A House to A|ucard (Anthology •Hellsing)

Strangers Conversing 1st night (52)

•💢Suicidal thoughts
•💢Established plan

You ever hear or seen such signs get your loved one help. You maybe the whisper in the darkness they cling to, but take a breath.

(Y/n) stands silently on a section of bridge that crosses the Thames River. The English rain has stopped and you shiver slightly. You don't know if it is because of the dampness from the recent rain or the dark thoughts that circle your mind like ravens over a dead carcass.

Your (e/c) scans the horizon of the old and massive city that is London. It seems alive with all the lights and buses yet so cold filled with lonely souls. Just like you. Just like you feel at this moment. How many are contemplating a follow through with those deadly dark thoughts?

In the not too far distance, a fog is beginning to roll in. Perhaps that is a sign for tonight?

Wait until the fog is thick enough that it will be fast floating until your body hits the cold rushing water of the Thames. The fog would obscure your vision as you fell. Should you wait and leave a note?

No. Your mind says quickly. Your two roommates are oblivious to your plight. You are their meal ticket for rent and food. No note it is then...

Your deep and brooding thoughts of self destruction are jarred by the sound of an odd whistle. (Y/n) turns her head to the park just across the road and the bridge. A light in the park shines long enough on the strolling figure of a man to show his long ebony hair and pale skin. His head has a red fedora pushed down and a crimson overcoat to tie it all together.

Your mind dismisses 'poser' vampire cosplayer. The man likes to be out at night and wear vintage clothes. So you dismiss the impressive man in 'crimson'.

(Y/n) places her head on her crossed arms and studies the ships moving slowly down the river. The Thames is deep and without a suicide note, no one would know what happened.

No one needed to bother with your body. No one to bother with a funeral. Just sink to the deep, cold darkness and slumber for all time to come. Your (d/foot) taps the cement as if bumping your brain to make a decision.

Are you being too hasty?

"Good evening young lady...it is a beautiful night for a walk. Though it is best when the moon is out and full, don't you agree?"

It's the man in 'crimson' You were hoping he wouldn't take an interest but here he is. "Hmm...for some it is always."

"You do not share my sentiments little one?" an exceptionally tall stranger asks.

(Y/n) finally turns her head to look at the stranger. This man is like a dark prince in a gothic dream. Or is it a nightmare? The lines blur so easily. His fingers are slim with odd white gloves on. His facial features are angular like history books speak of ancient royal families such as kings. You could see him older with facial hair sitting upon a dark wooden throne.

"Sometimes I lack the words to express that weight of my heart ..." you whisper as for some reason you know he can hear as if you are trumpeting to the world your response.

The stranger flexes his right hand fingers and tilts his head to give a crooked smile. His English accent hints of not being born in England but a learned accent. His baritone voice is rich and the kind that women write in smut books that make you wet between one's legs. Your darkened mind simply registers it and moves on.

"We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when"

"We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar"