A/N: Just a heavy take on lore, bs speculation on Maria as a person, and some questionable masochism, as is my specialty :)))
For quite awhile, it had taken Maria a lot of coaxing from the deafening silence to turn her back to the light. The intricate gears of the clock tower remained dormant, their finer details washed away by the bright rays of sunlight that inexplicably shone through. It was a curse, she learned, one that she rightfully earned, unlike the fate that the inhabitants of the fishing hamlet have succumbed to.
The remnants of the fishing hamlet had never seen the light of day, forever gazed upon by the all-encompassing moon that twisted everything it touched with time. Their ever-lasting Nightmare began when the body of a Great One had descended upon them, brought to the shore by the waves of the ever so enigmatic abyss that filled the horizon. What had killed Her, or what had possibly brought the misfortune of Her infested body upon a quiet fishing hamlet, Maria didn't know, nor did she ever have the right to know. But once upon a time, she tried to learn anyways, under the lead of Gehrman.
That had been so long ago, she muses, shifting gently from the comfortable position that she had adopted eons ago in her throne. Had it been eons? Perhaps it had been decades, or mere years that crawled pathetically on, she didn't know. There was no true concept of time in this perpetual nightmare, trapped within an accursed vigil in this God forsaken clock tower.
It was silent, always silent, tranquil in a way that was predatory and still, painfully still, in such a way that was unnatural and unnerving. Maria could almost remember the last time a noise had graced her ears, distant now in her memories. She could barely touch the metallic sound of her Rakuyo as it fell down the well, the metal screaming with each rock that it hit before it finally sit still and remained silent. Silent, always silent, in a way that made her wonder, made her forget. Had she thrown her blade down the well? If so, who carried it in that accursed fishing hamlet, if not a beast?
She had asked herself that many times, the revulsion that accompanied it abandoning her long ago. It felt nonexistent now, as if her musing, constant at the start of her vigil, had never started in the first place. A beast, she would consider, scornfully at first, true to her master Gehrman.
But then again, what is she? A Vileblood? Distantly related, yet equally as bestial? As vile as the name entailed? Who, then, had the right to wield the bastardization of the Chikage, if not beast and man alike?
Had there ever been a true divide between the two?
At her side, the Rakuyo clung to her, its presence silent enough to nearly make her forget it was there. If there was no divide, she would make one herself, true to what she specifically believed in and nothing more. There was no one else to appease, anyway; she had long since drowned out the moans of the patients in the research halls, forever cloaked by the darkness, begging for her soothing words to help quell their pain and hunger for brain fluid for a short while. Nothing could cure them, not even her, not even Gehrman, not even with the discoveries they made together from scraping the eye sockets of their victims at the newly infected hamlet.
Infected, as if it was some sort of illness and not a curse, as if the parasites that engorged their skulls with fluid was an accident. If not Kos, then who cursed them?
At least she understood exactly who cursed her, unlike the victims of the hamlet. She brought it upon herself so long ago, and rightfully so. Everyone in this Nightmare, every Hunter who fell to the blood, every selfish, voracious scholar from Byrgenwerth brought the curse of beasthood upon themselves.
And beasthood came in many different forms. Hers was subtle, painfully intoxicating, true to her distant family's name. It was in her blood, royal, eternal, and she loathed it, enough to avoid using blood past the first few times when she succumbed to its power. For the longest time, it taunted her, more than Gehrman ever had, more than the nagging in her head that encouraged her to continue and stick her nose in places that should have been left behind and forgotten for the greater good.
There was a bang somewhere off in the Clocktower. She craned her neck upwards. There was an unnecessarily old creak in her bones as she moved, the popping of her joints an exquisite sound. And then, gradually, came the ticking, slow and methodical, finally registering in her mind. It was no longer silent, all tranquility washing away as, distantly, she heard the vague screams of the damned, most likely her own patients being slaughtered.
A gloved hand reached down to brush over the hilt of her Rakuyo. The other reached up to her breast pocket, embroidered with a delicate web of silver, and inside it, a celestial dial. She settled back into place; whatever disturbed the morbid peace - if it could be considered peace - was not worthy of her time if it could not bypass her patients.
It was not long after that the disturbance found her.
Maria found herself clutching to the Hunter's arm, grip tight with alarm as well as reproach, pale eyes boring into brown ones. The Hunter's countenance was covered by the cloth that she had pulled tight over her nose, but her eyes said it all; they whitened in the wake of recognition, and something stirred in Maria, something akin to anger. Anger, because of course there would be recognition in those painfully expressive eyes.
Maria had almost forgotten about the plain doll that Gehrman had crafted long ago. It was a vile thing, a mere hollow vessel that took her form, naught but an inscrutable face to remind Gehrman of the woman he no longer had any power over.
But this was not Gehrman. She let go and watched as the Hunter took a few hesitant steps back. Maria's hand turned to clutch the dial in her breast pocket instead, just a few centimeters away from the ugly splotches of red on her chest. Whispers of pain rattled from deep within the wounds. How long had it been since they ran dry?
"A corpse should be well left alone."
Whether Maria was talking of the Great One who lay squirming with parasites at the beach or herself, she couldn't possibly know. It had been so long since she heard her own voice, but she took solace in the hint of life in it. Soft, delicate to maintain in the deafening silence in the clock tower, but never as hollow as the doll's had always been.
The curves of Maria's fingers melded perfectly into the hilt of her Rakuyo. The metallic screech of the blades scraping together as she brandished the transformed Rakuyo sang a song of bittersweet nostalgia in her ears. Immediately, the Hunter drew her own weapon, a fine axe that Maria vaguely recognized. Long ago, when time had still held its meaning to her, plenty of Gehrman's apprentices had chosen the axe, if not the cleaver. The Hunter's left hand wrapped protectively around the firearm at her hip. An Evelyn, instantly recognizable by its misleadingly diminutive barrel, the silver of it shining brightly in the sunlight.
The Hunter took a challenging step forward, an axe in one hand like an apprentice and an Evelyn in the other like an unworthy blessing. Something moved in Maria's chest, something that she dimly realized was thrill.
The thrill of a hunt.
Something about the Hunter roused the vile things that lurked nearby.
Most hunters that reached the clock tower were already taking their last rattling breaths, or were strong enough when they arrived the endure the majority of the bloodstained halls of her accursed tower. Maria almost forgot the sweet melody that the clashing of blades created, almost forgot that the bookshelves were real and could very well be shattered upon impact. It was intoxicating, moreso than the blood, to hear wood splinter, to hear the Hunter hold her breath with each narrowly missed slash of the Rakuyo.
At some point, the Hunter dashed away with a laceration that stretched far across her thigh. She continued to back away as she reached for a familiar little vial that was concealed in her coat, its contents as thick and red as the blood that smeared the Rakuyo's face. Maria distantly remembered the healing blood, how sweetly it sang, how exquisite the knitting of skin and muscle and the mending of bone felt when she forced it past her lips.
It never took a hunter very long to succumb to the blood. Whether they feared it or lusted for it didn't matter; Maria watched plenty of them lose themselves in the wake of beasthood. Most would start overly eager, seemingly empowered by their first taste of blood, and she would find them days later shredded under the claws of a beast, mutilated beyond what even the most concentrated of healing blood could repair. Then there were the ones who were more tactical, those who feared it, feared the beasts and feared the call of the blood. Ultimately, she would find them drunk on blood, hopelessly blind and lost behind their sunken pupils.
This Hunter didn't seem phased by the healing blood. The sound of breaking glass tore Maria from the memories of the past, of the Workshop and the Church, and she dodged before the Hunter's blow could connect. Those eyes that Maria had peered in to were not sunken or as empty as those of the old hunters who lost themselves to the long-term effects of the blood. They were focused, trained so meticulously on her, and at some point, the axe had grazed her back, the burn of it sending euphoria pumping through her veins.
The blood on her Rakuyo had never smelled sweeter. It smelled of the moon, of the particularly sweet copper that was unique to healing blood, and for the first time in a long while, Maria remembered what it felt like to give in to the cravings. It had been so long ago. She can barely feel the kiss of the Chikage, the way it would sing in her veins, the giddy dizziness that kept her going.
That was back before she caught herself. Back before she learned what it truly meant to fear the old blood.
But what was there now, if not a life - the term "life" was subjective, truly - confined to the clock tower? What was there left besides the never-ending sunlight of dawn that watched her every movement?
The Hunter opened another blood vial, its aroma sweet, so painfully sweet.
Maria stopped in her tracks, and curiously enough, the Hunter also paused. There was nothing to hide anymore, and it had never truly changed. Under an all-seeing moon, there was nothing she could possibly hide, and under the all-encompassing rays of sunlight, there was nothing she cared to hide. There was nothing she could possibly conceal, not since the first day her Rakuyo tasted her own blood, long ago when she falsely assumed that she had the right to die. She lifted the Rakuyo once more, anticipation clear in the giddy adrenaline that coursed through her veins. Or maybe it was something else, something more sinister, more accurate to the vileblood name.
Plenty of hunters have succumbed to their true nature - altered, perhaps, by the blood and the scourge, but still their nature nonetheless. And true to her name, to the Vilebloods of centuries ago, to the wretched nobility higher up the family tree whose God forsaken traits had trickled down to her, Maria plunged both blades of the Rakuyo through her chest without a second thought. A wistful sight left her, an odd mixture of both pain and euphoria. Blood spurted over her hands, dribbling down her front. It was almost as pungent as that of a beast's, but it was laden with something richer, something more exquisite.
She abruptly tore the blades out of her chest, blood spilling over the wood, trailing the ends of her transformed Rakuyo in a whip-like fashion. It was a savage thing, how the powers that accompanied the Vileblood lineage had whispered so sweetly to her, and how easy it had been to give in again. It had been so long, too long, and she could finally remember what euphoria felt like. She may not have deserved it, not for the sins that plagued her, not for the demons that she held for so long, but that didn't matter. Under a never-ending day, as cursed and vile as the perpetual nightmare or the moon that never set, it was pointless to deny nature the pleasure.
A surprised cry left the Hunter's lips as Maria dashed forward, the Rakuyo barely missing her, but the blade-like ribbon of blood that followed had cut deep into her abdomen. The sound was exhilarating, and Maria strove to hear more.
Vaguely, Maria remembered what it felt like to yearn.
There had never been a blood more intoxicating than that which was administrated in Yharnam. That much Maria knew. She remembered back when blood ministration was common, and heavy usage of blood was ubiquitous, whether for health or for pleasure, she was never certain. It was essential for the hunt, the only thing she needed to face the Scourge save for her Rakuyo, but it sang a song so painfully sweet that it became too difficult to resist.
Here, there was blood that sang a sweeter melody, laden with the tantalizing potency of the Scourge and the intoxicating delicacy of the moon. Maria hadn't been this hyper-aware of her surroundings since she abandoned Gehrman and the hunt. It was a unique clarity that was specific to the infusion of blood to her Rakuyo, a vindicatory consequence of such a damnable act as much as it was a rewarding one.
Maria twisted her wrist in the wet heat that encapsulated her hand. With it came a wave of blood that made her dizzy with its seductive whisper. The Hunter's mask had fallen long ago, and under it, pale skin that contrasted remarkably with her bold eyes. It was hard to resist the Hunter, her bottom lip covered in a strong crimson, the smell of copper in the air more tantalizing than the Rakuyo's call for her blood. Its intricate song beckoned her over so sweetly, almost moreso than the secrets she strove to uncover long ago.
When she applied more pressure and the Hunter let out something close to a moan, her resolve shattered. She leaned forward, withdrawing her fingertips just a bit. The Hunter's coppery breath mingled with her own.
"Paleblood," Maria said, a little above a whisper, but loud enough in her forsaken clock tower to reach the Hunter's ears with perfect clarity. "What is it that you seek in this Nightmare?"
The Hunter groped clumsily at Maria's shoulders. It was a feeble grip - from the loss of blood, no doubt - and it paled pathetically in comparison to the strong grip it once had on the Evelyn earlier. Maria almost found it endearing, how delicate her hold was, how she had resigned to this.
Maria pulled her closer, relishing in the feeble noise that left the Hunter's parted lips. "I remember the secrets and how they beckon so sweetly. They're precisely why I'm here."
The Hunter's eyes trained on her, surprisingly focused for how battered she was. They were blown wide, almost black in Maria's shadow, a pretty shade of red high on her cheekbones. There was an exquisite willingness that Maria instantly recognized. She twisted her wrist again, far enough to pull at something, and the Hunter's knees buckled with a tremulous whine.
The clacking of her boots against the hardwood echoed in the room, and shortly after, the tumultuous crash of the bookshelf nearby shattering. The noise was deafening in her ears, but she didn't dare flinch, didn't dare tear her eyes from the Hunter. The Hunter's eyes widened, jaw slack, both hands darting out to clutch the forearm that had delved deeper into her body with the action. Maria pressed closer, predatory in the silent glare by which she regarded the Hunter with.
"What you seek isn't here anymore." Maria squeezed at the snakes that rolled slickly across her fingers. "I've made sure of it."
"Liar." The Hunter's shaky voice reached her, surprisingly bold regardless of the way her eyes stared blearily up at Maria. "I will find whatever you're hiding behind that door."
Something in the finality of her tone made Maria's heart race. Her eyes, so beautifully strong despite having been put in her place, peered into her own. Within them, framed with such perfect clarity, was a promise. The thrill of it send flames burning down her abdomen. Unable to control the urge that reared its savage head, Maria tugged sharply, blood welling around the wound that swallowed eagerly around her forearm. She could feel the vibration of the Hunter's short cry.
"Is that so?"
Maria leaned closer, closer to the blood, closer to the pretty eyes that dared challenge her. She reached further, blood and flesh alike squelching in the effort. The Hunter's eyes never left hers, not even as she clasped her hand around the slick, fluttering delicacy within.
Her breath ghosted over the Hunter's lips, "Do you still dream, good Hunter?"
A silence followed, thick with anticipation. Then, finally, the Hunter nodded, and Maria closed the gap between them. It tasted of the Scourge and the moon, of something keenly distinct that it made her chest sing. It was intoxicating, so exquisitely divine.
Maria tore her fist out of the Hunter's chest as she pulled away.
It was no surprise when she heard the doors to the clock tower creak back open a small while later. For the longest time, she thoroughly believed that only an honest death would cure the individuals who dared to lurk through the research hall.
But then again, what was considered an honest death when the Hunter still dreamed?
When the Hunter emerged, Maria noticed the untouched leather, the shiny buckles, the unwrinkled cotton, as was promised by the munificence of the Dream. Something twisted in her gut, and she lifted her chin, conscious of the blood that still glistened on her chest alongside the old, faded stains of her shame from long ago. She rose from her throne, its creak shrill in the air around her.
This time around was shorter, but nonetheless, there was nothing more satisfying to Maria than the scent of blood and the moon that hung in her nostrils.
An ache resonated from her shoulder where the Hunter's axe had cleverly caught her. It was dull, ugly, and it throbbed with each heartbeat, vastly different from the bittersweet melody that hummed deep in her chest when her blood coalesced with the sick gluttony of her Rakuyo. The Hunter was a quick learner, no doubt; nothing left her eyes, each movement encapsulated by them, and they watched as Maria's hand trailed along the buckle that hugged her chest.
The Hunter's chest fluttered delicately as Maria brought her dagger into view. She lowered it to the first buckle and tore it in half. She trailed lower, ripping the second, and then stopped at the third. Maria managed to capture the beginnings of the third buckle when she delved the Rakuyo deep through the Hunter in one lethal thrust while she was still down. The silver metal of the Rakuyo disappeared through the Hunter's abdomen, and on the other side, buried itself into the floor, effectively trapping the Hunter there. Maria lingered there for a moment, her fingers trailing along the edge where skin met metal, and then made quick work of the last two buckles.
Maria idly trailed the dagger down the Hunter's abdomen and stopped where the material had been tucked into her trousers. "What do you think will happen if you bypass the Clocktower?" She dug the tip of her blade into the material and sliced upwards, meticulous as always, the tear effectively revealing the milky skin underneath. "Do you think you will be granted eyes? Do you think you will find something amongst the rot?"
In the corner of her eye, Maria caught the movement of the Hunter's hand inching downwards. Her body shifted ever so slightly in her effort to reach the Evelyn that she dropped upon impact. Maria knew she could reach it, and with an amused smirk, feigned ignorance. The Hunter's hand stilled when Maria suddenly tore further upwards towards the chest, then wrenched the two halves of material apart. The thick stench of blood reached her nostrils, and she subconsciously leaned closer towards the blood that oozed where the Rakuyo delved through skin.
"I used to wonder such futile things. I would wonder what went wrong, why it went wrong, until I eventually wished that I merely burned it all." She gently smoothed her fingers along the Hunter's chest, and she could miraculously feel the heat through her glove. "I searched for the eyes and failed. I searched for a cure for my patients and failed. I tried to leave the lure of Her secrets and failed." The Hunter managed to get her grip on the Evelyn. The smirk on Maria's lips grew wider. "The Hamlet is a blasphemous place, dear Hunter."
The Hunter lifted the Evelyn, and in one swift movement, Maria caught her wrist and slammed it against the ground next to her head. The Evelyn bounced away from her grip once more.
Maria leaned over the Hunter and pulled her mask away. Underneath it, the Hunter's lip was caught between her teeth, her eyes blown wide with want. Maria pulled back as she hissed, "A death won't cure you. A dozen deaths won't even phase you. But still, you will learn."
With the emphasis came the downward swoop of the dagger and sunk easily through the Hunter's wrist. The Hunter's body jerked with a short, raucous cry, her free hand coming up to grip desperately at the front of Maria's coat. Maria let go, allowing the dagger to pin the Hunter's wrist to the floor on its own. A murky spot steadily spread through the fabric from where the blade had sliced between the bones. A coppery smell reached Maria's nostrils, lingered pleasantly there, and she craved.
Now freed by the suffocating confines of fabric, thin fingers of crimson ran freely along the Hunter's skin from the blade in her abdomen. Maria ran her fingertips along the edges of the wound, smearing the blood there, and the Hunter hissed above her. Without warning, she reached for the hilt of the Rakuyo and jerked it out of place, pulling it out at an odd angle to tear the wound open further. The Hunter bit her lip to prevent the shrill cry that bubbled up from her chest.
The Rakuyo was discarded with a metallic clatter. In its place, a long, jagged laceration, glistening wetly as it wept. Maria pressed her fingers against the gash, and at the swell of blood that followed, she deliberately shoved them in deeper. The Hunter bit harder, the beginnings of a moan evident, and in her efforts, tore the skin of her lip.
Maria curled two digits into the wound, hooked onto the corner, and tugged. The Hunter jerked under her once more with a pathetic whine. "Is this what you seek? Punishment? You curious thing."
Something pulled at the corner of the Hunter's lip. Her free hand pressed flat against Maria's chest. The instinctual response was to snap the offending hand away, to pin it to the ground hard enough to snap the bone, but there was something about the intensity of the Hunter's gaze that stopped her. The Hunter slid her hand up, curled Maria's collar and bloodied cravat in a trembling fist, and hauled her forward.
Their lips crashed together, teeth clacking, all slick, hot ecstasy that Maria yearned for so terribly. Blood slid messily between their lips, tendrils of heat blossoming from each movement. Maria sunk her teeth into the Hunter's lower lip, pulled at it until she drew a sharp keen, and in the process, forced her hand into the slick heat of the Hunter's body. The Hunter's grip faltered, finally allowing Maria to lean back.
She twisted and turned her wrist until something deep within the Hunter gave and snapped with a wet rip. The Hunter threw her head back with a breathy cry. With a savage sort of satisfaction, Maria withdrew her hand. It glistened deliciously in the light, the blood so tantalizingly pungent, thick and sweet with the moon and the scourge.
"What a depraved little creature," Maria crooned. She leaned in, tongue darting out to lick a thick stripe up the back of her hand, and oh, did it sing. "You've yet to say why you crawled back to the Nightmare. Tell me, good Hunter."
The Hunter dazedly opened her mouth, hesitated, and snapped it shut once more. Maria clicked her tongue and shook her head in feigned petulance. She withdrew her own Evelyn, hidden keenly under the mask of her garb, and pointed it between the Hunter's eyes. The Hunter stilled with a sharp gasp.
"I said, tell me."
Maria caught the unmistakable blush that burned bright on the Hunter's cheeks. Intrigued by this, Maria pressed it against the Hunter's forehead, and the Hunter's head snapped back against the floor with a soft moan.
Her voice was quiet, yet inexplicably bold as she said, "I don't have an answer for you. I don't even have an answer for myself. All I have are more questions."
Bloodstained fingers smeared the Hunter's skin as they undid the button and zipper of her trousers. Maria asked lowly, "And what questions are those?"
A tense silence followed. Maria found herself skeptical, but the doubts were silenced when the Hunter replied softly, "What happens when this ends? Will it ever end? When the source of this Nightmare perishes, what comes next? The sun? Another moon? Another abomination?"
Her breath hitched as Maria's fingers dipped lower against her slick folds. They circled and pressed in such a way that made her legs twitch. The Evelyn lowered and Maria descended upon her. She caught the Hunter's bruised lip with her teeth, tongue tingling when it met the blood that welled there. Maria murmured against her lips, "What you fail to understand is that this is a cycle."
She delved deeper into the heat, curled her fingers just so, and the Hunter's back arched with a whine. Their breaths mingled as she continued, "This world, this reality, the Dream and the Nightmare - it all never ends. It's an inevitability, a curse among the land that mother Kos brought when She washed upon the shore."
Maria quickened her pace, the consistent movement an exquisitely mesmerizing thing in the way that each push inwards was met with the slick heat that clenched around her fingers. The Hunter strained forwards and their mouths slotted together, messy and desperate. A moan melted into the kiss, and the Hunter fell back against the ground, breathless as she asked, "How are you so sure of that?"
Maria withdrew from the dripping heat, dragging her fingertips up against the slick folds to press and circle insistently on her clit. "I sought to understand it. The Hamlet was cursed to begin with, but that didn't stop us. That didn't stop me." As if a comfort, Maria shoved the Evelyn under the Hunter's chin. "I scraped their skulls, engorged their brains with fluid, both in the name of an answer and a cure, and still, this Nightmare stands. I brought this upon myself."
The Hunter let out a tremulous moan, high and airy, body trembling terribly against Maria's. She watched with idle fascination as the Hunter writhed. It was a familiar heat, a sweet, messy thing that she chased with idle remembrance. Her fingertip pressed gently against the trigger as she hissed, "While I know the agony of asking questions that cannot be answered, I also know the absolute agony of the mistake that was the Hamlet."
The Hunter suddenly jerked, her eyes fluttering shut as she let out a trembling, keening moan. Maria slid her fingers along her slick folds, pleased with the effortless glide of them. The Hunter gazed blearily up at her, a soft noise leaving her lips when Maria withdrew her soaked hand altogether.
With one final kiss, Maria whispered, "You will never step foot past this Clocktower while I still stand."
She pulled the trigger.