♱ 𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐘 ♱ | ÉCLIPSE
pairing ; adrian tepes , trevor belmont , sypha belnades x female reader
ཐི ➥ summary ; As the world begins to pay the toll of Dracula's rage, four unlikely heroes must band together and defeat him--no matter the price.
warnings ; swearing, troubled family dynamics (?)
word count ; 4.3k
notes ; prob my favorite chapter so far, if anyone has questions about the series i’d be happy to answer (no spoilers included lol)!! taglist is still open btw 😛!
"M-MOTHER, TELL ME YOU JEST...!", you become unsettled within your seat, Jacquelin was known for her trickery; but this was of the cruelest kind. When the half-blooded "hybrid" (you once called him endearingly) walked through the doors of your home after what felt like a millennium's time had passed; there was a piece of your being who wished to smother him like no other within an unforgiving embrace. To tell him all he had missed, and all he would not know. Ask him with a tone softer than cottoned cashmere; "why did you wait so long to find me, lovely Adrian?" Then all should be as it was, reunited like time had ceased to advance.
He'd come to visit you every-other week, you'd host marvelous slumber parties bound for the pages of history books. He'd whisper things; things secret to your ears alone. Sweet slices of heaven which you'd sworn to the grave, with tangled limbs and star-strung eyes. There was a time that if he'd told you he alone crafted the blazing balls of fire—you'd undoubtedly believe him—without a hint of hesitation. Oh how the times have changed.
Now, now was a different tale entirely. Once, you peered upon him with overflowing adoration, clouded affections (some would claim it devotion). Replacing it emerged a festering anger, open wounds which refused to scab over the blistering past of disloyalty. He'd made his choice, chosen his side; even then he had every opportunity to return and beg for forgiveness, to let your fury slowly subside and your wrath turn quaint. But he did not. And for that, Adrian—Alucard Tepes, son of Vlad Dracula, meant no more to you than a dirt blooded dog. He'd feel it too. Every passing moment of anguish you'd endured; he would suffer it—breathe the poison into his very lungs. And perish. That, you can promise.
"What you impose Mother it's, well it's simply—" you trample over the words you urgently mean to say, an arrangement of fear and madness overtaking your speech. Instead, Langrené does you the humble deed of speaking above your uncertainty. A rampant hobby of hers. "Absurd? Laughable? Preposterous? Yes dearest sister, this is something we can both wholly agree on after more than a decade's worth of dispute." Langrené's steady regard was not that of which it should; her expression coated with bafflement, displeasure, and upmost contempt. Never had she been the compassionate type, moreover her affections for anyone at all has forever been rather sparse. You, her youngest sister, were no exception.
Perhaps she held the very slightest of sympathy for you, despite appearing so evidently pitiful; you stood upon your burning pile with foolish deviance. Head held high, fist clenched tight, puncturing the softness that was your delicate palm with sharpened claw-like nails. She'll never respect me, you think, but her respect was not needed. Only the sight of your sorrow. "Nothing shall be gained from sending her away to such absolute death," she scanned the room, eyes downcast. "Especially not with these fools."
Your heels drum in rushed rhythm against the marble floor, you fall to your knees, grasping Louviers' arm as to be the final lifeline. "Father please tell me—tell me now that this...this can only be of mother's fanatical adjure." Unease stuck to your body like a second skin, you felt queasy, uneven; you couldn't remember the last time you'd felt so earnestly horrid. "Say you would never let your youngest child succumb to such unkindliness, and that your wife's lunacy has been left to loiter far too long." You needn't "the eyes" against your doting father, daddy dearest, for he forever lay encased in the trance that was fatherhood. And a special place laid dormant only to you.
Instead, his head shakes and you've been all but knifed. "It's for your own good fluer, I promise." He outstretches his hand to place atop your own, but you are quick to pull away, stumbling back onto your feet with the grace of a newborn lamb. Heaving, disoriented. "Just look at her, the thought alone has sent her into a frenzy." Langrené paces behind her father's seat, standing tall and intimidating in front of you, hands neatly crossed behind her back. "We may as well send them off with a corpse and casket for their travels..." she takes a short pause to ponder, "...maybe four." Her face shifts, mouth twisting slightly upwards.
Jacquelin snaps her fingers; not once but twice. Two servants arrive to heed her aide with immediate results, she whispers lowly and shields her lips so none could read them. Then, quickly as they came, they'd scampered away. Not a word shared between them. "If you'll be generous enough as to hear our rationale I think you'd been quite pleased with us Langrené. Your poor lowly parents." Her tone was teasing because in the end, Jacquelin would have the final say—until Langrené was truly brought to power, decisions like this would have no true discourse. "Please my daughter, a moment is all we request." That does not signify she held her eldest in modest regard, to create an enemy of an offspring never birthed happy endings. She looked to her daughter pleadingly.
Begrudgingly she conceded an abrasive glower present to all who dared to look upon her, "speak your truths for as long as I will hear them."
The ambience grew quiet before a storm erupted in waves, you released a most regnant, gut-wrenching cry your narrow airway could manage, heard for the ages. It shook the core of your stomach, you would've complained of it, if not for the apparent issue that wore raging in the room. "NO. Do not tell me you actually mean to entertain such stupidity?" Your teeth clash together with each unsteady syllable that left your lips. The question was directed in particular to Langrené, but loosely to your entire family who allowed such a thought to merely cross their minds. Your head twisted, seeking out each of them. "They plot to kill me and you're willing to stand there and let them convince you?!"
Both humans stalked on the edge of consciousness, but your noise proved to arose them, for the time being at least. Lyevre had sat silent nearly the entire ordeal, head bowed and eyes closed; either in shame, sadness, or ruth. Louviers looked to you, lips shut tight in similar fashion, words weighted too laborious for him to speak. Jacquelin fiend surprise, a hum following her placid expression, Langrené simply stood unblinking, hardly moving, patiently awaiting the reasoning that would crumble her current stance.
And Alucard, you retch at the sight of him, threatening what little morsels of dinner had been scarfed down minutes before. His face no longer agitated you; it disguised your very soul. You couldn't just hate him—you detest him, loathed his being and what he represents. You thought to call him as such. What ever he's possibly scrambled to title himself within these passing years, you could not bring yourself to care.
"I refuse to stand here as my execution is contemplated! You able me to join the likes of a halfwit human, a poorly bred pooch—and a witch? I'd rather burn at the stake and my accursed ashes be fed to measly rats." Alucard's eyes sink at the implication. "Curse you all, damn you to hell...I won't stand for this!" Gathering the edge of your dress, you race away, not once looking back to see the consequence of your actions.
"(Name)! You've lost your senses completely," Langrené's sentence shook the corners of the castle, reaching you through the hall, she was loud but un-screaming. Yet you still ran and showed no signs of slowing. "Return and apologi—"
"Enough Langrené—leave her be; she's being put through so much, what more will you do...what else can she possibly deserve?" Lyevre's voice felt like a clearing pathway through foggy forests. "This is a sincere kindness compared to what she'll face if our mother insooth decides to send her battling a losing war." All the same, her heavy words were no more than fading memory, echoing footsteps fading as you traveled further and further from the dining hall. "Now, perhaps we can finally address the sizable elephant present within the room?"
Jacquelin shrugged her shoulders faintly before clasping her hands together, sighing in relief. "For quite some time now both I and Louviers had plans of sending (Name) away, not forever, just long enough to return...matured. We were under the impressionable thought by some miracle she'd begin to display intrigue about learning her abilities, the question ultimately proved where." She glanced between both Langrené and Alucard. "Whether you came to us or not Adrian—she was set for departure, so be free of any guilt you may harbor. The act is needless, for I am thankful you've returned. To save her."
Louviers absolved his throat of a growing absence, "our options were rather....numbered." His tone present with doubt, almost mournful. "We'd discussed the countryside: a considerable secluded location that would be rather lonesome, but only in the best of intentions. Then there's to be the presented choice of allowing her to frolic amongst the beloved townsfolk residing in Lavatris, close as home could provide." Louviers lifted his hand, tilting his wrist at a sharp angle; emptying the remanence of liquid onto the glistening floor's surface, dreading his next thought. "And finally, there was to be a young women's boarding house of sorts—neighboring just west of here...desperate times call for desperate measures, I suppose." With every ephemeral word brought noticeable displeasure upon Louviers' sturdy features, as if each instance was more painstaking to speak than the last.
The woman beckoned her husband closer, he complied without fault. Joining his wife at her side, garnishing him with gentle affections. "...You may ask why we are so ambitious to send her forth, true bloods cannot afford dwindling numbers. Not in this day and age, anyhow. Frankly it pains us more than anything to do this but, we've almost solely ruined that child." Louviers nods in agreement, "I will admit, she's been coddled quite a bit."
"You've done more than coddled the girl, she's been smothered and it was all your own fruition." Langrené spills acid from her tongue, "I'll never blame her for what she's become, that was beyond her control; a victim of circumstance. However, I do hold her in fault for choosing to remain helpless. And now you feel to set a baby bird free with unborn wings." She scoffs. "I only hope she returns scarred, if at all."
"Know this, older sister, many birds must first fall before they can begin to take flight. I think this scenario will be objectively similar." Langrené acknowledges her sister in faint astonishment, presuming she'd been silenced for the remainder of dinner. "Lyevre...and I take it you agree with this...repugnancy?"
"The approach is something to be studied but, I foresee a brighter future ahead." She soothes her belly, observing within a state of pure longing. "So, you have my conclusive blessings Adrian."
"Listen intimately Langrené, and Lyevre too. I won't feel sorry for having risen (Name) with more nurture than I thought to have by either of you. Only we did not know at what times to stop." Jacquelin turns to face Louviers with a look of knowing, he tightens his hold amongst her hand, "as we give you ours Adrian, we trust you'll uplift her to greater heights never before seen by the masses."
Langrené stomps back around to her seating, obnoxiously so, making no effort to quiet her steps. A dark purple hue surrounds the chair as it moves on its own accord, screeching against the floor like torn violin strings. "Then there is nothing left to be said...Adrian, I shan't give you my blessings for I believe such things to be a falsehood created by the intelligence of humanly greed. Instead I send to you my condolences—as many troubles forever face a hero's path."
If not felt before, Alucard was now crushed by an intense pressure aboard his robust shoulders more than ever. Heavy could not begin to measure its tremendous weight. He questioned only for a moment's time what could've been causing the constant kinks in his neck, or the aching along his boney spine. The answer couldn't have been more clear if it'd kneed him between the legs. The world, of course, its delicate balance waltzed upon his back in wavering fashion, digging its heels further and further into the blankets of his humanly flesh with dramatic rhythm. But never mind it, never mind such things when others were of the upmost importance. His quest was far from complete, in fact, it'd barely begun at all.
So, the awaited savior Alucard swallowed; consuming his fears, his woes, his worries and his crafted words, being careful not to choke. Devout to the prophecy—to saving human kind. "Thank you, all of you, not only for your generosity but also your trust. Hear me when I say with certitude that my father's rein shall be renounced and (Name) returned, more than which she left." He stood, his hand courtly placed directly on his faintly drumming heart.
"How pleasant to hear such assurance, even if your ternary isn't particularly up-to-par." Jacquelin's gaze ghost over Sypha and Trevor's fatigued forms, her words lacking enthusiasm. "Yes...you'll leave the dawn after next, we'll send you off with any provisions your hearts desire!" Alucard nodded along, a polite smile playing along his features. "Mother I shall escort these heroes back to their sleeping quarters, it's clear they'll tire to death with each passing breath." Without awaiting her response Langrené lifted the two humans from their seats with only a glance. "Come along Adrian, do not falter behind me."
"Good day to you Dauvillers; may your rest be eternally easy." As they exited the dining hall, the fading sounds of continued conversation could be heard. A louder, less refined voice joined. What's with all the noise in here? Something I miss lovely?—Nothing Beau, just sit down and eat.—AYE ye' should've seen the blokes at the gate tonight, looked like something even a damned flee-bitten feline couldnt've brought through here...
Morning's playful dawn soon infiltrated the night's tame sky; Langrené tenderly secured both Trevor and Sypha into their designated rooms, leaving Alucard to wonder nostalgic halls alongside her. The atmosphere was less than consortable, but Alucard quite appreciated such silence, he'd spoken enough for one day (possibly entire weeks). She then paused to oversee an enclosed flower garden through lengthy window panels. "Look out to there, Adrian. Tell me what you see." Her voice was minutely absent of the strict, disregarding tone she used so often. Standing in its place seated something gentle.
"I see a stream of running water, purple anemones, coneflowers, some gladiolus—among many other types I cannot hope to recognize, and..." His words trailed off in disorderly directions, he scrambled to find them easily, caught unguarded by what he'd witnessed. "You—You're sister, (Name), she tends to the garden with great amounts of...care." Alucard stood stunned at his own description towards your act. Never had he known you to be someone blessed with a green thumb, much less a caring hand, he reputed it was an eventual thing to become, considering your fascinations. "Yes Adrian, you are absolutely right."
Alucard reacted seconds too soon, clashing upon her candid, menacing, unforgiving stare. There was no battle for dominance between the fixated look they both shared, simply unmistakable glowering. "Might that be all you allow yourself to see, know it is of plenty. (Name) may be the most incompetent, spoiled—obsolete true blood one shall ever have the displeasure of meeting within this lifetime and the next, but know that she remains my sister all the same. And I love her more than any amount of human blood ever to be spilled, do you heed my words well Alucard?"
"Undoubtedly—"
"Allow me to speak in more definitive terms, as to spare no room for needless confusion." Slowly her attention hallows away from the half-blood, she treks further down the elongated hall; swallowed by unearthly shadows. Alucard dared not to follow. "When my sister returns, if more than a single scratch is bared upon her delicate cheek...you will pay dearly." Langrené's eyes glow dangerously bright, while her head tilts to view him one final time. "I'll have your head mounted to my walls like last season's catch, but worry not, you won't fair such fate alone; your comrades will join you. A merry band of moronic wolves you'll be until your dying breaths." With that Langrené smiled, hands crossed neatly behind her back (posture unrivaled to none) she stalked away, no amount of remorse depicted.
He dared not to move. Not until he was certain, the threat, all while being his saving grace; had hence dissipated.
The sight of flowers brought him little ease.
You were beyond outraged. This was a betrayal of the highest order. They've sentenced you to death, one marked by prolonged pain and spiteful demise. Mother, Father, Lyevre, Langrené, Adri— you refused the mention of his name within the confinements of your troubled mind. Emotions shortly overtake action, yearning immediate validation midst your fury.
A rampage runs rapid throughout the pristine halls, costly items (most valued enough to purchase a peasant’s home), are toppled with little consideration, shattering against once stainless floors. You maim painted portraits of every type using the edge of your pointed nails; faces become torn while faux fruits are ripped. The few servants you cross make no attempt to contain the damage left in your wake, turning a blind eye from the mess they'll be made to clean come afternoon. Your spree is quiet as the sun is cold. You would not be silenced, nor obstructed. You'd pray for all to hear the mayhem you ensue; halting their agreeable conversations and instead adhere to nothing except your needs. They'll plead for slender complacency, sparing the castle of your madness.
Though, they never come. Not a single human, vampire, or hybrid bounds to your location, you are brought to lean lonesomely against a wall, tucked into its chilling corner, rays of purple light reflected on the smooth surface from a near window. Once all is said and done you are left exasperated, exhausted too. No better than which you began. Perchance, this was not the whole truth. Slight solace was founded in your destruction (but not nearly enough), serving as a form of protest. Perhaps the only form of protest you could procure with such scarce choice.
Haggard and overcome with sorrow, you force laxity out of your limp form, venturing to a wooden door. Along its hardened material spiraling florals had been drawn, the design was carefree, inspiring, childlike. Twisting its blackened handle, you felt a rush of nostalgia whelm your previously sunken senses. This newfound feeling coaxes you to persist down familiar cobble steps, you never once slip amongst their sleek edges; hues of various color illuminate supple skin in passing, your mind knows this place well.
Awaits you are double doors left ajar for an anticipated return. Without pause you pull them apart and marvel at the sight. The flower garden, your safe haven; created using blood, sweat, tears, and time. Not a single flower nor inch of soil hadn't been graced by your heedful touch. Years it took to carefully curate every seed, to assure their survival within the trying climate, to procreate in masses; and against all odds, you'd succeeded. It wouldn't be far fetched to title this your life's work, despite the infinity which stirs ahead.
You viewed every patch as if your first, observing them with loving eyes and proud cheeks. They are your everything. Some would call you crazed, but what is a life worth living without obsession? For a passage of time, the cycling world around had been forgotten. What future expected you outside these very doors, until your eyes settled upon them.
Idly confined within your garden of heaven were Convallaria majalis, otherwise known to be: Lily of the Valley. Poisonous as they are mesmerizing, white petal heads forever downturned towards the ground which rooted them in vested affections; appearing shame of its baneful flaw. They required particular care, dying in following weeks after growth, you forgive and start again, rightfully devising them to be favored among its brethren. No soul ever questioned as to why it remained the only flower of its color inside your sacred meadow. The answer considered though never spoken aloud.
Lost in thought, something unsettling sought to stir. Miraculously, inside the lieu of which you called a refuge, your skin starts to crawl and nerves begin to fray. Abrupt agitation replaces profound felicity, dormant perceptions become dynamic—your heart simply couldn't resent.
These flowers; your masterpiece occupied such a vast portion of your life. You've poured countless hours into their wholth, countless particles of dirt caked beneath your nails, countless nights spent scouring the spine's of anthology text. All so that they may flourish. Yet, what has been given in return? A floral scent? A pretty sight? The same things bestowed upon all others?
Now, the Convallaria majalis' beauty seems to fade like old ink. Their lovely shade of white appears awfully too bright. Addictively sweet scent soon soured; nausea overfills more senses than one, your stomach turns. Descending to your knees, wrist crowding gainst your nostrils to block the obnoxious smell. A hand reaches out to hold its delicate blooms, to feel the essence of your work, countering opposing odds.
For a moment it works. That is, until the skin of your fingers burst into harsh rashes—at first there was nothing, then came a burning sensation along your pores; irritating and near sweltering. Such a feeling ached to be scratched beneath the skin, only when it began to climb along your hand did you pull away, stunned but finally knowing. Knowing of your worth—of your extent. A giver, which so little had been given to in return.
You watch as the rash heals mere seconds later, but you do not feel so comforted nor sooth. Returning to the same flower, you take its petal between your fingers and you crush, shifting them side to side as the flower is withered and dying. The look on your face is unintelligible, there is no smile present. Simply a stare.
The rest are not handled so meticulously; the remaining are pulled from the roots up, torn in half, sometimes threes. All are beheaded, deprived of their defining trait. Dirt is strewn everywhere, your clothes long soiled, hair astray. Then, there is nothing left to dismember, all is left in its place a patch of untidy dirt. The others have seen you, what you have done to their brethren. You wonder if they had the minds to fear you, what you are capable of. "Ha." You laugh at the ridiculous notion. For if they held mind at all, your sweet lillies, would've know what was best for them.
And yet there they lie: gone, discarded, disgraced.
Your nose leaks, you wipe. Next is your eye, right then left; you wipe again. Before you manage to dry them quickly enough a salty waterfall erupts. You sob, hiccup, croak, regret, hate, too much all at once. The door behind you creaks, a sickeningly sweet scent. "Have you come to love and wilt my flowers away as well? If so there is no need—I'd rather it be done alone." You have no heart, no stomach, no mind to face him.
"(Name) know that this was never my intent, to ever think you'd be the one they send away." Alucard's gentle voice coaxes heartfelt emotion, it's hardly a whisper, the guilt must be crushing. You grit your teeth, "do not pity me Alucard, the very moment you sent strife to this household, you knew I was no better than doomed."
Alucard stifles, unknowing of what to say, unknowing of you. Someone he'd once knew better than any other. He desired to touch you—to reach you and your quelling thoughts, perhaps if he held you within his arms, you'd feel his thoughts become your own; to know that his efforts were just. "If you'd only seen the dire circumstance of our situation; if you saw what was at stake."
"Oh I know ascertain what is at stake, and I quite frankly couldn't care enough. You've made a grave mistake Alucard, and it will cost the lives of millions because of your imbecility." Finally you gain the fading courage to look upon him from the corner of your eye, "the instant you thought to come here and bring those blood bags here alongside yourself—a knife should've driven through your weak mortal heart."
"You are beside yourself...I won't believe your words come from a place of truth. I cannot."
"Then you truly have fooled yourself then, haven't you Adrian? You were always the greatest of pretenders...I suppose that has not changed." You left no room for continued conversion, Alucard waited for an apology, any small sign of remorse; there was none. He'd tortured you with his presence long enough. "Then I shall take my leave, good day (Name)." He earned no response, nor was one expected, yet he stalled. His efforts wasted. He hoped without reason.
And when you craned your neck to see if he stayed, the boy you knew; the man you adored. He was gone.
———
taglist: open
@foulbreadpeanut , @uhnanix , @mirapril
@beekeepingageissome , @lost-seraphiim ,
@satttanx