The Tragedy of 1856

The Insatiable Greed

A heavy set of feet are echoing with swift steps throughout the long hallway. Any sort of portrayals and sculptures, locked doors, tattered curtains and sneaking shadows pass him on his way to the very end to turn to the east tower of the castle.

He throws his noblencape behind him, flying untamed after him as he turns right. Climbing the spiral staircase, eyes set upwards and nostrils flaring, he can sense the first spark of the sun at the horizon. A huff. Unbelievable that he has to play the goddamn mother. By now he would already lie in the cold darkness of stone surrounding him.

He stops in front of a wooden double-leaf door. Without hesitating, his skinny hands tear the door open to enter the round chamber.

Stifled moans reach his ears as Diavol snaps his eyes shut to control his temper, his sharp jaw clenching. A delicate body is curled over Serghei's legs as he crouches in the corner where a wooden door keeps the sun from reaching them. The man's limbs hang straight down, attracted by gravity, weak and lifeless. The knuckles on his fingers burst open from the constant scraping against the stoned floor. Icy hands are wrapped up in his long hair, pulling, scratching, tearing as Serghei sucks every drop of life with voracious moans and wet groans.

"Are you finished?" The Count's voice is sharp.

His son's finger loosens, the black around his eyes fades and his needles of teeth disappear as his tongue tastes the leftovers all around his mouth.

With a hard flick, the body rolls to the ground like it weighs nothing.

He grins, tongue peeking out of his blood-stained lips to lick his fingers. "Why, surely. I would not be averse to a little more though."

The Count's brows sit heavy on his forehead, lips set into a hard line. "You need to step back."

Serghei pauses, finger leaving his mouth with a wet sound. He looks at the nobleman with his head down, eyes staring at his nose. "Step back from what?" He takes a daring move forward.

"The mortal. Harold."

"Ah, the handsome student. Well, I had a good talk with him and a little... dance, too," he smirks.

With one large step stands Diavol right in front of him, the tip of his nose almost grazing the forehead of his son's. He is by far taller and scarier. He inhales a sharp breath. "How dare you to touch him! He belongs to me! He is mine. Only mine and my Beloved's one to touch." He seethes through gritted teeth.

Serghei tries to hold his intense stare but he breaks, tumbling back and eyes shifting to the ground.

"Do not even think about looking at him." His eyes glimmer red. "Do you understand?"

The younger one doesn't give him any sign of comprehension.

"I asked you a question!" Diavol roars.

Serghei winces with the sudden outburst. "Yes!" He shouts. "Yes, I understand."

And the Count seems satisfied with himself but the deep wrinkle on his forehead doesn't even out, it only gets deeper.

The petite one clears his throat, rubbing the pads of his forefingers along the corners of his mouth, glancing at the forgotten body when his eyes follow the Count to the window. It's almost closed, allowing a spark of the first rays of sunshine to peek through the slit. The warm hue illuminates the snowed-in treetops, the arch of his nose and the sharpness of his cheekbones. It makes him look friendly and gentle as he hides in the shadows, his dead eyes catching the symbol of the living, reflecting everything he is not and can not.

When a beam passes the horizon and meets the castle to bathe it in light, the Count almost looks alive with the short life of twinkle glimmering in his gaze when he gets lost in the beauty of the wilderness.