They told me Dracula was a monster. Then I learned his name meant son of the dragon, and the story changed. There was a real prince, Vlad, raised far from home, forged by wars and shifting loyalties. Centuries later, Bram Stoker—who never set foot in Transylvania—stitched travelers’ notes and folk whispers of strigoi into a legend that outgrew its bones. Now, when I hear the word, I don’t pictu...
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