart." "Do you really think it's good for her to draw those awful things?" "The pictures aren't awful. The feelings they ...

... represent are. But since they exist, it's better out than in. Do you mean to say you never think about such things yourself?” He rounded on her, peering over his spectacles in a way that made her squirm. "You never talk about what you saw the night John disappeared and David died." She looked away. "I'm not one for drawing pictures." Dr. Seward refilled his pipe. Before he could reply they were interrupted by the arrival of a man Gwen had never seen before. He was short and steel-haired, with a prominent nose and small, round spectacles. He was dressed somberly, almost like a mortician, and when he spoke his English was curiously accented, but even so Gwen immediately felt at ease with him. "Yes, Dr. Seward tells me you are not the artist in the family. But he's seen what Helen draws, and those things made him suspect that the reason you do not talk about that night is that you assume you will not be believed. That's why he called me." Gwen almost had to look down to meet the newcomer's eyes. "I'm very pleased to meet you. But to be honest, I'm not sure there's much you or anyone can do to help." "Try me." It sounded like a challenge, but the look on his face was genial, even grandfatherly. Dr. Seward clapped the strange man on the shoulder. "Why don't we all go in for tea, and Miss Hartly can decide if she wants to talk?" "That sounds perfectly fine. If Miss Hartly consents?" Gwen looked back at where Helen still sat alone, at the top of the hill, looking over the asylum grounds. ...