Garnet
Wow, two chapters in one day? I was in a creative mood and got my packing done early. I'm leaving tomorrow, so don't expect anything for a week or so. --This chapter gave me a lot of trouble; I wasn't quite sure how to write it. I don't write for Seras a lot, so her perspective was hard to get down too. Hope you enjoy nonetheless!
All characters of Hellsing © Kouta Hirano
2. Mirror.
Seras
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A British girl physically just arriving in her twenties, with a rather voluptuous physique.
Short, sandy-blonde hair, shoulder length, cropped in an unruly style that often had her blowing bangs out of her eyes with her bottom lip.
Petite waist, appearing even smaller than it is due to her large upper torso.
Eyes a round smoky-blue marble, the irises still untouched from the contamination of human blood that would undoubtedly turn the azure into a vivid crimson.
Yes, I know how I look. Frankly, I could care less about my appearance. I don't really mind the Hellsing apparel, although sometimes it gets a bit uncomfortable to crouch down in such a short and form-fitting skirt. Unfortunately at the Organization, the guys here seem to care more about my looks than I do.
Honestly, do all mens' brains lie in their genetalia?
I sometimes wish that people around me would pay more attention to my other attributes that lie outside the physical realm of my being--my combat skills, for instance. I can tote a 120 lb. Harkonnen that tears bullets through stone walls for goodness sake and all the crew cares about is staring at my ass while I fire.
That fucking French-faggot Bernadette is the worst (I'd say "pardon my French," but the irony is too much to bear). At times I think he hangs out with me just to look at my breasts and nothing else. I don't care if he has his good looks…I suppose they compensate for his diminutive cognitive functions, though.
To be frank, I don't care much for mirrors. They are way too symbolic for shiny pieces of glass. You can glance into one and see yourself exactly as you are, and then the rest is up to your interpretation. Only the sanest being in the world can see his reflection and be truly happy.
Here at the Hellsing Organization, sanity is optional.
…Unless you're Captain-Narcissist down the hall who can't be pulled away from his reflection for ten minutes. I fail to see the attractiveness of a butt-length braid, but apparently it is the quote "douceur de vivre, my Mignonette," un-quote.
My Master, on the other hand, is equally vain but has no need for mirrors-- if he's not happy with what is there, he can just morph into another shape that fits his desires.
I think Lady Integra has just abandoned the mirror altogether, even though in my opinion, she is prettier than any vampire. Perhaps she thinks she is not attractive. Or perhaps she does not wish to see herself as others see her.
On a different note, sometimes I'm afraid to look into the mirror too; I might see all of my fears laid out bare. Fear for my Master, of my Master. Fear of disappointing my Master's Master. Fear of letting the innocent die.
Fear of drinking blood—fear of my identity.
I'm told on numerous occasions that I must not shy away from who I am, because it will find me eventually. Irrevocably, I am a Median. A nightwalker, a fanged denizen of darkness, a freak, call it what you will.
Nothing can change that fact, no matter how long I postpone the consumption of the blood of what I used to be. The mirror's told me that I'm beautiful, cute in a short, pixie-like way that is a painful reminder of my human innocence. How can a being be so pure, yet so tainted all at the same time?
Seras Victoria, a girl of contradictions. I regard the mirror as a foe simply because it shows me myself. I really need to abandon these vestiges of human instinct struggling beneath a growing mass of draculine blood. I need blood to survive, yet I am reluctant to drink it. It's hard to let go of inconsequential human things such as desire and acceptance. I cling to my innocence yet I kill my own kind and watch as their innards squelch onto my skin—
—Wow, that was a little dark, even for me. I should really stop these mental musings; they put me in a bit of a snit. Perhaps I should go break Captain Bernadette's nose again to see if it'll make me feel better. It probably will. Je m'en fous (1).
Now that I look back on the last year or so, I realize becoming a vampire wasn't that difficult. Leaving my humanity behind was.
So, when I look into the mirror, what will I see? A monster? Some human-shape that used to be a girl, some womanthing with eyes of scarlet and snarled fangs? Something unidentifiable, reeking in blood that's not my own? What will be there?
Too bad vampires don't cast reflections.
End.
(1) French saying that roughly translates into "I don't give a fuck." P