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#((as dracula drains her until she finally dies...and then he reads about her coming back as a vampire; attacking children!))
symphonyofthewrite · 3 years
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If These Walls Could Talk (Ch4)
Fandom: Castlevania Netflix
Summary: Vampires do not have reflections, and castles do not have hearts. But Dracula is no ordinary vampire, and Castlevania is no ordinary castle. If castles can fight, maybe they can think too.
The series, and Adrian’s childhood, told from the perspective of the castle.
Chapter Summary: “He’s gone mad. And from that, there is no recovering him…It’s a tragedy…He could’ve changed the world. I think he might have, if Mother hadn’t died. “She’d sent him out into the world. That’s why he wasn’t there when the bishops took her…She sent him to travel… “Imagine if…the religious inquisition hadn’t proved true all of his worst instincts about humans.” “And now he’s going to use her death as an excuse to destroy the world.” “Oh, the world will still be here…But you will not be here…None of you…There will only be Dracula and his war council, and the hordes of the night… “Imagine it. A world without humans, under endless invented night. And Dracula in his castle, his revenge so horribly complete that there is nothing left to do but look out over a world without art or memory or laughter and know that he did his work well. That he did it all for love.”
Notes: I decided to capitalize "Castle" and "Room" from now on (and I will go back and capitalize them in early chapters at some point), because that was an easy way to make things clear for later chapters.
Also, I don't usually like to step out from behind the curtain and ruin the magic, but I wanted to make things clear here, since I thought maybe they started to get confusing...the Castle and Room aren't actually talking, and they don't have some human form somewhere...I just wanted to describe them more human-like the more the fic goes on, the more human they're becoming, in a way.
Comments and reblogs are greatly apprecated!! Thank you for the support!!
Chapter 4: “Empty”
The Castle doesn’t like the idea of its master going away.
They have been inseparable for such a long time now; the Castle has bent and broken and been Dracula’s castle for centuries. Its master leaves every once and a while, and he visits the woman’s home. But weeks, to months, to years without him is too long for a mirror to be apart from the thing it reflects. This is a vampire’s castle and Dracula is that vampire; he must stay inside its walls, in the cold and the dark, lest he burn. This is Dracula’s castle, and Dracula must stay within its halls. If he doesn’t…what is Castlevania after all? Just an empty tomb. A shell of something that was once living. A broken toy on the playroom floor, left there to start its dust collection after the child grew up.
Dracula never has to leave, for the Castle can take him wherever he wants to go in a flash of lightning and a rumble of dust and thunder. The idea that Vlad would travel the world like a man, all alone in the light, without his Castle, his shroud of darkness, isn’t right, to both of them, at first.
Hasn’t Castlevania done enough for its master? He is not like the boy, who needs to walk in the day. All he needs are these walls, the blood, and the night.
The woman has a way with persuasion. This was part of the trade, after all, Castlevania remembers. Dracula gave Lisa undying knowledge, and she took the immortal beakers and books—a part of Castlevania—out into the world to ‘do some good.’ (The Castle wasn’t sure quite how that worked, but she did have a knack for making good out of the patchwork pieces of evil.) It is Vlad’s turn to be given a piece of her mortality to take inside.
Lisa assures them that, just as Adrian came back more alive than ever, this will be a better form of life for Vlad too. He will have to be more careful; to stay out of the sun, to ask to be invited, to wear traveling cloaks, not royal robes, to temper his thirst, and be patient with humanity—(just as she has been with him)—but in the end he will come back clothed in gold, and it will all be worth it.
Castlevania wishes it had human hands to hold onto him, but all it has are cold stones, and mechanical bones; it cannot keep him within its walls forever, without collapsing.
Dracula kisses them goodbye with hope in one hand, promises in the other, two rays of sunlight ever in his heart, saying he’ll be back.
And he doesn’t come back that night. That morning. The next.
When Adrian left, the Room understood the meaning of the words ‘I miss you.’ It realized what it was to be empty—that is, in that it was once once full, and was missing something. After all those years, Castlevania too finally understands the true meaning of all those words once used to describe it: ‘lonely,’ ‘dark,’ ‘cold,’ and ‘empty.’ It was those things, it never felt those things itself before.
Dracula may have been cold and dark and undead, but he brought life of a sort to the Castle. He made it breathe, its heart beat. Just his footsteps in the halls was a comfort, a kind of music—be it mechanical and half-dead. And finally he talked to the walls. ‘Emptiness’ for it is was an adjective, not a noun; it was an outfit it wore, not a feeling etched deep within the walls in a place no one could ever really touch.
It didn’t know what it was like to lose your purpose, what a hopeless existence it is for a mirror to be without a reflection.
The Castle doesn’t know if it ever breathed, but it thinks it understands the breathlessness the Room must have felt without Adrian. It is big, and rich, and intricate…and hollow. It’s like there’s a hole somewhere deep inside it that cries to be filled, and can never be as long as its master is away.
But we are not alone, says the Room.
It looks up and remembers this is true; Adrian remains. Their boy. The boy who belongs to its master, the woman, and the Room together. And Castlevania likes to think he belongs to it too, in some way. The boy for whom that death-defying Room exists. The boy who stole patches of sunlight when his father wasn’t looking, who cried when when no one was listening, who brought books, toys, and drawings, lonely vampire kings, and old decrepit castles to life.
It feels cold and dark, dead and empty…until Alucard opens the windows.
The Castle is thrown into a pool of gold, and the sensation is jarring; the switching of states, temperatures so fast. Such a drastic change so quickly isn’t all right with Castlevania, especially when it is so different from how its master always dressed it. It is Dracula’s castle, that piercing, dripping stain that no light enters. It shouldn’t go out in colorful garb, it just isn’t fitting. Though perhaps the jarring change is ultimately less painful than dipping each room in slowly.
It’s that same tail-pulling sensation from when he was a boy. Except this is much worse, because it’s the whole Castle—its entire form—and he never closes them. Before it was just the Room, and the Room is a part of the Castle, so the Castle could feel its burn, but it was dulled there. When he opened the door to the Room, the light slithered out, its scales doused in poison, leaving a stinging trail as it went. But its cage was always in the Room; its venom didn’t remain in the Castle’s veins forever. Now there is no barrier between the Castle and the light, no home for the sun to crawl back to. It has been let loose, and the stones are soaked in venom, like needles all over the Castle’s body.
Its existence is now drenched in sunlight. Before long it becomes like how they painted the Room so long ago, it is a fact of life—at least while Alucard reigns, and the Castle looks completely different dressed in morning sunrise.
The sting begins to fade; the Castle becoming immune to the poison. And, after the pain ebbs, the Castle can look at itself objectively, and thinks somewhere deep beneath its walls, in a place it would never share, that maybe this change is not a bad thing.
The Room breathes deeper than ever before, enough to laugh. Grinning it turns to the Castle, as if saying Feels good doesn’t it?
Castlevania looks away.
There was so much it didn’t notice about itself before. The gold on the carpets shimmers, it knows now that mirrors glitter, and how much dust was on the bookshelves—(Adrian is sure to brush it off)—it knows now why others put pictures on the walls; because the stones are so bare and uninteresting in the light, and the fires are such a aggressive light and heat compared to the soft blanket of warmth over the world, like snowfall transforming all.
It knows now why humans like to go out during the day.
It is a different kind of life. It isn’t like the science Vlad used to make it breathe and beat. This is softer, quieter, warmer. Less mechanical more…real. It doesn’t mean Vlad’s method of bringing it to life was bad or wrong, nor that Alucard’s is good, or right, it’s just different. And maybe different is okay for now.
The boy looks different too.
Adrian’s features are illuminated, his expressions dance in ray and shadow, his hair is like liquid gold draining across his shoulders, his eyes flicker and dance like candlelight.
And he doesn’t burn.
Adrian reads books in the sun, and he practices magic and sword in the sun, he drinks tea and wine—not blood—in the softly lit kitchen, polishes the shelves, makes sure everything works properly, and sits on the balconies and lets the wind brush through his hair, all in the sun, in the sun. Sometimes he leaves to go outside, into towns, to get rid of a monster or two, but mostly he leaves to visit his mother. Even when he does, the world is left in a satisfied glow.
His golden hair and eyes are no longer a bright spot on a dark canvas, but a reflection of his universe. His parents may have built his universe long ago, but he has spread his Room throughout Castlevania, conquered the multiverses around him, claiming them for his own, until the Castle doesn’t know which of them is which anymore.
The gold dripping through the halls reminds the Castle of that word from long ago, the one used to describe the baby in the painting: “happy.” It may be a pale echo of the world back then, when all three of them there, but the Castle is well versed in the world of reflections, and knows there is a world in which they don’t exist, and an echo may not be the real thing, but it will satisfy as a substitute.
Those times are quiet, with fewer raids, fewer pitchforks, shoutings and fires, because people like Alucard. They didn’t like Dracula, but Alucard is not Dracula. And Castlevania could enjoy the excitement…but the quiet is nice for a while.
Even so, the quiet does remind it of what, who, is absent. The Castle misses its master. The boy, the sun, the change, may help, but that fact will always remain at the back of its consciousness. There will always be some emptinesses that cannot be filled with substitutes. It misses its master, wants him to come back. Even so, it thinks it may be able to last a few months longer in the sun. Until Vlad returns, at least.
And he does.
Dracula does return. And when he does, he is not the same. But not in the way they were expecting; he does not arrive full of life, spreading his newfound spirit throughout the halls—as Alucard’s glowing return made them anticipate. He doesn’t come with a new name and tales of how he defeated monsters and made friends, he doesn’t return with a new perspective, and a handful of smiles. He returns, but it’s almost as if he still hasn’t. He is more dead than Castlevania has ever seen him. As if the sun burned him after all. But it burned something deep beneath his skin.
There is no joyful banquet of welcome. He does not kiss their cheeks, hug them and whisper into their ears I missed you so, my Castle, my Sunlight. He does not come bearing gifts for his son, nor decorations for his Castle, from afar. He does not sigh and say it’s good to be home and remember his purpose.
Castlevania may not have ever breathed, but there was something like it when Vlad was here. He brought it to life somehow. Castle’s cannot speak but it felt they had a way of communicating somehow. Mirrors cannot speak either, but we hear their words all the same. But Dracula doesn’t talk to the walls anymore. And he cannot hear his Castle’s reply.
He marches in all too quickly, a purpose in his stride. But it’s not a fulfilling purpose, like that of the Room, nor a reflective purpose, like that of the Castle, rather it’s the emptiness before. Emptiness, yes… but not like before. Not the adjective, the outfit from his previous reign, not the noun, the feeling from when he was gone, instead it is a verb; it is something active. It’s more than just a lack of something; something grew, came alive in and of the lack. It’s a hungry emptiness, like the humans’ fire set to swallow everything deemed unworthy. The Castle has worn emptiness before, but this is different…or maybe it is different now.
Vlad left as a man, walking on his own feet, taking the slower path, but he comes back as a vampire, teleporting in a flash of flame, forgetting that he has legs that would like to carry him to distant lands, and hands that would like to touch the world, and eyes that would like to see the scenery.
The once light-laced windows shutter at his arrival, the curtains slam shut, as if the Castle got a chill at his footsteps. As if they were doing something wrong, and had to shut it down as fast as possible. Every single one of them shivers, closes, dares not refuse their master.
All except the those in the Room. Those in the Room do not shudder or shut down. Dracula is not their master. They will not obey. They cannot do much to protest the night, but they will do what they can; they will stand open and unafraid of the dark.
Castle’s can’t get slapped in the face, but if they could, this is what it probably would feel like.
Coming home without the home in his heart…like Castlevania isn’t home for him anymore.
They were learning how to change together; its master was supposed to return full of life. Together they were meant to feel the light’s sting, together they were meant to learn to live in it. To see the true state of their world, without the darkness to cover it up. Instead he came back empty, all that life he gained while Lisa and Adrian were here used up, stolen away from him by a cruel world. The Castle wasn’t worried about the humans ransacking what little light existed in Dracula, as they feared with Alucard—surely Vlad could only gain, he did not have enough in him to lose.
Castlevania understands now what it should have done; it should have collapsed all its walls to keep him inside.
It is far worse to know the light, and have it snatched away, than to only know the dark.
The Castle would be happy to at least have its master back, regardless if the experiment succeeded…But it isn’t sure it does.
Dracula has been angry before, but anger was a thing to take outside and deal with, not bring inside. The Castle is, for the most part, a quiet, soft place for him to spend his time, to contemplate, and learn, to experiment in, not to brood in rage. Rage was for the outside world. Inside may have been cold, dark and empty but it was serenity.
The darkness and the cold and the death this Castle once transmitted are no longer a radio station to be changed with the flick of a dial. These qualities have infected Dracula’s very being, it seeps out of him with every waxing and waning footstep, it oozes out of him as he sits in his study—no longer in quiet contemplation, but an unrest that is so loud it resonates perfectly with everything Castlevania is made of. It resonates so perfectly it reminds Castlevania of everything it once was when the vampire king ruled, tuning, turning it back into something that cares not for the color gold, and the discrepancies between its existence then and now melt away into before. It resonates perfectly with everything Castlevania is made of…and it thinks it just might shatter.
—(And maybe that would be a good thing, because it would let the light in. Maybe that’s the only way to let the light in now)—
The emptiness the Castle was before, the emptiness the Castle felt when Dracula first left has swallowed its master, and Dracula is now not a thing to reflect, but a negative space on the pages, a black hole that takes in all light and life and devours it. He walks in, not as its master who brought it to life, returning that life to the emptiness, filling those places the light still couldn’t reach, those places ever missing him… but as an empty shell that cannot fill anything, and only makes them all emptier they longer they look at him.
Dracula has been undead before. But that was undead; not quite alive, not quite dead either—and he could swing to either side. This is different.
With one swipe he rips off all the gold the Castle wore just yesterday like thieves in the night, leaving it broke and naked on the highway, and such a drastic change so quickly sends it lying on the floor in shock, one question dying on open lips, tears draining down its cheeks:
Why?!
When he left so full, what could have taken all that away? What could have taken away even what little life he had before it all? Did the world chip away at him slowly, or was it one event that kidnapped his life? What, who did they need to destroy?
Then, as Dracula marches into the library with the big broken mirror, and talks to a crowd of humans with tongues of a fire, it learns:
It is the woman. The woman who knocked on the Castle door all those years ago with the pommel of her knife. The woman with the soft hands and the defiant heart. The only human who was sweet in more than taste. Lisa, who brought sunlight into the darkest reaches of the Castle.
Vlad’s wife has been taken from him.
Dracula’s life has been taken from him.
The sanguine nature of humanity. Their penchant for setting things on fire. The ravenous nature of those flames. Vampires are known for being bloodthirsty, but the Castle always knew their thirst never compared to that of humanity. Vampires are known for catching on fire but she was never turned, and did she need to burn?
The world has taken the woman, and, worse, its master’s life away, and the Castle is more than willing to go to war for it. It agrees humanity must die for such a crime.
Hating and blaming the world, the humans who once scratched at the doors and howled at the moon is better than facing the thing deep inside Castlevania that tells it it’s all its fault. All its fault for letting her take pieces of it outside.
After all, it was the parts of Castlevania—the beakers and books—which she took outside to help people, to ‘do some good,’ which got her killed. So maybe its master is right that they can’t be helped. Maybe there isn’t any good in the world after all.
But something is still here. The Room says, once again. Someone.
Yes, she brought life into this place, and much of that life would leave with her. But have you forgotten that there is a life that cannot be taken away with her? That they created life within your miserable walls and that life, well, lives? Remember that a piece of her is still here, and you don’t have to pretend death is all that’s left.
The Room sees that the boy’s father is cold, and dark, empty, and dead. But unlike the Castle as a whole, for which these words are outfits to wear, facts of life, the Room has learned these are problems, and there are solutions to them. Solutions which the boy can enact.
He is dark. Observes the Room.
It ponders what to do with dark things.
So open a window, it tells Adrian. Let the sunlight in.
The Room’s window has always been open, and it does not know the flammable nature of full-blooded vampires. But starlight is a kind of light too.
He is cold. Observes the Room.
It ponders what to do with cold things.
So hold him. It tells his son. Like he did for you, all those years ago, when you were a tiny, bawling thing.
He is dead. Observes the Room.
It ponders what to do with dead things. The Room sits and thinks and begins to despair, for it does not know how to bring the dead to life.
The Castle takes a deep breath, and finally speaks up;
You opened the windows and cast the darkness away. It tells Alucard. You let the sun in and warmed my halls.
So take that gold, form it into a cloak, and dress him in it. Teach him what your universe looks like, what I looked like, when you were here.
Take him by the arm, and walk with him out into the stars, call them by name, like he, you and your mother did, long ago.
Go to him. Hold him. And don’t let go.
Lisa brought life to this place. You are the life they created. You are their legacy. You are the one life her death cannot take away.
If you can do that for me, if you can bring this old, wretched castle to life, you can reanimate your father too. All you need to do is remind him that you are here.
The Castle hopes, somewhere in the back of its mind it dreams, he can still come back to life. It is his reflection, after all; surely what worked for the Castle can work for Dracula.
But…it is his reflection, after all. And as Alucard marches through the halls, and while the Room continues to urge the boy to go to his father, the Castle digs its nails into its palm until it bleeds, biting back against the anger bubbling inside it even so, knowing that war cries cannot be rewound so easily.
The boy answers their call, though maybe not in the way they expect. No…it is better than some loving display.
He does not open the windows, but he does open a door, and when he walks in, his face is barely visible, not because it’s dark, but because he is draped, surrounded in light, like the sun itself is behind his decree. The light has followed him from his room, slithered along the halls, and formed itself into wings on his back. His tone is firm and defiant, and as he confronts him, Lisa’s voice rings through the halls.
And the Castle understands now that light, warmth, and life, no matter how much they seem so, are not soft, not weak. They are violent, and they burn.
Alucard opposes all the war, the blood, the revenge, proving once and for all that the Room has reached him, fulfilled its purpose. And his words—while Dracula’s drip with rage, like the blood down his fingers—are filled with the same I-know-what’s-good-and-I’m-not-leaving-till-it-comes-out his mother’s words were once laced with. Echoing behind every sunstruck syllable is his mother’s I want to save people.
And they understand at last that rooms aren’t the only things with purposes.
Dracula has been undead before, but this death is different; this is more than a living death, death is a living thing in him.
Death has its strings wrapped around the vampire king’s wrists, plugged into his chest. This war, the cold, the death, and the emptiness, are all he wants, all he is now.
The Castle’s consciousness thrashes between the two sides; between Dracula’s black anger and Alucard’s golden hope.
And anger wins.
The Castle is used to being spattered with blood, but when the boy’s—
—Adrian, who laughed, who played pretend, and showed them what ‘happy’ was, Alucard, the reverse of Dracula, who let the light in—
—blood is spilled by its master, the boy’s father, the one who created him and his light-strewn world, who laughed, and played with him, and painted the walls, and walked amongst the stars, who should know more than anyone he is worth listening to—
Castlevania thinks it might not like the cold, the dark, the empty, or the blood at all anymore.
The red stain is an unbearable itch it’s hopeless to scratch. The blood burns like acid on its floors, a brand of this war, this death, this emptiness burned upon its flank, as if making it remember its original purpose and habit, and who it is meant to obey. It wants to collapse on the floor, to writhe and scream and clutch at the place where it hurts.
But castles do not cry. They do not scream. They do not ache.
It can only be a reflection, can only do what its master wants; be an instrument of war. That is all. It can only obey, and try to remember what it liked about the color black.
Alucard—still alive, thank whatever gods might be out there—cannot stay in these blackened halls anymore, and neither can the sunlight. When he leaves, he takes with him all the things he brought inside.
Dracula shuts the door to the Room; he hides the walls he painted, the toys she stitched, the stars they gazed at, the books they fell asleep to together, and the window where the boy danced in the light, like he’s playing peekaboo; if he covers his eyes, the outside world will stop existing…or in this case, the inside one. As if it lying dormant will allow the emptiness to swallow it, and it to become a part of the Castle again. As if he’s trying to forget the very life he’s going to war for. Like he can silence his own heart, tell it that it doesn’t, doesn’t, doesn’t beat anymore. He hides the only pocket of heaven that ever existed in his finely crafted hell, and tries to pretend that there was never any laughter, any light here, and they can all forget what it was to be happy.
The Castle wonders if this is what it feels like when people try to lock away the best parts of themselves because they ache.
But the Room has become something more now. It has always been different, separate. It was never just not-cold, not-dark, not-empty, not-dead. It was not a negative. It was warm, light, full, and alive. And that doesn’t just go away. Its very existence defies being swallowed. It has always protected the thing inside it against the blood and the dark and the death, and it cannot, will not, accept them now. It enjoyed playing make-believe with the boy, but this isn’t pretend, imagination, the Room knows what is real, and this is a lie, and the Room will not stand for it, will not accept the thought that it never existed, never held any sunlight, that there was never any laughter here. It is alive, and it can only sleep, not retreat back into a state of nonexistence. It is not dead, and will not just sit still; it shivers in the cold and the dark. It may be lonely without the boy, but it will not just sit there in silence, or else get down on itself, quietly mourning the boy’s departure, thinking there is nothing it can do. It knows Alucard is coming back. The Room has grown up, and it doesn’t fear its master is gone forever when he leaves for a while. Its master will return, and when he does, he will fight. He will oppose the cold, the dark, and the death again, this time stronger. So no, it is not empty, just uninhabited.
And Dracula knows this. Dracula knows he cannot let the Room have a single second to breathe, because if it does, hope might just come back. So he wraps his claw around the Room’s throat and squeezes.
And it hurts. Far more than the sting of sunlight, Castlevania knows how much the Room hurts. Because, though they are separate, the Room will always be a part of the Castle. The light’s sting may have hurt, but it was passive, the side effect of medicine. This is an active, hateful, and sick. The Castle may have winced at the light’s bite. But the Room squirms within, and grapples at his grasp, fight alight, life and rage blazing in its eyes, locked on Dracula.
The books cough until their lungs bleed, the toys whine until their voices break, the drawings beat against the walls they’re upon until their skin rips open, the stars twinkle until they can’t open their eyes, and the the painting of that child in the arms of his mother and father, ‘happy,’ hangs limp on the wall with its tongue cut out. The Room burns in the middle of the Castle.
I won’t forget. Castlevania says fervently, shaking its head. I won’t forget Lisa. I won’t forget Alucard. I won’t who they were when they were together. I won’t forget what it was to be happy. I won’t forget who I was in the light. I won’t—
But Dracula rips them apart, the door shuts, and their connection dulls. The Castle’s own heartbeat begins fading.
The Castle gets frostbite, goes numb in the cold. It starts to go blind in the dark. The emptiness starts to rot its chest. Something in it dies.
Castles do not have hearts, but Castlevania wonders if this is what it feels like when one breaks.
And the Room suffocates.
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antihero-writings · 4 years
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If These Walls Could Talk Chapter 4: “Empty”—Castlevania (Netflix) Fic (Full Chapter!)
Fic Title: If These Walls Could Talk
Synopsis: Vampires do not have reflections, and castles do not have hearts. But Dracula is no ordinary vampire, and Castlevania is no ordinary castle. If castles can fight, maybe they can think too.
The series, and Adrian’s childhood, told from the perspective of the castle.
Chapter Title: “Empty”
Chapter summary: “He’s gone mad. And from that, there is no recovering him…It’s a tragedy…He could’ve changed the world. I think he might have, if Mother hadn’t died. “She’d sent him out into the world. That’s why he wasn’t there when the bishops took her…She sent him to travel… “Imagine if…the religious inquisition hadn’t proved true all of his worst instincts about humans.” “And now he’s going to use her death as an excuse to destroy the world.” “Oh, the world will still be here…But you will not be here…None of you…There will only be Dracula and his war council, and the hordes of the night… “Imagine it. A world without humans, under endless invented night. And Dracula in his castle, his revenge so horribly complete that there is nothing left to do but look out over a world without art or memory or laughter and know that he did his work well. That he did it all for love.”
Chapter 4:
The Castle doesn’t like the idea of its master going away.
They have been inseparable for such a long time now; the Castle has bent and broken and been Dracula’s castle for centuries. Its master leaves every once and a while, and he visits the woman’s home. But weeks, to months, to years without him is too long for a mirror to be apart from the thing it reflects. This is a vampire’s castle and Dracula is that vampire; he must stay inside its walls, in the cold and the dark, lest he burn. This is Dracula’s castle, and Dracula must stay within its halls. If he doesn’t…what is Castlevania after all? Just an empty tomb. A shell of something that was once living. A broken toy on the playroom floor, left there to start its dust collection after the child grew up.
Dracula never has to leave, for the Castle can take him wherever he wants to go in a flash of lightning and a rumble of dust and thunder. The idea that Vlad would travel the world like a man, all alone in the light, without his Castle, his shroud of darkness, isn’t right, to both of them, at first.
Hasn’t Castlevania done enough for its master? He is not like the boy, who needs to walk in the day. All he needs are these walls, the blood, and the night.
The woman has a way with persuasion. This was part of the trade, after all, Castlevania remembers. Dracula gave Lisa undying knowledge, and she took the immortal beakers and books—a part of Castlevania—out into the world to ‘do some good.’ (The Castle wasn’t sure quite how that worked, but she did have a knack for making good out of the patchwork pieces of evil.) It is Vlad’s turn to be given a piece of her mortality to take inside.
Lisa assures them that, just as Adrian came back more alive than ever, this will be a better form of life for Vlad too. He will have to be more careful; to stay out of the sun, to ask to be invited, to wear traveling cloaks, not royal robes, to temper his thirst, and be patient with humanity—(just as she has been with him)—but in the end he will come back clothed in gold, and it will all be worth it.
Castlevania wishes it had human hands to hold onto him, but all it has are cold stones, and mechanical bones; it cannot keep him within its walls forever, without collapsing.
Dracula kisses them goodbye with hope in one hand, promises in the other, two rays of sunlight ever in his heart, saying he’ll be back.
And he doesn’t come back that night. That morning. The next.
When Adrian left, the Room understood the meaning of the words ‘I miss you.’ It realized what it was to be empty—that is, in that it was once once full, and was missing something. After all those years, Castlevania too finally understands the true meaning of all those words once used to describe it: ‘lonely,’ ‘dark,’ ‘cold,’ and ‘empty.’ It was those things, it never felt those things itself before.
Dracula may have been cold and dark and undead, but he brought life of a sort to the Castle. He made it breathe, its heart beat. Just his footsteps in the halls was a comfort, a kind of music—be it mechanical and half-dead. And finally he talked to the walls. ‘Emptiness’ for it is was an adjective, not a noun; it was an outfit it wore, not a feeling etched deep within the walls in a place no one could ever really touch.
It didn’t know what it was like to lose your purpose, what a hopeless existence it is for a mirror to be without a reflection.
The Castle doesn’t know if it ever breathed, but it thinks it understands the breathlessness the Room must have felt without Adrian. It is big, and rich, and intricate…and hollow. It’s like there’s a hole somewhere deep inside it that cries to be filled, and can never be as long as its master is away.
But we are not alone, says the Room.
It looks up and remembers this is true; Adrian remains. Their boy. The boy who belongs to its master, the woman, and the Room together. And Castlevania likes to think he belongs to it too, in some way. The boy for whom that death-defying Room exists. The boy who stole patches of sunlight when his father wasn’t looking, who cried when when no one was listening, who brought books, toys, and drawings, lonely vampire kings, and old decrepit castles to life.
It feels cold and dark, dead and empty…until Alucard opens the windows.
The Castle is thrown into a pool of gold, and the sensation is jarring; the switching of states, temperatures so fast. Such a drastic change so quickly isn’t all right with Castlevania, especially when it is so different from how its master always dressed it. It is Dracula’s castle, that piercing, dripping stain that no light enters. It shouldn’t go out in colorful garb, it just isn’t fitting. Though perhaps the jarring change is ultimately less painful than dipping each room in slowly.
It’s that same tail-pulling sensation from when he was a boy. Except this is much worse, because it’s the whole Castle—its entire form—and he never closes them. Before it was just the Room, and the Room is a part of the Castle, so the Castle could feel its burn, but it was dulled there. When he opened the door to the Room, the light slithered out, its scales doused in poison, leaving a stinging trail as it went. But its cage was always in the Room; its venom didn’t remain in the Castle’s veins forever. Now there is no barrier between the Castle and the light, no home for the sun to crawl back to. It has been let loose, and the stones are soaked in venom, like needles all over the Castle’s body.
Its existence is now drenched in sunlight. Before long it becomes like how they painted the Room so long ago, it is a fact of life—at least while Alucard reigns, and the Castle looks completely different dressed in morning sunrise.
The sting begins to fade; the Castle becoming immune to the poison. And, after the pain ebbs, the Castle can look at itself objectively, and thinks somewhere deep beneath its walls, in a place it would never share, that maybe this change is not a bad thing.
The Room breathes deeper than ever before, enough to laugh. Grinning it turns to the Castle, as if saying Feels good doesn’t it?
Castlevania looks away.
There was so much it didn’t notice about itself before. The gold on the carpets shimmers, it knows now that mirrors glitter, and how much dust was on the bookshelves—(Adrian is sure to brush it off)—it knows now why others put pictures on the walls; because the stones are so bare and uninteresting in the light, and the fires are such a aggressive light and heat compared to the soft blanket of warmth over the world, like snowfall transforming all.
It knows now why humans like to go out during the day.
It is a different kind of life. It isn’t like the science Vlad used to make it breathe and beat. This is softer, quieter, warmer. Less mechanical more…real. It doesn’t mean Vlad’s method of bringing it to life was bad or wrong, nor that Alucard’s is good, or right, it’s just different. And maybe different is okay for now.
The boy looks different too.
Adrian’s features are illuminated, his expressions dance in ray and shadow, his hair is like liquid gold draining across his shoulders, his eyes flicker and dance like candlelight.
And he doesn’t burn.
Adrian reads books in the sun, and he practices magic and sword in the sun, he drinks tea and wine—not blood—in the softly lit kitchen, polishes the shelves, makes sure everything works properly, and sits on the balconies and lets the wind brush through his hair, all in the sun, in the sun. Sometimes he leaves to go outside, into towns, to get rid of a monster or two, but mostly he leaves to visit his mother. Even when he does, the world is left in a satisfied glow.
His golden hair and eyes are no longer a bright spot on a dark canvas, but a reflection of his universe. His parents may have built his universe long ago, but he has spread his Room throughout Castlevania, conquered the multiverses around him, claiming them for his own, until the Castle doesn’t know which of them is which anymore.
The gold dripping through the halls reminds the Castle of that word from long ago, the one used to describe the baby in the painting: “happy.” It may be a pale echo of the world back then, when all three of them there, but the Castle is well versed in the world of reflections, and knows there is a world in which they don’t exist, and an echo may not be the real thing, but it will satisfy as a substitute.
Those times are quiet, with fewer raids, fewer pitchforks, shoutings and fires, because people like Alucard. They didn’t like Dracula, but Alucard is not Dracula. And Castlevania could enjoy the excitement…but the quiet is nice for a while.
Even so, the quiet does remind it of what, who, is absent. The Castle misses its master. The boy, the sun, the change, may help, but that fact will always remain at the back of its consciousness. There will always be some emptinesses that cannot be filled with substitutes. It misses its master, wants him to come back. Even so, it thinks it may be able to last a few months longer in the sun. Until Vlad returns, at least.
And he does.
Dracula does return. And when he does, he is not the same. But not in the way they were expecting; he does not arrive full of life, spreading his newfound spirit throughout the halls—as Alucard’s glowing return made them anticipate. He doesn’t come with a new name and tales of how he defeated monsters and made friends, he doesn’t return with a new perspective, and a handful of smiles. He returns, but it’s almost as if he still hasn’t. He is more dead than Castlevania has ever seen him. As if the sun burned him after all. But it burned something deep beneath his skin.
There is no joyful banquet of welcome. He does not kiss their cheeks, hug them and whisper into their ears I missed you so, my Castle, my Sunlight. He does not come bearing gifts for his son, nor decorations for his Castle, from afar. He does not sigh and say it’s good to be home and remember his purpose.
Castlevania may not have ever breathed, but there was something like it when Vlad was here. He brought it to life somehow. Castle’s cannot speak but it felt they had a way of communicating somehow. Mirrors cannot speak either, but we hear their words all the same. But Dracula doesn’t talk to the walls anymore. And he cannot hear his Castle’s reply.
He marches in all too quickly, a purpose in his stride. But it’s not a fulfilling purpose, like that of the Room, nor a reflective purpose, like that of the Castle, rather it’s the emptiness before. Emptiness, yes… but not like before. Not the adjective, the outfit from his previous reign, not the noun, the feeling from when he was gone, instead it is a verb; it is something active. It’s more than just a lack of something; something grew, came alive in and of the lack. It’s a hungry emptiness, like the humans’ fire set to swallow everything deemed unworthy. The Castle has worn emptiness before, but this is different…or maybe it is different now.
Vlad left as a man, walking on his own feet, taking the slower path, but he comes back as a vampire, teleporting in a flash of flame, forgetting that he has legs that would like to carry him to distant lands, and hands that would like to touch the world, and eyes that would like to see the scenery.
The once light-laced windows shutter at his arrival, the curtains slam shut, as if the Castle got a chill at his footsteps. As if they were doing something wrong, and had to shut it down as fast as possible. Every single one of them shivers, closes, dares not refuse their master.
All except the those in the Room. Those in the Room do not shudder or shut down. Dracula is not their master. They will not obey. They cannot do much to protest the night, but they will do what they can; they will stand open and unafraid of the dark.
Castle’s can’t get slapped in the face, but if they could, this is what it probably would feel like.
Coming home without the home in his heart…like Castlevania isn’t home for him anymore.
They were learning how to change together; its master was supposed to return full of life. Together they were meant to feel the light’s sting, together they were meant to learn to live in it. To see the true state of their world, without the darkness to cover it up. Instead he came back empty, all that life he gained while Lisa and Adrian were here used up, stolen away from him by a cruel world. The Castle wasn’t worried about the humans ransacking what little light existed in Dracula, as they feared with Alucard—surely Vlad could only gain, he did not have enough in him to lose.
Castlevania understands now what it should have done; it should have collapsed all its walls to keep him inside.
It is far worse to know the light, and have it snatched away, than to only know the dark.
The Castle would be happy to at least have its master back, regardless if the experiment succeeded…But it isn’t sure it does.
Dracula has been angry before, but anger was a thing to take outside and deal with, not bring inside. The Castle is, for the most part, a quiet, soft place for him to spend his time, to contemplate, and learn, to experiment in, not to brood in rage. Rage was for the outside world. Inside may have been cold, dark and empty but it was serenity.
The darkness and the cold and the death this Castle once transmitted are no longer a radio station to be changed with the flick of a dial. These qualities have infected Dracula’s very being, it seeps out of him with every waxing and waning footstep, it oozes out of him as he sits in his study—no longer in quiet contemplation, but an unrest that is so loud it resonates perfectly with everything Castlevania is made of. It resonates so perfectly it reminds Castlevania of everything it once was when the vampire king ruled, tuning, turning it back into something that cares not for the color gold, and the discrepancies between its existence then and now melt away into before. It resonates perfectly with everything Castlevania is made of…and it thinks it just might shatter.
—(And maybe that would be a good thing, because it would let the light in. Maybe that’s the only way to let the light in now)—
The emptiness the Castle was before, the emptiness the Castle felt when Dracula first left has swallowed its master, and Dracula is now not a thing to reflect, but a negative space on the pages, a black hole that takes in all light and life and devours it. He walks in, not as its master who brought it to life, returning that life to the emptiness, filling those places the light still couldn’t reach, those places ever missing him… but as an empty shell that cannot fill anything, and only makes them all emptier they longer they look at him.
Dracula has been undead before. But that was undead; not quite alive, not quite dead either—and he could swing to either side. This is different.
With one swipe he rips off all the gold the Castle wore just yesterday like thieves in the night, leaving it broke and naked on the highway, and such a drastic change so quickly sends it lying on the floor in shock, one question dying on open lips, tears draining down its cheeks:
Why?!
When he left so full, what could have taken all that away? What could have taken away even what little life he had before it all? Did the world chip away at him slowly, or was it one event that kidnapped his life? What, who did they need to destroy?
Then, as Dracula marches into the library with the big broken mirror, and talks to a crowd of humans with tongues of a fire, it learns:
It is the woman. The woman who knocked on the Castle door all those years ago with the pommel of her knife. The woman with the soft hands and the defiant heart. The only human who was sweet in more than taste. Lisa, who brought sunlight into the darkest reaches of the Castle.
Vlad’s wife has been taken from him.
Dracula’s life has been taken from him.
The sanguine nature of humanity. Their penchant for setting things on fire. The ravenous nature of those flames. Vampires are known for being bloodthirsty, but the Castle always knew their thirst never compared to that of humanity. Vampires are known for catching on fire but she was never turned, and did she need to burn?
The world has taken the woman, and, worse, its master’s life away, and the Castle is more than willing to go to war for it. It agrees humanity must die for such a crime.
Hating and blaming the world, the humans who once scratched at the doors and howled at the moon is better than facing the thing deep inside Castlevania that tells it it’s all its fault. All its fault for letting her take pieces of it outside.
After all, it was the parts of Castlevania—the beakers and books—which she took outside to help people, to ‘do some good,’ which got her killed. So maybe its master is right that they can’t be helped. Maybe there isn’t any good in the world after all.
But something is still here. The Room says, once again. Someone.
Yes, she brought life into this place, and much of that life would leave with her. But have you forgotten that there is a life that cannot be taken away with her? That they created life within your miserable walls and that life, well, lives? Remember that a piece of her is still here, and you don’t have to pretend death is all that’s left.
The Room sees that the boy’s father is cold, and dark, empty, and dead. But unlike the Castle as a whole, for which these words are outfits to wear, facts of life, the Room has learned these are problems, and there are solutions to them. Solutions which the boy can enact.
He is dark. Observes the Room.
It ponders what to do with dark things.
So open a window, it tells Adrian. Let the sunlight in.
The Room’s window has always been open, and it does not know the flammable nature of full-blooded vampires. But starlight is a kind of light too.
He is cold. Observes the Room.
It ponders what to do with cold things.
So hold him. It tells his son. Like he did for you, all those years ago, when you were a tiny, bawling thing.
He is dead. Observes the Room.
It ponders what to do with dead things. The Room sits and thinks and begins to despair, for it does not know how to bring the dead to life.
The Castle takes a deep breath, and finally speaks up;
You opened the windows and cast the darkness away. It tells Alucard. You let the sun in and warmed my halls.
So take that gold, form it into a cloak, and dress him in it. Teach him what your universe looks like, what I looked like, when you were here.
Take him by the arm, and walk with him out into the stars, call them by name, like he, you and your mother did, long ago.
Go to him. Hold him. And don’t let go.
Lisa brought life to this place. You are the life they created. You are their legacy. You are the one life her death cannot take away.
If you can do that for me, if you can bring this old, wretched castle to life, you can reanimate your father too. All you need to do is remind him that you are here.
The Castle hopes, somewhere in the back of its mind it dreams, he can still come back to life. It is his reflection, after all; surely what worked for the Castle can work for Dracula.
But…it is his reflection, after all. And as Alucard marches through the halls, and while the Room continues to urge the boy to go to his father, the Castle digs its nails into its palm until it bleeds, biting back against the anger bubbling inside it even so, knowing that war cries cannot be rewound so easily.
The boy answers their call, though maybe not in the way they expect. No…it is better than some loving display.
He does not open the windows, but he does open a door, and when he walks in, his face is barely visible, not because it’s dark, but because he is draped, surrounded in light, like the sun itself is behind his decree. The light has followed him from his room, slithered along the halls, and formed itself into wings on his back. His tone is firm and defiant, and as he confronts him, Lisa’s voice rings through the halls.
And the Castle understands now that light, warmth, and life, no matter how much they seem so, are not soft, not weak. They are violent, and they burn.
Alucard opposes all the war, the blood, the revenge, proving once and for all that the Room has reached him, fulfilled its purpose. And his words—while Dracula’s drip with rage, like the blood down his fingers—are filled with the same I-know-what’s-good-and-I’m-not-leaving-till-it-comes-out his mother’s words were once laced with. Echoing behind every sunstruck syllable is his mother’s I want to save people.
And they understand at last that rooms aren’t the only things with purposes.
Dracula has been undead before, but this death is different; this is more than a living death, death is a living thing in him.
Death has its strings wrapped around the vampire king’s wrists, plugged into his chest. This war, the cold, the death, and the emptiness, are all he wants, all he is now.
The Castle’s consciousness thrashes between the two sides; between Dracula’s black anger and Alucard’s golden hope.
And anger wins.
The Castle is used to being spattered with blood, but when the boy’s—
—Adrian, who laughed, who played pretend, and showed them what ‘happy’ was, Alucard, the reverse of Dracula, who let the light in—
—blood is spilled by its master, the boy’s father, the one who created him and his light-strewn world, who laughed, and played with him, and painted the walls, and walked amongst the stars, who should know more than anyone he is worth listening to—
Castlevania thinks it might not like the cold, the dark, the empty, or the blood at all anymore.
The red stain is an unbearable itch it’s hopeless to scratch. The blood burns like acid on its floors, a brand of this war, this death, this emptiness burned upon its flank, as if making it remember its original purpose and habit, and who it is meant to obey. It wants to collapse on the floor, to writhe and scream and clutch at the place where it hurts.
But castles do not cry. They do not scream. They do not ache.
It can only be a reflection, can only do what its master wants; be an instrument of war. That is all. It can only obey, and try to remember what it liked about the color black.
Alucard—still alive, thank whatever gods might be out there—cannot stay in these blackened halls anymore, and neither can the sunlight. When he leaves, he takes with him all the things he brought inside.
Dracula shuts the door to the Room; he hides the walls he painted, the toys she stitched, the stars they gazed at, the books they fell asleep to together, and the window where the boy danced in the light, like he’s playing peekaboo; if he covers his eyes, the outside world will stop existing…or in this case, the inside one. As if it lying dormant will allow the emptiness to swallow it, and it to become a part of the Castle again. As if he’s trying to forget the very life he’s going to war for. Like he can silence his own heart, tell it that it doesn’t, doesn’t, doesn’t beat anymore. He hides the only pocket of heaven that ever existed in his finely crafted hell, and tries to pretend that there was never any laughter, any light here, and they can all forget what it was to be happy.
The Castle wonders if this is what it feels like when people try to lock away the best parts of themselves because they ache.
But the Room has become something more now. It has always been different, separate. It was never just not-cold, not-dark, not-empty, not-dead. It was not a negative. It was warm, light, full, and alive. And that doesn’t just go away. Its very existence defies being swallowed. It has always protected the thing inside it against the blood and the dark and the death, and it cannot, will not, accept them now. It enjoyed playing make-believe with the boy, but this isn’t pretend, imagination, the Room knows what is real, and this is a lie, and the Room will not stand for it, will not accept the thought that it never existed, never held any sunlight, that there was never any laughter here. It is alive, and it can only sleep, not retreat back into a state of nonexistence. It is not dead, and will not just sit still; it shivers in the cold and the dark. It may be lonely without the boy, but it will not just sit there in silence, or else get down on itself, quietly mourning the boy’s departure, thinking there is nothing it can do. It knows Alucard is coming back. The Room has grown up, and it doesn’t fear its master is gone forever when he leaves for a while. Its master will return, and when he does, he will fight. He will oppose the cold, the dark, and the death again, this time stronger. So no, it is not empty, just uninhabited.
And Dracula knows this. Dracula knows he cannot let the Room have a single second to breathe, because if it does, hope might just come back. So he wraps his claw around the Room’s throat and squeezes.
And it hurts. Far more than the sting of sunlight, Castlevania knows how much the Room hurts. Because, though they are separate, the Room will always be a part of the Castle. The light’s sting may have hurt, but it was passive, the side effect of medicine. This is an active, hateful, and sick. The Castle may have winced at the light’s bite. But the Room squirms within, and grapples at his grasp, fight alight, life and rage blazing in its eyes, locked on Dracula.
The books cough until their lungs bleed, the toys whine until their voices break, the drawings beat against the walls they’re upon until their skin rips open, the stars twinkle until they can’t open their eyes, and the the painting of that child in the arms of his mother and father, ‘happy,’ hangs limp on the wall with its tongue cut out. The Room burns in the middle of the Castle.
I won’t forget. Castlevania says fervently, shaking its head. I won’t forget Lisa. I won’t forget Alucard. I won’t who they were when they were together. I won’t forget what it was to be happy. I won’t forget who I was in the light. I won’t—
But Dracula rips them apart, the door shuts, and their connection dulls. The Castle’s own heartbeat begins fading.
The Castle gets frostbite, goes numb in the cold. It starts to go blind in the dark. The emptiness starts to rot its chest. Something in it dies.
Castles do not have hearts, but Castlevania wonders if this is what it feels like when one breaks.
And the Room suffocates.
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gadgetgirl71 · 4 years
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Amazon First Reads for June 2020
I know I say this every single month, but I can’t get over how quickly the last month has gone. Meaning that for Amazon Prime Members we get to choose which Amazon First Read were going to download for free. Again this month as most months there are eight books to choose from.
This months choices are:
Suspense 
The Bone Jar by S W Kane, Pages: 328, Publication Date: 1 July 2020
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Synopsis: Two murders. An abandoned asylum. Will a mysterious former patient help untangle the dark truth?
The body of an elderly woman has been found in the bowels of a derelict asylum on the banks of the Thames. As Detective Lew Kirby and his partner begin their investigation, another body is discovered in the river nearby. How are the two murders connected?
Before long, the secrets of Blackwater Asylum begin to reveal themselves. There are rumours about underground bunkers and secret rooms, unspeakable psychological experimentation, and a dark force that haunts the ruins, trying to pull back in all those who attempt to escape. Urban explorer Connie Darke, whose sister died in a freak accident at the asylum, is determined to help Lew expose its grisly past. Meanwhile Lew discovers a devastating family secret that threatens to turn his life upside down.
As his world crumbles around him, Lew must put the pieces of the puzzle together to keep the killer from striking again. Only an eccentric former patient really knows the truth—but will he reveal it to Lew before it’s too late?
Contemporary Fiction
Someone Else’s Secret by Julia Spiro, Pages: 363, Publication Date: 1 July 2020
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Synopsis: Here’s the thing about secrets: they change shape over time, become blurry with memory, until the truth is nearly lost.
2009. Lindsey and Georgie have high hopes for their summer on Martha’s Vineyard. In the wake of the recession, ambitious college graduate Lindsey accepts a job as a nanny for an influential family who may help her land a position in Boston’s exclusive art world. Georgie, the eldest child in that family, is nearly fifteen and eager to find herself, dreaming of independence and yearning for first love.
Over the course of that formative summer, the two young women develop a close bond. Then, one night by the lighthouse, a shocking act occurs that ensnares them both in the throes of a terrible secret. Their budding friendship is shattered, and neither one can speak of what happened that night for ten long years.
Until now. Lindsey and Georgie must confront the past after all this time. Their quest for justice will require costly sacrifices, but it also might give them the closure they need to move on. All they know for sure is that when the truth is revealed, their lives will be forever changed once again.
From a fresh voice in fiction, this poignant and timely novel explores the strength and nuance of female friendship, the cost of ambition, and the courage it takes to speak the truth.
Mystery
Never Look Back by Mary Burton, Pages: 332, Publication Date: 1 July 2020
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Synopsis: Expect the unexpected in this gritty, tense, and page-turning mystery from New York Times bestselling author Mary Burton.
After multiple women go missing, Agent Melina Shepard of the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation makes the impulsive decision to go undercover as a prostitute. While working the street, she narrowly avoids becoming a serial killer’s latest victim; as much as it pains her to admit, she needs backup.
Enter lone wolf FBI agent Jerrod Ramsey. Stonewalled by a lack of leads, he and Melina investigate a scene where a little girl has been found abandoned in a crashed vehicle. They open the trunk to reveal a horror show and quickly realise they’re dealing with two serial killers with very different MOs. The whole situation brings back memories for Melina—why does this particular case feel so connected to her painful past?
Before time runs out, Melina must catch not one but two serial killers, both ready to claim another victim—and both with their sights set on her.
Thriller
Find Me by Anne Frasier, Pages: 286, Publication Date: 1 July 2020
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Synopsis: A bone-chilling family history is unearthed in a heart-stopping thriller by New York Times bestselling author Anne Frasier.
Convicted serial killer Benjamin Fisher has finally offered to lead San Bernardino detective Daniel Ellis to the isolated graves of his victims. One catch: he’ll only do it if FBI profiler Reni Fisher, his estranged daughter, accompanies them. As hard as it is to exhume her traumatic childhood, Reni can’t say no. She still feels complicit in her father’s crimes.
Perfect to play a lost little girl, Reni was the bait to lure unsuspecting women to their deaths. It’s time for closure. For her. For the families. And for Daniel. He shares Reni’s obsession with the past. Ever since he was a boy, he’s been convinced that his mother was one of Fisher’s victims.
Thirty years of bad memories are flooding back. A master manipulator has gained their trust. For Reni and Daniel, this isn’t the end of a nightmare. It’s only the beginning.
Book Club Fiction
The Lending Library by Aliza Fogelson, Pages: 295, Publication Date: 1 July 2020
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Synopsis: For fans of Jane Green and Loretta Nyhan, a heartwarming debut novel about a daydreamer who gives her town, and herself, an amazing gift: a lending library in her sun-room.
When the Chatsworth library closes indefinitely, Dodie Fairisle loses her sanctuary. How is a small-town art teacher supposed to cope without the never-ending life advice and enjoyment that books give her? Well, when she’s as resourceful and generous as Dodie, she turns her sun-room into her very own little lending library.
At first just a hobby, this lit lovers’ haven opens up her world in incredible ways. She knows books are powerful, and soon enough they help her forge friendships between her zany neighbours—and attract an exciting new romance.
But when the chance to adopt an orphaned child brings Dodie’s secret dream of motherhood within reach, everything else suddenly seems less important. Finding herself at a crossroads, Dodie must figure out what it means to live a full, happy life. If only there were a book that could tell her what to do…
Historical Fiction
Opium and Absinthe by Lydia Kang, Pages: 379, Publication Date: 1 July 2020
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Synopsis: From the bestselling author of A Beautiful Poison comes another spellbinding historical novel full of intrigue, occult mystery, and unexpected twists.
New York City, 1899. Tillie Pembroke’s sister lies dead, her body drained of blood and with two puncture wounds on her neck. Bram Stoker’s new novel, Dracula, has just been published, and Tillie’s imagination leaps to the impossible: the murderer is a vampire. But it can’t be—can it?
A ravenous reader and researcher, Tillie has something of an addiction to truth, and she won’t rest until she unravels the mystery of her sister’s death. Unfortunately, Tillie’s addicted to more than just truth; to ease the pain from a recent injury, she’s taking more and more laudanum…and some in her immediate circle are happy to keep her well supplied.
Tillie can’t bring herself to believe vampires exist. But with the hysteria surrounding her sister’s death, the continued vampiric slayings, and the opium swirling through her body, it’s becoming increasingly difficult for a girl who relies on facts and figures to know what’s real—or whether she can trust those closest to her.
Epic Fantasy
Scarlet Odyssey by C T Rwizi, Pages: 534, Publication Date: 1 July 2020
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Synopsis: Magic is women’s work; war is men’s. But in the coming battle, none of that will matter.
Men do not become mystics. They become warriors. But eighteen-year-old Salo has never been good at conforming to his tribe’s expectations. For as long as he can remember, he has loved books and magic in a culture where such things are considered unmanly. Despite it being sacrilege, Salo has worked on a magical device in secret that will awaken his latent magical powers. And when his village is attacked by a cruel enchantress, Salo knows that it is time to take action.
Salo’s queen is surprisingly accepting of his desire to be a mystic, but she will not allow him to stay in the tribe. Instead, she sends Salo on a quest. The quest will take him thousands of miles north to the Jungle City, the political heart of the continent. There he must gather information on a growing threat to his tribe.
On the way to the city, he is joined by three fellow outcasts: a shunned female warrior, a mysterious nomad, and a deadly assassin. But they’re being hunted by the same enchantress who attacked Salo’s village. She may hold the key to Salo’s awakening—and his redemption.
Children’s Picture Book
Kat and Juju by Kataneh Vahdani, Pages: 40, Publication Date: 1 July 2020
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Synopsis: An unlikely duo star in a charming story about being different, finding courage, and the importance of friendship in the first book in a new series from an award-winning animation director.
Kat likes doing things her very own way, but sometimes she doubts herself. So when a bird named Juju arrives, Kat hopes he’ll be the best friend she’s always wanted. He’s outgoing and silly and doesn’t worry about what others think—the opposite of who she is. Bit by bit, with Juju’s help, Kat discovers her strength, and how to have a friend and be one—while still being true to herself.
*** Which book will you choose? I chose “Opium and Absinthe” as soon as I saw the cover I knew that was this book I had to choose. Let me know which book you choose. ***
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Dracula uncovered: We talk to cocreator Mark Gatiss about that episode two twist
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As the BBC’s blood-draining drama concludes tonight, we talk to the show’s cocreator about the two episodes so far: how they originally planned to set the second episode in the Seventies, how Dracula could make a second-series comeback, and that twist...
GQ: First, congratulations on the on the huge success of Dracula so far. You must be thrilled with the reception...
Mark Gatiss: Yes, well, I don’t honestly read reviews. But I’ve seen it’s got five stars and so on, so I don’t have to! What I like more than anything is getting a sense of a buzz, a lovely sense of something happening, which is always nice.
GQ: So the big twist at the end of the second episode is that, after the period setting of the first two episodes, the third is set in the present day. Dracula AD 2020, if you will...
MG: [Laughs.] Everyone’s saying that!
GQ: Was that always going to be the case?
MG: Yes, it was. Steven [Moffat, cocreator] sent me a picture the other day – it was one of those Timehop pictures – and it was actually three years since we went out for lunch to literally start thrashing it out. Our very earliest idea was to do episode one and was sort of a very tight, 90-minute version of the novel. Episode two would be something like Dracula at 1972 – sort of period but modernised. And three would be completely modern day. But then we talked about how it would be a shame to feel like we got through Bram Stoker in one episode and that maybe the best way to look at it was to try to do the book in three episodes. But do each one very distinct. The idea came with doing [second episode] "Blood Vessel" based entirely on four pages of the book, just expanding this this marvellous idea [of Dracula sailing to England], and then we can have this twist which no one would see coming. And incredibly we got away with it. I really thought it would leak. But no one saw it coming and I'm so pleased, as we live in such a spoilery age.
GQ: The second episode is almost like Snakes On A Plane, only Dracula On A Boat...
MG: [Laughs.] That was the working title...
GQ: But also a bit Murder On The Orient Express. Again, on a boat...
MG: Well, the problem was, and in the first draft actually, he [Dracula] was more hidden, literally hiding in the box and appearing nightly to knock people off. And we can't do this. We've promised ourselves to foreground the character more. So what if he was just hiding in plain sight? What if he was just one of the passengers, and as soon as you do that, then it becomes a list of potential suspects. Except it's like Colombo – we know who the murderer is! And yet he’s also like the detective.
GQ: Very quickly, I really want to know who wrote the very funny line from the first episode, “You should never rush a nun”?
MG: I think that was one of Steven’s. Yes, definitely one of Steven’s.
GQ: So, naturally I don’t want you to give anything away that would count as a spoiler, but can you give us any idea of how the time leap happens from the ship going down at the end of the second episode to Dracula arriving on the coast in the modern day? I trust he hasn’t been just walking on the seabed really slowly all that time...
MG: [Laughs.] No, no, he's just been in the box longer than he thought.
GQ: A really terrifying element of the first episode was the undead victims of Dracula nailed into wooden boxes for eternity. How did you come upon that particularly nightmarish scenario?
MG: It was partly inspired by The Hunger, a fantastic Tony Scott horror film with Catherine Deneuve and David Bowie. It’s not quite the same idea but her lovers all reach a point after several hundred years where they start to decay and she doesn't. And so she puts them away in the attic. It’s very moving, a wonderful film. With Dracula, there's some sadness to it. But it came from our initial discussion. Why is Dracula special? What are the rules of the beast? That’s why the episode is called that. You know, there's so many things... he’s simultaneously all powerful and also vulnerable to practically anything. You know, I don’t know how he gets out of bed. He can’t cross running water, he can’t touch hawthorn, sunlight, crucifixes... so we just had to figure out just what our rules are. And then that became a very exciting thing, with Agatha [the nun] saying why can’t he come in uninvited? Maybe there’s more to it... And so part of that is that he’s different, he’s the best of them, he chooses people very carefully and literally absorbs their talent.
GQ: As you say, you have, with these rules, a kind of fun with this idea of these were seemingly disconnected things in the first episode where you have to start with the idea of: are they all part of the same thing? You know that all these things that seemed to be not connected at all. But are they? Do you get to the bottom of that in the final episode?
MG: Yes.
GQ: I’m guessing you’re not going to tell me any more...
MG: No…
GQ: Fair enough. I know Dracula doesn’t exactly lend itself to an ongoing Sherlock-like series. But does that necessarily mean that there couldn't be another three films later on down the line?
MG: Well, Dracula tends to come back, doesn’t he? I mean, certainly, it's interesting. It's not what Stoker ever had in mind. Well, actually, the truth is, Dracula was a success. But the book was not the sort of success we imagine it to be until after he died. If he'd known how much of a success it [would] be [he'd have] definitely written a sequel! But Dracula is a strange book. It's very haphazard. The first third is extremely good but the rest is uneven. There’s an interview he [Stoker] gave to an American paper where he vaguely talks about a sequel set in America, interestingly... And in the series of films he does come back a lot.
GQ: It’s quite graphic. People get beheaded, a baby gets turned into one of the undead at one point... Was there any part you got pushback from the BBC on?
MG: The baby in the carpet bag is actually in the novel. It’s a ghastly little moment and it’s not done very often [in adaptations]. Dracula had brought it as a little tit-bit for his bride. We had a lot of discussions but there wasn't much pushback really about gore. Really, I was thrilled with how much we got away with. But it's funny, isn't it? The thing that caused most people sleepless nights was the fingernails falling off. And no one is going to send a memo saying, “I'm afraid we can't have people pulling their fingernails off at nine o’clock on BBC One”, because it’s not the most horrific thing in it. And yet it is, isn’t it? But we wanted to make it properly scary. My favourite bit of episode one is where Harker uncovers the vampires in the boxes and is chased into Dracula’s tomb and then Dracula rises up from it. It’s pure Hammer Horror.
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maknaes-and-hyungs · 6 years
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Embarrased Ghost
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Pairing: Lin Yanjun x Reader
Group: Idol Producer
AU: Soulmate!AU {I didn’t see you wanted a soulmate one until my friend read the request, but luckily my plan I already had could easily fit!}
Genre: Fluff
Note: I’m sorry this took so long, but I went to NYC over the last weekend then my keyboard died cause I use a wireless one (mine on my laptop is broke) and I only just got batteries. Anyways let me say I fell in love with Yanjun these last episodes too and especially during this prank cause he was so adorable. Anyways I hope you enjoy!~Rin
P.S. I’m making this the first thing he said to you rather than are you hungry cause I like this better so keep that in mind.
Request: Hi, I love your idol producer writings and am so glad to see you taking requests!! Would you mind writing a soulmate au for Lin Yanjun? I fell in love with him after these last few episodes and especially the firewalking stage   
“That’s the first time I’ve seen a ghost that’s so disappointed.” Yanjun laughed at you fully displaying his dimples as you slinked back behind the curtain,“Disappointed”. In reality you were trying really hard to process what you had just heard come out of the silver haired boy’s mouth. Luckily he was the last trainee and you were allowed to get out of your costume and make up.
You threw off the fake bloodied sheet that you wore and pulled up the sleeve of the shirt that you had on beneath it. The words that ran the length of your forearm were no longer black, but now a shimmering gold that had you mesmerized. In reality you thought that they would never change, because in what situation would your soulmate ever say
“That’s the first time I’ve seen a ghost that’s so disappointed."
. You were sure it was a cruel joke played on you by the universe for something that you had done in a previous incarnation, not that you believed in those but maybe.
If someone were to ask if you were happy you might not say yes, because it seemed like Yanjun didn’t like you at all. After being his make up artist for three months those were the first words you ever heard him speak. Everyone else always chatted extensively with their make up artist and those around them, but Yanjun always seemed to go quiet the second he stepped into the make up room. Even if you heard him laughing about with the other trainees as they came down the hallway, it seemed that when he crossed the threshold and saw you he was drained of all joy.
However, here you were running your hand over the gilded words in wonderment that the cold boy was your one and only soulmate. Maybe he had already figured out that you were his and he was upset by the idea. But then you weren’t all that talkative in general and you were sure that you would never be the first to speak up, especially to someone as stunning as Yanjun. You were also sure that you had never even told him to close his eyes, because he was the perfect client and always did everything exactly the way you wanted him to without a word spoken.
“Y/N! Go get that face paint washed off and go to the make up room. The boys wanted to have an artist copy a picture of a look on one trainee while another trainee does it to yet another.” Your boss pushed you towards the bathroom where you cleaned up before heading off to find the three trainees.
“Oh look she’s here now we can get started. Do you know what we are doing?” Bu Fan turned to you as you entered the room and you noticed both Fan Chengcheng, and to your luck, Lin Yanjun sitting in the make up chairs. After internally groaning you gave a nod to Bu Fan making sure not to speak in front of Yanjun.
Bu Fan handed you a picture of a woman in very complicated make up and you studied it closely before handing it back. Now that the cameras were rolling you had no time to worry about your soulmate sitting five feet away from you. Instead you switched into work mode in order to deliver the most exquisite display you could in order to shame Bu Fan.
“Since you usually do Yanjun you are going to do Chengcheng this time to maybe give me a leg up. Of course this is Chengcheng telling me this and I’m not sure if he’s just trying to avoid my amazing skills.”
“It’s actually not usually it’s always. I like how she works so I always wait until I can get her.” Upon hearing this you turned to the vanity to see what supplies they had given you or so they couldn’t see the blush that rose up. You didn’t know if they noticed or if they were being nice, but no one mentioned anything and the challenge finally started.
The whole time Chengcheng was his usual meme self and joked excessively with you. You tried to keep your composure between Yanjun being so close and all the things that Chengcheng was throwing at you to get you to break. You had made it five minutes before you burst out laughing. Whatever he had said made you drop to the ground clutching your stomach which was quite unprofessional, but you absolutely couldn’t help it.
You only stopped when you saw Yanjun give you a look that was devoid of emotion. Getting up you wiped your eyes and continued on silently although you got teased by the other boys from then on.
Nothing really excited happened until you went over to Bu Fan’s vanity to grab a brush that you didn’t seem to have. You held your breath as you brushed against Yanjun’s chair and you planned to do so until you left, but that’s when you saw them. The sleeve of his sweatshirt had ridden up and on his forearm you could see the words that were written there in black script.
Dracula muffins on a Friday
“The hell does that mean.” Everyone looked at you wide eyed and you instantly felt your face burst into flames. You bowed and began to apologize profusely at your language. Bu Fan and Chengcheng just laughed and let you off the hook while Yanjun hastily pulled his sleeve down a little embarrassed.
You were mortified as you went back to doing your job not really thinking about what had truly happened. It wasn’t till you were back at home that night that you really thought about it. You had said something different to what was on his arm and you had no clue what that would do.
Would you no longer be soulmates? Had you just messed everything up for the both of you? Had this ever happened before and if so what happened? Curious you spent all night researching, but came up empty handed. All you had was a deep gnawing fear in the pit of your stomach that you had ruined it all.
That fear only grew when you went into work the next day and Yanjun said nothing to you as usual. You presumed that nothing had changed on his arm and that you were doomed to be to soulmates who came close enough to touch but in the end went rocketing by each other. You tried to ignore it, but a weight began to crush the life out of you.
Weeks went by and Yanjun never said a word to you. Instead of love growing between you two there was only sadness flourishing within your chest. When people took note you just brushed them off and tried to get to the end of the show. Only then would you be able to truly wallow and hopefully get past this whole thing.
Except when that day came you found yourself on the verge of tears the entire day. You managed to hold it together even as you did Yanjun’s make up for what would be the last time. Stupidly, however, you couldn’t hold in your words like you could hold in your tears.
“Yanjun I just wanted to apologize for commenting on your soulmate words those weeks ago. It was ridiculously rude of me to say what I did and I just wanted to make sure I didn’t make any bad blood between us.”
“No it’s fine. I know that they are really weird words and it would’ve been hard not to comment on them I suppose.” He gave you a small smile and your heart panged as you bowed to him and he left to go on stage. You silently cleaned up your station and gathered your personal belongings without conversing with your colleagues who seemed thrilled at the successful production.
Grabbing you bag you trudged out of the building and into the parking lot. Everyone else was staying to see the final performances and the results, but your heart couldn’t hold out anymore. You thought it could’ve done better than it did though as you found yourself sliding down the building sobbing.
You curled into a ball and pulled your knees into your chest. Tears became endless as your body heaved and your world finally came crashing down. You were sobbing so loudly that you didn’t happen to hear the door next to you fling open and strike the metal wall behind it.
“Y/N!” Before you knew it your head was pulled up and you found your face held between Lin Yanjun’s soft hands. You tried to stop sobbing so he could tell you what he needed, but he only made things worse. It wasn’t until he completely caught you off guard that you were able to calm down. Yanjun pulled you into his chest and started rubbing your back slowly.
“Wha-What are you doing?”
“Y/N you’re my soulmate. After what you said I felt the need to look at my arm and the words are different. They are what you said when you saw what the had been.” How had he not noticed then when he was getting changed all this time? “You may be confused as to how I didn’t notice. The word length is the exact same as before and I’ve seen these words everyday of my life so it’s easy to ignore them.”
“So... they did change?” You pushed out of his chest and looked into his eyes hoping that you weren’t dreaming.
“Wait... did you know you were my soulmate?” He grabbed your wrist and pushed up your sleeve to see the gold that was written there. The instant he read the phrase the words burned brightly before disappearing. You could see light shining through his shirt where you knew his words were. You two were really soulmates.
“I knew since the ghost prank, but when I saw the words on your wrist and said  something different I thought we weren’t soulmates anymore. Anyways we’ve known each other for months and you never speak to me and always seem annoyed to see me.”
“I wasn’t annoyed to see you I was nervous. I thought you were so captivating and I didn’t want to speak in case I said the wrong thing and turned out to not be your soulmate. I mean how do I even get you to say Dracula muffins on Friday?” You laughed at his incredulous tone and could understand his apprehension.
“Well I guess it was more up to me so I’m the one to blame I here. What now though?”
“I take you out on a date after this whole thing is over. For now though you can come inside and watch me kill it.” Yanjun pulled out his killer dimples and pulled you up without resistance. If someone asked you if you were happy now you might not have said yes. You might’ve said you were ecstatic.
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theheadlessgroom · 3 years
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https://beatingheart-bride.tumblr.com/post/652689945279021056/beatingheart-bride-theheadlessgroom
@beatingheart-bride
Seeing the discomfort in her eyes broke Randall’s heart, and he suddenly felt like a heel for asking this question, one that (however unintentionally) had dredged up some awful old feelings for her. His heart went out to her, hearing how she struggled with that strange transition from stage to screen, and how discouraged she felt, to the point that it brought her to tears at times.
“W-Well, I can assure you,” he said gently, resisting the urge to take her hand in his to pat, wanting to comfort her, but not get too personal in doing so. “It was not a mistake to leave Broadway for Hollywood, Emily, not at all. Y-You’re such a wonderful actress! I-I never had a chance to ever see you on the stage, b-but I’ve seen you on the screen, and...i-it gives me a very good idea of what you were like back then. E-Even if you struggled, i-it didn’t show in your performance: Y-You’re so...natural!” She was effortlessly natural in her expressions, her body language, how she carried herself on the screen, and it was one of the (many) reasons Randall found her such a delight to watch.
“I-I’m just sorry to hear that you felt so stressed out w-when you were making Poor Cinderella,” he finished gently, fully prepared to offer her his handkerchief should she need it. “I...I’m terrible sorry, Emily.”
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