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[FIC] Hellsing Drops: Survive
... Hellsing ficlet. The first damn time I wrote something that's not related to Gundam Wing, which is extremely weird. Apparently, I gained a new muse. As if my head's not crowded enough already.
Survive
Themes #1 – Blood, #18 – Innocence
Genres: Horror/Introspection
Claim: Character - Helena
Word Count: 240
Rating: PG-13/T
Summary: “She knew that, in the end, she would survive. She always did.”
She stalked her prey silently, her small, white figure almost like a ghostly apparition, a figment of an overactive imagination. However, she was real, she was alive, even though there was no breath, no heartbeat. The silence seemed to be almost an aura around her, shrouded in slight mystery.
She saw an opening, and she pounced, almost-but-not-quite like a wolf, feral. A hand stifled a scream, and it soon faded as a spray of blood spurted out from the white column of a throat, seemingly like an odd, demented fountain. The red stained her small white dress, speckles of blood tainting it. How ironic.
As she drank the red, salty-sweet elixir, she once again cursed the man who had made-unmade her, created-ruined her. He, with a single moment of euphoria and a few murmured, soothing lies, managed to destroy her life. He had thought that he had completely ruined her, reduced her to nothing, but she had survived. She had always survived.
As she finished her meal, a hand brushed against the white silk of her dress almost absent-mindedly. The bloodstained dress seemed almost to be the paragon of herself, of stolen innocence repaid by bloodshed and pain and horror. Each night she fed, and each night her hatred of herself grew. Each and every night she had cursed herself, cursed him.
But she knew that, in the end, she would survive. She always did. After all… she was Helena, childe of Cain.
Owari
Survive
Themes #1 – Blood, #18 – Innocence
Genres: Horror/Introspection
Claim: Character - Helena
Word Count: 240
Rating: PG-13/T
Summary: “She knew that, in the end, she would survive. She always did.”
She stalked her prey silently, her small, white figure almost like a ghostly apparition, a figment of an overactive imagination. However, she was real, she was alive, even though there was no breath, no heartbeat. The silence seemed to be almost an aura around her, shrouded in slight mystery.
She saw an opening, and she pounced, almost-but-not-quite like a wolf, feral. A hand stifled a scream, and it soon faded as a spray of blood spurted out from the white column of a throat, seemingly like an odd, demented fountain. The red stained her small white dress, speckles of blood tainting it. How ironic.
As she drank the red, salty-sweet elixir, she once again cursed the man who had made-unmade her, created-ruined her. He, with a single moment of euphoria and a few murmured, soothing lies, managed to destroy her life. He had thought that he had completely ruined her, reduced her to nothing, but she had survived. She had always survived.
As she finished her meal, a hand brushed against the white silk of her dress almost absent-mindedly. The bloodstained dress seemed almost to be the paragon of herself, of stolen innocence repaid by bloodshed and pain and horror. Each night she fed, and each night her hatred of herself grew. Each and every night she had cursed herself, cursed him.
But she knew that, in the end, she would survive. She always did. After all… she was Helena, childe of Cain.
Owari