sinners
part I
{part II}
Castlevania
Alucard x reader
She knew that the storm was approaching inevitably. The wind was so cold that she felt it crawling under her skin, biting at her uncovered ears and fingertips, blowing against her black cloak, which spread out behind her like wings.
The forest was dark despite the silver shield of the moon, which flickered somewhere behind the clouds of grey. Her horse had died long ago, succumbing to the darkness and the chill of the long, deadly winter. Still, she trudged forward, clinging with all her might to the remnants of hope that she might survive the night.
She had nothing leftâno food, no money, no will. She had become an animal, and the one at the very bottom of the food chain. Weakened, hungry, nearly unconscious from the cold, she kept taking slow step after slow step on the creaking snow. She could see nothing beyond the tip of her nose; the first flakes of stormy snow began to twirl against the backdrop of the night sky, and she began to hear sounds she could never have imagined in her worst nightmares.
She wanted to think they were hallucinations brought on by exhaustion. That the howling of animals hiding behind the pitch-black tree trunks was just a delusion, that the snow falling in her face was merely a nightmare, that everything was just a terrible, monstrous illusion, her personal hell. She was so afraid of death.
In the distance, she saw a light, though it might have been an illusion, or perhaps just flickering stars, yet she had nothing to lose and could gain much.
The closer she got to the light, the more she noticed. The light, however, was not from stars, but from the warm flames of candles placed in the windows of a massive, gloomy castle. Its long, black towers seemed to stretch up to the very moon, overwhelming her with their size and sharp design. She had never seen such a structure, one that looked as though it hadn't been built by human hands. She didn't even know such buildings could exist, for the castleâs towers appeared to almost levitate. Everything seemed so unwelcoming, dangerous, treacherous. Yet, in that moment, even that felt better to her than the tragic death of hunger or freezing to death.
As she approached the massive castle doors, she felt a little better. The wind no longer bit as painfully, and the snow no longer crept down her collar. She knocked confidently, as loudly as her aching hands allowed. Silence. She knocked again, and behind the door, she heard a rustling.
"Please, help me! My horse died miles from here, I have no food left, and Iâm dying from the cold. Please, let me stay for at least the night," she begged, leaning her exhausted weight against the door. She could feel her teeth chattering, and the numbness creeping into her feet. She wrapped herself tighter in her soaked cloak, hiding her face in its folds.
The gates creaked open slightly with a long groan, and a man appeared in the narrow passage. She saw only part of his face, but she could tell he looked inhuman. His eyes were sunken, his face as pale as chalk, and strands of matted blonde hair fell over his forehead. He glared at her with a threatening look, and she saw menace in his yellow, cat-like eyes.
"Get out of here," he snarled, trying to close the door in her face. However, she quickly stopped him by placing her cold hand on the door. He didnât resist, and she saw that he was stronger than her, so she took that as a sign that she could continue her possibly fruitless pleading.
"Please, sir, there is no village nearby. Leaving me here would sentence me to death. Please let me spend the night in the castle."
She saw his displeased gaze, noticed how he sized her up from head to toe, and caught the grimace of disgust on his face. Nevertheless, she stood her ground, still keeping her frozen hand on the door, fighting for her life.
After a moment of silence, he stepped aside, opening the door wider. Encouraged by the invitation, she quickly stepped inside, and he shut the gates behind her with the same force.
Finally, she could see him fully, no longer hidden behind the ornate doors. He was tall, despite his hunched, worn posture. He wore a tattered, wine-stained white shirt. His hair was long but tangled, falling untidily over his shoulders and back. She had dealt with nobility before, but even then, she had never seen a man like this. Despite the neglect that surrounded him, he resembled a porcelain doll. His skin was smooth, pale, and shiny, his hands well-maintained and untouched by labor. She could tell he had been through a lot recently.
The room she found herself in was vast, dark, and terrifying. There was disorder everywhereâred carpets were dirty with grime, dirt, and blood, and in every corner, she saw clouds of gray dust. But what intrigued her most were the lights. They were not candles, torches, or anything she had seen before. The yellow light surrounding their figures had to be the result of magic, something she had never heard of before.
"Thank you, sir," she finally spoke, looking at him with eyes full of gratitude. Despite the pain searing through every cell of her body, she smiled warmly at him. "I promise I will repay you."
"I donât need your gratitude," he muttered, his expression unchanged. "Who are you?"
"[Y/N], I come from the north."
She knew he wanted to know more, she saw it in his expectant look, his raised eyebrows betraying his suspicion. But she had no intention of sharing the details of her failed journey with a stranger.
"And you? Who are you?"
"Donât get ahead of yourself, girl," he snarled, moving dangerously closer to her. But seeing her shrink under the weight of his harsh words, he quickly regained his composure. "I wasnât expecting guests, I have no room for you."
"I donât need a room, I can sleep on the floor," she quickly responded, not wanting to anger her grumpy host again. She had met many men on her journeyâsome cruel, others bitter or vengeful. But she knew his type bestâit was better to avoid them, and when she had no choice but to interact with them, she didnât want to get under their skin, especially not in a moment like this, when she was entirely at his mercy
"Iâve lit the fireplace" he finally said. He turned on his heel and, with a confident step, started walking toward the stairs. She quickly followed in his footsteps, not wanting the stranger to disappear from her sight.
The path to the aforementioned fireplace was long, as the castle was vast. However, she felt as if they had been walking down the same corridor the entire time. The same marble floors, the same cracked stone walls, the same dim lamps providing feeble light.
She could feel the remnants of snow melting on her clothes, soaking into the fabric. Her coat became heavy, pulling her backward. She, however, didnât say a word, trying to keep pace with the man.
The chamber they entered was the coziest of all the rooms she had seen so far, though it still didnât fully invite her to spend much time there.
The fireplace was indeed burning, or rather, more like dying out; she saw that no one had added firewood for a long time. The walls were decorated with shelves full of books bound in colorful leathers. In the center of the room stood two chairs, wooden, ornate, covered with red, tufted velvet. On the floor lay several open books, stained with wine, the bottle of which also rested nearby. There was a red carpet on the floor, blood red.
"Warm yourself by the fire" he ordered, seating himself in one of the chairs. She sat down on the carpet, as close to the hearth as possible. She took off her coat, placing it on her lap. She blew on her red, frozen hands and rubbed her stiff legs, trying to restore proper circulation. She could feel the wet clothes sticking to her like a second skin, though she hoped they would dry by morning so she could continue her uneasy journey.
She heard the man slide a glass bottle with his foot, and it tipped over with a crash. However, he didnât react much, only sighing gloomily.
"Whatâs a woman like you doing alone in Wallachia these days?" he asked quietly. He didnât sound particularly interested, perhaps he wanted to break the silence between them, or maybe he didnât trust her and, to calm the suspicions racing through his mind, needed to learn more about her.
"A woman like me?" she replied with a question of her own, positioning herself sideways to the fireplace so that she could see his face. She pulled her knees to her chest, feeling the flames warming her shoulder and back.
"Defenseless, lost, unprepared for a journey" he remarked, looking at her from beneath his lashes. She studied him suspiciously, trying to read his motives and emotions that drove him that night.
He was distrustful, gloomy, and gruff. It had been a while since she had been treated this way, but nonetheless, the presence of any human being was a welcome relief after weeks of solitary travel. So despite the coldness he showed, she tried to enjoy his company.
"I need to get to the other side of the country to my teacher" she finally replied cautiously, still not revealing too much about herself. He nodded and turned his gaze to the dying fire. He stood up from the chair and, skillfully avoiding her sitting on the carpet, added more wood to the fireplace. The fire crackled cheerfully, and he didnât take his eyes off it.
"Donât you have teachers in your lands?"
"Not like these."
He nodded again and then took his seat in the chair.
And silence fell. She wasnât bothered by it too much. The warmth of the fire was enough for her, his grumpy, distrustful presence, and the comforting knowledge that she wouldn't die buried in snow or torn apart by wolves or other creatures that roamed the land.
"Do you live here alone?" she asked quietly, still hesitant to look in his direction, remembering how he had reacted to her last question. "No servants? I havenât seen anyone in the castle; itâs rare for the master of the house to greet guests" he continued, not hearing a response to her previous question.
"Youâre not my guest, youâre an intruder. I invite guests and expect their arrival."
"It seems you havenât been expecting any arrivals for a long time."
He smiled under his breath at her audacity. But she was right; he knew that he looked as miserable as the castle. Yet he didnât feel like thinking about it at all.
Trevor and Sypha had left him a long time ago, the bodies of Sumi and Taka impaled on wooden stakes had almost turned to dust. Since then, he had drowned his sorrows in alcohol, hunted, and tried not to lose his mind with despair and loneliness, burdened by what he had done and could have prevented. He didnât know if all this despair was doing him any good, but he didnât know how else to cope with the situation he was in. So he did what he knew and was good at â he drowned in loneliness.
"Weâll spend the night here."
"We?"
"You didnât think Iâd leave you unsupervised, did you?"
She sighed and laid her head on her knees. She didnât know what to expect, after all, the man had shown himself in the worst light. But she at least wanted to believe that he had some better side.
The warmth and the comfort she felt for the first time in many weeks allowed her to relax a little. She closed her tired eyes, tempted by the convenience of not having to worry about whether she would make it through the night. The situation was certainly not ideal, but it was better than anything she had experienced recently. And for that, she was forever grateful.
She curled up on the carpet, moving even closer to the fire, and soon he heard her steady breathing. Again, he looked at her with distrust, wondering what kind of devil had possessed him when he let her into the castle. He had lived through this story before; he didnât know why he had been fooled once more. Still, there was no turning back now. This time, however, he knew he had to be more careful. Much more careful. People liked to prey on his sweet, innocent kindness, but he wasnât going to let himself be used again.
***
The night was long and cold, yet the warmth of the fireplace made it one of the best nights she had had in some time. When she woke up, snow was still hitting the windows, and the fire had long since gone out, leaving behind only the remnants of charred wood.
She raised herself to her knees, and her dry coat slid off her shoulders. Slowly, she stood up, stretching her stiff muscles. She looked around cautiously, but he wasnât in the room.
She felt pain, sharp and intense, stabbing through her body like a cold dagger. She collapsed back onto her knees, feeling the dizziness come over her. She breathed shallowly, trying to calm her frantic thoughts.
She must have fallen ill. She hadnât survived the long journey in wet clothes without consequences. She knew she wasnât fit for travel in this condition, but she had no idea what to do, knowing that her gruff host would not be inclined to allow her to stay in the castle for even a few more days.
"Youâre up" he observed as he entered the room. He gave her a piercing look, noticing something was wrong. Her cheeks were flushed, her hands were trembling, and she was breathing heavily. And that could only mean one thing. "Are you unwell?"
"Sorry, but the journey took its toll on me" she rasped through her tight throat, wiping the beads of sweat from her forehead. She was burning with fever, and each word was painful and difficult to speak. "Iâm sorry, but I must ask you to shelter me for a few more days. Iâll recover and you wonât see me againâŠ"
"No" he interrupted her firmly, looking at her with the same gaze he had used when he denied her entry to the castle. "Be glad you didnât freeze to death last night, and get out of here."
She only nodded, perhaps deep down believing that he was somewhat right. He wasnât obligated to help her, and they were living in tough times, where trust was a reward she clearly hadnât earned.
Clumsily, she got up from her knees, throwing the coat over her shoulders. She moved toward the door, dragging her heavy legs. As she passed him, she sent him a weak smile, trying in some way to thank him for the scraps of mercy he had shown the previous night.
"A few days" his steel voice stopped her in the doorway. She turned toward him as quickly as her dizziness would allow, resting her hand on the doorframe, giving him a questioning look. "You can stay for a few days, but then I donât want to see you again."
"Will you tell me your name?"
"Adrian."
***
He prepared a room for her in an even more secluded part of the castle. She slept under a white, warm duvet and never left the room, a rule he strictly warned her about. He brought her bread and warm milk, gave her herbs, and lit the fire in the fireplace. Once, he even offered her wine, which she particularly liked.
Despite the coldness with which he still treated her, he liked her presence. She gave him something to do, and he somewhat treated her like a pet that he had to take care of. He also enjoyed talking to her. The more time he spent in her room, the more she told him about herself. She spoke of her journey, the people she'd met along the way, and the horrors she'd experienced. Despite her condition, she spoke of everything so lightly, warmly, encouragingly, and smiled for both of them.
"Your teacher must be something special if you traveled such a long way for her," he remarked one evening, handing her another cup of yarrow and St. John's wort infusion, the dried herbs he had found in the depths of the pantry.
She only nodded, dipping her lips in the hot liquid. She always became quiet when the subject came up. He didnât know the reason for that, but he wanted to get something out of her by any means. Perhaps he still didnât trust her, or maybe he had truly become curious about her, just as a friend becomes curious about another friend.
"She's a witch," she finally answered quietly, without raising her gaze from the steaming mug. The man tensed, not taking his suspicious eyes off her. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he began reaching for the dagger nearby. "I am, too."
Silence. Long, filled with heavy tension and her short breaths. She still didn't lift her lost gaze, but he could tell she was tense. He quickly dropped the idea of involving any weapons in the conversation, wanting to listen to what she had to say in peace, so he could make any decision calmly.
"Actually, I'm not traveling, I'm running away." Finally, she looked at him with glassy eyes and clenched her hands around the cup. The memories of that dreadful night came rushing back like a tornado, even though it had happened many months ago. "They burned... they burned my mother, grandmother, sister. They burned them like dogs, like subhumans. And yes, we practiced magic, but for good. People thanked us, kissed my motherâs hands when she saved their loved ones, whom the church had long since cast aside. Or when she poisoned the vile husbands who beat, raped..."
She spoke faster and more desperately. And he couldnât say a word, because for the first time, he felt like someone might understand him. Someone who had gone through what he had gone through. Someone whose despair tore their heart just like his, and maybe, just maybe, someone he could share that despair with, or perhaps even heal from it?
"My mother was a healer, an intelligent woman whom the church hated. They killed her too," he admitted slowly. "In their eyes, she was sinful because she married a vampire."
The cup slipped from her hand and shattered on the cold floor. With trembling hands, she covered her mouth, holding back a scream that wanted to escape from her throat. Adrian was peculiar, that was true, but she had never imagined that he was the child of such a sin. In her land, vampires were considered a legend, a fairy tale used to scare children.
However, she didnât say a word. She took a few deep breaths, calming herself slightly. She smiled sweetly at him, and he felt a great weight fall from his heart, though he didnât really know why. Still, he didnât want her to be afraid of him.
"I understand."
And that was all that was needed for both of them to breathe a little easier.
