literature

Blood Pearls

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Literature Text

Behind him was darkness. Space, that threw the background hundreds of miles away from the man, the singular human shape, held apart from the blackness by a glow that illuminated him. There was no glow, nothing that could be visually observed. It was an aura, an illusion conjured by the memory of the man, the memory of strength and prestige in the mind that beheld the image.

How could so much power be contained within a sheet that can be held in one's hands? How can it when, if turned at an angle, it could become nothing more than a line? Nothing of substance, how could this photograph capture all of these things?

Twinges snuck into the chilled shoulder muscles, arriving with the feelings evoked by the photograph. Eyes from above stared down at the picture below, seeing it perfectly with the protective frame having been disemboweled and left as a carcass on an end table, light emphasizing the dead glaze of the purposeless glass.

Piercing blue, unique to a single creature, never to be seen in another, a fleeting, painfully mortal blue, those unwavering eyes. A treasure, this was a photograph of a treasure more precious than any mineral, any metal, or any life. This man was Greatness. Greatness that could only be whispered. This man was…he was…there is no other word to describe him but his name. To call another by this name, would be to tell a lie. A hideous lie. There could be no other. Never. There was only one. This photo was made great simply because of the man it had captured. Miraculous, the man's existence was miraculous, a gift, a curse.

Red irises constricted, pupils thinning with the suffered memories that could not be avoided, even if distanced by any measure of time or other experiences. A curse, a gift, a GOD this man! This Abraham Van Hellsing! He was a god! He was a curse, a demon…a hated thing. Hated! But great! But great…

How?

The white hands, granted shades of value by the halo of a lamp beside an empty bed, shuddered with heavy tremors while the white fingertips held onto the photograph with the utmost tenderness.

HOW?

The twinges in the chilled shoulder muscles seeped through the back, bone, and tissues to reach a useless organ, a lump that helped occupy a ribcage in an equally useless chest, piercing it, again and again. The blue eyes piercing the dead heart. Agony racking the undead body, the photograph shaking as the vampire trembled. Blood pearls shattered against the wood floor.

HOW COULD A GOD DIE! ?

HOW! ?

How…! ?

…How could Abraham Van Hellsing possibly die?

…He could not die…

It was all a lie…

A lie.
Abraham Van Hellsing and Alucard

Hellsing / Bram (Abraham) Stoker's Dracula
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RedEmperorDragoness5's avatar
Aww. Poor gingersnaps. She sounded like a very sweet well tempered little thing. My sympathy.