resurrection
Castlevania
Alucard x reader
Every night was just as exhausting and sleepless as the one before. The darkness reigning in the castle was blacker than the night itself, and the quiet sobs echoing through the high corridors did nothing to calm her pounding heart. She wanted to rise, to run from her chamber, to take him in her arms and promise that everything would be okay—that he hadn't lost everything, that he could count on her. But she knew there were two things Adrian despised most: her and showing weakness. So she sat there, wrapped in her bedding, feeling the chill of the night air on her back, hearing the rain tapping against the windows and his weeping, which broke her heart like nothing else.
It was she, along with Trevor and Sypha, who had awakened him in the crypts beneath Gresit. She had helped them defend the towns and even kill Dracula. And in the end, at Sypha's request, she had stayed in the castle so Adrian wouldn't drown in his grief and despair alone—so he wouldn’t lose himself to sorrow and solitude. But what good was her presence if he didn’t want to see her? They didn’t eat together, didn’t talk; he avoided her at every turn, drifting through the halls like a shadow, either confined to his room or wandering outside. They could go an entire day without exchanging a single word, despite living under the same roof.
She had long understood that her presence wasn’t welcome. She tried her best to be a support to him, to help him, but he pushed her away time and again, refusing to even listen. So she stopped speaking altogether. They endured each other’s company only when necessity demanded it, and it broke her heart.
She loved him so much it made her physically ill just to think about it. She admired his love for his mother and humanity, his friendship with the hunter and the Speaker. She admired how good he could be—though never to her.
She knew he was mistrustful, and she didn’t blame him. Still, she hoped that after all this time together, he might show her a shred of sympathy. But she was wrong. It seemed to her that, day by day, his hatred for her only grew, and she couldn’t understand the source of his relentless, loathsome disdain.
But that night, she couldn’t bear it any longer. Whether it was the sound of the rain or the fact that his sobs seemed even more anguished than usual, she couldn’t stand the sorrow tearing her soul in two.
She untangled herself from the sheets, her bare feet meeting the cold marble floor. She walked to the door, opening it with a loud creak. She glanced down the corridor, lit only by long slashes of moonlight streaming through the tall windows. She listened to the silence—for his crying had stopped.
Still, she slowly made her way toward his chamber, her mind swirling with thoughts. She didn’t know if what she was doing was right; she was almost certain he would throw her out the moment she crossed his threshold. But she couldn’t stand the unbearable inaction any longer; it gnawed at her, and was surely one of the many reasons she couldn’t sleep.
The castle was as grim and foreboding as ever. No one cleaned it, no one decorated it, no one cared for it. She was too afraid to change anything, fearing Adrian would disapprove of her initiative. Even though she believed the remnants of that fateful battle only deepened their shared melancholy, she dared not touch anything.
At night, it was the worst. All the haunting memories crowded her mind. The wind howled outside the windows, the chill seeped under her quilt, and the castle loomed in its oppressive darkness. On those saddest nights, they both cried.
She slowly opened the equally creaky door, peeking inside timidly. On the grand bed at the center of the room, she saw his silhouette, curled up and frail, bathed in the silver glow of the moonlight.
"Get out," he growled at her in that low, warning tone he always used. But she, surprising both herself and him, stepped deeper into the room, closing the wooden door behind her. She leaned against it hesitantly, not wanting to anger him further.
And silence fell. Heavy, dense, oppressive silence. Only the rain, the wind, and her short, quiet breaths could be heard.
The man sat up, still hunched over, uncertain, furious, and full of sorrow. He glared at her from under his brows with a venomous gaze, giving her yet another signal that she was unwelcome. Yet she ignored even that warning, slowly making her way toward him. He still didn’t speak, his eyes carefully tracking her every move. Stray strands of his long hair fell across his tired, tear-streaked face, but he paid them no mind.
She stopped halfway between the door and the bed, her gaze never wavering from his. She clasped her hands together, nervously picking at her skin. And the silence remained.
“I want to help you,” she said timidly, cautiously. Adrian narrowed his eyes, but he didn’t move an inch.
“I don’t need help, least of all from you. Leave.”
She looked at him with warm, compassionate eyes. Taking a deep breath, she took a few slow, deliberate steps closer before sitting on the edge of the bed, as far from him as possible. She placed her hand on the plush quilt and ran her fingers over it. Its coldness surprised her. But she closed her eyes and exhaled softly. His room smelled like the rest of the castle—damp, musty, and full of death.
She could feel his piercing gaze on her. She also felt a flicker of hope, for he hadn’t yet thrown her out.
“You’re just like Belmont,” she finally said, not even looking at him. She didn’t want to see his reaction, didn’t want to be intimidated, angered, or saddened by it. She needed to say what had weighed on her soul for so long but had never found the opportunity to voice. “So stubborn, relentless, vengeful, and angry. You’re always angry, but also full of grief. The only difference between the two of you is that he’s no longer alone, while you treat your solitude like a cross you carry with both pain and pride.”
He didn’t respond. He just watched as the moonlight danced across her face, as her hair slipped free of its messy arrangement, as her pale hand moved across the quilt, as her chest rose gently with each shallow breath, as her lips formed each cruel word. And he was mesmerized.
“Why do you hate me so much?”
That question echoed in his mind like a church bell. Did he hate her? Quite the opposite.
When he had first seen her, he hadn’t noticed her uncertainty, hesitation, or fear. His eyes had fallen on her hands—slender, pale, delicate, and refined, so unlike those of a warrior. And he thought of them often—when she placed a hand on his shoulder, telling him some anecdote, or when she lit a fire, cursing softly at the leaping flames, or when she tended to Sypha’s wounds, speaking warm, comforting words.
That’s how she was to him—delicate, refined, and warm. He liked her calm voice that soothed his frayed nerves. He liked her cool touch, which burned him like the hottest flame. He liked her laughter, echoing through the castle’s walls. He liked her wide smile, which she offered him at every opportunity, though he gave her so few. He even liked her sticky tears because they showed him they shared something in common.
And she was so unique to him, one of a kind. So he knew he couldn’t trust her—because he had come to love her so deeply. And everything he loved so deeply turned against him.
“Just leave,” he muttered more calmly this time. He lay back down in his previous position and covered himself with the quilt. He only heard her sigh in disappointment, and it broke his heart.
She began humming a melody under her breath, one he had never heard before. But he didn’t move, waiting passively.
And she didn’t stop. She closed her eyes again, running her hand over the bedding, listening to the sound of the wind.
“They often sang this song in my village,” she whispered, trying to recall even a few words of the song her grandmother used to sing to her in moments like this—moments filled with sorrow and the weight of unspoken words.
She finally rose from the bed, smiling warmly, though she knew he couldn’t see it. Once again, she felt the chill of the floor beneath her feet, and a shiver ran down her spine.
“Don’t cry anymore. It breaks my heart.”
“What do you mean?”
She laughed softly, her voice a sparkling sound that quickened his heartbeat. He sat up again, this time propping himself on straightened arms. He studied her once more, his gaze much gentler now.
“That I’m tired of loving you.”
He didn’t know what to do. Should he throw himself into her arms? Should he respond to her confession with one of his own? Should he kiss her warm, soft lips, or grasp her cool hands and kiss them instead? Should he apologize for every bitter word? He did nothing.
“This castle makes my head spin. I’m leaving.”
After a wave of euphoria, he felt the icy shock of disappointment and despair wash over him. His hands began to tremble uncontrollably, and his breathing became uneven. She couldn’t leave him. She had promised Sypha, she had promised Trevor... she had promised him.
"No"
he finally said in a firm voice. He got up from the bed, standing tall, taking a deep breath to steady himself.
"I need you here."
"Many people need me."
That silenced him because he knew she was right. How much more useful would she be in the simplest village, defending those who couldn’t defend themselves, spreading knowledge to those without access, healing those who didn’t know how? And by his side? She merely lingered in the dark, old castle, enduring his difficult character, mood swings, and constant humiliation, wasting her potential within the four walls of her room, which was no longer a chamber but almost a cell.
And yet, as selfish as it sounded, he couldn’t let her go. Not when he knew he loved her as much as she loved him.
"Give me a chance," he whispered mournfully. Slowly, he stepped toward her, enveloping her hands in his. He looked at her with an expectant gaze, but she didn’t intend to speak. Not after everything, not in a moment when she had decided to let go of that cursed love. Despite her surprise, it was the first time Adrian addressed her with such care, kindness, and calm. The first time she saw, instead of hatred, his need for her to be there. "I live only to see your face every day"
"You breathe, you eat, you sleep. But that can hardly be called living."
"Then help me come back to life."