Till Death (Volturi / Twilight Fanfiction)

32: Spiritual Dreaming

Y'all like italics? Hope so, cuz here's a lot of em. Lmk if it hurts your eyes or anything and I'll think of something else for the dream sequences.

Without further Ado, here's today's update!

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A fragrance, sweet, unfamiliar to Taylor. All too familiar to him.

Life was not so simple then, in fact, it was awfully convoluted. In an era where superstition ruled from beneath a cloak of turncoat panic, where neighbor accused neighbor of satanic dealings over petty disagreements. True information was obtained by your connections. Peasants did not have many connections. Maurice used to have a much longer name, it is lost to him now, this extravagant name earned him many connections. And an abundance of information. Though, he found ways to gain further correspondence in his own unique way.

Sweetened fog churned effortlessly with the heat of passion the night before. On the last day he was to wake alive, Maurice found the smell to be sickening. Though even in death Maurice found himself itching for that sweet smell once more, to taste that heavy fog of opium as was his habit in living. The day after was never pleasant. He did not miss that. 

It was a single ray of morning which pulled him from slumber. As he lay uncomfortably content in his hedonism the small gap between rich curtains reminded him of the reality of time. It would not always remain dark, morning would always come again whether or not he wished it. That alone was not enough to rise the man as he turned over to ignore his duties just a bit longer.What was enough was a short, stern looking woman by the name of Drusilla.

Perhaps she began the morning in a pleasant mood as at first she opened the door slowly. Yet, as she saw what state her young master was in politeness quickly gave way to irritation. The heavy oaken door bounced against the wall behind it as she used her foot to keep it from slamming back into her person. Its' sound echoed within the stone confines of this humid room as well as within the heads of all afflicted strewn within the quarters. Bodies lay half-covered (if they were covered at all) in any spot that may prove sturdy enough to house the weight of an unmoving person for the night. Some in the bed, some the floor, a few leaned against other furniture or in precarious positions as evidence of the night before's blasphemy. Maurice turned without lifting himself, placing a hand above his brow with a squint and grumble. Drusilla stood with arms crossed in the illuminated doorway. She seemed angry, and too much for Maurice to be bothered with so early in the morning. With a groan he lay his head back in an attempt to fall back to slumber. 

"Ridiculous. The sloth of a noble-born." Drusilla all but muttered to herself, a sharp hiss which displayed her distaste for the scene before her. She lifted her skirt as she crossed the threshold, placing firm grips on the curtains and drawing them in a flourish. This move was protested against loudly for a room full of those who were sleeping moments before. Because of this, she took initiative in opening the window panes as well, dispelling that sickly odor of poppies. 

"Vile woman, draw close the blinds."

"Bitch."

"She means to laugh upon our suffering." 

Such theatrics made Drusilla shake her head. She almost chuckled to herself, high borns were always ones for dramatics. Instead of fully finding amusement in their whining she placed her hands on her hips.

"Leave." No one stirred. "Before Master's hounds arrive." To the glory of God, Maurice's father only just returned from a hunt. In the distance could be heard laughing, grabassing, and baying of well bred hunting hounds who were much faster than half-dressed nobles. Although the lord of this house was a timid man, the young people within were worried about his compatriots. Perhaps their parents were among them, and many would not hesitate to order him to release his hounds. Without another word needed the crowd left in a muttering mass of clothes gathering exits. Drusilla made note of each one as they left, remembering to remind Maurice to write thankyou's (or apologies) to each house she recognized. As the room emptied Drusilla turned on her heel to face Maurice who was still laid sprawling and nude within silken sheets. She cursed in exasperation.