Oh God, damn you, Margarete. Why? Why this, and why over him? ... It's so stupid, this constant preoccupation...How can you miss someone you never had, never really knew in the first place? And Margarete, do you know who it is you miss? What you miss? Is it him, or the possibility of him, or the thought that you had him if you needed someone, or... Do you want him, want to speak to him? Do you just want to not be alone? Do you just always want what you can't have? You should stop thinking it but you can't, you can't control what you think at all. and the more you know you don''t want to be thinking this, the more you can't get it out of your head. It's almost as if there's an unconscious part, subconscious, which is pretty much devoted to churning out things you don't want to think, that your conscious brain disagrees with, but your conscious mind is half the time just pretending anyway. Oh, these ideas; really, it's out of control... This is not the time or the place.
The time, 1916; this great war' is getting into its stride. The war to end all wars and you'd have to be mad to believe it. Tell it to the kids on the front line, do you really think dulce et decorum est? But even that, right now and right here anyway, is not the most important thing. The important thing is that Alice Elliot is dead, and so she has been for a couple of months. This time, importantly, she is dead and Yuri Hyuga is somewhere in Bistritz getting pissed and blaming himself, and, for fuck's sake Margarete, missing her so much more than you miss him. And this place, it's an old castle, just outside Bistritz, this tiny village, this little time capsule inside Eastern Europe. The Blue Castle. It belongs to the Valentine family. Most of them are downstairs, in coffins. Vampires. Why vampires, why here, why now, why bloody worry about it? Keith Valentine is upstairs. I don't know what he is doing, thinking, feeling. I am here, in a kitchen in the Blue Castle, and I'm feeling like an idiot because the only clean thing I can find to wear is an old dress from some Lady Valentine or other. It doesn't even fit properly- probably because I amn't wearing Lady Valentine's traditional industrial-strength underwear, because no woman, undead or alive, is going to get into this without some kind of help. So I've got half the fastenings down the back undone, and I look like a purple meringue, and I'm thinking. It can't be good, thinking the way I am.
I am Margarete Zelle. Maybe you've heard of me, the spy Malkovich. I don't know, maybe I blew up your local train station once. It'd be nice to get back to all that blowing things up, because it's simple compared to... anything involving Yuri Hyuga. Yuri and I are here in this castle because Keith wanted me to come and stay here. I'd've gone back to blowing things up, but with this war- the scale, the total lack of any reason, well, neither side needs my help in buggering things up, and... I know I never used to have any moral code when it came to who I killed for, but I did my best to kill no innocent bystanders, no one who wasn't asking for it. And this entire war is based around killing innocent bystanders, so I'm keeping well out of it.
So I've got no immediate purpose in my life, and I'm staying with Keith. And I asked Yuri to come here because there is no way I'm letting him be on his own. Because who knows what he'll do, without Alice. ... Because I don't want him not to be here. I want him to be nearby and not simply for keeping an eye on. And I don't want to think this either, and not to think, every time I see him, of holding him still, kissing him, running my hands through his hair and down his body, because this is clearly not the right thing to do. Not now. And I know I will never be anywhere close to Alice in his eyes. And I know that I care more about Alice's death than I ever could about fucking Yuri.
He always liked her better and I have never had a chance with him. That;s why I want him so much, isn't it, because I can't have him! No it's not, it's his whole way of being, messy hair and quick eyes, the way he barely says anything, but you sure as hell hear him when he does... Margarete, you are bloody thinking in clichés now! Don't make excuses!
... It's this mystery.
... It's that you always want what you can't have.
I go down down to the kitchen and the stairs are dark, it's all too empty. What a strange place to live, all stone and echoes. The kitchen is cold, but it doesn't really bother me. There''s a bottle of red wine on the table, perfect. I quickly open it and look for a glass. I can't find any decent ones in the spidery cupboards- you'd think the Valentines would be able to afford some posh glasses by now. I find an old tin mug- it looks like it belongs in a museum- languishing by the side of the sink. It's lightly engraved with some complicated design, scuffed and worn into obscurity. It possibly means something to the family, but it means nothing to me. I rinse it out, surprised that this castle has even had running water installed. Sitting at the heavy kitchen table, balancing my chair half-tipped on its front two legs, I continue not thinking about Yuri as I drink the best part of a bottle of wine. Why am I doing this to myself? But of all my possible options... for example, Keith Valentine is charming, not uninterested in me, and not remotely romantically engaged, much less to a recently deceased woman with perfect skin and a waist like a fifteen-year-old's. Margarete, you are a callous bitch. I don't mean that, it's the wine talking, but why are these thoughts even there? I was never this jealous of Alice when she was alive- I liked her, and she deserved Yuri, and if she was still here i'd be more than happy to let them get on with it. But... she's dead, and she still has more of a hold on him than ever... It can't be healthy for anyone involved...
... least of all Alice, I suppose.
I really should stop drinking, I think, as I pour the remnants of the bottle of wine into my mug and drink it quickly, already wondering where I can find another one. The Blue Castle doesn't have much left in it by now, but drink is always guaranteed. There's a shelf at the back of the kitchen, nearly hidden in shadows. It's holding several more dusty bottles of red wine. Thank you, God. Opening a bottle, I consider the age and probable value of this wine- completely wasted on me, of course.
Just as I pull the cork out, with the satisfying, smooth kind of friction in the bottleneck, I hear the stumbling sounds of Yuri returning. I'm not the only one that's been drinking, judging by the way he seems to be falling over everything, even though there isn't anything in the hallway there to fall over. Keeping the open wine bottle in hand, I go to find him.
He's walking in a giddy, clumsy way. All his movements are bigger than usual, with that drunk confident sweep.
Yuri,' I greet him and am surprised at how far on the way to drunkenness my own voice sounds.
M'greet...' he uses my nickname, the first time he's shown any degree of familiarity- to anyone, as far as I know- since Alice died. Yuri puts his arm round my shoulders, eyes part studiously concentrated, part amused at the strange new hilarity of life, the whole thing backlit by a childish simplicity and a far-too-old cynicism. An expert in getting so drunk your subconscious just takes over, Yuri awkwardly manoeuvres us to sit on the stairs.
M'greet... Now... You listen to me, right? Do not drink... you don't want to ... You'll end up like me and... s not good...'
Yuri, would I ever do that...?' I say. laughing, and take a drink from my bottle of wine.
No, we don't drink, do we, not a drop. Not any more I don't,' he slurs, taking the bottle from my hand and pouring a large amount down his throat. He puts the bottle down on the next step with a jarring crack.
Miss Ma'am,' he says, and grins, which sends me off laughing- no, actually giggling- in a way which, as far as I was concerned, I just did not do. His arm is still around my shoulders, and he shifts so we are facing each other.
Oh... what would I do without you, M'greet?' Yuri attempts to stroke my hair, but misses, and almost pokes my eye out instead. He nearly says something. I can see the words catch in his throat. But he just gives up, so I take another drink and loll my head over onto his shoulder. For some reason, we both start laughing hysterically.
It wasn't until I'd stopped laughing, feeling calmer, more sober but still happy, that I saw Yuri was still shaking, silently, jerkily. In the realisation, something tugged, cold, in my stomach.
He was crying.