Chapter 12: A Road Divided
"Whether his spiritual visions were real or simply a reflection of his subconscious mind as some modern alchemists speculate, Sidnay Dracule, was about to transmute into the legendary, Vladimir Drakulya." Within the Dragons Eyes: A biography of Count Sidnay Ignatius Alexandre Vladimir Dracule, by Emerich Stoltz
Path the Firste: The Way of the Sword
Sid awoke: he was lying in a hospital bed. His arms were stiff: there was dried blood on his wrists and ankles. Confusion; what was going on, where was he? Where was Musashi-sama? He was surrounded by a blue curtain. He shifted his arms out of their spread eagle fashion they were in…as if he had been crucified.
The curtain was flung open and the nurse walked in carrying a tray of medicine, but when she saw him sitting upright, she started back in surprise before regaining her composure "So, your finally awake are you?"
Sid looked around and moved his arms around, "Yah I'm Ok." He reached on the bedside table for his sunglasses, and sat up on the edge of the bed before examine his arms and wrists: both arms are covered in bandages up to his elbows, before he could say anything the nurse read his quizzical look, "You were bleeding badly out of a puncture wound on both wrists and ankles. Nothing was working on them, so we tied your arm off to cut off the blood, before we remembered you had no circulation at all. The bandages were only to keep the blood from making a mess. I'm surprised you didn't slip into bloodlust." With these words she left abruptly, as if she had been speaking to an amoeba that was unable to understand her words.
He sat up and shook his head. There was a tray of food nearby: he was unsure whether to feel offended or touched by this mark: he did not ingest food normally, and they should know this. The thought of nourishment and he felt the thirst: inching through him like a solid black wave: the room began to spin. His flask was in his jacket pocket: the cold bitter drink was a far cry from the real thing, but the world ceased to spin now, but he still felt… unsatisfied.
He began to take the bandages off his arms and legs…most curious.
As the bandages were peeled back, it became apparent that something had been branded or tattooed on the underside of his wrists, both extending ¾ the way to his elbow: one was a sword, which looked very much like a medieval cross; the other was the silhouette of a guitar…most curious…further up his arm more of these strange diagrams: on one shoulder a yin yang was emblazoned, on the other shoulder a Hindu 'ohm' symbol in Sanskrit, and a crucifix… most curious…
He got up and pulled on his shirt, finally trench coat, pulled on his black beret, finally the work boots: the room spun and he steadied himself on the bed and slowly inched his way out of the hospital wing. No one made a move to help him as he groped his way along the walls to the Gryffindor portrait: he could hear the pounding in his ears, his body was becoming lighter, and he was frantic: he had to get to his coffin or…
"Passw…" the fat lady asked, but Sid ripped it physically off its wall, he vaguely heard its scream and protests to this as he stumbled through the door and looked around: the room was spinning, and people were staring at him: he heard sounds although they sounded far away…muffled. He could see the blood coursing within them all: streams of thick…red…
His coffin had been moved down into the common room. It was being used as a card table beside the fireplace. He flipped the lid back, sending butter beer bottles, cards and ships scattering on the ground. In the coffin now… Darkness…darkness…peace.
"Well you see mate…you were out for like…5 days…" Ron said as he sat on the chair next to Sid's coffin. Sid was sitting up listening. Harry, Ron and Hermione had decided to skip the morning in order to hear his story, "Wed heard that something had happened to you, but they weren't letting people in to visit; something about afraid of you 'awaking', or something."
Sid was silent. A bag of blood had been rushed to him by the department of some such, which was currently in charge of shafting the vampires. Now he supposed they knew why he had a coffin now: not to keep people out, but to keep him in and controlled.
He got up abruptly and walked up the stairs to the boy's dormitory. His chest was still sitting there untouched. Opening found it as he'd left it: a few books, a bible and Bhagavad-Gita, his guitar case leaning against the chest, and his armor was wrapped in cloth to protect it from scratches. He set the guitar case aside and pulled out his short sword, the wakizachi, and sat on the side of a bed. He drew the sword and heard the blades melody sing through the air…
Path the Seconde: The Way of the Music Man
He sat on the edge of a bed and took out his guitar, and slid his fingers over the strings, smiling to himself. He began to play a melody, its stinging bite soothing his wounded body.
This was his destiny: beauty.
He looked up at the door and saw Ron standing there looking at him, "Yes?"
Ron looked at the floor, "Hey Sid… Harry and Hermione are coming to my house for Christmas. Are you interested at all?"
((to any readers out there, there will not be any 'Vampire Boy on Human male' action here…))
He had never been invited anywhere for any kind of Christmas thing. His uncle and aunt were of the old breed of vampire, and had never encouraged any kind of religious festivities: partially because there was rarely any money.
Sid's old family lands had slowly withered away, the once powerful and legendary 'Empire of the Dragon' (or in Sid's native vampiric tongue 'Eras san Empiro vas Drakulya') existed only in name, controlled by self serving barons: those who had once been so fearful of his father and grandfather had taken their tithes and soldiers away from his family. It was a poor state of affairs for a mighty and old family to exist in…
The train kept going forward, past mountains, hills, forests… as Sid plotted mentally, in the general direction of Scotland or Wales, though they spent so much time in tunnels it was impossible to be certain.
Silence was Sid's credo for now, though Harry, Ron and Hermione encouraged conversation. Talking was just…not on Sid's mind. He had never really been accepted by anyone before, and now felt more than a little bit uncomfortable. The train was slowing now, the station looming ahead. Ron had assured Sid that his mother had been notified and whatnot, though Sid couldn't help but wonder to what extent she was informed she was on exactly who Sid was…
((Remember everyone I need feedback on how the new writing thing is going. How can I clarify? How can I improve here? Am I as terrible a writer as I perceive?))