Author's Note: Speeding toward the climax, people. (I hope I don't lose momentum before then.)
Disclaimer: I have no copyright claim to Kohta Hirano's Hellsing, Bram Stoker's Dracula, H.C. Andersen's or Disney's version of The Little Mermaid, Disney's The Rescuers, and much, much more.
Pip Bernadotte panted as he teared through the cobblestone streets. He prayed he was right. Prayed that she was where he thought she was. Prayed she was safe.
As he neared that familiar street, he heard a song was more celestially beautiful than any other sound in the world. It was as lovely as the sea, as slow and sad and deep and lovely and lonely as those fathomless depths. Slowly, as he drew closer, he realized it was the voice of a person. She was singing.
Be brave, little one.
Make a wish for each sad little tear.
Hold your head up, though no one is near
Someone's waiting for you.
Realizing he was on the right track, Pip tore down the street again.
Don't cry, little one.
There'll be a smile where a frown use to be
You'll be part of the love that you see.
Someone's waiting for you.
As Pip ran down the correct street, he saw that the song indeed came from the place he thought. It was late at night, and all the streetlights were on while the shops' were all closed… all, except for one lonely little light from one lonely little shop at the end of the street, where the ocean breeze could reach.
He could feel puddles splash under his boots as he ran down the cobblestone street, now sure of his destination.
Always keep a little prayer in your pocket
And you're sure to see the light
Pip approached the front door, and was about to knock when he saw that it was open a jar. He thought about knocking anyway, to announce his presence, but something about the song stopped him. He felt… it would be rude to interrupt something so sad and beautiful.
And, based on the nature of the song, he felt he could guess who was singing it, and who it was being sang for.
Soon there'll be joy and happiness
And your little world will be bright
Pip slowly let himself in, and looked into the main shop, filled with more books than could be stacked on the shelves or stacked on tables and chairs. The whole room was lit, once again, by dozens of wax candles sitting on book piles.
From the light of these lonely candles, he could see the enigmatic little shopkeeper, still so young and pale and silvery bright, reclining on her huge arm chair. Crouched on the floor in front of her, sobbing quietly into her lap, was Seras. It was a rather strange sight—with a young woman crying into the lap of what looked like a six-year-old girl, who sat as regally and sang as sympathetically as an old grandmother comforting her granddaughter.
Pip realized the beautiful music came from the record player on the shopkeeper's front desk, and the shopkeeper herself was singing the heart-breakingly sad song. Seras' shoulders shook with the force of her sobs, and the shopkeeper gently stroked her hair as she sang.
Have faith little one
'Til your hopes and your wishes come true.
Despite the comforting nature of the song, or perhaps because of it, Seras' shoulders shook and rocked even harder with the force of her sobbing.
You must try to be brave little one.
Someone's waiting to… love… you…
The music from the record player eventually drew to a close, and the shopkeeper merely continued to stroke Seras' hair as the song slowed to a close.
For a split second, nothing could be heard in the shop but her silent, voiceless sobs.
The shopkeeper opened her eyes, which were so fathomless and soft, and she spoke, and her voice was no longer fresh and new, but wise and ancient.
"Please don't cry, Seras," she said gently, in her soft and ageless way. "Even with we supposed immortal creatures… when our bodies and souls are torn asunder… then our essences are free, and allowed to wander the heavens."
Small wonder, this did not make her feel better, and her shoulders were racked with sobs.
The shopkeeper smiled kindly down at her, empathetic to her suffering but also smiling almost secretively, like she knew something good was in store for her.
Seras' pain moved Pip though. He could not stand it any long. He took a step forward, and instantly felt the floorboard creek under him, and the door he eased open groaned beside him.
Seras instantly shot up to her knees, and started furiously wiping the tears from her eyes.
"Ah, what excellent timing," Helena said. " 'Speaketh of the Devil, and he shall arrive.' "
Seras kept wiping the tears from her eyes, even when they were gone, and refused to look up. She was too shy.
Pip wanted to say something, but for the first time he couldn't think of anything. The words died in his throat.
"I must thank you for coming all this way, Captain Bernadotte," the shopkeeper said, as though she had invited him. "Our poor Seras has been quite distressed over news of the engagement. I suppose congratulations are in order."
Pip had no idea how to respond to that. Was she mocking them by giving congratulations to an engagement that broke Seras's heart? Mocking him for somehow winning the race to Seras's heart just because the one she loved had chosen another?
The man who had a quip for everything could only say, a little gruffly, "I came to take her home."
"Of course," she said graciously, and bowed her head.
Seras would still not look at him.
"Perhaps you would like to stay and have some tea?"
"Non merci," he said, "I need to call a cab."
Part of him wanted to stay, but the way Seras avoided his eye almost compelled him to leave. He felt simultaneously drawn to and repulsed by the little shopkeeper. Part of him desperately wanted to know what she seemed to know, what she thought... and the other was terrified of it.
Pip knew it was too late and too far to walk, especially in Seras' impractically fancy dress and shoes, so he told her to wait there while he called a cab. She stood by the shop door, feeling sad and forlorn. She vaguely noticed that her heart hurt with every beat, but she absently thought it was due to the heartbreak of her master marrying another.
When Mr. Bernadotte came back and helped her into the carriage, she absent-mindedly noticed that her feet hurt with every step she took, but she was too distracted by the pain in her own heart, and she vaguely thought it was just because her shoes were uncomfortable. When they arrived back at the Carfax Estate—before her master arrived, it turned out—she ignored the pain in her heart and heels, thinking it was misery for her unrequited love, and she went straight to bed, wanting to sink into her pillows or die.
The next morning Seras woke, feeling groggy and miserable. She didn't feel any more rested than before she went to bed, and she dreamed of knives stabbing at her heart, flowing through her blood, and stabbing at the tips of her fingers and toes from within.
Her head emerged from the bed, her eyes puffy and her mind groggy. She felt it was only a matter of time before the servants came in, cheerfully bustling about her master's engagement, and she decided she didn't want to hear about it. She wanted to be up and out of the room before they arrived.
The second she set her bare foot on the cold wooden floor, she felt something stab her foot.
She gave a voiceless yelp and fell in a rumpled heap on the floor, buried under layers of her white ruffled night dress and tangled blankets. She lay there stunned; her foot now turning numb to dull the pain of whatever she stepped on.
She slowly got her bearings, and gently turned her foot to see what it was. The skin was smooth and unblemished, as though she had not stepped on anything at all.
Puzzled, she slowly, gingerly put her feet under her and started to stand, only to give a silent yelp and fell again. There! It happened again! She felt it so acutely, like sharp teeth or knives stabbing deep through her flesh.
She looked under her feet again, and again found nothing. No sign or trace that she'd stepped on anything, not even a needle. She then slowly felt around the floor under her nightdress and blankets, trying to find the culprit. The floor was made of smooth and polished wood, so there were no splinters. There were also no discarded needles or blades that she could see.
Thinking that maybe they were hidden under the fabric, she found a part of the ground she knew was smooth and clear, and she put the balls of her feet on it. Again, she felt nothing but cold, smooth wood under her feet. However, once again, when she put weight on her foot to stand, she felt as though they were being run through with several large, long blades.
Seras let out another silent yelp and fell down, once again in a crumpled heap on the floor.
For several heartbeats she lay there stunned, unable to believe it.
Slowly, she pushed herself up, and looked at the soles of her feet. Once again, there were no blades or needles to be seen on the floor or in her skin, yet every part of her foot that had touched the floor now had small cuts that oozed blood.
'What's going on?' she thought, 'There's nothing on the floor, yet I feel like I keep stepping on…'
A shadow of a memory filled her, of a toothy leer and a lazy eye glowing from between black tentacles. Seras' eyes widened in terror as she remembered that scythe slung along that huge, muscular shoulder, and that mocking jeer mouthing, "Foam on the waves!"
Terror seized her heart as her insides screamed, 'NO!'
She then heard that evil laugh that haunted her nightmares. She turned her head toward her nightstand, where a large pitcher of water sat beside a huge fine china water basin, where she washed her face and hands every morning when she woke from bed. The air above the basin was glowing, presumably from the water, and the sea witch's wicked laugh seemed to come from the water within.
Seras' heart froze, and her blood ran cold. She felt as though every beat of her heart were pressed against the cold steel and pointed edges of knives, and it felt as though her very blood was pumping with tiny little blades within her skin.
The voice of Zorin Blitz seemed as vague and ghost-like as the flow from the bowl, and Seras could hear her jeer, "Foam! Foam on the waves!"
She slowly hoisted herself up, ignoring the pain of blades pressing into the balls of her feet, as she looked fearfully into the basin.
The physical water and basin were still the same, but instead of seeing the dim and see-through image of her own reflection, Seras saw the dim and see-through sim image of Zorin Blitz, the Sea Witch. The water looked like it was filled with black ink, and from the black ink she could see writhing tentacles and a glowing lazy eye. Her white teeth shined by the light of her eye, and Zorin cackled maniacally.
"Sleep well, Little Seras?" she taunted.
Seras could not speak, even in her own mind. Her brain was as numb and foggy as the mirage in the water, and she could barely think of any words at all.
'You…?'
"That's right, Little Seras," the Sea Witch taunted spitefully. "I haf changed my mind. I've decided to alter the terms of our contract. Since you were so faithless as to almost kiss another, I decided I did not want such a faithless little servant to keep in my home. When the Count marries another, you shall not turn back into a mermaid. Instead, the blades you feel coursing through you with every beat of your heart und stab you with every step shall travel to your heart and you shall die. That's right! The morning after his vedding you shall die and become FOAM, FOAM ON THE WAVES!"
The Sea Witch laughed maniacally.
Panic and horror seized Seras' heart. 'No! No, you can't! We had an agreement!'
"Oh, what? Did you think that just because we shook hands means it went exactly as I said it would?" The Sea Witch held out her tattooed hand in front of her, "Whose blood do you think these are made of?"
Realization slowly dawned on her. Their agreement had involved a potion that would turn her into a human, but through two different ways and with two different outcomes. Either Zorin would use her mystical tattoos that would turn Seras into a complete human, unless or until the Count married another, in which case Seras would turn back into a mermaid and "belong" to Zorin for the rest of her long, 300-yeared mermaid life... or a prick of Zorin's blood, which would make the potion sharp as a blade, so that Seras would feel like she swallowed a sword when she drank it, and feel like she was walking on knives with each step, and if the Count married another then the same little knives that stabbed her with each step would travel to her heart and the morning after, she would die.
But if Zorin's tattoos were made of her own blood...
Seras felt week, and her knees buckled.
'No…' she thought numbly, 'No.'
"Have fun at the wedding!" the Sea Witch sneered, "Und thanks for the voice!"
Rage gripped Seras, and she shoved the basin and water dish so they smashed against the wall, and water splattered everywhere. As soon as the porcelain shattered the ghost light and reflection of the Sea Witch disappeared, and regular, humble water dripped off the bed and the nightstand.
Seras stood there for several minutes, too overwhelmed to move.
No… no, it couldn't be… they agreed… they shook hands, and everything… Seras picked the hand with the tattoos, not the scythe…
'Whose blood do you think these tattoos are made of?' the Sea Witch had asked.
Seras felt ill. No, it couldn't be, how… she'd planned this all from the beginning…?
Seras shook her head furiously. No, it couldn't be. It wasn't true! Seras wouldn't let it be true. If the pain in her heart would cause her to die, then she'd suppress it with her willpower—
Seras tried to take a step and the pain was so great she buckled. She tried again, but once again she fell to her knees.
She crawled on her knees away from the nest of blankets and tried again, determined that she would use her own willpower to suppress Zorin's blood. It had to be imaginary—it had to be! Maybe this was a dream—like those terrible, terrible fever dreams and nightmares she often had, when she was back under the sea and in Zorin's lair and the monsters from the deep were sinking their teeth into her mum and her dad and her flesh…
No, focus, Seras. That was then. This is now. Right now, right in front of her, was a smooth polished floor without so much as a speck of dust on it. There were no knives, no teeth, and no blades. Her feet were smooth and untouched. If she took a step, it would be like any other step before she felt the pain this morning.
Slowly, experimentally, Seras placed the tip of her toe on the ground. It felt like a regular toe on a regular wooden floor. She then slowly lowered the ball of her foot onto the floor. While she still felt the regular foot on the regular floor, she felt… an accompanying sensation, an almost phantom sensation, alongside it. Like her foot was gently pressing against the tips of several blades (like during needlework, when Seras would gently press the tip of the needle against her palm, and she could feel the tip of the needle), but no pain. Then, she slowly placed her weight on the foot. She felt she was stepping on the ends of several sharp knives, and the pain was almost enough to make her buckle. She bit her lip to suppress the pain, and forced herself to place all her weight on that one foot. She then slowly lifted the other foot, placed it on the floor in front of her, and repeated the same process. The pain of dozens of blades pressing into both feet instead of one was too much for her though, and she involuntarily yelped (though without sound) and crumpled on the floor.
She just sat there, stunned for a third time, as any trace of denial bled from her, and the true horror and inescapability of her situation dawned on her.
'I'm going to die at my master's wedding.'
Panic and desperation seized her. Now she was an animal caught in a trap and desperately flailing to get out.
She started running—wincing and voicelessly crying out in pain, bucking and jerking her feet up after each step like she was stepping on hot coals, and she ran frantically as though she were trapped in a room full of hot coals and desperate to get out. She started desperately running, almost hoping that if she ran fast enough she could outrun the stabs. She only vaguely heard the alarmed cries of servants as they passed, as she slipped on the floors and banged against the walls in her haste to get out. All she could see was the space between the walls and rooms in front of her to run, all she could feel was the white-hot pain of dozens of blades sinking into her flesh with every step she took.
She didn't know when or how she got outside. She could not have told you what the weather looked like, whether it was bright or dark or overcast. She could see the white of pain for every step she took; only hear the gasps of her own panting; only feel the soft, wet, dew-covered grass between her feet as she ran desperately through the blades, and feel the blinding agony of blades stabbing through her skin with every step. She ran, she snaked, she zigged, she zagged, she sprinted along like a frightened animal desperate to outrun something trying to kill her.
She tried her hardest to ignore or outrun the pain—if she just ran fast enough, she could take steps faster than the knives could sink into them. But she couldn't—no matter how quickly she picked up her feet off the ground, no matter what angle she stepped on the ground (the ball of her foot, the sides of her soles), she could not escape the stabbing sensations.
Often, the pain overwhelmed her, or her legs betrayed her and instinctively pulled or jerked up to get her feet away from what was causing them pain, and she fell down. Soon, her white ruffled nightdress was covered in dew and grass stains, and the hem of her skirt was not only wet but frayed and speckled with blood at the end. But after each fall, Seras gritted her teeth and forced her self to keep running again, desperately hoping that if she just ran fast enough, she could somehow endure or outrun it.
Her panic-addled brain only vaguely noticed the servants chasing her along the grass. It was in the periphery of her mind just as the sight of them was only in the periphery of her vision. She had enough presence to run and turn and zig-zag away from objects obstructing her running path, and she was vaguely aware of noise in the world not from her own pain- and panic-fueled breathing, but it was not at the forefront.
They tried to chase and circle around her like she was an escaped horse they needed to catch and put back into the corral, but Seras was too slippery. She ran too fast. Any time they got close, she turned on her heels and bounded away from them before they could catch her. It was too early for most of them. Many of them had just got up or had not yet had breakfast, so they could not rush after a spritely young girl who ran like a thing possessed.
"Should we tell the master?" one of the maids asked fearfully.
"No, he's sleeping."
The unspoken amendment to that was that he had arrived very late the night before and was drunk on happiness with his engagement, and was deep asleep now. They were afraid of how angry he would be if he woke right after his engagement to news like… this.
"What the devil?" the butler exclaimed as he came out.
The servants ran up to him, panting and frantic. "Oh, Mr. Dornez! We're all in an uproar!"
"So I can see," he said, "What happened?"
"We don't know! She just ran out of her room like the devil was after her, and now she's running out there like she's possessed! We don't know what to do!"
"And we fear she might be hurt!" said another, "She's been tracking blood everywhere!"
"What are we to do?"
Walter was quiet for a moment, and then said calmly, "Let her tire herself out."
"What?"
"She can't run forever. When she gets tired, bring her inside. I'll call on a doctor."
Seras was indeed winding down. Her panting had turned to ragged gasping, and she was visibly struggling to force herself to keep running. Whether her feet had grown numb to repeated pain or not, she felt she was getting it. She'd seen people and horses who ran so fast they seemed to be flying. She felt like if she ran... if she just ran faster enough, that it seemed like she was gliding, she could soar above the pain. For several steps, it seemed to work.
And then she placed a full foot on the ground, and the pain was enough to make her buckle and fall into a large heap in the grass.
The servants ran toward her.
Seras struggled to push herself up, but the momentum was lost. Now that she'd stopped, all the pains and fears she'd struggled to outrun caught up with her. She felt overwhelmed with pain, and fear, and frustration, and helplessness. Unable to escape or cope, she covered her face with her hands and wept with abandon.
The servants approached her cautiously, and they were afraid to touch her. Her sudden wild behavior, coupled with her usual unpredictable outbursts, combined with the old rumors that she had escaped an insane asylum (thanks to her short hair, lack of clothes, seeming lack of history, and complete ignorance of how normal people lived) made them afraid to come near her. They were afraid her unpredictable temper might cause her to lash out or flee from them again, but more than that, they feared that somehow her insanity might rub off on them.
They also had a practical reason for being afraid to move her, when they saw that her feet and the hem of her night dress were bloody and cut up, and that they were too weak to pick her up even if they wanted to. Two servants stayed near her, afraid to touch her or get too close, while a third ran up to tell Walter, and soon they started trying to find a robust young man who could carry the young lady back inside for when the doctor arrived.
It didn't take long for word to reach Captain Bernadotte, who literally came running when word reached him.
"Oh, thank God, Mr. Bernadette," the women sighed with relief when they saw him. "You must come immediately."
The same closeness between Captain Bernadotte and Seras Victoria that had made the whole estate glare at them weeks before made them sigh in relief now. If the servants knew anything, it was that if Seras was going to behave docilely and cooperatively for anyone, it would be for Captain Bernadotte.
She seemed lost to the world until he approached her, and then she had the good graces to look ashamed of herself for the first time. She blushed deeply and would not look up.
He kneeled beside her, "Hey," he said gently.
She would not look at him. What was the use? She would die soon anyway, and become foam on the waves.
She tensed as he lifted her into his arms, once again, as easily as though she were a sack of feathers. Like many times before, she was struck by how strong and warm he was. She could feel rock-tight muscles under his course fabrics, and how he gave off heat like a peat marsh. Through her warm face, she tried not to notice the familiar scent of sweat, dust, horses, tobacco, and musk. They were such rich earthen scents that always overwhelmed her, but perhaps more so today than any other day. It must have been due to her despair, knowing that her life would end, that she was able to...
She suppressed those thoughts immediately. No, it wouldn't do. She would die soon, before anything may come of it. She also thought, tearfully, as he carried her inside, of what the Sea Witch had said. How her own faithlessness had driven the sea witch to change the terms of their agreement. If she could not be internally faithful to the man she claimed to love, even when it was not convenient to her, then she would make a distasteful servant. She could see why Zorin would not want her. She thought, 'If I were the Count, I would not want me either.'
The doctor had already arrived when they arrived at the estate. Because this was a time of great modesty, however, the doctor was not quick to look at the souls of her feet. In this time, a young woman exposing so much as her ankles to anyone but her husband, in the privacy of her own home, was considered scandalous. In order to protect young women's modesty, doctors, who were all men, never took a close examination if they could avoid it.
When the servants explained how they had found her running wild through the tall grass of the estate, they felt that they had found the likely answer. Since not only her feet, but her hem was torn, they guessed that she had run through sharp twigs, dried grass, prickly weeds, and so on. The doctor felt that this was a likely cause; and, after a cursery examination of her feet, determined that to be the cause of the bleed.
Had he looked closer, he might have found deep gashes and lacerations from blades she never stepped on.
As it was, the doctor replaced her torn skirt over her feet to protect her modesty, and advised the servants to wash her feet and bandage them up, and to keep her sitting until she recovered. By now, they were used to caring for a ward that was practically an invalid, and so they agreed.
Her master did not find out until later that day. He had stayed out at the ball until almost dawn, reveling in the company of his fiance, shaking hands and being congratulated by all the gentlemen there. He slept most of the day, was still glowing with joy when he awoke. None of the servants had ever seen him so happy. His smiling face beamed like the moon and lit up every room he was in. His booming voice burst with happiness, like festive drums that livened a party. He was in such good spirits that he gave most of the servants an extra day off, and a bowl of punch.
When he heard of Seras' mishap, he was mildly alarmed until he learned that the cause of her injury was running through brambles in the field, and he was satisfied. Still, he decided that they should call on his new, soon-to-be grandfather-in-law, Dr. Abraham Van Helsing, to look at her, just to ensure she was safe.
When he checked in on Seras and saw that she was unhurt, he could not contain his joy. As soon as he saw Seras, he walked right up and lifted her into a tight embrace. Before she could recover from that, he set her down and kissed her full on the forehead.
"Oh, my little foundling, I am the happiest man in the world!" he told his little mermaid. "My fondest dream - that which I never dared to hope - has come true. You will share in my great joy, of course, for you love me more than anyone does."
Her soul shattered, and from the fragments she forced a smile. The little mermaid kissed his hand and could feel that that her heart beginning to break. For the morning after his wedding day would see her dead and turned to watery foam on the waves.
