Vanitas × Noé

Thrall

Naenia's hands were on his cheeks, pressing hard and forcing him to look into her abyssal white eyes. She'd never gotten so close before, always too afraid of the Book. But the Book was out of reach, lying forgotten in the street while Vanitas was accosted by the shadowy creature. Naenia's hands were cold and unpleasant to the touch, constantly in flux as wisps swirled around them. It was maddening, the changing pressure and size as those hands warped while remaining absolutely still.

"I hate you," Naenia hissed, her voice like nails on a chalkboard. "I'm going to hurt you. Make you suffer. There's no true name for me to take but there's still plenty I can do."

"Get away from me!" Vanitas growled, attempting to tear her hands away but finding that he only passed through them.

"No! Listen to me!" Naenia twisted so her face was looming above him and the strength of her grip began to drive him to his knees. "You, who uses the name of someone I once cared for! You're a thief! A nuisance! Vermin! Not human, or vampire, or dhampir. Something new and repulsive, you shouldn't exist in my world!"

"I am a human!" Vanitas grit his teeth, rage building like a wildfire.

"Liar!" Naenia screeched. Then she paused and giggled, "Oh, no. You believe that, don't you? That you're human? Poor thing. You want so badly for it to be true that you're deluding yourself."

"Shut up!"

"Everything has been taken from you before, everything that made you, you. So you cling to your humanity! But you've never been in control, not back then and not now," Naenia's laughter raised in pitch. "Why, I'd almost feel bad for you if you didn't deserve it so much. So, little boy, why pretend you have autonomy now? You never did. You'll always be a puppet."

"I'm not-"

"Ooh!" Naenia's permanent grin seemed to widen, "How about I show you? You like my parade, don't you? That will let you see what you are."

The world around him disappeared and Vanitas was transported back in time. He was in a town he had visited many years ago but in contrast to how lively it was back then it was empty of people and silent as the grave. The buildings seemed to tower above him menacingly and abruptly Vanitas realised he was smaller. A child, not even ten years old. With this realisation came the fright of a lost child and he began to run down the empty street, calling for someone, anyone, to help him. Finally, he saw a man ahead of him with his back turned. Vanitas called out in relief, slowing as he came up behind him.

Slowly the man turned to him and Vanitas's blood ran cold. His father. Those eyes, so like his own used to be, bored into Vanitas. They were sad and cold, looking at something beyond Vanitas, asking him to change. To become more like the love he had lost. And Vanitas wanted to please him, to earn his love, even if he knew he never could. Still, his father reached out to him and Vanitas couldn't help but to reach back.

The moment their hands met his father's grip turned tight and bruising. His face morphed, becoming uglier and filled with madness. Dr Moreau smiled. Vanitas tried to wrench his hand away but Moreau held tight, not faltering once. Vanitas screamed but he couldn't do a thing. Suddenly he was strapped down to a table, machines he didn't understand buzzing and whirring while he was tortured. He was cut apart and sewn back together, strange substances were injected into him, he was forced to scream and bleed over and over. All the while Moreau watched him, that same irreverent smile fixed across his face.

Just as quickly as it all appeared, the scene vanished and Vanitas was on the ground in an empty white void. He panted, hands clenched on the ground as he tried to shut the images out. This wasn't real! He knew it wasn't real! Yet he still felt the phantom pain from Moreau's experiments and the fear was real enough.