mortisthree

Alicard hesitantly let the door fall shut behind him. His hand hung loosely around the door knob as he pondered whether or not he could hear sobs. He hadn't heard a woman cry like that before. He knew deep down he would have enjoyed it if it was another woman. Why did she mean anything to him? Gods, she pleased him...
He couldn't capture his thoughts eficiantly. He could hardly breathe. Why was he helping her? Was he helping her? He didn't kill her, so that must be it... or was it? He shook his thoughts around and started down the hall way. His feet scuffed themselves against the red carpet that rolled along the floor. For the first time his eyes had scanned the walls, and noticed the bleak stones that nestled in them. Loneliness dripped eagerly from the cracks that drove themselves into their structure. There were no portraits. There were no tapestries. Nothingness felt its way across it in the dark.
Alicard�s father placed his hands in his wife�s blood, letting it drip ever so delicately to the floor. The patter of sound echoed, and tears flowed freely for the boy. His father walked to him and streaked the red liquid down his cheeks and neck.
�My dear child,� his father had said, �You drove me to the point of insanity? I killed your mother, but then again, did I? You pushed me to it. You're a bitch now, my boy, my dear sweet child."
His father dug his fingers in between his lips and let Alicard's tongue taste his mother's life. He watched his son, his eyes screaming with a wonderous claiming of lost sanity. The child's eyes grew furiously, and the yellow streams lapped over one another.
�You killed your mother didn�t you, boy?� he whispered into his son�s face, �You stripped her of her own life and her soul. You made her scream like a whore unto her death?�
The boy trembled, yet he stood firm. His eyes poured into his father's, and his will and courage wavered.
"No, sir, I did not. The glory of God-" he started, but never finished. His father grabbed him by the back of his head, pulling on his hair.
"The glory of God is feeble and weak. I am the glory. I am your god," he hissed into his son's ear. Alicard tilted his head back, then smirked and spit into his face. His father fumed with anger. His firm hands moved and gripped the young boy�s face. His fingers coiled and dug into his skin. The small child did not move, but his eyes shone a deep blood red.
�I am not disciplining you enough, am I, Alicard?" he said calmy, though no placid dream was held within him. The father drew his hand back and slapped his son across his weary face. Alicard�s skin bruised on contact from the harsh beating, and he took a step back. The boy stared at the floor, not daring to move his head slightly. Tears welled up in each eye, but neither tear was allowed to overwhelm his eyes and pour down his cheeks.
�No, sir. You are not disciplining me enough,� he whispered, and he took his eyes off of the black and white tiled floors and looked deep into his father�s eyes, �Strike me again, for I have sinned.� Alicard�s mind swayed in confusion, for he knew no matter what he had to be wrong and his father was correct. The point of this cruel lesson still did not stand out in the open to the child.
His father slammed his fist into the young youth�s shoulder, and his body sagged slightly. The older male grinned, pleased with the sight of the troubled son.
�Go to hell," Alicard said plainly.
"You know as well as I that if I go to hell, so will you."
"God forgives overtime."
"I'll haunt you until you die, do you understand? Your soul will be mine. I'll meet you in the afterlife." His father again lifted his mighty hand up and brought it down against his cheek, and a loud crack of Alicard�s splitting skin screamed in the room.
As he drifted back into the world of the living, his fingers reached up and caressed the long jagged scar streaming down his right cheek. He could still taste the blood flowing onto his lips and into his mouth. He fumbled with the memory, then shoved it away as he shook his head.
He put his hand on the knob to the library and twisted his wrist quickly. The door opened with a loud creaking sound. Alicard pushed the door back against the door frame, and it settled into its place once more.
He sat down at the far end of the room, and perched upon an elegantly designed chair. The arms of the chair extended and he rested his muscular hands around the coiled ends. Carved into the fine wood around the end of each arm on the chair were claw like fingers grasping onto a giant orb. His fingers relaxed slightly and trailed their tips across each fine line that was indented.
Alicard sank slightly into his seat, which had a large red, velveteen pillow to cushion him. Along the edges trimmings of gold cloth were laid, and hanging from them were fine dangling threads. They had been woven so delicately and with such care, that as they draped toward the richly colored wooden floor they told their story.
Nestled over the back of the chair were long flowing pieces of red material. Their beauty shimmered and gave them an almost fluorescent glow in the moonlight. The streams of silk, satin, and embroidery felt soothing against the back of Alicard�s neck. He pushed his head back into the cushion and the material, as he gazed out of a large window.
The moonlight entertained him as it reflected off various objects in the ancient room. The stars winked and flooded the sky with peaceful waves of magic. They showered dust from the heavens upon each feature of nature. The serenity of the moment cloaked Alicard�s thoughts swiftly, and held him close. The stars wrapped themselves in a larger enchantment and whispered into his ear.
Slowly, as their twinkle grew and their appearance faded, something was stealing its way into Alicard�s mind...
A twisted smile displayed itself upon a young woman�s face as she neared him. Her lower lip pouted out slightly and she looked up at him with a devilish innocence. She took a deep breath in, her chest sticking out slightly as she did so. In the starlight she seemed as though she was the creation of the end, yet she was the destruction of the beginning. She let out her breath, blowing the warm air against his lips.
Alicard turned his head and gazed off into the reflection of the moon on the pond. The exotic flowers which were like a blanket across the garden, were nothing compared to the woman�s glamour. Yet, if she was willing and gorgeous, why did he turn his face away?
Her eyes gleamed with trust and a fire spread across her pupils. Longingly, she looked deep into his eyes. She knew that he was still watching her, so she took a small step closer.
As she reached out to touch his arm, his hand lashed out and grabbed her wrist. Her eyes closed temporarily, but when they were opened the same amount of trust was held in them. With her other hand she tried to grace his cheek with the back of her hand, and as he did before he snatched her hand away and held her tightly at the wrist.
Yet, her heart did not waver and she looked up at him with diamonds flashing in her gray eyes. She shut her eyes in a relaxed form and leaned upward, and her lips brushed against his cheek. She allowed herself to kiss the skin right before his ear.
Alicard pushed her away, and she stumbled back slowly. His fingers lifted and touched the skin that her lips had blessed. A sense of overwhelming waves of endless confusion grasped his heart and twisted his soul and mind. His eyes softened from their hard stare, and he swallowed thickly.
His muscular arms embraced his own body and he looked at her. His eyes filled themselves with salty tears and they fell, washing his cheeks. Alicard turned away from the young woman, stricken with grief and a terrifying comfort. His pupils danced over the statue that lay in the middle of a bed of dying roses. Its stone arms were slightly lifted upward, and attached to the stone woman was a purple glass orb.
In the reflection he saw the woman approaching him again, her body shifting with each mesmerizing step. Alicard pushed his eyelids shut and a small tear squeezed out. He extended his arm and swung at the glass ball. The glass shattered and sunk into his skin. The woman halted and watched him, mortified with his actions.
�I can not be in love,� he whispered as he watched his own blood trickle, �I love killing. I watch men suffer and gasp in their last breath. I slay them without regret nor sympathy. I can slit a thousand men�s throats.� He choked out a scream and pounded his fist against the stone statue. As his knuckles sank into the rock, dust and small pieces of the statue fell into the air.
�I am evil. I am the pure form of evil. I destroy love! How can it be destroying me?� he screamed at her. �I will not love you. I do not love you!�
Her pupils faded and the fire died. The color which strolled in her irises flew off into the moon�s face. She knelt against the floor of the garden and laid down in the flowers. Her own tears caressed their petals, and her sadness blossomed fully.
�Why are you so afraid of me...?� she said softly.
And with a swirl the dream was broken. Alicard sat upright and sunlight pounded against his face. He felt the warmth against his cheeks and was reminded of the young woman in the dream. He found himself realizing her beauty and, to his own dismay, her identity.
A soft knock came from the door, and only a moment later the door swung open. There, still standing in the hallway, Catrina glanced at him. Her bottom lip pouted slightly and she looked at him with a devilish innocence. Alicard frowned heavily and he knew who had been the young lady in his dream.
�Catrina,� he said softly.