An Odd Dream About Vampires

Hello all!

it's been a while since i posted something, but i woke up this morning with a dream fresh and vivid in my mind, and there were some things in said dream that i had some questions about. it's entirely possible that this was just my mind working through something while i slept, but it was rather vivid, so here it goes.

it was winter in victorian england (a bit cliche, i know), and i was strolling down the street one evening, just before a storm, with an older gentleman. we were both wearing top hats and carrying canes, dressed in period suits, and entertaining a lively discussion about my companion's work. He was apparently working on some sort of cure for vampirism, and had made significant progress, apparently. it was clear he knew that, in the dream at least, i was a vampire as well, whether or not he was one was anyone's guess.

after a short walk, we arrived at his home. it a bit large, and he apparently did well for himself. i remember stopping and turning to him, saying "Oh, and before i forget, you need to invite me in." when he asked why, i told him about the threshold, and that no vampire could cross it unless the owner of the home gives his or her explicit permission that they are allowed to do so*. i said something along the lines of calling it a bit of paperwork that was required for me.

after that, he invited me in, and i was apparently being invited to attend a dinner party, as that was what was currently going on. now, this is where it gets interesting; all of the other party guests, around nine or ten in all, were vampires as well. in fact, it seemed as though everyone except the host of the party was one. i have no idea my motivations at this point, but during the meal, after the wine had been served, i stopped. everyone had been sipping wine with their meal, but i didn't touch mine. instead, i held up the glass, and turned to the host, sitting at the head of the table, while some of the party guests started sputtering. "Did you know," i said, "that there is a particular kind of wine that vampires cannot drink*? they have a rather interesting reaction to it." i got up and started to walk towards him, while the others began coughing and starting to steam in that hollywood effects sort of way*. "It's something to do with the preparation process... it's poisonous, you see*. and just as lethal as anything else."

The host was looking panicked now, i don't think he expected that i wouldn't drink the wine. i said something, i'm not sure what, probably about him not having the nerve to face me honestly, and i think i killed him and walked out of the house, and i remember the other party guests bursting into flames and eventually succumbing to them. all in all, a very strange, and vivid dream, especially since i had all five senses in it.

can anyone clear this up for me? passages marked with * denote a point i would like clarified.

I knew the "Dracula" of England at that time. Lord Byron, my dearest friend. In regards to the wine, I believe it has something to do with the grapes being grown on hallowed ground within Italy, once part of Vatican City. People had attempted to kill Byron in such a manner numerous times, to a similar fate as the hunter in your dream. And from my understanding the whole threshold thing has something to do with old school biblical information involving the blood of the lamb (metaphor for the helpless man), warding against the visages of death, and a specific line of the shema (a prayer), which translates to "And you shall write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates." God's protection of man is, in belief, bound to the threshold to enter all abodes of the individual, physical or metaphysical. That's why vampires can manipulate others, but never truly control their will unless it is surrendered willingly.

That's really interesting. Thank you

Abraxas wrote:

I knew the "Dracula" of England at that time. Lord Byron, my dearest friend. In regards to the wine, I believe it has something to do with the grapes being grown on hallowed ground within Italy, once part of Vatican City. People had attempted to kill Byron in such a manner numerous times, to a similar fate as the hunter in your dream. And from my understanding the whole threshold thing has something to do with old school biblical information involving the blood of the lamb (metaphor for the helpless man), warding against the visages of death, and a specific line of the shema (a prayer), which translates to "And you shall write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates." God's protection of man is, in belief, bound to the threshold to enter all abodes of the individual, physical or metaphysical. That's why vampires can manipulate others, but never truly control their will unless it is surrendered willingly.

What Lord Byron would this be? I was a prostitute in England from 1705 to 1900 moving from city to city. Whenever I was in London Lord Byron would be somewhat of a regular client of mine. However, there were a few people who went by that name.

~Cherry

Capsha wrote:

Abraxas wrote:

I knew the "Dracula" of England at that time. Lord Byron, my dearest friend. In regards to the wine, I believe it has something to do with the grapes being grown on hallowed ground within Italy, once part of Vatican City. People had attempted to kill Byron in such a manner numerous times, to a similar fate as the hunter in your dream. And from my understanding the whole threshold thing has something to do with old school biblical information involving the blood of the lamb (metaphor for the helpless man), warding against the visages of death, and a specific line of the shema (a prayer), which translates to "And you shall write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates." God's protection of man is, in belief, bound to the threshold to enter all abodes of the individual, physical or metaphysical. That's why vampires can manipulate others, but never truly control their will unless it is surrendered willingly.

What Lord Byron would this be? I was a prostitute in England from 1705 to 1900 moving from city to city. Whenever I was in London Lord Byron would be somewhat of a regular client of mine. However, there were a few people who went by that name.

~Cherry

The romantic poet. You couldn't forget this guy. Charisma like I've never seen. His name was George Gordon Noel in actuality (he hated being called that though) On a retreat to his summerhouse, several of us wrote stories as analogies for the "quirks" that another possessed. The analogy that described Byron was a story called "The Vampyre." It was the first actual book on the matter and is a clear reference to our lives. A suave, rich vampire, an orphan who he travels with (me), and Ianthe a clear reference to my wife at the time. Me and her, together wrote an analogy for me, "Frankenstein, or a Modern Prometheus." These stories each represented our deepest seeded fears of what would become of us. Byron was quite sexually promiscuous so it wouldn't surprise me that you had frequent encounters with him. Quite the gentleman though. I miss him greatly. Oh and you would have possibly recognized him by his limp, or mildly deformed foot. Hope that helps to clarify

Haha, that seems really like you just googled him and typed out wikipedia. He always tipped well and was one of my better clients. I didn't see him much after he moved to Switzerland.

~Cherry

I'm just trying to provide a frame of reference for you. And what I remember...what I remember is just snippets. That he loved Mary just as much as I did, and was perplexed by why she chose me. Never let his jealousy get in the way of our friendship though. I also remember consoling women that he had just cheated on, explaining that his airy declarations of love were not completely a lie to get them into bed but that they were true for him at the time, but the extremity of his emotions swung like a pendulum. Extreme attraction would beget extreme indifference. I remember the way he would glide across a room, and immediately find the most attractive, most unavailable girl in the place and somehow woo them back to his. We actually even used to make bets on whether or not he could, and once I learned better, how long it would take him. Watching him angry was like watching a trained sniper destroy a battalion one man at a time. He knew just how to target people's insecurities, to the point that I've seen nearly as many men as women storm out of his chambers crying and cursing his name. And as far as the fears portion, his worst fear always was letting his piety and greed destroy the ones he loved, and mine was of being perennially misunderstood. To this day that is still my worst fear, I haven't quite surmounted it. But more than these I just remember the intense emotions I felt towards him. The love, the loyalty, the undying bond of two men who are brothers by choice rather than circumstance. I wish I could show you the tears I've shed because of how dearly I miss him, because I don't have much more than a vivid apprehension of the emotions and a vague recollection of our time together.