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[Title] To Make You Love Me [Author] Mara D. [Series] Castlevania: Curse of Darkness [Pairing] Isaac...wanting Hector. That's about it. [Rating] PG13 [Beta] Not a chance. [Spoilers?] Yes. [Chatter] This is goddamn creepy. Isaac's nuts, but he's perfectly logical. I have to admit I'm impressed. And no, I don't know why he was licking his fingernails. I really don't want to know either. He's Isaac for god's sake. ~*~ He licked a fingernail thoughtfully as he tossed his head, spilling crimson back out of his eyes. It wasn’t the right color for blood…it never had been. And it wasn’t half as beautiful as Hector’s. Hector…Hector who was trembling against a tree, deep in the forest, the smell of burning hair and skin clinging to his form even though he had long again torn his clothes away to be rid of the smell. To assuage panic. He was without the woman now, and when the time came, he would come looking for Isaac. And there would be no silly woman in the way, and Hector would want him. He would be sorry that he had thrown Isaac away, thrown his roots as a Forgemaster away. He would return to Isaac and he would want him, want to touch him, to take him. To kiss him with those lips as cool as winter spring water. He watched Hector wail and shiver, curling closer into the hard trunk of the tree…crying piteously for Rosaly. Yes…change was painful. Almost as painful as the tattoos Isaac had from head to toe. The tattoos themselves were a prayer. A prayer for hope and love. A prayer for the dreams he had once held in his cupped palm before this war…before his master fell. Before Hector left him for a woman. Perhaps he had not been beautiful enough, perhaps his mistake had been that. Perhaps he simply had not said the right words… But he had loved Hector. Had been hard for Hector even as he had encourage the trial, had planted the evidence…had inflamed the townspeople until they had turned on Rosaly. Had burned her at the stake. A dozen large men had had to hold Hector back, had beaten him into submission and informed him that he should leave. He was, after all, a Forgemaster. The people would not forgive that overlong. Rosaly’s screams had broken Hector, torn him asunder as she burned until the air left her. Hector himself had screamed until he was hoarse, and was now only whimpering, his bare body covered in bruises in the shape of boots and fists. A pitiful excuse of the powerful Forgemaster he once was, tried to separate himself from being. It hadn’t even been enough to save his woman. He could have called on his power dozens of times, but he had let her burn. It proved how little he really must have cared, and how much he still must have felt for Isaac. He watched over Hector for the next few hours, before dropping from the tree and sliding into the glade as the bigger Forgemaster curled shivering onto his side, staring at Isaac with glassy, barely comprehending eyes. Isaac squatted beside Hector then, running fingers through that sweaty and dirty hair, a delicate caress. “Your woman died because you would not save her…’tis not my fault…but hate me. Hate me if you must. Come and find me. I will be no further away than your nearest nightmare.” Hector stirred then, an insane light in those eyes. He made a lunge for Isaac, but Isaac caught him just briefly as he staggered, pressing a kiss to that sooty cheek. “Come and find me Hector…if you are man enough. I rid you of the strumpet, did I not?” He dropped the bigger man then, and calling upon his Crimson, was gone in a flash of feathers. Hector’s mad cries of rage followed him well into the air despite his voice lacking any strength. Isaac just smiled. [Title] Flames of the Past [Author] Mara D. [Series] Castlevania: Curse of Darkness [Pairing] No pairing, Rosaly and Hector mentioned in passing. [Rating] PG 13 [Beta] Not a chance. [Spoilers?] Yes. [Chatter]I have no excuse for writing this other than getting to know Hector better. He has now shown/explained to me why he is so pissed off in the game. I really don't blame him. Violence. Isaac in leather. ~*~ “No! Don’t do this!” Hector pleaded, clenching his fists into the nearest man’s shirt, struggling. Another blow hit him in the kidneys, buckling his knees. A fist hit him in the gut, and not for the first time he longed for his companions back. He longed to throw his arms around the shoulders of his battle ID and drag Rosaly from this place. Drag himself from this place. It was his fault…they had blamed her. Blamed her because one of Isaac’s Id’s never left her side in the presence of the townsfolk, but never when Hector could banish it. They had called it a familiar. And Rosaly, a witch because she was a midwife. Blamed her for the plague that Dracula had left. The curse…the curse was his fault. Isaac was his fault…this now…this was his fault. He gagged on blood, raising his head only to have a fist rammed into his jaw. “Rosaly!” He cried out harshly, struggling again, trying to get to his feet, but someone snapped a shovel handle over his spine, again knocking him to his knees. “I love you Hector…flee this accursed place!” He heard her cry as the blaze finally took. He could tell, the smell of tinder hotter than it had been before. The men beating him had stopped, and instead one was kneeling on his shoulders, holding his head up by his hair. He spit in Hector’s face and then turned it so that he could not look away, as the flames began to catch at Rosaly’s legs, as she screamed in agony, convulsing and struggling so hard against her bonds that blood ran down her wrists and ankles to drip with a hiss into the fire. “Flee Hector!” She cried, her eyes begging him to understand, to heed her even as her cries became unintelligible and frantic. The crowd was cheering, and tears were streaming down Hector’s face along with the blood from a gash on his temple. “Watch what we do to the minions of the dark lord…we are not powerless! Watch and remember!” Hector tried to close his eyes, but another man stuck his thumbs under Hector’s eyelids, holding them open even as he jerked away in pain. Another blow landed to his ribs, knocking the wind from him and he watched in horror as Rosaly screamed higher, louder, as her hair caught fire. His only tiny comfort came when the flames stole the air from her lungs, when she suffocated. When the flames engulfed her, when the flames licked at the side of her pale face, he noticed him then, slim, leather clad and tattooed, sliding through the crowd. He smiled that sick smile, almost a smirk, and bowed to Hector before he was gone. A defiant flip of crimson hair and the sway of hips. A sick man. “I will find you Isaac! I will hunt you to the ends of the earth!” Hector screamed. ~*~ He fell into the deeper water of the ditch. It was icy cold with the coming of Valachia night, and his body was terribly cramped. His eyes were bleeding from where the men had jammed their thumbs, and he could barely make out anything. Ignoring the cruel taunts of the men that had thrown him over the city gate wall, he crawled into the forest, crawled underneath a tree and collapsed there, vomiting. Tearing his wet and smoky clothes from his body. It was over. Everything was over. And he prayed, for the first time in nearly ten years. And he prayed that the night would swallow him whole. Give him the nothing he so deserved, so craved. |