Bloody roses

16: Silence

The downfall began with a twitch in Lacrimă’s hand, then her arm, then her torso… Faust’s eyes were focused on her like a hawk to its prey. And then her legs twitched and gave in. Her body fell to the ground like one of the roses Vlad would cut off. Her hair flowed around her like a rose petal. Lacrimă’s eyes desperately look for Faust’s poison-green orbs, but then even they lose her strength, too tired to even close. So the graceful vampiress lay there, staring at nothing, the light in her eyes slowly stopping its burning. Her soft limbs were paler than ever, and her body was almost icy cold.

Was.. was she alive? What happened? Was this all Faust’s fault? He gave her the vial, sure, he had meant well.. But that wasn’t what he was created for, was it? He wasn’t kind. He wasn’t an angel, he wasn’t.. Charles. He was the devil. He’d killed her, the one he had been trying to save. Killed the one who’d given him a new life. God… god had taken her from him, like he had taken his substitute mother, the nun, and all the good in his life.

Did I ever mention I was raised Catholic, and this religious imagery is kind of hard for me to write? But uh, I’ll do my best. For you guys.

Faust was the devil, created by all the trials God had put in his life. And he wouldn’t let that guy take anyone from him ever again. Especially not her. God had created this monster, and he would have to fight it now, as Faust raised his fist to the heavens.
He wouldn’t give up. No way. The fight was on. And this fight… he couldn’t win alone. Devil and God evened one another, so..
He needed the Yang to his Ying. He needed Charles. His “comrade”, who had always thought them friends, yet only a free lab rat. Or was he? Charles had shown Faust as well as Lacrimă dedication and affection no one else ever had. If Faust hurt Lacrimă, Charles was the only one able to heal her.

Charles was making breakfast, strawberries for Vlad, and pancakes for everyone else when Faust barged in. He looked a mess, torn up clothes and messy hair. Well, messier than usual. “Pancake, Docteur? I’ll put blueberries on it, just for you-”
“Charles, come to my lab, now!”
“What? Are there bodies in there? Why?”
“I.. I did something, and now Lacrimă is in danger, I-”
He didn’t even get to finish his sentence as Charles had already left. The last thing Faust saw was a strawberry-coloured lock of hair. Faust’s pale lips curved into a smile, and then he ran after Charles.
A pancake caught on fire.

When the vampires arrived in Faust’s lab Lacrimă hadn't moved a limb, still lying on the table where Faust had left her, eyes staring into nothing. Snow-white hair frames her beautiful but lifeless face. Beautiful, even in death. Nothing but a doll.
Charles gasped at the sight of the woman he'd wanted to cherish and protect at her weakest. He approached, unconsciously brushing a lock of silky hair.

Charles worked tirelessly, his hands faster than light. Working on restoring the tiny bit of colour that framed Lacrimă’s face. Working on renewing the stolen blood in her veins. Working on restoring the strength in her hand so Faust, who was squeezing her wrist like his afterlife depended on it, could experience at least the smallest sliver of hope and relief. To the man who had never known hope, that'd be more than the rest of his life had ever granted him.

Yet despite his efforts, he did not succeed. Not even the smallest breath escaped her lungs.

The silence was deafening. Until Vlad caught wind of the development.

“And you mean to tell me your idiotic obsession has driven my neopaota to death?? Johann Geord Faust, I expected more of you. Why didn’t I let the Whitechapel murderer live instead of you? Sure, he was insane, but he’d never have hurt my precious rose. If you don’t fix this, I will end your pathetic second existence. Then I’ll revive you and kill you again, and-”
“Vlad, I won’t fail. I won’t fail again. Not this time. Not with… with her.”
“Oh? My trandafir means so much to you, hmm?”
“I-”
“Forget it, Faust. I won’t allow you. Not after what you did. Now get to work, or I’ll feed you to Marshmallow.”

So Faust left. He did not allow himself a second to think about what Vlad had declared. She won’t be his, and that was justified. He’d only ever hurt her again. That was if he could awaken her.

“Voïvode, would you like some strawberries?”
“Leave, Charles. Assist Faust. Don’t ever show your face here again if you fail.”
“N-no strawberries for you then?”’
“Go! But leave the strawberries.”

So Charles left as well. At least he got Vlad to eat. That’s how Charles was. Even in grief himself, he always cared about others. Though Charles also felt something unfamiliar rush through him. His fists clenched at the thought of Faust feeding Lacrimă the poison. And after she’d loved him! The first thing Charles noticed upon entering Faust’s room was the dishevelled bed and the abandoned clothes spread out on the floor.
Lacrimă had not moved a finger, and no one dared do it for her. She laid in the same position they had left her in after Vlad barged in demanding an explanation. Aimé was sitting on her chest, and Marshmallow guarded her, growling at Faust anytime he had dared to try and touch her. Charles ran around her, injecting her with his own blood to keep her heart beating, clutching her hand, stroking her arms, petting Aimé, and crying. Faust was frantically looking for the pages where he had collected his research on eternal life. It could be the key to reviving Lacrimă. Though, it was based on humans as Vlad had always refused to be dissected. Why, anyway? Not like the shrivelled bat could die from it, anyway. But Vlad’s anatomy was the closest to Lacrimă’s.

“Lord Vlad, please lie down on the dissecting table.”