The Comfort of a MasterWarmth and heat and life that had before escaped the dead, cold creature emanated from the sheets and blankets around him, owing its heat to the man that lay with them, a book in one hand while the other lay propped up on the cool head of his slave.The Comfort of a Master by death-in-the-orchard
Before his capture, the Count had lived in a world of ice, as if living on the bank of the river of death. Nothing had guided his will before now. He had done as he pleased but received little sense of purpose or accomplishment besides the animalistic drive and pleasure of a hunt in progress and in the completion of that hunt. The castle had been maintained only by presence and the accumulation of three fledglings that had been kept and fed in order to be able to humor the Count's tendencies to long for contact with another form.
Now, however, this man that petted his hair softly with absent thoughts, had given him a purpose. Though, it had been at the cost of his freedom, at the moment the beast was not affected by his captivity. Warmth an
All Of NothingnessThere was foreboding, choking silence in the dungeon, that screamed and deafened one's sense of hearing, making the eyes widen and the heart jump at each shadow the mind conjured from the darkness. The shadows dispelled like burning, fragile pages from a forsaken Bible when the light of a swinging lantern set the dungeon aflame with a ring of light. Abraham van Hellsing stared defiantly into this blinding darkness and he broke it ungracefully when he resumed his steps, hard boots clashing against the naked stones. He delved deeper into the dungeon, moving towards a chamber that served as his blood rusted lab where scientists were seeing to the continued experiments that were performed on his undead slave. His cobalt blue eyes flashed with recognition when they locked onto the white, smudged door where a small rectangular window at eye level granted him a view of what was going inside without disrupting the scientist's progress.All Of Nothingness by death-in-the-orchard
Hellsing narrowed his eyes while making his mouth frown, p
What is Real?What is real? Is real stepping outside, touching the trees, the buildings, the human forms in the immediate area? Is it all an illusion, or is it all this thing they call 'reality'? So, what is real?What is Real? by death-in-the-orchard
Do the things outside a window actually exist? Does a world that will live on without you, really exist? Are the people and events that live and occur without you being present, only characters or traits of a setting you the main character are placed in, meant to interact and play off of based on your own will? Are they real? Are you real? What is real made out of? Is it a thing or a concept? What is it?
Or is it all a dream?
Such is the questioning of reality and the world that would enter the tired Hellsing mind when he witnessed one of the supernatural events his slave carelessly inspired every moment of the night the vampire continued his undead existence.
Is any of it real?
Is he real?
Is anything real?
Hellsing would ask himself, watching the slithering shadows that writhed similar t
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