December 1903
A young girl coughed as she made her way through the streets of the bustling village. She passed by a young couple who gave her looks of disgust, but it did nothing to bother her. She had received looks like that for longer than she could remember. If it were not for her filthy and tattered clothes, then it was for the large scar on her right cheek, as well as the countless other reminders that she was nothing more than street trash.
Her stomach growled.
A police officer strolled down the street, and her eyes lit up with hope. Tugging on his coat, she offered him what was in the small box she carried with her. The man looked at it with irritation and shook his head once, shooing her away. The girl dropped her gaze and continued. So far, her day had been unsuccessful. No one would want such a poorly made doll, anyways. Not when fancy porcelain ones put hers, which had been constructed with fabric from an old potato sack, to shame.
It was getting late, and the sun had already set. Soon, the streets were empty of people, and she was left all alone with nothing but her box of old toys and an empty stomach. Tonight, she would go hungry. Turning back around, she began her trek back to the shelter she had found between a cobbler's shop and a bar. If she managed to get there fast enough, she would go undetected. But her desperation to sell something today had caused her to stay out later than expected, and in the end, she had sold nothing. Now, she had nowhere else to go, and her stomach was dangerously empty.
The local pub doors were wide open and cast a bright yellow light out onto the grey snow of the outside world. She could almost feel the warmth of the place from where she stood just a few feet away, peering inside. Drunken men that dwelled within the place during the latter hours of the evening were usually dangerous, but she could barely feel her fingertips. Just for one night, it might work in her favor to put caution to the wind for a moment of warmth and perhaps snatch a bite to eat from an unsuspecting customer.
Shaking her head, she turned away briefly until her stomach decided to growl again. Thou shalt not steal, echoed in her mind, and she groaned. How long had it been since she had last eaten? How long had it been since she felt truly warm?
Father, please forgive me, she looked to the twinkling stars in the heavens above and grimaced. Was there any justification for sin? What else can I do? Her stomach twisted in knots. Coughing into her fist for a moment, she made up her mind.
No one had seen her slip in through the already opened doors, though she was quite afraid that someone would say something once she had been spotted. Three men were sitting in a table laughing like drugged hyenas, and at least five others were sitting at the bar, hunched over their drink. The laughing men had a rotten look about them, a dangerous look. She would have to steer clear of them. This bar was definitely not of the particularly high-end class.
One man was sitting at the edge of the room with nothing but a small glass of red wine, silently watching his surroundings. He looked the most misplaced out of all of them, having ducked into the shadowy portion of the bar without any candlelight and wearing such fancy noble clothes. His face was obscured by the darkness, though she could tell that his skin was rather pale, and his hair and clothing seemed dark in contrast. As she crept closer to an unconscious man at the bar who had a full loaf of sweet bread next to him, she noticed that she had captured that ominous man's attention. Freezing in place, she stared back at him nervously. He shifted backwards, then pointedly turned his head away.
Snatching the loaf away just as her "victim" fidgeted in his slumber, she crept out of the bar as quickly as she had entered. Breathing a heavy sigh of relief, she was glad that she had managed to make it out of there without any new bruises. She always had to be careful about approaching the right person.
The girl ducked down into one of the nearby alleyways and observed her finding. Forgive me, she pleaded with God, before inhaling deeply. Her mouth began to water as she began to dig in, grateful to finally have something to fill her stomach.
As she munched on her bread, she pulled her old blanket out from her crate behind a dumpster and bundled herself up in it, curling up in a spot that was mostly clear of snow. Her body heat began to rise slightly, and she sighed in relief as the bread began to fill her with contentedness. Although it was not necessarily what one would call "warm" it would do for the time being.
But just when she was about to finish off the loaf, the group of laughing hyenas made their way down the alleyway. She tried to get out of her blanket fast enough to duck behind her dumpster, but it was far too late.
"'Ey! Look a' this li'l tot 'ere!"
Her eyes widened and she backed up, grasping her toy box tightly to her chest as the group of men started heading towards her, blocking off her exit. She dropped the loaf of bread that had been in her hands and backed up further as they drew nearer.
One of the men paused and scooped up the bite. He examined it carefully for a few moments before laughing loudly. "Where'd ye get this, li'l dove? Why're ye lookin' so guilty?"
"I'd say she stole it," another chimed in.
Tears spilled down her cheeks as one of the men grabbed her by her tangled locks. "P-Please," she begged, squeezing her eyes shut as his hand went back. But there would be no stopping him; not this time, just like all the others. "I-I just wanted something to eat…"
"Look a' her ugly face!" the man guffawed, pointing to her scar.
"A bloody freak's what she is!"
"Serves her right! Filthy street rat, stealin' a good man's dinner just 'cause she's fancyin' a bite!"
"'S what I'm always telling you, lads," the first man proclaimed, grabbing her roughly by the hair in his greasy hand and pulling up sharply. Tears sprang to her eyes as his pungent breath wafted into her face. She looked into his glassy eyes and the full reality of her situation hit her: she might actually die this time. "Women are scum."
She was thrown, like a ragdoll, to the ground. A harsh kick to her gut had her wheezing for air. Tears did spill from her cheeks this time, but she did not cry out for help. Help never came any of the other times. This proved to be true as another kick thudded into to her back and yet another one came to her eye. The men's heavy, booted feet thudded dully against her body, though the pain seemed to explode through her with every blow.
And then, suddenly, the kicking stopped. She opened her one good eye just a crack. Though her vision was hazy and unfocused, she could just make out the dark figure standing just a few paces away, and the blood dribbling in front of a pair of black boots. A strange sound came from far above her head; it was like something was snapping and popping out of place, but being torn apart at the same time. The other two men, who were frozen behind her limp form, let out gasps.
There was a loud crack as something collided with the brick wall of the nearby store. A second, quieter thud followed suit.
"MONSTER!" one man screeched.
A low, guttural, inhuman growl was the response. The boots crunched in the dark snow as they came towards her. The girl prepared herself to be stepped on, but only the tip of a cape lightly brushed her shoulder. She heard one man scrambling backwards and shrieking, only for his cries of anguish to be replaced by choked gargling. The third man she did not hear at all. She did, however, hear several small thumps hitting the nearby snow.
As a dark silence pervaded the alley, the girl shut her eyes and focused on looking about as dead as she could manage, holding her breath as she waited for the monster to either believe her façade, or to kill her. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention for herself. But time ticked on, and her lungs were burning from the lack of oxygen, the cold, and having just been kicked there several times. Seconds later, she had no choice but to wheeze out and cough to breathe, opening her eyes to find that the monster had knelt beside her. She almost wanted to close her eyes again, this time certain that she would not awake. But, she found she could not look away; especially with his eerie red eyes drilling into her.
He reached out, and she could only watch with dread as a (somehow) clean, pale hand drew near her face and brushed along the blooming welts on her eye, cheeks, and jaw. The hand left again, and she saw him remove his cape. He reached under her and carefully sat her upright, making her wince in pain, before wrapping the thick fabric around her.
She blinked wearily up at him. "You're…" she wheezed, then coughed a few times. A few droplets of blood dribbled onto her cheeks when she did. "You're that man… from the pub… aren't you?"
The monster brushed the blood away. "Yes," he said.
"You're not human."
Slowly, he wrapped another arm under her legs and lifted her into the air. Her head hit his shoulder limply, and her eyelids fluttered shut. The last thing that she saw before drifting off to sleep were the sharp teeth in the mouth that said: "No. I'm not."
A/N: This was a story idea that snuck upon me when I watched "The Little Matchgirl" by Disney (though I understand it is based on the Danish short story by Hans Christian Andersen, I didn't read that). It currently has about 26,000+ words on it, so there will be periodic updates every Sunday until the latest chapter is posted.
About the fic:
-It's intended to be a combination of the character of Dracula with Hellsing's version of Alucard, as the plotline progresses towards canon. You'll see Millennium develop a little from Dracula/Alucard's perspective.
-I'm drawing from Hellsing Ultimate/the Hellsing manga. The television anime show was, in my opinion, very "eh".
-Dracula/Alucard does not fall in ROMANTIC love with the girl he's fostering. Platonically, however...
-I've taken many liberties with the storyline in both versions. And, hell, the character, too. But hey, it's fanfiction, and I'm writing this purely for fun. I will be getting as close to fluff as possible here without stepping over the "this is a vampire who kills and eats people" line. May tap-dance on the line a little, not going to lie. He won't be turned into Ned Flanders, though.
-You're picturing that now, aren't you?
-"Howdily doodily, neighboreeno?"
