The Paleblooded Hunter in Terra (Bloodborne x Arknights)

Halloween Special - Prelude of Nightmare Part 03

Prelude of Nightmare
Part 03

Once upon a time, in a desolate chapel at the edge of a forgotten kingdom, there was a maiden known to many as the "Maiden in White." She lived quietly in solitude, her days filled with nothing but the whispers of the wind and the rustling of the trees. Her only company was the bouquet of flowers she clutched tightly in her hands—a reminder of something, or someone, long lost.

But one stormy night, as the firelight flickered weakly in the hearth, something stirred within the shadows. The flames illuminated the long, stone walls of the chapel, and the air grew dense with an otherworldly presence.

And from the darkness, a figure began to emerge—a prince crafted not of flesh, but of shadows and moonlight. His form was slender and elegant, his features flawless, too perfect to be human.

He approached the maiden slowly, gracefully, almost like a ghost. His crimson-purple eyes, gleaming softly beneath the dim light, settled on her kneeling figure. He had heard of her beauty from afar, drawn to her resilience and loneliness like a moth to a flame.

At first, the maiden was wary of this strange prince. She had been alone for so long, her heart locked away behind walls of sorrow and grief.

But the man was gentle. He did not seek to frighten her, but to offer companionship in her solitude.

Night after night, he would return, sitting silently beside her at the altar, the flickering fire casting long shadows on their faces.

He told her stories, beautiful and tragic tales from lands far beyond her understanding. He recited poems that spoke of stars and constellations, of ancient kings and forgotten loves. His voice was like velvet, smooth and soothing, and slowly, the maiden began to lower her guard.

One evening, the prince's dark eyes gleamed curiosly, softly he mentioned that he had heard tales of her talent in singing. "The winds carried whispers of your voice, fair lady," he said, his voice low and tender. "They say it is a gift, a melody that rivals even the song of the nightingale and the tides. I would hear it, if you would bless me with such a treasure."

The maiden hesitated for only a moment, before nodding softly. Her lips parted, and from her throat came a voice unlike any he had ever heard—sweet, clear, and haunting, like the soft hum of a lullaby carried by the night wind. Her notes seemed to lift the very air around them, filling the chapel with a beauty that transcended time. The prince closed his eyes, savoring each word, each sound, as if it were the last thing he would ever hear. Her song was filled with sorrow, for she had endured much... much pain.

It was during these nights that the maiden's heart began to soften. The prince's gentleness, his attention, and his presence became a balm to her loneliness. She found herself thinking of him even when he wasn't there, her mind wandering to his stories, to the sound of his voice. And when he returned, she would smile, a gesture small but significant. The prince, sensing the change in her, smiled back.

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, their bond deepened. He would stand closer to her, brush his hand lightly against hers, his gaze lingering just a moment longer.

The lonely maiden no longer felt fear—only warmth, the kind that filled the empty spaces in her heart. She grew infatuated, not with his perfection, but with the comfort and solace he offered her. His very presence felt like a promise, a dream from which she never wanted to wake.

Then, one fateful night, when the pale moon hung eerily low in the sky, the prince arrived at the chapel once more. The fires of the candles around her flickered weakly, casting long shadows across the altar. The maiden stood quietly, her back to him as she gazed at the small, flickering flames, lost in thought.