#vampire ptsd

[shadows-of-almsivi]

M!A Your eyes are for the next five days a wondrous shade of blue!

((I really don’t know how to do M!As with a blog set up like this, but I’ll just fill it like a micro-drabble/reaction ask if that’s cool?))Little Mori: Oh, look! Look, Mother, aren’t they pretty? They’re like the sky! I wonder if I’ll be able to see in the dark better, can ! go down into the basement to see if I can? Okay, I’ll go do that now. Maybe I can catch the rats in the root cellar for you, I’m really quick. Will I have to go to the Temple and ask them what to do when you have blue eyes all of a sudden? They’d know, wouldn’t they? When Father comes home, will he tell me what happens to the people with blue eyes when they go to the Temple?Mother…? Mother, why are you crying?Mother, why are you locking the door? I don’t like this anymore. I want to come out. I want to come out. Mother, please!

(Current era) Moraelyn:[He stares into the mirror silently for a very, very long time, not blinking, not moving. His skin turns to bloodless paper-ash in his fear, which does not help. Without thinking, he whips his fist into the glass, shattering the mirror and driving shards of it into his knuckles. He watches his blood well and drip onto the stone floor. His mind fills with memories of Cheydinhal, and in his panic his words flow from him in mixed Dunmeris and Imperial, half-lost in nightmares from Cyrodiil as he paces.]

“Bahr… Bahr isk, bahr ascif… Blessed Almsivi, have mercy on your wretched servant. My transgressions are repented for a thousand times, please— please do not lock me in your silence again— Os bahrnich bahn as bahrenamor am yi malkhes ascif. Os bahrnich—”

[He starts to tremble uncontrollably, but cannot stand to unclench his jaw to sob, for fear of the sharpness he might find again in his teeth. The scent of his own blood wakens something in him, something monstrous he’s tried so hard to bury in drink and prayer.]"Vicente, I’m sorry…"

[shadows-of-almsivi]

---Frostfall, 2nd, 4E 201---

I found two barrels in a room where two necromancers were casting alternating ice and fire spells at a caged female vampire. They did not hear me lift the lids over her screams.

In the first barrel was garlic, braided into clusters. In the other was lavender.

I thought only of Vicente. Of his voice, of his gentleness. Of his body lying on the training room floor. Of the lavender I laid on the stone slab of his empty bed.

I thought only of these things until all that was left was ash, and the smell of burning blood.

[shadows-of-almsivi]

---Heartfire, 13th, 4E 201---

Though I am well, I am shaken. I cannot abide the stares of my companions, knowing it is only a matter of time before one of them asks how I knew the means to clear away the infection. I wonder if Jenassa would wrinkle her nose at the truth of it. She is right to. I certainly would. Qa'Dojo would pontificate on whether vampires have souls, and I would lose my temper entire. I have known vampires with souls, and they are likely both long dead now. It does not matter about any others. Let them stare. Let them wonder. It is better to be silent. Without a moment's rest, I'm heading back out to fill some of these bounty contracts. The note from the Jarl of Falkreath reminds me of a need for some kind of refuge that is not a lice-ridden inn. With a few dozen more dead, I might have that in my reach. And perhaps, I will be calmed again.

[shadows-of-almsivi]

---Heartfire, 13th, 4E 201---

I managed to drag myself, weak as I was yet too proud to allow my companion's assistance, back to Whiterun. The healer who saw me before, thankfully, took my pallor and weakness for ataxia. I bought out her entire stock of disease curing potions without comment, and left before she could see the bite below my hood's shadows. I follow old advice from other times long gone. I stood in the sun, as much sun as there was today, and drank one of the healing elixirs slowly. I rubbed the dregs directly into the bite, letting it sit and sting for an hour before allowing Qa'Dojo to cast a small healing spell to close the wound. If I am fortunate, there will not be a scar. Thorough, as I deem necessary. I feel strong again, if only physically. Vicente instructed me well. I only wish his words were in my ear, and not my head.

[shadows-of-almsivi]

---Heartfire, 13th, 4E 201---

It is well. I have three days.

It is well. I have three days.

It is well...

[shadows-of-almsivi]

I am bitten.

Blessed Almsivi, I am bitten. I was north of Falkreath, talking to a courier who wished to deliver me an invitation of real estate from the Jarl. The birds fell silent in the trees, and I should have known then. A little further along the river, and we came upon a hunter, running and screaming, his horse fleeing ahead of him. I readied my flames and my dagger immediately, and none too soon. Here, the sunlight is so thin that the vampires need not cling to the night. I did not know this. I was a fool not to know this.

There were two of them, one far stronger than the other. Older, likely. Perhaps the weaker's sire, judging by the howl he made when I killed his charge. My mind slipped to Vicente for a moment, just a moment, and the night he offered me his blood, how torn and tempted I was, how raw and vulnerable he sounded--

A moment was enough. My neck bleeds even now. It is not neat and delicate, as I have known it to be before (may my shame be washed from me). It is ragged and brutal, the work of an animal. Jenassa put a sword through the monster's heart, nicking my arm with the tip as it exited the chest. Qa'Dojo healed me as best he could, but it is not enough to halt the spread of infection. They watch me now, no doubt seeing something vile beginning to wake behind my eyes. I know they saw me pause.

I know they wonder why.

[shadows-of-almsivi]

---Last Seed, 20th, 4E 201---

By mid-morning, I was composed enough to continue on our errand. In truth, if I did not keep my mind on the task at hand, I fear I would never have moved.

The children of Molag Bal walk these lands. Perhaps they take especial umbrage at my scorning of their father. It is clear to me, whatever the case, that the breed which my attacker belonged to is of a seperate strain to the kind I became acquainted with in Cyrodiil.

Let me not speak on this more. I have work to do, and I feel my fingers tremble.

[shadows-of-almsivi]

---Last Seed, 20th, 4E 201---

I am shaken deeply. I pray it does not show.

After abandoning all possible hope of sleep for the night, I decided to head out on my book-fetching errand to the old fort in the earliest hours of dawn, before the sun rose.

I had barely turned the corner from the Inn when I saw two of the local guards fall dead onto the road ahead of me. Their killer had two unnatural-looking hounds at his side, all twisted black muscle and a miasma of smoke in place of fur, muzzles of bone and teeth and glaring, lava-red eyes.

And then the killer turned to me, all teeth and hate and with eyes to match his pets. It was only when I started feeling weak, my knees beginning to fail me, that I realised what he was.

I called upon my blessed ancestors, for the second time since arriving in this land, and watched him turn to ash in their fury.

Once my servant had returned from dispatching the hounds, no small task in itself, I regret to inform that he found me huddled on a nearby crate, staring blindly towards the ash.

I did not move until the sun had risen.