⊱ ░ 𝔇RACULA ₍ ? ₎ can you remember who you were?
the castle is quiet when @draacul asks it ━━ but somewhere far below, wolves cry out across the valley. wind pushes through broken stone like a breath through old and brittle bones, stirring candle flames until they gutter gold against the walls [ ... ] meanwhile, aleera crouches where she'd been perched upon the velvet arm of a chair. BAREFOOT AND RESTLESS, slender fingers curled like a bird of prey ready to spring; but she doesn't instinctively answer no, as the tomb of where a beating heart had once been tells her. instead the question lingers in the air between them and for a moment, something passes through her eyes. ( a brief flicker, nothing more. )
a hot sun. white stone. the taste of salt on the wind.
A GIRL RUNNING DOWN NARROW STREETS LIKE A WILD THING WITH HAIR MADE OF FIRE, while laundry hangs like banners between buildings... a priest's voice. the smell of fresh oranges split open on a wooden stall [ ... ] and fear. always fear. but that had been so, so long ago ━━ and her lips curl into a smile that was familiar and full of teeth. the memories dissolve like ash in the rain.
❛❛ i imagine she was very, very dull. ❜❜ she slides down from the chair with fluid ease; circling around him with the grace of a specter ━━ NOT THREATENING, NEVER TO HIM. always submissive and so horribly alive ! ❛❛ a girl who grew old, ❜❜ she continues, the candlelight catching in her hair. in her eyes that gleamed, ( wild and bright ) devoted in the way only something that has been spared from death can be. ❛❛ who bent her head and prayed... she waited for men to decide what she would be. ❜❜
❛❛ what a terrible fate, is it not, my master? ❜❜ she laughs a sharp little sound when she finally stops in front of him, only to reach out with a clawed hand that had been taught to tear [ ... ] it rested gently instead against his coat. ❛❛ i ate her. ❜❜
Sensations tingle to meet that claw; sweeping, breathing, of his presence as if lapped in a changing storm of fury that settled into a spiteful emptiness. The blazing eyes of the Count fill with such wrath greater than the demons in the pit, frozen in age, the very same that had hidden beneath the cloth hood of the beggar man buried in the snow outside the cathedral all a lifetime ago.
Horrid plumes of colour specked by hurrying shadows behind the panes, the chime of bells lurid to ward the flames of hell fire blazing unseen. Not one Christ-like soul ever offered his frail hand a coin, and from it witless invite with the fringe of mystery floating uncaught. The moon closed its eyes to evil; women and children vanished, the odor of dead bodies surged behind the outlines of the town-
For he changed, buried into neck after neck to mark their living moments with sweat, terror, and agony.
‘ Fate. ‘ Such repulsion is hissed. Strong blues lower to her eyes, made dark as stone. ‘ It is fate that draws our nights out to be measureless and joyless. Had you a heart, it would be twisted around a thorn! ‘
His tongue reproves its indolence. How fast the stream flows from one century to another, racing rivers swept on by the torrent of things grown so familiar they cast no shadow. And yet he, too, remembers her desire to be free; to escape; to be bound; to make an end; to continue; to be herself.
‘ My Young, -- Last Sister standing -- ‘ so gently does their skin touch as knuckles curl against her cheek. ‘ What other discovery can there be? Is it not better to be hunted and hated by all others? ‘
@thygraves
