A deep burgundy one, sitting in a nest of white and peach, seems to call to her. Unthinking, she plucks it from its resting place, bringing it to her nose for a deep sniff. Velvet-soft petals brush her nose and she smiles, pleased that she managed to meet both her evening goals—she found cluesandroses, not or.
"It's rude to take what doesn't belong to you."
The voice gruff, guttural. It's not Eddie, or Simon. Startled, she looks up from the rose… and up, and up, higher than her head and still some. Her heart skips a beat, then another, sputtering back to life and choking her lungs in an effort to catch up to time. Her bowels freeze, the icy sensation dropping to her toes and sending her legs into jellied spasms.
It's a beast.
There's no word for… forit.Large, black, with four limbs longer than her torso. Each paw is easily the size of her skull. Its teeth are impossibly large, glistening white in the pink expanse of its gums. Where there should only be two eyes, there are eight; more open along its shadowy, sinuous body while she watches. She can't hide from that many eyes—she hardly knows where to look. Suddenly it's all too clear why the bodies are missing. This beast wouldn't leave a mess; she could be swallowed in a single gulp, clothes and all.
She stares at the beast, because she's never seen anything like it before, and probably never will. Her life has been broken from years into seconds, maybe a full minute if she's lucky. It watches, waiting for her to make a move with the polite disinterest of a chess partner. And what move will she make?
She could scream, of course, but what's the use? Even if her partners could hear her, they would never find her in time. In a split second she'll be gone, and their bodies would only add to its count. She could attempt fighting, but that's equally laughable. Bullets won't stop a beast. She could cry, but she's not the type of girl to do that easily. Besides, sympathy and pity have no place here.
"Who gave you permission to gather my roses?" The voice is masculine, though perhaps a beast has no assigned gender. The rose is still in her hand, poised beneath her chin; lowering it slowly, she watches some of its eyes follow the motion. Others remain locked on her face. All rational courses of action seem worthless here; fumbling, she gives up and chooses the irrational route: engagement.
"I didn't realize they were yours." Internally, she's a stammering, trembling mess. But her voice sounds calm to her ears, without fear or horror. It's shock, she knows, but she's willing to ride the wave as long as possible. "Would you like it back?" Four of the beast's main eyes make a peculiar motion, quirking a nonexistent brow.
"No." Before she can move he sits, sphinxlike, before her. The wall is to her back, one massive leg caging her on either side. Her hair lifts in the fetid breath from its open maw; she tries not to breathe through her nose. There's still too many eyes to watch at once, and her unease ripples into foolhardy annoyance.
"What am I supposed to look at?" she huffs, unthinking. "Can't you have two eyes like everyone else?" Her breath sticks in her throat the moment the words leave her mouth; a moment's reflection is all it takes to discard her fear. Her fate is already sealed; does it matter how rude she is now?
A deep, throaty rumble turns her bowels to water, but the beast doesn't strike… yet. In fact, it seems to belaughingat her. To her immense astonishment the eyes close, one after another, until only the two largest on its skull remain. They glow with an eerie crimson light as it leans towards her, sniffing in a single deep breath that pulls the fabric of her uniform from her skin.
"You're terrified," it announces, amused.
"Wouldn't you be?" she manages to reply. The rose is twisted in her hands, a single lifeline. "Imagine minding your own business, only for something twice your size to sneak up on you out of nowhere."
"I wouldn't know," he growls, ears flicking lazily. "Nothing has been larger than me in some time. And nothing has ever been able to sneak up on me."
"Then consider yourself lucky." Her annoyance is back in full force; she disliked braggarts, beasts or no.
"Hmm." It stretched its mouth open, wider and wider, until she could map the join of its jaws. She braces herself to be eaten, but it yawns before licking its chops. "I've decided," it says, "that you'll be punished for stealing." She vaguely wonders when it had the time to think. Perhaps it's a diversion. She's so busy mulling it over that she nearly misses its next sentence. "But… you're too interesting to eat, Police Girl."
"Police…?" The jeered moniker takes a moment to sink it. Then, all at once, she feels the same bitter anger that 'Kitten' always caused. "Police Girl? AndI'mthe rude one? That's mean!" Another rumbling growl sends her heart racing, although now she can recognize it for the laughter it is. It raises a paw, and she barely has time to understand what the beast means to do before it strikes.
The last thing she feels is the sensation of flight, the trepidation of broken bones, and then the world darkens to nothing at all.
Nothing is forbidden; she's allowed to go where she pleases here.
Hereis a castle—old, large, and terribly beautiful in a historic sort of way. The ancient stone halls look as though they ought to be dusty, covered in cobwebs and all manner of creepy-crawlies. The grounds should be overgrown, as much an extension of the forest as anything else. And yet… it's not. It's both clean and efficiently managed; she can tell when things are moved or polished, the scent of lye soap wafting from the laundry. The orchards are pruned, the shrubs trimmed, and thejardin à la françaisetended with pride.
However, despite this efficiency the place seems abandoned. For the first week or so she did little but wander, searching in vain for another living being. She found nothing but the air. Perhapsairwasn't a proper word, though. They're more like ghosts, spirits;they,she thinks, for there's definitely more than one. She's learned their personalities, reading moods by the way they ferry her from place to place when the hour strikes. They can be gentle, coaxing, or demanding, anything from the softest breezes to the fiercest gales.
There are two in her bedroom—the suite she first awoke in. They play good-cop-bad-cop with her, one attempting to shove her headfirst into dresses while the other indulgently offers men's trousers. She chooses trousers more often, if only to save herself from the oppressive heat of multiple petticoats in midsummer.
The one in the main hall shoos her from the gleaming suits of armor; she once dropped a sword and was caught in a blustering whirlwind so dizzying that it left her eyes rolling in her head. She'd been more cautious from then on with things that weren't inherently hers, not wanting to face another hurricane force scolding.
Countless others roam the many halls, lifting her hair as they pass by unseen; she believes she is a favorite with some, the ones who take a moment to brush her arm or pluck at her clothing in greeting. She has no way of knowing what she's done to earn their favor; perhaps they're just happy to see a new face. They're her only company, and she likes to think of them as her friends, talking aloud to them as she goes about her day. Someone's always nearby to lend a hand, and they know every inch of the castle. They even seem to know what rooms she's not discovered yet, delighting in her growing fondness for the house and it's oddities.
She has no way of knowing how long she's been here, or how long the beast plans to keep her. Sometimes it feels as though years have passed, countless days marching by like a parade. Other times it seems like minutes, maybe an hour; in her mind's eye she can see Eddie waiting for her on the trail, hands in his pockets. Her life is at a standstill, held in eternal suspension.
A rose, encased in glass.
"You like roses."
There's no question that this is a dream. Seras saw the man before her only this morning, staring dolefully from a dusty frame in an ancient portrait gallery. Although she's never seen him before—and judging from the armor he wears, has been dead some time—there's something familiar in the way he holds himself, broad shoulders bent as he cleans blood from his sword. A curtain of kinked black hair falls across his angular jaw, hiding most of his expression.
"I do." The buds she admires are tightly closed against the cool air, but distant birdsong colors the otherwise gray light of pre-dawn. There's no trepidation as she walks towards this stranger, pausing only when she's in danger of encroaching his personal space. He pours attention into the blade the way another man might pamper an automobile. He stops only when her feet do, chin rising so that his eyes might meet her inquisitive stare.
His eyes are blue, like hers and yet starkly different. Her eyes speak of summer mornings, while his are the dusky midnight of deep winter. The rising sun, peeking over the tall pines, hits them with a scarlet gleam. It's enough to make her shiver; he turns his gaze back to the weapon on his lap.
"Are you content?"
"I'm… well kept." It's not a lie. "I ought to be thankful, I suppose," she adds piously. She might have been eaten straightaway, instead of taken back here—wherever here is. She has an entire castle at her disposal, and sylphs for servants. But she does wonder if being eaten was the better choice; at least then she wouldn't feel like the beast's version of a pet canary.
"You are not content, then," the lord surmises. He holds the sword to the light, studies it. "What is it, then, that you desire? You might ask for anything; should it be within your keeper's power, he would provide it. Surely you know that."
"All I want is to go home." A poignant silence follows her words. She looks up to see him watching her carefully, an indefinable expression trapped in the creases of his face. He's older than the realized… or rather, hardship has taken its toll on what would otherwise be a handsome visage. He stands, lifting one enormous hand, and she expects to be clapped for her insolence. But he merely rests it, palm down, on the crown of her skull.
"There's not much time," he remarks cryptically, voice distant with an emotion she can't describe; as she moves from deep sleep into a doze, she fancies that it's loneliness.
The beast comes every night, normally when she's eating. It never sups with her, but acts interested in watching her devour the magnificent dishes whipped up daily by the kitchen windstorm. At first she's afraid to speak, then cautious… then stubborn. But she doesn't take long to break; after all, it's the only thing here that can talk back.
Not that it talks much; it seems content to let her chatter, reclined on the stone floor in the dining hall. She can't help but wonder why it saw fit to keep her alive—to keep her at all. Perhaps the silent breeze wasn't proper company for a beast, either. Or perhaps she's amusing, fascinating, in a way she can't comprehend. It offers no explanation, and she never asks.
Normally it leaves once the meal is over, bidding her a good evening before vanishing into the forest. She detests watching it leave; she tries to convince herself that it's for a judicious reason. After all, he's probably looking for new victims. But she's also lonesome, and can't deny it.
One night it changes the routine. Rather than leaving immediately after her supper, it turns one massive paw to the side and doubles back into the dining hall. Startled at the deviation, she freezes, rooted to the spot. It stops only when it's close enough that she might touch the shaggy fur (not that she ever would, considering it something of a taboo).
"Police Girl."
"Yes?"
"Would you ever consider joining me?" The question alone throws her for a loop.
"J-joining?" She wants to say that the thought had never crossed her mind, but… what is he referring to? "Do you mean, like… a walk in the woods?" Her voice sounds small after its deep, echoing growl.
"No." It steps closer, forcing her to back away. "Allow me to drink your blood, and you can be as I am."As I am?A beast? The blood curdles in her veins.
"I don't want to," she blurts out.I don't want to be some eldritch nightmare!her mind screams. Immediately she flinches, waiting for snapping jaws to close in around her. So far, she's avoided being openly defiant to the beast; however, this is to go directly against its wishes. Surely her amusement factor, if there ever was one, is at an end. But it merely turns away, as if the conversation held little meaning in the first place.
"It is your choice."
Oh, if only that had been the end of it! She would have been too grateful to let the matter pass, to go about this new normalcy and never speak of it again. But each night the beast comes, and itwillask:
"Will you join me?"
"No," she answers, contrite at first and then annoyed.
"And I wish you wouldn't ask me," she snaps, déjà vu wearing thin on her nerves. She no longer fears being eaten alive; in fact, she hardly fears the beast at all. Once glance at the multi-eyed creature is enough to tell her it's mood, often before it opens its maw to speak. She can calm its fury with blithe quips, and keep it entertained with stories of human folly. The growling laughter no longer sends her into a shiver.
But oh, if it would only stopasking that question!
"Hmm?"
"It's just… I hate telling you no." She pauses, reflecting. Before he can reply, she adds, "But I just don't want to be a… whatever-you-are. Whatareyou?" she asks, realizing with a jolt that she's never wanted clarification before. For endless seconds it stares, all eight of its main eyes locked on her. She stares back, content to wait.
Then the beast lets out a sigh, sounding more human than animal in that single breath. As it turns to leave, it answers in a tone she's heard before; its familiar in a distant way, barely remembered, and certainly from a human mouth.
"I am a monster."
"You consider yourself cruel to deny him." Today the lord studies an elm tree, hands locked behind his back beneath the wide expanse of his cloak.
"Him?" She joins him, peering into the leafy branches, but sees only leaves. Whatever captures his attention, it's not for her to discern. "Who?"
"The monster." She blinks; so itismale, then.
"It's not that," she replies, slowly. "I just wish he'd ask for something easier." She toes a loose stone on the path, flipping it before kicking it into a flowering shrub. "I'm not keen on becoming some hairy old mutt." This makes him laugh: a rich sound, loud in the quiet dawn.
"And who's to say you'd be one?"
"It—hedid. If he drank my blood, I'd be like him." She makes a face. "I'm fine with two eyes." The lord arches a brow at her, jaw working pensively. He cracks his neck, a distant expression evening the tired planes of his face.
"He's used to asking for what he can't have." The words take her by surprise. "Forgive him."
"There's nothing to forgive."
"You wouldn't be like him, in any case." His left hand finds her head; it's a favored gesture of her dreamtime companion, fueled by some sort of fond affection.
"Why not?" She shifts beneath the gauntlet; it ought to have been heavy, but the weight is comforting.
"You're far too human."
"Why?"
Out of all the questions that might have escaped her, that one is the most unexpected. It's even enough to stop the beast in its tracks, ears twitching in genuine curiosity. If it were more canine, she might have expected it to cock its head at her. But it merely waits, expecting a continuation of the thought that fell, unbidden, from her lips. Unused to being the center of attention this way, she has to clear her throat before adding:
"I mean, what's in it for you?" A valid question, seeing as it's not offered a single motive for its actions since coming across her that fateful day in the forest. It hesitates, but not nearly long enough.
"Blood," it answers, complete with a sinister grin that shows off every tooth in its mouth. But that won't deter her, not anymore. Time and exposure have more than softened the power of its terrifying visage; it can eat her, and might still, but she no longer expects it to harm her any more than it would one of the invisible servants.
"I don't believe it." Her admonition is punctuated with a wry grin. "If that were the case, you could have eaten me long ago and been done with it. Unless, of course," she adds, offering the smallest of concessions, "you were attempting to fatten me up. But if that's the case, you've not done a very good job. I'm the same weight I was when you brought me here."
"Hrnm." The beast's growl is sharper than usual, betraying annoyance… or perhaps agitation. Not at all dissuaded from her campaign, she presses on.
"So, what is it? Why do you want me to be—how did you say it? As you are?" She crosses her arms, planting her feet to prepare for what may become a debate. "I won't answer you until I hear a reason." This is enough to pluck the beast's ire; she finds herself standing down a face full of long white teeth.
"Awhim, then," it snarls, the syllable lost in the deep rumble of its throat.
"I don't believe that, either." To tell truth, the snarl did loosen a thread of unease in her stomach. But if she's not bold, if she falters even the slightest bit, she'll only aggravate the beast further. It likes shows of strength, even if they're from a small, weak,humangirl. "You could just say the truth: you don't want to tell me. But you'd have to, eventually." This earns her a bark of laughter, snapping jaws too late to hold it in.
"Is that a threat?" it chuckles. There's really no better word to describe the rolling vibration of laughter emanating from its chest.
"A promise, she vows. "And one you'd have to make before I let you drink my blood. IfI did—andthatwould be a whim, by the way, not whatever you've been cooking up for months—then you would have to promise to give me honesty in return. Enough to tell me why you want me to be like you, at least."
"Not that it would ever work in your favor," she shrugs. Her tongue works over a half-remembered snatch of dialogue, one of the wispy remnants of her deep, wandering garden dreams. "I'm too human." This shocks the beast. Not startlement, or astonishment, but trueshock, the kind she's never seen from it before. It actually takes a step backwards, eight crimson eyes widening to gape at her in stark disbelief.
"What?"
"I'm too human," she repeats, using the same blasé tone. "I would never become a true monster—not that I think you're one," she amends, "but those are your own words, you know." The beast is silent, watching her with a new attentiveness that makes her wary in return. Then, slowly, the massive tail gives one sweeping wag of approval.
"You're right," it admits, begrudging. "You're far too human."
The phrase strikes a chord; her jaw loosens in preparation to drop as she sees, truly sees, for the first time. There are no words, her mind is blank. The dining hall rings with silence as each sizes the other up with newer eyes. Tentatively she reaches out, her forearm slowly disappearing into the thick fur at its breast. She's not entirely sure what she's seeking, only that she's confident she'll find it.
She finds the wide, flat sternum, warm skin housing an emptiness within. There's nothing, no flutter pulsing beneath the tiny expanse of her palm. The beast's chest rises and falls with even breath, like an automaton with no soul—no, that's not entirely right. A soul stares at her from those red eyes, but now she realizes that there's more than one definition ofheartless. She thought herself suspended, in stop-motion, but this beast is the true prisoner. It's locked in time, existing outside of the ever-changing flow.
"Police Girl." Her fingers vibrate with the force of its—his—voice.
"Yes?"
"Will you join me?" When she doesn't answer immediately, he lets out a soft, tired huff. "The choice is yours. It's always been."
"I know." She finds herself on a precipice, facing eternity.
A child squats in the sand, safe beneath an iron cage.
Eddie stands on the trail, hands in his pockets as he watches the sun.
A lord waits for her, standing in a dawn that he will always covet, and never be able to greet.
"What is… your name?" The tenuous words waver between them.
"The last human to know me called me Alucard."
"Alucard. Not very creative."
"He was not a creative man." She laughs at that, fingers closing around a handful of fur. It's soft, luxuriously so; it no longer feels taboo to let it slide through her fingers. She has a feeling his hair would feel the same,willfeel the same; perhaps he feels there's not enough human left in him to change back, but she can prove him wrong.
"Well then, Alucard." Her back is against a crumbling wall of roses, but when she reaches for it, nothing finite remains. She swallows, understanding for the first time what is meant by sacrificing one thing in order to gain another.
For the form of this world is passing away.
"I will join you."