𝐈𝐓 𝐍𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐒, 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐗𝐓 𝐑𝐈𝐁 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐍, a subdued tenderness. a true figment of undeath, weaving its misery before his citrus eyes; lamentable, the kind of palpable agony that left his esophagus raw / bloodied / aching, hampered by the weight of emotion that had been consciously discarded. it’s okay, he wants to tell this withered boy, i never feel quite alive either. fingertips almost ache to nurse themselves through corn silk tresses with tender care one anticipated with reverence from the esteem of ❛ guardian ❜ ( perhaps it was the ghost of your own adolescent longings that burned a hole in your throat to give this child something concrete to grasp ).
the assault was ephemeral, a pitiful display of a wounded animal and he retreats a step, another, before halting in place with quiet regard. ❝ if you knew what i did, you’d be thanking me instead of moping around like this. ❞ perhaps that was a lie; sentience so often took comfort in the shroud of death, just as often as it feared for it. after all, what did his musings about death mean to another a wick of a dying candle, the ashes of an empty pyre, and the endless wandering in search of a purpose. it was all meaningless, in retrospect; the world was decaying, dying, dead, and there was little to be done at humanity’s forefront to hinder the plague of interminable iniquity ( a cruel whisper of indifference: were you so empty not to mourn? )
in a way, it was understood if death was the release of sin, it would have been grasped within hungry hands long before the fire of his dawn and embraced like an old friend ( i was weak like that, in turns, a repulsive causality of painstaking thought ). there is no fear burning within refracting skies, only a whisper of contrition as frame falls half - cocked, an offering in hand. crimson red and daunting, the plastic reflects the harsh luminescent of light: blood, sickly - sweet and distinctly odorless with its tight seal.
❝ find it within yourself to trust me just for this moment, it isn’t better there. ❞
the line of his body folds in a way unbecoming of the way he had carried himself before : with a dark & ugly sort of pride of his strength , his weapon - wielding ability , his promise to protect him , to keep his smile on his face. hands , previously gloved , come to rake at his hair & then down to his face , nails blunt and digging into his skin , pale , devoid of any sort of healthy flush. in the depths of his mind , he always hated what he had become when he had taken that first lick , the first sip , of human blood —— thick , warm , and sweet to his vampiric tastebuds ; addicting / he remembers with a heavy feeling of disgust ( taking in the form of a blackened fog that thickens in his throat ) in his mind , how he had kept drinking , razor - sharp edges sinking further in warm flesh ( alive , he was alive & breathing & limp under him ; the blood coursed through his body , through his veins / thin body being resuscitated through the very liquid he hated for years ) the moment that carefully preserved shred of humanity had slipped through his fingers , those very bits that he had so desperately wanted to hold onto for the sake of himself , for the sake of his family.
it was with these thoughts plaguing his mind that he looks through the cracks of his fingers , shaped like a porcelain doll’s as if they would break if someone touched them / looks at the man again , drinking in the way he poises himself ( unafraid of what he is , what he’s become / there’s a sort of similarity in the way his eyes spoke like his & it startles mikaela only the slightest bit , brows pinching ). hands fall down to his lap then , crimson - reds ( that have lost their shine much too long ago ) holding the other’s gaze / the one that seems to rhyme with his own , though maybe much deeper , something that ran further down the line than his own.
this time he does scoff , although it’s just a puff of air escaping from his parting lips , brows permanently lowered in a look of suspicion. “ i’m not moping around. ” the boy pointedly ignores the former part of the sentence because he knows that this man hasn’t done anything to him yet considering that he can still breathe through torn lungs , feel his emptied heart rest under rusted ribs. a flick of his head , then he straightens his posture as best as he can , one hand resting , no - pressing deeply against his side to quell the slight twinge of pain he feels sparking along the curvature of his spine. “ i don’t believe that you did anything , ” comes the bite of his rebellious and distrusting nature , the behavior of a wounded dog coming into play. “ all that humans are good for — if you’ll even call it that — are being greedy , taking things away from everyone else , and experimenting on things that are known to be taboo. don’t expect me to believe those words so easily. ”
perhaps the last shred of humanity that had pushed itself so far back in the depths of his abysmal mind , pities the doctor standing several steps away from him ; pities the way that he’s to deal with a monster like him , someone devoid of feeling anything but aggression , red - hot & continuously rolling through him rapid waves. it’s quick to run away when a plastic vial comes into view , something oh - so - familiar sloshing around in it & it sparks every nerve inside of his body on fire , facial expressions twitching while he fights to keep it within him , to not snatch the vial & swallow it down in one go.
thirsty. he’s thirsty. he wants it. blood. give it here , give it to me , give it now. now. now. now. pupils bleed into the reds once more , any sense of twisted humanity residing within him beginning to drain out of his body as he leans close , the odor wafting through the seal suffocating him with its tight grip , making it hard for him to breathe properly / the power - struggle shows again : vampire versus the shell of a human.
“ don’t kid with me . ” trembling hand smacks the vial out of the man’s offering one , stone walls rumbling higher and higher until there’s nothing left to see on the other side. “ where’s yu ?? ”
