#parasomme

meta  questions.

    have you ever felt so misplaced where you’re supposed to call home  ?    hell is still a home to luzi, but he seems to spend a lot more time up in the human world than he does in the hell lounge.    why is that  ?    everyone just seems to be so against him.    he’s a devil with feeling.    a devil that they didn’t expect to receive when the last one’s ruling time had ended.    it’s always a gamble; like bingo night with the old kooks down the road.    all they could do was complain.    them being the demons and hell  -  hounds and every other creature that lived in the vast home that was the underground.    they wouldn’t be able to get rid of him whenever they wanted to since that was just a matter of time.    that’s if    ...    luzi would allow it.    hell was a party gathering to luzi because he didn’t like all the moping and pleading from the damned soul down there.

               “   are   you   asking   me   to   leave ,      cesare ?   ”   she  seems  hurt  by  the  suggestion ,   but  she tries  to  hold  close  to  her  emotions   /    presses  them  tight  against  herself  so  as  not  to  overplay  it .     she  had  hoped  to  stay ,   is  all .      maybe  to  ask .   to  understand .   certainly  to  continue  speaking .    she  goes  colder ,  then .   LADY  OF  STONE   :      tongueless  &  ancient ,    standing  still  in  her  silence .   it’s  what  any  level  of  dissatisfaction  will  do  to  her .   it’s  as  though  her  body  produces  a  chill ,   too  brisk  even  for  herself ,  and  her  teeth  cement  together   /   it’s  a  terse  action .   a  terse  position .   she  refuses  to  relent .

          she  turns  her  attention  away  from  him ,   sight  set  drearily  on  floorboards .  it  is  not  a  shying  away  which  pulls  her  gaze  but  a  simmering  anger     ––––     to  be  sent  away .       thrown  out .   discarded .      THERE’S  SOMETHING  FAMILIAR  ABOUT  THE  SICKLY  TASTE  IN  HER  MOUTH ,    the  disturbing  sensation .      she  dissuades  the  urge  that  tries  to  force  its  way  into  existence ,   a  violence  &  a  very  unpretty  thing  indeed .       “   i’m  sorry  you  feel  that  way .  ”        disappointment  runs  rampant  in  her  tone ,   a  very  undeniable  static  beneath  her  words .    it  is  pointed       /      I’M  NOT  DONE  HERE .        SO  YOU  CAN’T  MAKE  ME  LEAVE .       NOT  WITHOUT  A  STRUGGLE .   features  twitch  as  teeth  lock .   her  stare  returns  to  the  somnambulist ,    something  sharper  apparent  within  it .

        “   and  i’m  sorry ,     too ,     because  i  don’t  think  i  can .       i  still  have  a  few  things  i  have  to  take  care  of  here ,   ”         she  states ,   jaw  unclenched  only  for  a  moment  to  allow  the  passing  of  words  across  bitter  lips .

ACTS   OF   DOMINANCE  :  OPEN

                 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐘'𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖 ;  not similar to the master of the castle’s own but unlike any other he had ever been met with. cesare was a mere shell of what he had previously been. not man, not monster, NOTHING ; a living, breathing sense of vertigo that dreamt he was once a human being. everything his stare touched SHRUNK AND SHIFTED. the world was broken into DEFORMED SHAPES cesare could piece together in this strange dark world he lived in. neither real nor fictitious ; A FATE WORSE THAN DEATH.                 dracul could feel the gravitational centre of his world shifting. the SUN WOULD RISE SOON.  he could see the skies getting bruised with shades of pink and orange. (  𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐀 𝐋𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐄 !  ) . creatures like the two of them did not belong to the dawn. nothing the light touched could ever be shared with the likes of them. 

dracula does not move. but he does lay his horrible pale hand upon cesare’s shoulder. the weight can be felt there, next to his neck, sharp nails threatening the area where the somnambulist’s HEARTBEAT could be found   (   dead he was not !   )   with something awful and gentle. still the vampyr continued to stand by the doorframe with both arms resting by his sides, far beyond his guest’s reach, staring back at him with the persistence that one can rarely recognise in anything LIVING.    ❝   i am the dragon , somnambul,    ❞    the count confessed. 

me framing this n putting it on my wall: guys rot thinks im cool

❛           𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭       𝐲𝐨𝐮      𝐠𝐨     ?           ❜                his     is     the     concoction     of     poison        &       saccharine        :         deathly     sweet     in     purring     timbre   .        the     other         (      the     human    ?       –––       the     creature    hovering     ‘tween      life      &     death    !      )          seeks    a     way     out   ,          but    the     doctor     pleads     for     him     to     stay    !         though     he     does     not     grovel     yet   ,       digits     dance          –––          physicality     a    brush     along     shoulders   ,        upwards     of    neck   ,        the     caress    of    cheek   .         he    is     close   .        maybe    too    close   .         seeks     to    console   ,        to     soothe    into    pliability    .                ❛            oh   ,       cesare        –––        can’t     you    stay     for     a     while     longer    ?            ❜

* NBC DRACULA MEME : OPEN

 ———     the  entire   castle   was   drowned   in   darkness.   no   torch   had  been   lit   nor   was   there   a   ray   of   moonlight   that  dared   enter   the   count’s   domain.   both   creatures   had  navigated   through   pitch   black   halls   as   if that  was   all   they   had   ever   known. only   after  climbing   grey   stoned   stairs   and   settling   into   what  might   have   once   been   an   office   did   a   candle   spark  a   flame   into   existence.   and   that   must   have   been   the  case   for   the   master   of   the   house   had   never   lifted  either   of   his   pale   hands   from   his   sides   at   any  given   moment.  ❝ you   told  me your truth, somnambul.  ❞ his  romanian   accent   weighed   down   the   vowels   and   treaded  lightly   over   the   consonants   of   each   word.   something OLD  AND   DUSTY laid   thinly   over   his   voice.   but  the   count   smiled   nonetheless.   a   small   devious   smirk  that   did   not   show   any   part   of   his TEETH. that  was   a   sight   not   many   were   known   to   survive  through. 

❝ these  … visions you   speak   of   ,   i   fear   they  are   but   dreams   with   no   ties   to   reality   ,   my  friend. ships   lost   at   sea.  ❞ and oh,   how   dracula   had   wanted   to   believe   the   boy.   he seemed   as   out   of   place   as   he   did   in   this MODERN  WORLD. someone   with   eyes   caved   into   his   skull,  that   flinched   from   whatever HORRORS they  had   witnessed   and   with   skin   almost   as   pale   as   that of   the   dead SURELY bared   more   gifts  besides   that   of blood.   but   alas   !   as   soon  as   his   sleepwalking   visitor   spoke   of   vlad   dracula’s  death   being   nigh   ( and   brought   to   his   very  doorstep,   here   in   the   land   of   transylvania   ! )  ,   the   nobleman   knew   the   boy   to   be LYING ;  or,   at   the   very   least, MAD.

 the  wind   blew   through   the   castle,   making   it   moan   and  cry   like   a   woman.   the   flame   burning   between   them  flickered,   and,   like   the   shadows   casted   upon   him,   the  count’s   expression   did   seem   to   shift.   one   moment  he   was   but   an   old   man   smiling   at   his   guest,   the  next   a HORRIBLE creature  with ABYSSES for  eyes.   the   wind   continued   to   blow   and   voices  continued   to   populate   dracula’s   home.   but   slowly   did the   wind   stop.   and   slowly   did   the   voices   begin   to desperatly   chant   the   same   sentence,   over   and   over  again   : ne  hrănește, ne   hrănește, ne   hrănește.