silver screen kiss
- hapsby
The roses are always in bloom. Rachel Alucard is ageless; an old soul burnt out from countless years of dealing with the affairs of mortals. Perhaps she would not be so cynical, but she has seen the pattern repeat itself over and over. History is a moebius strip; a spiral looping and winding back on itself endlessly. Though the world's strife is brought upon by different faces fought against by different names, the story remains the same, and the cycle continues.
Roses are the same. They incubate within their soft petals and then burst to life, cloying and beautiful and unending. Black teas will always taste fragrant and bittersweet, the temperature just enough to sting Rachel's delicate mouth. Roses and tea and war and hate and sorrow are constants, static concepts in a static world.
Ragna sits by the water, as far from the scent of roses as he can, and broods. Though his back is to Rachel, she can imagine the furrow of his brow and the sharp incline of his mouth.
"Bloodedge," she whispers to herself, the barest hint of a smile tugging at her lips.
Soon, she will gracefully walk to his side, floating in her priceless white heels. She will be a picture of ravishing beauty in her custom-made gown of lace and tulle and silk, and she will demand that he join her for tea. Layabout, idiot, dumb child, she practises the insults, sharpening them with her razor tongue. Screw you, rabbit-bitch, he'll spit back at her, vulgar and dirty and unrefined. But he will join her all the same.
For now, however, Rachel is content to sit and watch. For the first time in years, the vampire princess is interested in the fate that stretches out before them, and the man who will play the leading role captivates her most of all.
