🫀𝔐𝔶 𝔅𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔦𝔰 𝔐𝔶 𝔅𝔬𝔫𝔡🥀
Tanz der Vampire Krolockxreader
Warnings: Some mild violence and gore (in keeping with the level you might read in classic gothic literature)
🔺️🔻🔺️🔻🔺️🔻🔺️🔻🔺️🔻🔺️🔻🔺️🔻🔺️🔻🔺️🔻
Chapter 3 - The Cut
I rose at twilight, weary from my recent travels. Tossing off the heavy sheets and crossing over to the mirror in the dim candle light, I hurriedly ran my ivory comb through my hair. A wash and shave would surely help me to shake off the lingering grip of sleep's heavy hands and so I set to the task. As I carefully peered into the weak and insubstantial light, close up to the cold silver of the mirror, I began to run the blade over my jaw. My warm breath had begun to cloud the mirror but I was almost done with my task; the section on the right hand side of my neck was now the only area left to tend to as I rinsed the blade in the basin. Leaning forward once again, my ears pricked suddenly at a sound behind me and I became aware of a presence in the room. A rapid chill spread over me and my hand trembled slightly at my throat as I turned sharply towards the door.
The looming figure of the Count filled the doorway, lingering there in the shadows.
"You s-startled me," I said, cursing the shakiness of my voice.
"My sincere apologies..." he replied, his voice like a midnight breeze gently rustling the forest trees
He detached from the shadows like a patch of darkness, and approached me.
"I came to enquire after you... I presumed to find you hungry after being awake for many hours... but I can see instead you have not long awoken, and that I have disturbed you," he said, surveying the room.
"You needn't apologise, I was only -"
Before I could finish my sentence, it seemed as though my strange host had been struck by some invisible force - his whole body became visibly tense and the flutter of candle light cast twisted shadows upon his face. Oh! His face! The smooth and relaxed countenance suddenly seemed to vanish, the mouth was pulled taught as if he were battling to control some extreme of emotion.
"You have cut yourself..." he said with his dark eyes fixed on me.
Instinctively I felt my neck. When I withdrew my hand my fingers were wet and I cursed in surprise at the discovery. I had not felt the sting of the razor, in my stupor. The distinctive smudge of crimson red finally spurred me into action as I grabbed for my towel. The cut was not deep, but I was now aware of its sting.
Before I could press the towel to my neck, a firm hand stopped me. Startled and confused once again, my eyes met the steely gaze of my host. This was the closest we had been to one another and I watched like a startled hare as the flickering candle light danced in his eyes.
We both stood suspended for a moment, seized by the moment and my breath hitched in my throat. I felt certain that something dreadful was about to happen and yet I could not tear myself away. His grip on my arm was strong and I was struck by how cold his hands were, and by the long nails protruding from his almost skeletal fingers... I shuddered.
He grasped the razor which I still clutched in my other hand and withdrew it from my grasp. I wondered for a brief instant, if he would strike me with it. If he did decide to dispose of me, no one would know or care that I was missing in the dense forest of the Carpathian mountains. I closed my eyes, unable to force my body to move in any other way, and waited.
"I will not harm you," came his voice, once more in that calming, silky tone.
Distrustingly, I opened my eyes to see that he had extended the razor, now clean, toward me.
"May I?" He asked tentatively.
Surprised and relieved, but not altogether calm, I nodded aprehensively. With a surprising amount of care and tenderness he completed the final two strokes of the razor against my neck.
Then he rinsed the blade in the basin and took the towel from me and pressed it to my fresh cut to stem the slow trickle of blood that was approaching the collar of my white shirt.
"It is not deep. It will not bleed much more," he muttered distantly.
"Thank you," I managed to reply, hoping that my trembling body and voice were not as apparent as they seemed.
His eyes seemed to search my face intently for a moment, as though he were considering something carefully. I was not used to being regarded with such fascination and blushed slightly. Uncomfortable with this sudden intimacy, I took the towel from him and continued to hold it in place.
"I'm not used to shaving in such little light," I murmured.
He shrank back a couple of paces before responding.
"Of course, my apologies. I will have Koukol bring you more candles and an oil lamp," He smiled faintly, with a sudden look of tiredness about him, and quit the room.
I sank into the chair, head swimming in confusion. What explanation was there for his strange and unnerving manner... and... Just then, as the whole event was replaying in my mind, I wondered how he had cleaned the blade. I hadn't heard the swill of the water in the basin. I quickly resolved that he must have wiped it upon the towel and thought myself quite foolish. I was beginning to think like one of those fanciful girls who read too much by the likes of Radcliffe and Lewis for their own good. I felt embarassed and resolved to try to forget the whole thing entirely...