Work Text:
AS HE SAT THERE, reminiscing into the depths of nothingness the gold chalice consisted of ; brimming with molten life line. He recalled people, humans, calling it blood. Yet how odd, why name it that way? Five alphabets spelling it out, piece upon carefully placed piece, creating this word; blood. Juvenile, foolish, for how could any word in any language describe the weight it carried, and how one way or another, this liquid shall determine whether you live or die.
It was bittersweet, it was acid upon his tongue, it was venom every single time he downed it.
Blood.
Oh, how he despised blood.
Thought circulating, actions sure to follow. The chalice struck the wall in front of him, scarlet liquid splattering against the sacred family tree adorning the peeling wood, etched by some long forgotten fool drowned too deep inside his own mentality. The viscous fluid dripped off the face of his mother in all her glory. A proud woman. A despicable monster. He remembered when she died, withered nails dripping with blood as her head sat proudly upon a spike.
He had been a child then. The sight had tormented him for centuries.
His gaze moved from his mother down, following the faded lines until he came to his own; oh how young he used to be, nigh a couple hundred years. Still young, still naive as this particular portrait was etched. Kim Seokjin, it said underneath, golden thread interwoven around the name.
Yet it was not his own face he yearned to look upon. It wasn't his mother's, it wasn't his father's. It was,
It was his.
And there he was, right in front of him.
Not on the despicable family tree, no. He was always there, always where Seokjin remembered him to be; clutched inside the confines of his ancient heart, not willing to leave, not willing to let Seokjin forget.
Slowly turning his head to look towards the side, the vampire's heart did that odd thing once more. It had not beaten in a thousand millennia, yet as soon as his gaze fell upon the portrait, his heart felt alive.
The face of his lover, preserved in ink and canvas, name all but vanished from his memory. Yet, yet every moment spent with him was alive. Every single touch, every single sensation, every single time his name had spewed from his lips.
Yet he couldn't remember it.
It had been a name of grandeur, traced with lineancy and gold speckled dust. Of grace, glittering and royal. Royalty, that's what it had been. That's what he had been, inborn amongst the most minute of his features; ingrained now, upon the lonely canvas hung against the wall.
Yet it was silent. So, so silent, a ghost of a past, of a love long forgotten.
Seokjin, he used to say, whisper in the slightest of whispers. Seokjin, and his name would fall forth from amongst the lips grazing the side of his neck. Seokjin, and what he used to feel, he felt now, in the present, as if some cruel diety revealed all that once was but is not anymore. History, the remnants of which were scattered amongst the delicate space time continuum. Perhaps that's what had been written in the stars for him; erased from memory, from existence, with not even a grave to remember him by--
And Seokjin yelled. He yelled until his throat was sore and no voice would come forth, yet still he yelled, screaming in anguish, in utter grief, the way he had yelled when he had found out what had happened. A promise of revenge, of banishing their souls to the depths of hell of who did that to him, to them. For that pain he had felt, piercing his heart and tearing it into a million pieces, he felt it now. He felt it shredding his sanity, as cracking open a deep buried chest full of angst and remorse.
Remorse for not being able to save him. For not being able to protect him when he was needed, as blood spilled from his wounds like does wine from a broken barrel, tainting the world before Seokjin's eyes red. And it kept spilling and spilling until there was none left to spill yet he had stayed there by the lifeless body, skin tormented by howls of grief. And countless ravens threw themselves against windowpanes that day, all around him, engulfing him like a shadow, an everlasting scourge. The red that stained his clothes was the red that stained his heart. What had been red with love, was now burned into ashes.
And guilt oozed out from his pores as his cries of pain died down, instead grief remained, as it had done for a thousand years, eating away at his insides.
They say a vampire lives forever. Yet Seokjin had died a long, long time ago. Died with him, the haunting melody of his fingers casted upon the piano as melancholy infused the air with it's breathlessness. And Seokjin couldn't breathe anymore, for his breath had run out, like a candle lit for too long of a time, slowly vanishing, slowly burning up into nothingness until all that's left are remnants of it's former glory.
That's all that was left of him. A remnant, a jewel once shining bright, yet now rotten at it's core. His purpose had vanished, his will ceased to exist.
A remnant.
A remnant of a love long forgotten, shattered apart as a knife embedded itself upon his lovers body.
And that had been the day Seokjin had died.
( Moonlight shone down upon the stone jostled upright onto the ground. It was old, anyone seeing it would be able to tell, moss grown up through the cracks in it's withered surface, edges chipped away from perhaps a millennia of being there. Words too old to decipher, in a language not used anymore, etched across it's tainted being.
MIN YOONGI
1432_1458
то что было когда-то получено никогда не вернется
And there he rested. At peace, but perhaps still yearning for what was unattainable.)