Prince Vlad, Dracula ([personal profile] vojvode) wrote2010-03-26 09:54 pm
Entry tags:

[oom] A cellar, reprised

[ cont'd from here and here ]

He waits, motionless, listening to the conversation she's having with the female doctor.

He's become a master of waiting.

His breath stills, his heart stills, his entire body grows still. He tries not to think about the host of bodies thrumming through this place.  Tries not to think about the anguish he has caused her, merely by existing.

Elizabeta, my sweet Elizabeta.  If only there had been another way.

Time is meaningless in the moments like this.  Pain and hunger and the sorrow of his human heart, all meaningless.

When she returns, he has settled in one of the few chairs here, straight backed as if he is sitting in a throne. His hands are tucked into his sleeves, and his eyes fix on her face the moment she crosses the threshold.

"Will she keep her word?"

He cannot keep the edge from his voice, though whether it is fear or rage, it is difficult to tell.
sunbaked_baker: (...dreamed the dress was made of blood)

[personal profile] sunbaked_baker 2010-04-04 06:34 am (UTC)(link)
"All right," she says, hesitantly, her voice barely more than a whisper. All she can see of him are his eyes, burning in the darkness he has wrapped around himself, before even they fade.

Why the hell is she doing this? Bad-blood-cross or whatever, she must be insane.

She can feel his absence, like the feeling of the sun peeking out from behind a cloud. She is alone in the kitchen.

The thermos is still there on the counter, coagulated blood on the rim. It'll need to be washed.