Corvus - Waltz of Apprehension

It Appears - [1]

March 13th, 1476

Severin, Wallachia

Tonight I watch the moon rise and the rain begin to fall. I half didn't believe it would happen, the rain. Why would I listen to a pope, who has shown me nothing but contempt, about the weather? Nevertheless, it is happening.

It is enchanting, the dark droplets hit the window of my shack. It is the prettiest thing inside of this decrepit home, I almost envy the rain, or at least the tiny drops it produces. All similar, the only difference in sizes, and all on the same path with nobody able to stray. They all find their way into the ground, into the soil to rest. I feel it is metaphorical in a way.

Pardon the light rambling. Allow me to introduce why I take pen to paper this evening. My name is Corvus Sliske, I am a lowly farm hand despite my parents having been significantly wealthy. There is indeed a reason as to why I am living in such squalor, though.

See, I was born an omen, or at least that is what the religious have called me. The most interesting part is that they may just not be so wrong. My mother, a beautiful woman for her age and tanned in skin-tone with brown hair, had married a man of similar appearance. My father, whom I have had barely a connection to, had almost blonde hair, a dusty colour that looks as if he spent too long sitting around that the dust settled upon his head and though not as naturally blessed with pigmentation, he had an olive hue to his skin. At least, that's what the paintings depict.

But I? The moment I turned a year old, I grew a full head of stark black hair. Not only that, but I am as pale as a ghost, many children loved to point that out as I grew up.

But as one could tell, I am nothing like my parents. This caused great grief for my mother, and I could only assume it is why she is so miniscule in comparison to life nowadays. I can even see it in her eyes, that she wishes she could have had a normal life.

And my father? Well, the second he saw my difference, he accused my mother of an affair. How could he not? His son had no similarities to his mother or his father. Or, at least who was meant to be his father. I believe that it is not an affair that caused this, but some sort of mutation or coincidence though. Or, perhaps an omen. Of what? I'm unsure. Well, maybe I am sure.

Nonetheless, I know they are right. Right that I am only here to tell of the horrors about to come or that are building away underneath. My birthday took place many days ago, on the fifteenth of February. It was a normal day at first. I was turning twenty, spending most of my day on the farm before we were called to the courtyard in the middle of our town.

I was surprised, as you could imagine, that something was being called for me. Well, maybe I should place more context here. Not only did my parents find me unsettling and dangerous, but so did everyone else. Nevertheless, I was surprised to find myself before the church and our pope, Gabriel. Almost all of the townsfolk stood behind me as I stared up the steps. Pope Gabriel announced my twentieth birthday like he would for anyone else. It seemed they decided to include me in on this. I was surely confused but I felt welcomed.

After he described my life, though in a depressing fashion, I was invited up the steps as the sun slowly descended in the sky. The sky seemed alight in whimsical flames as the sun dropped, no breeze in sight. Slowly, I began my steps upwards.

I could feel them, tiny drops falling against my face, I could even see some on the ground in small dark dots against the stone. It had begun to rain. Nobody perceived this, there wasn't a cloud in sight before. The rain slowly poured heavier with each step. Pope Gabriel began to rush me, wanting to get this over with as the crowd began to murmur about the rain, trying to cover themselves with coats. But it only got worse, for every now-rushed step, the rain grew louder and heavier. It was a drone in my ears, the pattering of rain against stone and my clothing before I took my final step.

And as I laid foot against the platform, a large bang flooded our ears. Screams of terror rang from everyone as I instinctively covered my ears and huddled into myself at the noise.

And soon, the sky truly was alight with fire. I watched in horror as the rain became as hot as flames, sizzling against the stone. Through the chaos, many people screamed of the devil, saying that it was true, that I really was the anti-christ. And I believe them. Well, I did. For a short time, I believed that I had caused such events, it would make sense.

But as I pressed against the church doors, the large lip over it covering me from the deadly rain, I watched lighting illuminate the shadow of what looked like a castle in the far, far distance.

For a moment, I thought it was just a neighbouring kingdom, as our castle was in the opposite direction, but no. This was something else entirely. It was dark against the red sky, tall and looming as sharp points outstretched their deadly arms to the sky in silent prayer. Not only that, but it hung from a cliff, unnaturally balanced too far out. It should have fallen by then, but alas it was standing on air.

I didn't understand it at first, I thought it was my imagination. But now, a month later, it still stands against the horizon.

This mysterious castle is why I am writing this at this very moment. For this castle, as I have learned, belongs to the mysterious Dracula Vlad Tepes. I had managed to find journals and books depicting the sights of the Lord and his monster of a castle. They say he appears when humanity gets desperate or incredibly evil. Or, as the religious depict, when the time or reckoning has come. I don't believe that last one, but I know I must go.

It calls my name in my sleep, uttering my name into my ears as I dream of a world better for me. I can almost imagine the vampire that lives inside, seeing his pointed hand reaching into my heart to steal it and bring me there. 

It makes no sense to me yet I know I must leave. Tonight. No later. That is why I am writing this, truly. To recount what I am going to do and see. Wish me luck, my diary, for tonight will be treacherous. But I, the image of the devil to my people, will find my place inside that caste. No longer will I haunt them, haunt my mother, but I will haunt the halls of Castlevania.

I will write as soon as possible. I hope to fill these pages with many tales and words of my journey. I am starting a new life now, and this book will be my telling of my story and my life.

La revedere,

Corvus