[ The pressure on his shoulder made it shift, but Alucard’s body as a whole remained immoveable. The taste of Dorian’s blood keeping him tethered to his flesh, like a guppy pierced by a fisherman’s hook. His face wore quiet satisfaction - the impassive resting face of a Botticelli serenely committing what his right mind considered to be the most sinful of acts. His blood heady and sublime and even though it only came to him in the smallest trickle, each drop that saturated his tongue and ran down his throat, pushing him further down a path of sin, made the darkest desires in him revel.
There was a chance that he would’ve given in to that blood lust and bitten Dorian again to find a new vein of pleasure. But luckily for him (and perhaps unluckily for Alucard) the few words he extracted from their shared moment of pain and pleasure did something to the dhampire.
There was only one woman in his memories who looked like him. His mother.
Her kindness and unbounded love had always grounded Alucard. She was the metric to which he measured his life, his human side. She was the purest thing in him, her genes balancing the aggression and power of his father’s legacy. So when his poisoned mind conjured her image, visualising her standing over him as a child; combing his hair, clothing and caring for him the memory of her warmth evaporated the sickness in him (for the time being at least).
And he became himself again, the quixotic calmness in feeding melted away. The mist in his eyes evaporated into tears and when he found himself he realised what he had done.
What had he done.
In a split second Alucard recoiled, gasping for breath as if waking from an unnatural sleep. He stumbled back, liquid eyes drinking in the horror before him. A man who had offered only kindness to which he had responded in violence and thievery. The revelation of this horror took effect on his face; a deep, unforgiving sadness and a self-loathing strong enough to cripple the most righteous of saints. He had become the monster he had always dreaded becoming and it was breaking him.
He looked away from the injured Dorian and down at his hands, cursed and beautiful. When he eventually spoke his words were ripe with sorrow and a solitary, unnoticed tear ran down his cheek. ]
My… mother.
[ He clarified, so deeply ashamed of himself.
The guilt was crushing him, the poor creature had not yet realised the anger in his actions had all spawned from that small thing he’d eaten earlier. ]
I am--[ A monster, a tyrant… my father’s son. ]--sorry.
[ Why couldn’t this poor, kind soul have just left. Saved himself. Now not only had he hurt him, but he had inextricably linked the poor man to himself, polluting his mind with his memories, feelings.
He shook his head, he had to at least put his mind at ease. ]
You will not change, your humanity remains the same.
no subject
There was a chance that he would’ve given in to that blood lust and bitten Dorian again to find a new vein of pleasure. But luckily for him (and perhaps unluckily for Alucard) the few words he extracted from their shared moment of pain and pleasure did something to the dhampire.
There was only one woman in his memories who looked like him. His mother.
Her kindness and unbounded love had always grounded Alucard. She was the metric to which he measured his life, his human side. She was the purest thing in him, her genes balancing the aggression and power of his father’s legacy. So when his poisoned mind conjured her image, visualising her standing over him as a child; combing his hair, clothing and caring for him the memory of her warmth evaporated the sickness in him (for the time being at least).
And he became himself again, the quixotic calmness in feeding melted away. The mist in his eyes evaporated into tears and when he found himself he realised what he had done.
What had he done.
In a split second Alucard recoiled, gasping for breath as if waking from an unnatural sleep. He stumbled back, liquid eyes drinking in the horror before him. A man who had offered only kindness to which he had responded in violence and thievery. The revelation of this horror took effect on his face; a deep, unforgiving sadness and a self-loathing strong enough to cripple the most righteous of saints. He had become the monster he had always dreaded becoming and it was breaking him.
He looked away from the injured Dorian and down at his hands, cursed and beautiful. When he eventually spoke his words were ripe with sorrow and a solitary, unnoticed tear ran down his cheek. ]
My… mother.
[ He clarified, so deeply ashamed of himself.
The guilt was crushing him, the poor creature had not yet realised the anger in his actions had all spawned from that small thing he’d eaten earlier. ]
I am--[ A monster, a tyrant… my father’s son. ]--sorry.
[ Why couldn’t this poor, kind soul have just left. Saved himself. Now not only had he hurt him, but he had inextricably linked the poor man to himself, polluting his mind with his memories, feelings.
He shook his head, he had to at least put his mind at ease. ]
You will not change, your humanity remains the same.
I… didn’t--I couldn’t… You must go.
[ Monster. Monster. Monster.
Dracula’s boy. Dracula’s evil offspring. Dracula’s progeny. ]