saitaina | 15 Minute Ficlet

Originally published at Memoirs of a Nobody. You can comment here or there.

Title: Ghost of Memories
Fandom: Original—”Vlad” universe
Rating: R (violence, blood)
Pairing: very, VERY subtle hints of Vlad/Radu
Time: 13 Minutes
Word Count: 439

A ficlet inspired by this picture.

Radu stared up at the old church, biting the inside of his cheek as memories of blood and pain washed over him. He bowed his head and whispered a silent prayer before slowly pushing open the rusted and stained entry way, a sense memory of slick blood causing his hand to almost slip, despite the fact that the blood was long gone.

It had been many decades since he had returned to this place, yet the memories were still as fresh as when he had last been here. It had been his home once, and his brother made sure that it was now just home to faded horrors.

The ghosts of the past ignored him for the most part, only one or two turned a face to him, their blood coating his hands still like a pair of familiar gloves.

He headed to the front of the church, past the archways and statues to a small garden on the far side. There he knelt in front of a small angelic statue, tears sliding down his cheeks as he ran a finger over the names carved into stone.

He leaned in close and placed a gentle kiss on the cold marble plaque, lowering his head as he whispered a silent prayer. Images flashed across his mind, blood, thick, choking, his friends, lying everywhere, dying, crying, screaming.

Sightless eyes that stared at the sky and ceiling, gurgling whispers of men damned to die in front of him. The taste of bile as it rose up over his tounge, the burning pain in his heart and lungs.

Radu choked on his tears, leaning against the statue as more memories came. His brother, covered in death, standing in front of the alter, the body of Radu’s mentor, tacked to the cross.

A knife, digging deep into him, spilling his own blood down to mix in with that of his family, his kin.

Radu screamed raggedly, still feeling the blade all these years later. Birds took flight, alarmed at the sounds he made, choking, dying on the memories, the pain.

Two figures watched him was he relived the past. One pale, dead. Ghostly blood still coating his robes. The other, just as pale, just as dead, but much more alive. Vlad moved closer to his brother, reaching out a hand that stopped just short of touching the younger boy.

The ghostly figure just watched the two brothers, that fate had cursed. Soon he faded away, out of sight and time, to await the next anniversary. To await the next replay of the pain, leaving the pair behind to try to pick up the pieces.