Styles of Concrete (The life taking of Seras Victoria, from the Point of View of Alucard)
~Copperstorm
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Seras Victoria, the petite police girl, lay in the grass, her head fuzzy, her mouth bloody, her body on fire in pain. I, Alucard, shot her in the right lung to kill her vampire predator, and here she is, faced with a choice.
I briefly apologized for shooting her to pierce his heart, and then I gave her the choice. "What do you want to do?" Her brilliant blue eyes looked up at me, so full of pain, so blurry, so confused. I gazed down at her, that pathetic human. Clear trails of tears dripped down her face as she looked vaguely at me and the bright full moon above us. For a moment I was unsure why she was crying so. Did her wound hurt her that much? Was it her physical wound and her mental gash that made her cry? I had not felt genuine pain in so long, but I had pondered her agony long after this moment.
However, the girl heard me, and as she gasped and wheezed her aching breath, she tried to lift her arm high in the air. It seemed like her unclear eyes were seeing something else other than me or the moon, maybe something in her past that made her tears roll.
She was dying quickly, I knew. She was losing strength, and she was failing to keep her arm up. Her hand came down, and I caught it with my own. As our hands touched, I took this as her answer. Her fingers curled into mine, and I smiled down into her torn up face.
She wants to do this. Deep in my mind, I knew it. And I believed that I wanted to do this too. I haven't turned a human virgin girl into a vampire in a long time, due to my captivity in the Hellsing Organization, under the orders of Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing herself. But I'm sure my master will understand.
Seras was still crying as I mentioned the beauty of the moonlit night, and very gently, I closed her eyelids with the end of my forefinger. I could hear her heartbeat the whole time, and by now it was definitely quieter and much, much weaker. I licked my lips and grinned, gazing down at her with my usual Dracul instinct.
I was already kneeling beside her bleeding form, and her blood was soaking parts of my auburn cloak, but I didn't care. I bent my whole back and used my arms to hold myself up so I was practically right on top of her. Then, using my right arm, I lifted her upper back tenderly, bringing her face closer to mine. Her delicious blood was warm and fragrant, and I brushed away some of her tears.
I cut the tip of my tongue with the edges of my teeth, letting it bleed a lot. This would come in handy.
Taking an unneeded breath, I opened my teeth filled jaws and brought them up to the right side of her throat, the side where I usually bite. Then I bit, hard and deep, her rich virgin blood immediately filling my mouth.
Ever since those horrible, fateful nights, I had been searching for just a single drop of blood sweeter or lovelier or more precious than Mina's, whose blood I took (and she took mine) to shield me from being captured by the ancestor of my master Integra.
So I drank the life of Seras away, my fangs cutting a deep O shape into her throat. While I swallowed, I swiped my tongue into the wounds, letting my blood smear into her. The exchange of blood will let the transformation commence. She'll take the blood of a vampire (the oldest Dracul) to become a Draculina herself. However, the police girl must drink her own prey to become a full-fledged Nosferatu. And that will come in time, I guess.
After I nearly took all her blood away (I had to leave some left to give her strength for when she wakes up), I washed her cut with my own tongue, making sure I got some of my own blood inside her. My own dirty, corrupted blood. Maybe there is some of my original soul-blood inside me, I thought. Maybe.
I released my jaws of Seras's throat, stood, and picked up the girl in my arms. She was extremely light, maybe it was the loss of blood? And she was pale, as all people are when they are bitten by a vampire.
Her mortal life is totally gone now, and I wiped away the rest of the tears from her face, and smeared the blood that wept from the corner of her pale pink lips. I looked at her face, her face looking so dead and sad, and couldn't help but feeling a sudden jolt of emotion looking at her there as I walked away from the blood-stained grass.
The police girl will have a heart of concrete, like mine. It's a still, useless organ in a vampire, a place of nothingness and no feeling. I've felt brief memories of longing before, but nothing so painful or so strong at the surface of my concrete heart that it moved me so. But there are styles of concrete; so maybe, when the girl wakes up, she'll have the same personality as she had when she was living. Not every vampire is like me. And no vampire could ever have a history like mine. In my un-life, I had not made too many virgin girls into Draculinas, I had only taken lives into mine, washing their souls up into my own blood. Thousands of people I had killed, thousands of watery hearts locked in my concrete heart.
Will this unconscious, naïve Draculina wake to her death and become a ruthless killer like me? I will just have to wait, wait for her world to turn while mine stays still to watch.
Why did I make her a vampire?
Well, maybe with my being with humans, their comical minds are rubbing off on me. Why, perhaps I'm developing a sense of whimsy!