(Obermann 1804)
What do I want? To hope, then to hope no more, is to be or to be no more: this is man, no doubt. But how is it that after the songs of an emotional voice, after the scents of flowers, and the sighs of imagination, and the impulses of thought, one must die?
*
It was pouring. It was the rainiest of the season.
The evening had quickly morphed into the night sky, clouds guarding the city against any possible glimpse of the moon. Dark storm clouds in a thick canopy, letting out the incessant downpour from heaven. As if out to punish man, and mourn for him at the same time. It was a difficult journey on the slippery roads of Montmartre.
Splish Splash. If the rain was bad, then the darkness was worse. Vanitas struggled to keep his eyes open, desperately waddling through the streets in search of the right intersection. He was close, he was certain of it.
He almost met with an accident while crossing a road, barely an arm distance away from a speeding laundry van. The man cursed in angry German, but the loud rain pelting on the street deafened most of it.
Too much noise, too little rest. There was nothing to abate the pain or the violent beating inside of his chest. The funny thing about suffering is that it makes you think about the past, a time when that pain never existed. A little further down memory lane, and you can look at it almost. A little more into the darker street, and Vanitas could remember something from a lifetime ago, or at least it felt like one. A time when he thought he knew everything, like who he was and who he wanted to be. Before he was Vanitas of the Blue Moon, before he was number Sixty-Nine. Before all of that.
Wasn't it ironic, that the one man who could restore the True Names of vampires, didn't even want to think about his own true name?
He walked past a corner of flashy advertisements, thoroughly apathetic to the watch pockets, safety razors or brothels when he nearly missed a very old and tattered poster on a board.
Doctor Richard Corbyn, Family Medicines
Visit us for ailments of the heart and lungs, and general aches and pains. Specialist in laudanum and all opioids, at the Maison du Cœur, Montmartre. ALL are welcome.
At last, he had found the right by-lane with cobbled stones, the wooden door with a warm round window. The knocker made a funny little sound, like it was going to fall off on the slightest impact.
Rat ta-tat.
The door opened warily in the thunderous night, a soft creak and a golden candle reaching out towards the unsettled azure. The puddles of water on the street now reflected a little warm light of their own, creating a brief moment of welcome.
"Help me..."
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Letter in Blue Ink || Vanitas no Carte (The Case Study of Vanitas)
FanfictionOC x Vanitas. "What's wrong? Never liked a doctor's exam?" In the midst of this, Vanitas remembered how maybe there was some truth to that question. Perhaps, someday he should tell her about that too. A little medical history. Not today though. The...
