Love is anterior to life. -Emily Dickinson
Posterior to death.
Initial of creation and
the exponent of breath.
~Amore e Morto: Love and Death~
She loved him, it was as simple as that.
But no. Nothing was ever simple when it came to him. Many times she had tried to rid herself of this abhorrent emotion, eager for the cause and the knowledge if there was anyone at all who possessed it; how to rid herself of it.
There seemed to be none.
Oh, she could make discreet inquiries of its vile source to gentlemen like Sir. Penwood; if the kindly gent wouldn't firstly begin with a twinkle in his eye. "And who my dear, is the lucky fellow?"
She could never tell the old friend of her father's, the truth.
She was in love with her servant.
A vampire no less.
Blast.
It would be easier; she admitted to herself; if in between missions he did not continuously hang around. That every shadowy corner grown darker, the slightest drop of temperature heralded the return of his presence the moment the golden orb of the sun sunk lower in the sky.
Then and only then, would her breast heave with the increased palpitating of her heart. Her eyes would stay stubbornly trained to the paper lying before her, ignoring the creeping coldness approaching her.
Master...
Thank goodness, he wasn't privy to her thoughts. She didn't think she would be able to handle him knowing, or let alone endure his endless teasing.
Master...Integra.
Despite her irritation, she couldn't help but feel a shudder deep inside at the caressing quality of his voice.
Integraaa...Do not pretend you cannot hear me! More insistent.
Her response was reaching for the revolver she kept at her side always.
Two shots found their way into the shadowy hand slithering across the floor toward her foot. And another for good measure into the area where the shadows melted away.
She watched with some satisfaction at the triplet holes of smoke wafting upward. Blessed silver might not be enough to kill him, but it sure did make her feel better to cause some pain as she knew the last bullet had hit its mark.
Because truly, this palpitating heart-fluttery stomach sensation-and the sudden tension that filled the room whenever his undead presence entered; did not suit Sir Integral Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing!
~*~
Disclaimer: *don't own Hellsing*
AN: just something quick that came to mind. Thanks for reading :) depending on feedback I may or may not continue 'dis.
No flames-haters-stupid comments!
Reviews appreciated :)