I'm still not completely clear on why you don't catch fire in the daylight.
I am half-human. My mother's name was Lisa, and she was mortal.
I would very much like to hear the story of how that happened.
[chuckles] She actually showed up, at his front door. She found the castle, and banged on the front door with the pommel of her knife.
She sounds interesting.
Oh, she was remarkable. She beat on the door until my father let her in, and then demanded he teach her how to be a doctor-
[sits up] Wait, Dracula taught a human woman how to be a doctor? [chuckles scornfully] What was first, bloodletting?
God, you still think you're funny. My father-
Dracula-
-Is a man of science. A philosopher, a scholar. And knows things our society has forgotten three times over. Do you still not understand the enormity of what we're doing? He's gone mad. And from that, there is no recovering him.
[sarcastically] Shame.
It's a tragedy. He's a repository of centuries of learning. He could've changed the world; I think he might've, if Mother hadn't died. She'd sent him out into the world. That's why he wasn't there, when the Bishops took her.
She sent him away?
She sent him to... travel. To learn the true state of the world, the true nature of humans and how they live.
She was... turning him.
Imagine if he could've aimed all that knowledge at improving lives... If the religious inquisition hadn't proved true, all of his worst instincts about humans.
And now he's going to use her death, as an excuse to destroy the world.
Oh, the world will still be here, Belmont. Trees will still grow, birds will still sing, animals will still hump away in the undergrowth. But you won't be here. And you won't be here. None of you. The sun will still set, but you will not see it rise. There will only be Dracula, and his War Council, and the hordes of the night. [pause] He writes in great books, you know. He hews the covers himself from oak, and wraps them in the preserved skin of the people who he hated most. And he writes plans; I've seen them. Ideas for darkening clouds, and making them as permanent in the air as the frost of the North. Great strange flying machines, that pull shrouds across the sky to block out the sun. Imagine it. A world without humans, under endless invented night. And Dracula in his castle... his revenge so horribly complete, that there is nothing left to do but look out over a world without art or memory or laughter, and know that he did his work well. That he did it all for love.
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