Hello. I'm Kimi-Taco, and this is my first spiffy fic. Rate kindly, and I may sent you virtual muffins! This is a one shot piece, basically Alucard musing about his master. Angst, and fluff mostly. XD
Disclaimer: I don't own Hellsing, or any of it's characters. If I did, I would be rich, and living on some private island in the Bahamas.
Her eyes.
Oh, those eyes, once wide, blue and innocent. Eyes like a helpless dove's
They've gone cold. I cannot help but think I have done this to her… I have made her hard and bitter, the stoic woman that she is. Eyes once blue and yielding, now pale, icy and blank.
She's changed so much… I marvel at her growth. I have not changed in hundreds of years… but in little more than a decade she has grown from a helpless little child, to a woman, strong as steel, and hard as diamonds, with eyes that burn like the cigars that so often hang from her soft pink lips. Lips which I long to touch, to kiss… but cannot. I am bound to servitude. Integra, she could only love me as much as a master could love her slave.
I'm only the garbage disposal unit. Hellsing's trash man. Beneath her iron fist I kill and kill again, ripping flesh and tearing through the heathen undead like wet rags… all in the name of king and country.
And her.
And often do I marvel at my weakness. I, the no life king, second in power to no one, except perhaps whatever god there may be. I am weak. She makes me weak. After all these years of cold, emotionless life, I have succumbed to human emotion. To human wants. To human desires. Even I will never be completely undead… I was once human, and I shall carry with me this lineage to the end of my days. I cannot dispose of who I once was… who I am.
If she knew my weakness… she would laugh. She would laugh and call me unholy trash. She despises all the ways of the undead. Our detestation of light, of holiness, of sanctity.
But oh, she would be a marvelous no life queen. She looks up to no one, and down to all, she is the epitome of unfeeling brute force of will.
And beauty.
Eyes like a winter sky, hair like fields of wheat, lips like rose petals and skin smooth as cream.
She, who I am not allowed to admire, but cannot help. She, who cannot be mine, but is the only woman, alive or dead who I want. Who I desire above all things. She, who works herself so hard that she forgets to smile, to laugh, to be alive. She, who is revered, hated, feared, but most of all, loved.
And so, I am doomed. Doomed to walk out the rest of my days alone. She will die a maiden of snow. Pure, unfeeling, and cold. She would not follow me into the unsacred life of the undead. She leads a life of light, light searing and painful that rips through my heart, tattering, biting and leaving sweet devastation. I cannot tell her. I cannot tell her how she makes me burn. How her icy demeanor sets fire to whatever soul, whatever emotions this monster has left in him.
She would not love me.
She could not.
Who could love a monster?
You will pass, and I
will be alone.
Your fate is to break
my heart that no longer beats
I will walk in the
blackness that only I can feel.
And I will linger on
until your cold light fades.
And you become no more
than a shadow and a memory.
My Master.
My Integra.
My fair lady.