a visage that refuses to rest within the grave it had been given, unbeknownst to who had taken enough care to bury the body, and although there are no footsteps that sound, there is the faintest sight of white cloth that disappears down a hallway. it could have easily been mistaken for curtains rustling in the wind, but that does not explain the trail of blood that follows where footsteps should have tread, and the song that follows: a song they had danced to before, and how her voice seems to beckon: come to me. follow me, lover. in a voice that has long since perished, or at the very least should have, until they reached the empty ballroom. corpses strewn across the polished floors, positioned to stand as though they were waltzing, bleeding where they stood to create river of blood. they are familiar faces … those she had killed before, remnants of an adventure that seemed so long ago. they were all without hearts, carved out from their chests, and faced towards the vampire ascendant when he entered. phantom of a past that should not have been there, sat in the middle of hearts laid before her, and she smiles the moment she sees him. it is a hollow, almost eerie grin. she rises, stepping towards him like greeting a lover lost long at sea. “ astarion … ” one hand that holds his, the other digging sharpened nails into the side of his neck. similar to the stance of a pair about to waltz. “ you used to dance so beautifully … did you save me one? or did i come too late? ” as though by will, the corpses around them begin to twitch: their long forgotten bones cracking and breaking anew, eyes aglow with crimson light as they begin to dance. it is a broken sound of limbs fallen apart, surrounding them without once turning away as they twirled with far more precision than the animated corpses should. “ dance with me, lover. as we had, once. ” her hands around his neck, the cold metal of the ring ‘pon her finger making a permanent home into his pale flesh. “ i wonder … do you miss me? do you still speak my name? i’d not want you to feel lonesome, and so here i remain. to keep you company, never to leave your side … in sickness and in health. in slaughter and in solace. ” kira smiles up at him, “ but first … i will take what is due to me. ” and just as she had plunged her hand into his chest like a stake between the ribs, the dream ends, and she is gone again.
this mansion had become his kingdom, the mutter of cazador like venom on the tongue and instant death where it's warranted. or, torture until the ground is decorated in their tears and splashes of blood of forgiveness. truly he hates to do but it must be done if he were to keep the peace. of course, he was absolutely nothing like his former master, he's better... stronger... invincible. where there was love and adoration comes fruitful forgetfulness. he can live happily without the one he called his life and not the reason he could feel a faint thrum of a heartbeat in his chest.
all that has passed and gone after he ascended. nothing can hurt him ever again and that includes the loss of love.
however, it's when he's alone that @violevin strikes. there's a cacophony of whispers and sweet words of promise when he was just so naive. even sometimes he hears the faint keys played from the piano that are rooms apart but when he approaches, there's nothing there. no one. it's his mind playing tricks on him, he's so sure of it. ghosts don't exist. the spirits don't loom to agitate as a warning of trysts. except how can that be true when accompanied to help destroy the elder brain, he's come across so many other undead and even the ghosts of previous bodies.
they're real but how come kira doesn't show herself? it makes his teeth grind, brows furrow as his patience is slowly fraying to a thin line.
he takes the scenic route to his quarters, he hears her again. sees her face, hears her voice, and that familiar tune plays itself once again. " i know you're there, vile wench! " he bares his fangs, eyes a darker red than it previously. it's easy when he's in a foul mood because there's no vampire spawn in sight, hiding from the wrath lest they be chosen to hours or days of beatings. spotting the ballroom, the stench of blood is undeniable. not the good kind either, those that have sat out in the sun, laid to rot where all you taste is their gore.
disgusting. repulsive.
except these bodies are familiar in appearance, taking a step in not so carefully. he's the ruler of this house, why must he be afraid?
there, however, lays his long lost lover, a heart resting in her palms before she sees him approach. astarion... she whispers, the doors had slammed behind him, quickly turning around before looking right back to see she appeared right in front of him. you used to dance so beautifully … did you save me one? or did i come too late?
he shakes his head in near denial. he wants to lung forward and grip her by the throat, dig his nails into her skin to drink her blood but what he wants to will his body to happen, it doesn't. it's like an instinct. brows furrowing as a hand, by habit, rests upon her waist. his other carefully grasps her palm with his own, mingling victims blood like a reminder. there's a sting of pain that blossoms at his throat right where an active artery would be. he doesn't bleed.
suddenly, they're not alone. like puppets on strings, they lift to dance. like with a flick of wrist, the ballroom is glowing brightly, the faint sound of chattering heard by those that would be attendance. it's pretending to have the amount of life for a dance, except it has never been more dead, blood dripping from their eye sockets, wrists, and mouths. their outfits decorated so beautifully in this confetti of red, only it doesn't match the situation at hand. he's momentarily distracted until she speaks up again, her voice so sickly sweet but the purple iris' say another story.
she's bitter. she wants to take her revenge to haunt him any moment he gets too comfortable.
so they dance, spinning and making their rounds slowly. she speaks but her voice is an echo of a scream in his skull. it's annoying.
i wonder … do you miss me? do you still speak my name? i’d not want you to feel lonesome, and so here i remain. to keep you company, never to leave your side … in sickness and in health. in slaughter and in solace.
he bares his fangs again, body paralyzed against his will to move as if lovers would. " witch. " it's not endearing in the way he says it. a curse she is and forever will be. " i do not speak your name because you're no longer relevant. " funny. doesn't a husband remember that of which he's lost? he's only gained and it's so unfortunate she had to die. really, a loss. " i will never be lonely again, not when the love of my children exist. " ironic. what he says doesn't match the ache in his chest. oh, how he misses her so. it was a mistake. all of it. he didn't want to let her go but to be powerful, you must push away to that what holds you back. grieving a love is something normal but he sees it as weakness and weakness it will always be.
" i have thrived without you, my dear. and i will continue to do so. i don't need you. " and not once does he mutter a memory... his mouth opens to speak once more, except nothing comes out. a groan is only released feeling her hand suddenly tighten around his throat with her other suddenly dive into his chest like the search for a heart that's not even there. it's suddenly cold, and it felt so real that when he wakes, he lurches up from the comfort of his mattress, breathing deeply as fingers pat around on said chest. there's nothing there. he's sweating and for once since he's ascended, he's panicking; vision is fuzzy.
" kira. "
... until he does.
