Seras muses on her tormented love while making a final choice. Short oneshot. AxI, IxS.
As I lie here tonight in my coffin, the cool wood is stiff against my cold limbs. Even the velvet lining can't stop the chill, the everlasting winter of death, a constant reminder of who I have become.
And because of this, she will never look at me. I see the way Master looks at her, how he speaks to her, how he carries himself around her. He always tells me, "Police Girl, here comes my Master. Straighten up." And every time, I tug at my uniform, but it is not for him. It is for her. Maybe, in some part of my mind, I believe that if my clothing is crisp enough she might see me for who I am, or who I wish I still was.
She might even say my name.
I remember hearing it roll off her lips, a touch of soft syllables in her usually harsh speech. Only on occasion am I able to taste the sweet candy of that small word as it drops from her sainted mouth. But I can never have her, Master will.
I watch him stalk her every movement, drink her little motions in with his eyes. He taunts her, caresses her, and makes her all the more radiant with emotion. I stand in the corner and watch them bicker, and I hate him. I hate him for daring to put his foul eyes upon the brilliance that she is. But how can I blame him? We are creatures of darkness, so how can we stop staring at such a blessed sun? I hate him for touching her, feeling that warmth with his accursed hands. It leaves me cold, so cold.
It's getting colder.
I shiver, clutching myself against the chill. I am tempted to close the lid on my coffin, but I know that would only prolong the inevitable. They will find me, and they will wonder why. She will look upon me with pity and disgust...
My teeth are chattering. My fangs click and clack against my lower canines, a loud reminder of my choice. I sometimes wish that I had died instead, to save myself from this horrible wrenching in my soul. But then, I never would have been able to bask in the rays of pure life that she sheds. I wouldn't have traded that for anything, once. But now, it's not enough.
I want to wrap my fingers in her white-gold hair, and run my palms down her smooth cheek. I want to cup her face in my hands and study every angle, memorize each little bit of her. I want to know the curves and depressions of her body, to trace them with my fingertips. I desire her beyond anything I knew before. I want her to take from me the one thing that I have left: my purity. But, she, too, is pure, and she would not stain her honor for anyone. Certainly not a pathetic undead who cowers at her feet.
I reach for the blade I had prepared; I shake, but it's only from the temperature. I put it into position over my heart, and take an unnecessary breath. I feel the steel kiss against my breast, and it makes me shiver. This one thing I can do, is say goodbye. I will not suffer the torment of being in my Master's shadow in her eyes. I WILL NOT!
A crimson spout pours from my chest, and I feel myself going slack. My hands fall from the slick handle, and I slide down to the base of my propped-up coffin. blood pools around my thighs, and I sigh. I have done it.
As the world fades away, I have only one thought.
I am Dracula's daughter no more.