It's been called to my attention that I...sorta forgot any author's notes last chapter. Whoops. Lo siento, no puedo recuerdo mucho por la noche. Okay, the translations for the Romanian probably aren't exactly right, since my Slavic buddy isn't here to correct me. A copil is a child (doesn't he say that an awful lot? That'd piss me off after a while), and 'da domnule' is literally 'yes sir', though I'm not sure that's a phrase they use. For a Latin-based language, Romanian is really screwy.
Olrox couldn't be certain how long they had been walking. Vlad seemed almost to be taking detours around much of the castle, sticking to seldom-used, dingy little passages that must have been put in as an afterthought. Olrox said nothing, following obediently. If this man...if this vampire was indeed Vlad the Impaler, and Olrox had been given little reason to doubt that claim, then being obstinate would certainly not be beneficial to his well-being. God knows the man had been terrifying enough as a human...
He ran his tongue over his teeth for the umpteenth time, checking to see if the fangs were really there. He sighed as a small cut on his lip answered his question. He hadn't let himself notice them before, but now that they had been pointed out to him, he was painfully aware of them every moment. Something else he couldn't ignore was a steadily growing, nagging sort of discomfort. It seemed strongest in his chest, tightness, and the tips of his fingers tingled. He didn't like it at all; it was beginning to give him a headache. He sighed dejectedly and kept walking, taking no notice of his surroundings. Finally, the sound of Vlad's voice jarred him back into the world.
"Beyond these doors lies the very center of the castle."
Olrox looked up. Vlad was standing before two huge oak double doors. They were intricately carved with twining ivy, roses, and songbirds of at least a dozen kinds. Each one must have weighed hundreds of pounds. Vlad rested one hand on a large iron handle. "I have something for you," he said, and he gave the door a shove with his arm. It reluctantly swung open, creaking on its hinges. Vlad held out his arm, indicating that Olrox was to enter first. Olrox walked in cautiously, glancing about the room for anything that might catch him off his guard.
The room itself appeared to be some sort of audience room: large, spacious, and sparsely furnished. Tall, narrow windows stretched up to the vaulted ceilings, wall sconces and torches glowed with a warm, barbaric light. Tapestries told the stories of long dead and unknown royals and nobility, knights in impractical armor, larger-than-life maidens lounged beside streams of faded thread. Everything looked old and neglected, even the burning sconces had remnants of cobwebs that hadn't yet been burned away. It must have been an audience room of some sort, for there was also a large, carved wooden chair on a raised dais on the rear wall. Curled up in the chair was a figure clothed in rags. Upon noticing her, Olrox took a few seconds to observe her, his mind immediately fascinated by the miserable little creature shivering across the room.
She was small-it wasn't just the size of the chair making her seem so. Her undeveloped, angular body was achingly gaunt with malnutrition; only a slight bulge in her belly proved that she wasn't indeed a reanimated corpse. The girl's hair was greasy and full of snarls, her tattered garments and skin coated with grime. Her breath was raspy, and every few moments a deep cough seized her, doubling her over in pain. A low moan would follow these fits, then silence again. 'Looking at her, she could only be a...'
"Harlot!" Olrox hissed lowly in disgust, springing back a step and running into Vlad. The vampire wrapped an arm around Olrox; softly, he said, "What's wrong, colpil, you don't approve of my present?"
Still repulsed, yet now reminded of Vlad's recent and quite vehement warnings, Olrox spoke politely. "It is quite an unusual present, domnule."
Vlad quietly chuckled. "Yes. Yes, she is. Why your contempt for this poor girl? Look at the state she is in; have you no compassion for her illness?" As if on cue, another coughing fit rattled the girl's lungs. The sound was heartbreaking.
"She is a prostitute, and has received a fitting punishment for her ways."
"Oh, listen to yourself, wise little child, who knows nothing of the world. What sane woman would choose such a life for herself? Humans. Humans did this to her, Olrox. They create monsters and then smugly condemn them. I will teach you this, and other lessons besides. For now, does not the lioness give her cubs weak prey before trying them on the strong?"
Realization of what the girl's purpose was struck Olrox like a blow to the head. He gasped. "I will not. You cannot make me."
Vlad released his grip and stepped forward, raising his voice above its former whisper. "I will not have to." At this, the head of the girl jerked up, and bleary eyes the color of muddy water fixed themselves on the two shapes hidden in the shadows. "It is only I, little dove. Don't be frightened." Vlad's voice was warm with supposed tenderness. "I've brought aide for you, just as I promised. Olrox!" Vlad threw a glance over his shoulder. No prodding would be necessary. The quickening of the girl's pulse had captured Olrox's attention; he walked toward her with feline grace, wide eyes locked on the human that was the source of that beautiful, rhythmic sound.
Upon reaching the far end of the room, Vlad helped the girl to stand, though she leaned heavily on his arm. Up close, Olrox could see that she couldn't have been more than fourteen years of age, little more than a child. Her swollen stomach was also more noticeable now that she was standing. A pang of guilt and pity went through Olrox, and he hesitated.
"The pneumonia will not let her survive the night," Vlad said, so quietly that the girl couldn't hear him. "She is in the throes of death even now." He shoved her at Olrox with such strength that she fairly flew. Instinctively, Olrox caught her before she could fall. She regarded him for a minute, gazing up at his face with delirious, watery eyes. She could have been pretty, but any fairness she might have had had been drained away along with her strength. The acrid smell of filth and dirt clung to her clothing and hair, and her brow glistened with sweat, burning with fever. "I want to go home," she croaked out. "It hurts..." On her breath, Olrox discerned the scent of blood from her violent cough. It was maddening. The sharp discomfort in him grew more urgent.
What followed seemed to play out naturally, automatically, as though Olrox's body had simply grown impatient and taken matters into its own hands. In one motion, Olrox turned the girl's head to the left, sinking his fangs into the artery of her neck, with only a small cry from her, very much like the cry of a dove, as protest. For what seemed like eternity, Olrox was overcome, being swirled about in a sea of memory and emotion. The girl's childhood, disownment, and despair dashed against him like waves. Hunger, shame, pain, even the faces of a few friends, the ones who had spoken to her, given her food and drink, or those who had merely offered a kind smile, all swept over him. And it was all so incredibly wonderful, so paradisiacal, that when the blood began to falter, when the flow began to lessen, Olrox squeezed tighter, cracking bone, determined to stay like this as long as possible.
But it was over. Two souls wrested themselves away, curling up like wisps of smoke from a snuffed candle. They dispersed and were gone. Two minutes of ecstasy, and Olrox now knelt on the floor, the cold shell fallen from his hands. He came back to himself as he felt new strength rushing through his veins, and he understood that the girl lay dead. He was mortified. 'How could I have done that? How could I have enjoyed it, what kind of monster am I?!'
"I've killed her..." His voice trembled.
He heard Vlad's soothing tones as he looked remorsefully on the slain young woman. "You were a kinder death to her than the one she would have faced alone, Olrox. Now they are both free."
"I am a murderer."
"You are a predator."
Olrox shook his head, still focused on his victim. He felt a hand rest on his shoulder. Reluctantly, he rose and allowed Vlad to lead him from the room by a side door. With the ghastly scene out of view, Olrox closed his eyes and numbly stumbled through another maze of halls, guided by the arm of the older vampire. Gradually, he drifted off to sleep while walking, and vaguely felt himself scooped up and carried by Vlad before he succumbed to sleep entirely, his mournful thoughts still tormenting him.
Olrox couldn't be certain how long they had been walking. Vlad seemed almost to be taking detours around much of the castle, sticking to seldom-used, dingy little passages that must have been put in as an afterthought. Olrox said nothing, following obediently. If this man...if this vampire was indeed Vlad the Impaler, and Olrox had been given little reason to doubt that claim, then being obstinate would certainly not be beneficial to his well-being. God knows the man had been terrifying enough as a human...
He ran his tongue over his teeth for the umpteenth time, checking to see if the fangs were really there. He sighed as a small cut on his lip answered his question. He hadn't let himself notice them before, but now that they had been pointed out to him, he was painfully aware of them every moment. Something else he couldn't ignore was a steadily growing, nagging sort of discomfort. It seemed strongest in his chest, tightness, and the tips of his fingers tingled. He didn't like it at all; it was beginning to give him a headache. He sighed dejectedly and kept walking, taking no notice of his surroundings. Finally, the sound of Vlad's voice jarred him back into the world.
"Beyond these doors lies the very center of the castle."
Olrox looked up. Vlad was standing before two huge oak double doors. They were intricately carved with twining ivy, roses, and songbirds of at least a dozen kinds. Each one must have weighed hundreds of pounds. Vlad rested one hand on a large iron handle. "I have something for you," he said, and he gave the door a shove with his arm. It reluctantly swung open, creaking on its hinges. Vlad held out his arm, indicating that Olrox was to enter first. Olrox walked in cautiously, glancing about the room for anything that might catch him off his guard.
The room itself appeared to be some sort of audience room: large, spacious, and sparsely furnished. Tall, narrow windows stretched up to the vaulted ceilings, wall sconces and torches glowed with a warm, barbaric light. Tapestries told the stories of long dead and unknown royals and nobility, knights in impractical armor, larger-than-life maidens lounged beside streams of faded thread. Everything looked old and neglected, even the burning sconces had remnants of cobwebs that hadn't yet been burned away. It must have been an audience room of some sort, for there was also a large, carved wooden chair on a raised dais on the rear wall. Curled up in the chair was a figure clothed in rags. Upon noticing her, Olrox took a few seconds to observe her, his mind immediately fascinated by the miserable little creature shivering across the room.
She was small-it wasn't just the size of the chair making her seem so. Her undeveloped, angular body was achingly gaunt with malnutrition; only a slight bulge in her belly proved that she wasn't indeed a reanimated corpse. The girl's hair was greasy and full of snarls, her tattered garments and skin coated with grime. Her breath was raspy, and every few moments a deep cough seized her, doubling her over in pain. A low moan would follow these fits, then silence again. 'Looking at her, she could only be a...'
"Harlot!" Olrox hissed lowly in disgust, springing back a step and running into Vlad. The vampire wrapped an arm around Olrox; softly, he said, "What's wrong, colpil, you don't approve of my present?"
Still repulsed, yet now reminded of Vlad's recent and quite vehement warnings, Olrox spoke politely. "It is quite an unusual present, domnule."
Vlad quietly chuckled. "Yes. Yes, she is. Why your contempt for this poor girl? Look at the state she is in; have you no compassion for her illness?" As if on cue, another coughing fit rattled the girl's lungs. The sound was heartbreaking.
"She is a prostitute, and has received a fitting punishment for her ways."
"Oh, listen to yourself, wise little child, who knows nothing of the world. What sane woman would choose such a life for herself? Humans. Humans did this to her, Olrox. They create monsters and then smugly condemn them. I will teach you this, and other lessons besides. For now, does not the lioness give her cubs weak prey before trying them on the strong?"
Realization of what the girl's purpose was struck Olrox like a blow to the head. He gasped. "I will not. You cannot make me."
Vlad released his grip and stepped forward, raising his voice above its former whisper. "I will not have to." At this, the head of the girl jerked up, and bleary eyes the color of muddy water fixed themselves on the two shapes hidden in the shadows. "It is only I, little dove. Don't be frightened." Vlad's voice was warm with supposed tenderness. "I've brought aide for you, just as I promised. Olrox!" Vlad threw a glance over his shoulder. No prodding would be necessary. The quickening of the girl's pulse had captured Olrox's attention; he walked toward her with feline grace, wide eyes locked on the human that was the source of that beautiful, rhythmic sound.
Upon reaching the far end of the room, Vlad helped the girl to stand, though she leaned heavily on his arm. Up close, Olrox could see that she couldn't have been more than fourteen years of age, little more than a child. Her swollen stomach was also more noticeable now that she was standing. A pang of guilt and pity went through Olrox, and he hesitated.
"The pneumonia will not let her survive the night," Vlad said, so quietly that the girl couldn't hear him. "She is in the throes of death even now." He shoved her at Olrox with such strength that she fairly flew. Instinctively, Olrox caught her before she could fall. She regarded him for a minute, gazing up at his face with delirious, watery eyes. She could have been pretty, but any fairness she might have had had been drained away along with her strength. The acrid smell of filth and dirt clung to her clothing and hair, and her brow glistened with sweat, burning with fever. "I want to go home," she croaked out. "It hurts..." On her breath, Olrox discerned the scent of blood from her violent cough. It was maddening. The sharp discomfort in him grew more urgent.
What followed seemed to play out naturally, automatically, as though Olrox's body had simply grown impatient and taken matters into its own hands. In one motion, Olrox turned the girl's head to the left, sinking his fangs into the artery of her neck, with only a small cry from her, very much like the cry of a dove, as protest. For what seemed like eternity, Olrox was overcome, being swirled about in a sea of memory and emotion. The girl's childhood, disownment, and despair dashed against him like waves. Hunger, shame, pain, even the faces of a few friends, the ones who had spoken to her, given her food and drink, or those who had merely offered a kind smile, all swept over him. And it was all so incredibly wonderful, so paradisiacal, that when the blood began to falter, when the flow began to lessen, Olrox squeezed tighter, cracking bone, determined to stay like this as long as possible.
But it was over. Two souls wrested themselves away, curling up like wisps of smoke from a snuffed candle. They dispersed and were gone. Two minutes of ecstasy, and Olrox now knelt on the floor, the cold shell fallen from his hands. He came back to himself as he felt new strength rushing through his veins, and he understood that the girl lay dead. He was mortified. 'How could I have done that? How could I have enjoyed it, what kind of monster am I?!'
"I've killed her..." His voice trembled.
He heard Vlad's soothing tones as he looked remorsefully on the slain young woman. "You were a kinder death to her than the one she would have faced alone, Olrox. Now they are both free."
"I am a murderer."
"You are a predator."
Olrox shook his head, still focused on his victim. He felt a hand rest on his shoulder. Reluctantly, he rose and allowed Vlad to lead him from the room by a side door. With the ghastly scene out of view, Olrox closed his eyes and numbly stumbled through another maze of halls, guided by the arm of the older vampire. Gradually, he drifted off to sleep while walking, and vaguely felt himself scooped up and carried by Vlad before he succumbed to sleep entirely, his mournful thoughts still tormenting him.