#pre-vampire

I don’t want to give any spoilers about the topic because it will be answered in the comic but I will say he wasn’t always a vampire. I know a lot of you have been asking this so I’ll drop a little pre-comic scene to think about instead. It may have something to do with the answer.

The words were blurry. Pages were scattered around, trying to form order to fit the pieces of this all together. There was a meaning here, there had to be. Why would so many stories revolve around this one woman? Why would it be the most pervasive fairy tale in the area around Pinecrest be so singular? Sure there were variations in the tale, but not like in other stories in other lands. Almost as if a hand was directing it. Icarus laid his head down, cheek pressed against his book, uncaring whether or not ink from the highlighter would transfer off the page.

All legends were true, or at least had a core of truth. Sure they grew and spread over time, got more dramatic or sinister or whatever purpose and lesson they were to serve the listener, but it started with something true. Something tangible. Icarus just needed to find it, report it as some sort of sensible validation of cultural impact, and turn in his final thesis for this class. He was flooded with the sense he had really bitten off more than he could chew here. Sweet smells of peach and honey wafted from his tea cup. The clock on his desk ticked incessantly, each beat driving into his mind.

Enough. He pushed from his desk, chair grinding against the floor as he stood. This wasn’t working. He needed to move. Perhaps the ruins where he got this stupid idea would bring about some sort of inspiration, a way to piece this all together. Maybe he missed something in the carvings, or the gods would illuminate his thinking to grant him the miracle of finishing the semester. If nothing else the fresh air would feel nice.

He grabbed his jacket and his side bag, throwing his shoes on as he snuck out the back door so as to not disturb his mother sleeping in the other room. Plus, who knows what she would say at him leaving so late. The clock read just shy of 2 am, she’d be worried sick. No, she need not worry about his late night wanderings. The less she knew about the fleeting of his spirit the better.

Very few street lights met him as he broke out of the warmth of his home to face the frozen night. Pinecrest was sleeping calmly, just as he assumed most of the inhabitants were. He was the odd one out here, though that was something he was already keenly aware of. He shook off the memories by sucking in a frozen breath. Yep, that was just what he needed. His feet sank a little into the snow that was already building up, it wasn’t supposed to be a blizzard, not yet at least. But who knew, the winds around the area were as vicious as Esc’lyr desired; often it seems the town inspired her ire. Icarus clutched the fur lining of his coat a bit tighter around his neck and trudged on.

The roads were easy to navigate, however the second he got close to forest’s edge, all mercy of travel was off. No, this was a slog, the soft and dead grass below the snow was no comfort to his imbalanced feet, and often he was more tripping than walking. He only had so far to go, they weren’t that far from town, were they? No, this was a simple task, and he was complaining, taking the easy way out, yet again. Just needed to keep going, that’s all.

The woods embraced him with their calm darkness, the trees protecting slightly from the wind and snow, catching them first in their branches before gently dropping them into the undergrowth below. Icarus grabbed a thick stick from the ground, using it to lean against and navigate his way through the root gnarled trail. But it wasn’t so bad, he’d made the trek in much worse weather than this. At least it was quiet now. The whistling of the wind was left high in the tree tops.

Soon enough, the dark outlines of the ruins made themselves apparent. Icarus flipped on his flashlight now, the black night finally blotting out all light from the town, illuminating the deteriorating stone. His gloved fingers reached out to the cool rock, running across carvings that had long since crumbled and decayed to the relentless nature of time. But enough meaning stood out to him here, enough to keep interest and focus in to keep Icarus coming back here. This had to have been from at least the Era of the Final Kingdom, if not older. One of the few pieces to escape the “collection” of the Church. The Worshippers had a huge collection at the Blue Shrine, but Icarus would never be able to afford to get up there to view it. This would have to do. He sat down after dusting off a fallen log from its frozen blanket, pulling out a notebook and propping his light to angle it towards the carving. Some sort of flower, some sort of person, and all the broken pieces of the ancient scripts of text. No one, not even his professors of history could crack the language. It was just lost, and that made Icarus sad. He’d give anything to understand and know exactly what this meant, what the purpose of this structure once was. Even if it was just a pretty wall in decoration to a kingdom or the gods, or even just marking the property line of some farmer. That would be a connection, a link to the past that was fading with each tick of the clock.

A shiver coursed through him, quickening his pulse for a moment. What if he found something to decipher all this? He could bring about an archeological understanding that hasn’t happened in the country for decades at this point. He could pull his mother out of this place and somewhere nicer, somewhere that deserved her talents. He rubbed his hands together, the cold starting to breach his gloves and into his bones. He’d have to go soon, he knew the winds would pick up sooner rather than later, but the possibilities were intoxicating. One more minute and he’d have it. His hand furiously scribbled against the page, desperate to copy the secrets.

Behind him, the winds swayed and whipped their way between the trees, covering the heavy foot falls fast approaching. A pulse, hot and quick. The beacon that life was sitting, ready and waiting for the taking. Pinpricks of red opened in the shadows behind, ready to add ruination to these sleepy ruins. Icarus turned the page of his notebook once it was full.