The Blessed Answer
Mist that was engulfing, silencing the presence of the few standers, quietening the crying out of the wind that snapped the creased corners of their clothes. Lonely blue, the refreshing colour of the storm after, pervaded the air; a lone smile amongst the solemnity of the occasion. All were still as the few hands of earth fell into the wind and was carried off elsewhere, to drop into oceans foreign and lands distant.
No shifting, no fidgeting, no pulling of discomfort: none of that was present here, on this day, in this end of twilight. No words were wasted as the few bowed their heads and said their own farewells silently in their selves. The few that were respectful, acting for those others who were shackled to other roles of being.
A final word, a declaration of finality, and they departed, each slowly to their own waiting character behind the curtain. One person stood back, waiting. Tall, non-descript in the shadows of beckoning night, just standing. Just waiting.
"how long have you been standing here?"
"an age," he answered.
"why? I don't understand why you would."
"because I've kept that answer to myself for a very, long time," he answered wearily.
"why don't you tell me now?"
"it is not the right time."
"it's not like I'm going to go anywhere. Look, down there…"
"you will. Very soon. Too soon, you will be at peace shortly, and I will remain," he said quietly, still standing.
"then tell me now! tell me why you wait, why you stand, why you don't act!"
"it's just a bit complicated to explain it to you, now: in so few words."
"please… don't let this time be wasted because you can't find the words."
"alright." He closed his eyes momentarily, and then opened them, keeping them trained on the open ground before him.
"I think… that there is affection. No, that is untruthful. There has always been a place for you in my dead heart. You gave me freedom, a sense of its entitlement. More than I had known before. An autonomy that was still restricted, but by good sense, by the life lived for others who are oblivious to all that we seek.
"and a blessing to act as I would around my keeper. To press, to hold, to covet and loathe; to anger, to sadden, to provoke an inner laughter, an inner sigh; at words shouted, whispered, unspoken and dreamt. To touch, whether it was with my hands or by what you would call my damned soul.
"I stand. I wait. I have been standing. I have been waiting. For something to be mine, to be entwined with my own existence, to be separate from my being. And I think that this is what this is. Still waiting. Still standing. Alone because I never made the choice of what it is I want. I've done what I can, what I want, with these shackles locked on me by your kin. But I've never really acted."
"but what if this isn't real?"
"it doesn't matter… It is all the same, the beginnings, the ends, the darkness."
"why do you say that? You stand now in the light…"
"no, my woman-child. I stand at the boundary of light and dark, never belonging to either, never to be accepted by either of its rulers."
"what of my own? Did you never stand with me, in the light?" he chuckled sadly.
"when did you ever seek the light? At our beginning, you chose the night. You chose to dwell in the shadows of darkness, an infinitesimal speck of light striking out at those who attempted to destroy all that you imagined and believed to be worthy in the world of the sun; the realm you rarely entered since I was released."
"don't say that…"
"why not? You were always the one for truth, no matter how damaging it was to know it."
"then… why do you stand with me? Why have you remained for so long? Haven't you always known how to free yourself?"
"I have."
"don't be so damned circumspect! Why?"
"because…"
The wind blew past, unsettling his coat so that it beat around his legs. His hair, always dishevelled, further tousled by the breeze. The mist warped around his legs, holding him down. The sky, bruising indigo, seemed to weigh heavily on the two voices of being that spoke in the start of evening.
And so, a figure appeared. Materializing from the mist, the form was of woman, free from the ties of her own existence; liberated from the mask that she had woven over her life, so that she could assume the burden her ancestors had taken on. Covered in a simple white gown, no frivolous show of style or thought. Barefoot, even in the chill; her hair hanging long, free, a slight curl to the strands.
She walked over the ground, closer to him; he, so encumbered by the show of office that he had assumed; save the hat, to show respect for this ritual; save the glasses, to show some truth. She stopped, looked up at him.
"why?"
"you always ask 'why', and when have you ever been given the answer you need?"
"why?" she asked again.
"because you are what I've been imprisoned for." She shook her head.
"that's not an answer! Why do you always stand by my side, no matter what I choose? Why do you always appear when I'm needing you from deep inside my heart? why do you always strive to hurt me with your words, and then apologize and deny it?"
"to answer would be to put everything you've ever trusted into the line of fire," he said, quietly resigned. She closed the distance between them, and beat her fists once against his chest.
"stop! Stop giving me answers that will ease the questions between us! I need to know! Alucard, I need to know…" she pleaded, spreading her palms against his shirt.
"this isn't the real world. I cannot give you answers in a world that exists without reason," he said softly, touching the edge of her jaw with his gloved hand.
"tell me anyway. Tell me now, tell me outside. Don't let it stay unanswered, when everything is already unknown to me in the real world. I need to know that there's something to you, something else to this bond of master and monster. Please, don't leave me alone in a world I'm trapped by. don't leave me in the dark."
"but that is where I am. And where you are not, my Integra…"
In a dream world, we always seek that which we do not know in our waking lives. Maybe there is some truth in our dreams; maybe some answers are given. But we are never sure of what we have wished to be truth, and what we have discovered to be lies.
The end