Original Sin

Sypha doesn't want to be back here.

She really, really doesn't want to be back here.

She doesn't want to be here so much, that once again (is that five times? Six?) she tells Trevor that she doesn't want to be here.

"Rather a full stomach than a full heart," the Belmont mutters by way of answer, as he climbs out of the wagon and walks towards their destination.

He doesn't even look at her, but then, that's not new. Whether she's been stating her objections to coming to this place or not, he's barely spared her a glance since they left Lindenfeld. Barely a word either.

"You can stay in the wagon if you want."

That, however, comes with a glance, from the last of the Belmont line. It's a glance that comes with sympathy, rather than pity. The type of glance that makes it clear that he isn't going to treat her like a child. That after everything from Gresit, to Dracula's castle, to Lindenfeld itself, she's earnt his respect.

But given all that's happened tonight…

She gets out of the wagon. She isn't going to treat him as being anything less than capable either. Though looking at him…at his face, and the way he walks…she's reminded of the man she met at Gresit. The type of person who doesn't necessarily seek death, but wouldn't flee from it either. And while death is what they've left behind in Lindenfeld, here, in this place, in the shadow of withered trees, there's still the stench of death within the air. And a way for Trevor Belmont to end his life if he so desires.

At least he no longer smells of piss.

She lets out a sniff, and looks back over her shoulder. The fires of Lindenfeld have burnt out. Come the morn, there'll be naught but dust and ash left in place of the town. The sight of souls being carried by streams of fire into the body of Lucifer's spawn is not one that she will soon forget, but what's been carried over the breeze, as if pursuing her, is the stench. Magic, mixed with fire, mixed with ash, mixed with death. Permeating the air itself. Seeping into her skin, marking her as unclean. As if it isn't just the priory that was defiled, but her own body and soul. Likely her mind as well, for she knows that as soon as slumber takes her this night, creatures of the dark will be there waiting for her.

Lindenfeld's worse than Gresit, she reflects. That city was assaulted from without, while this town from within. Gresit's fate was in the hands of fanatics, as they flailed about in an attempt to defend their city from a different kind of madman, but even their combined madness was not enough to cause the city to fall. If anything, a madman of a different kind, namely the former drunk walking away from her, is the only reason that Gresit survived another night.

This place, however…

She shivers in the winter air, and walks after Trevor. It's a few steps, and in the shadow of that which she dreads, but it's a few steps of further distance between herself and Lindenfeld. Still, as she watches him pick the apples from the tree, she can't help but glance at the pit beside it. At the body of a monk, already attracting flies. At the spikes jutting through his body, like some macabre parody of Christ. And at all the bones beneath him…of all the little children…

Sala didn't die for their sins. And while Sala's sins caused dozens of people to die, the children here, at least, weren't damned by him. But then…

"This feels wrong."

The words are more for herself than for Trevor. But as he looks back from the tree, at the apples he's picking, he answers all the same.

"You want to go hungry tonight, be my guest."

"Maybe I will," she snaps. "Maybe I'll go hungry tonight. And tomorrow night, and the night after. Maybe I'll be nothing but skin and bone, and you can put me in a grave just like this one."

She regrets the words, as well as their tone, as soon as they escape her lips. But Trevor's the only man left standing in this forsaken place, and she isn't skilled in the whip like he is. She uses her tongue, and but right now, it's lashing out without rhyme, and only the pettiest of reason. So when she opens her mouth to speak again, her tongue is held.

Besides, Trevor's already back to picking the apples off the tree, and she knows…hopes…that he knows that she doesn't mean it.

Still feels wrong though.

She wishes she knew the name of the judge who sent them here. If she knew his name, she could utter it with curse, and commit it to the annals of history's monsters. It is the role of Speakers to record the highs and lows of humankind, to record Man's triumphs, as well as his failures. There's as much room for heroes in their tales as villains, and those who are villain and hero both…

She shakes her head. No. The man wasn't a hero. Yes, he defended Lindenfeld from the night creatures. Yes, he tricked Sala into coming to this place – passing judgement in this life, so that the mad priest would subsequently be judged in the next. But he wasn't a hero. No hero would send little children to their deaths like this. No man of church or state would send lambs to be slaughtered like this…taking their little shoes, to be put on little pillows, so that they might be beheld with little eyes…so that in this place, she can imagine their little feet coming across the grass, so that they might let out little cries before…before ending up like Sala here, and-

Sypha lets out a sound that's half sob, half breath, half something else that she can't describe. Trevor, who by now has picked almost every apple off the tree, gives her a look, and likely not because of some magical ability to read her mind, and realize that her maths skills are terrible. Instead, by way of understanding, he does the only thing a kind, considerate, insightful man like him can do.

"Take this." He hands her the bag of apples that he's collected. "Should see us through the week."

Kind, considerate, and insightful, she reflects. God, what a joke. She stands there, bag of apples in hand, as he walks by her to the wagon. Looking at the tree, and thinking of all the ways she can put his foot up his arse.

"Sypha?"

And all the ways that would fail to make her feel better. To make any of this right.

"You're going to catch a cold if you just stand out there."

It's quite possible. She'd even welcome it. It's winter, and that brings a fever of its own. Reason to curl up under blankets and never wake up…well, it's not the worst idea in the world. After all, in light of Dracula's actions, suicide is in vogue these days.

Granted, there's a way of ending this here and now…a short drop and a sudden stop…

"Oh for God's sake."

Trevor walks up to her and takes the bag of apples he's collected, but he doesn't walk back. Instead, he puts a hand on her shoulder, his palm covering the scars that Dracula left behind. He looks at her, and she can tell that he's looking for something to say. That he knows that whatever he says isn't going to make things right, but there's a thousand things he can say that could make things worse.

It's kind of charming, really.

"Like I said," Trevor murmurs, "you're in my world now."

That…isn't the worst thing the vampire hunter could utter, Sypha reflects. But turning away from him, and towards the tree, she utters words of her own.

"I'm feeling a bit like Eve."

Trevor says nothing.

"Like I took the fruit. Like I've already eaten it. That…that I'm the one who committed sin, and now I'm out here, in a wasteland, with Ad…with you."

Trevor raises an eyebrow.

"What?"

"I didn't think you Speakers went in for that. Gardens, snakes…naked men and women…"

"Oh, we're sure Eden existed. Though whether the apple was literal is another matter."

"And now you feel like Eve?"

"I feel like…" She takes a breath. "I feel like…like I'm already missing the last two months."

Trevor stares at her.

"It was better then. Belmont and Belnades, saving the world, slaying demons, fighting the good fight. Now it's…like there's a veil lifted from my eyes, and I know that's stupid, and I'm feeling stupid, and that's stupid, because I've played this little game where I pretended that you were the stupid one, when all this time, you were the one who knew that I was being stupid, and acting stupidly, and-"

"Good God woman, how have you gone this long without someone cutting out your tongue?"

"…and it's like…like I'm Eve," Sypha says, holding herself at bay. "That I ate the fruit, and I've gained forbidden knowledge, and…"

"And the truth hasn't set you free?"

She remains silent.

"That you've bitten the metaphorical apple, and now get to see how fucked up the world really is?"

She sighs, shivering in the night breeze. "Something like that."

The pair of them stand there. What's going through Trevor's mind, Sypha can only guess at. What's going through hers, however, she full well knows. The Speakers have always had a fractious relationship with God, not to mention his followers. For her part, the story of Eden likely has some truth to it, and that makes her hate the bastard even more. What kind of loving god, a father, would cast his children out into the world in light of their sin, without chance of mercy or forgiveness? What kind of God would allow such misery to continue to beget His children's descendants, and allow some of those children to commit such atrocities in His name? What God would create Hell, by way of punishment?

But then, she reflects, these apples are not of Eden. These apples were the property of a murderer, who use the apple trap to slay another murderer, who, after turning his back on God, destroyed an entire town, committing their souls to the loving hands of Hell. Perhaps the first sin was just that – the first. One of many. So many sins, even committed after God's son, that the eyes of Heaven can only look away in disgust.

And yet, she reflects, glancing back at the spike pit…children. Dead children here, dead children in Lindenfeld, dead children all across Wallachia. No mercy extended to them, be it by man, or vampire, or God itself.

Perhaps Sala was right about one thing, she reflects. Perhaps the Earth has been abandoned. Perhaps they're already living in Hell, and don't yet realize it. For after all, did not the Devil stalk this world until being slain by his son?

"We should go."

Once again, she ponders what Trevor is thinking. She wonders for a moment, if he fears death, and what lies beyond its veil. Whether Hell has a place for him. Whether the slaying of Dracula is enough to save a man who was excommunicated, drunk, pissed, shat, and over the last two months, engaged in acts of fornication that would make a priest weep.

"Not yet."

She won't weep, she tells herself. She only has one last thing to do this night, and it won't be an act of pleasure.

"There's one last thing we have to do."

Trevor remains silent. Perhaps the fire at her fingertips gave it away. Perhaps merely her words. But he makes no move to stop her. He has his apples. And all of Lindenfeld has burnt to the ground already. Why not this tree, then? This monument of sin?

By her sin, Eve was introduced to sorrow. By her sin, she was introduced to pain. Now, in pain and sorrow, Sypha returns the favour to the tree.

Fire takes hold of its bark instantly. One fireball after another, each larger and more intense than the last. Fire, and fury, coming together by magic. The bending of God's law, by one of his bastard children. Fire so intense, it's as if from the hands of Hell itself.

Maybe she'll go there, Sypha reflects. Maybe the Speakers are as damned as the Church says they are. Maybe their forbidden words, and their forbidden arts, and a thousand other forbidden things have earned them eternal damnation. Maybe she's not long for this world, and soon, she will be going to the place where so many have found a home.

Not the children, she tells herself, as she watches the tree crumble into ash. Not the children.

Please, not the children.

Not the ones in this grave before her, now also set alight.

Not the ones in Lindenfeld, who had their last supper before fire took them.

Not in Gresit, or Targoviste, or anywhere in this God-forsaken earth where…

She feels Trevor's arm around her. It's only now that she realizes that she's crying. She's stopped casting fire, and now, water can flow in its place.

She waits for the idiot to say something. Something like "it's fine," or "let's go," or even some stupid quip about losing her temper.

Instead, he says nothing.

He just stands there. Lets her lean against them. Fire reflecting in her tears.

Right now, all the sight and sounds that Sypha Belnades needs.

Eventually, they turn and head back to the wagon. Leaving the dust and ashes behind them.

Turning away from the broken monument of sin.