Chapter Text
An old coach was shaken strongly. Vladislaus jumped slightly on the spot by inertia. The sudden shake made him get out of the state of drowsiness, which usually visits during long travels. Vladislaus rubbed his closed eyes with his fingers, keeping himself together, then looked through the dirty window, spoiled with some spots. He saw a night coniferous forest. It was a good symbol; they almost reached the place.
In just a few days, Vladislaus managed to miss Forgotten Hollow. He never thought that he could be so attached to something because he thought of the notion as weak. Forgotten Hollow, founded by the Straud family, became for Vladislaus IV a matter of life, a new meaning of eternity. It took a very short period for Vladislaus to realize how much this town and its inhabitants meant to him. He was pleased to see the happiness and satisfaction on the faces of the settlers. The constant change in the New World made many old-fashioned vampires feel uncomfortable, so Forgotten Hollow proved to be a godsend for most of them. The somber Transylvanian style, fidelity to tradition and the undeniable dominance of the children of the night contrasted with the inexorable modernization of the young country.
Sims, unlike vampires, constantly fussed for some reason, ruthlessly drove time forward. They were in a hurry to live because immortality was not subject to them, although many of them would love to have it. Vladislaus allowed himself to chuckle at the thought. Ridiculous creatures seeking to get what nature did not give them. For centuries, he has watched over the desperate attempts of the sims to become the rulers of the world. Each time it looked like a small dog yapping at a wolf. It jumped around, bared its teeth, but did not dare to attack. Poor sims! They did not even suspect that the true rulers of the world were the children of the night.
Meanwhile, Vladislaus understood without the sims, vampires simply would not have survived. It was not even about the source of food, but rather the ability to continue the vampiric race. The vast majority of current vampires in the distant past were ordinary sims. Fortunately for Vladislaus, over time they lost their human features, and then nothing more reminded of their mortal beginning. Communicating with sims caused him great tension and disgust. Among them, he had to hide all his real feelings, and he really did not like to restrain himself. Vladislaus cherished the dream of returning to Forgotten Hollow, the mist-shrouded town, to the vampires, to take off his mask of polite aristocrat and become himself again, the undisputed ruler of the night.
The forest has thinned. Trees and high rounded rocks now stood singly along the dirt road. Seeing the changed landscape, Vladislaus emerged from the bottomless lake of thoughts and straightened his shoulders, preparing to appear with dignity in Forgotten Hollow.
The coach slowed down. Behind the last maple tree by the road, right after the lake, there was the first house, or rather, what was left of it. The only survivors were the walls, everything else seemed to have burned down in a big fire. Where a picturesque flowerbed used to bloom, the earth has been mercilessly dug up; the stone path leading to the house and the grass were covered with a layer of soot. The farther the coach drove, the more terrible was the view that opened before Vladislaus. The second, third, and fourth houses were in a similar state. Vladislaus rushed to the opposite window of the coach. On the other side of the town, the situation was not different.
Without waiting for the coach to stop completely, Vladislaus, seized with feelings, opened the door and jumped out. The speed was very low, so he landed without any problems. He was only slightly tilted in the direction of the coach, but he kept his balance. Straightening up sharply, Vladislaus looked around excitedly, like an animal frightened to death. It seemed that an unenviable fate did not bypass a single dwelling. All of them participated in a brawl, which the count did not witness. The square was also damaged. The first thing that caught his eye was the mutilated monument to the founder of the town. The head of the stone likeness of Vladislaus IV was somehow blown off to the very shoulders. Vladislaus could not take his shocked gaze from his beheaded self. The spectrum of all emotions gathered in the chest with a squeezing heaviness, ready at any moment to break out in the most sudden way.
Out of the corner of his ear, Vladislaus heard the coachman's worrying call. The wheels did not creak, and the horses’ hooves did not clatter; the coach stopped. The coachman jumped down from the box and hurriedly walked towards the customer, not ceasing to call him. When he came very close, Vladislaus, as if coming out of a trance, turned to him. A pair of predatory, cruel eyes stared at the coachman, who, meeting Vladislaus's gaze, stopped.
“I beg your pardon, my lord,” said the coachman, in response to an unfriendly meeting, calmly hid his hands behind his back. “Did something happen?”
“Look at this,” Vladislaus hissed like an angry snake. He threw his hand at the dwellings behind him. “I put my soul into this settlement. I treated it like my child; I protected it, wanted only the best for it, like a loving father. I was sweating, not for trouble that might happen in my absence. I’m tormented by ignorance. There is no one to tell about what happened because an unknown force dispersed everyone. It robbed me of everything that was really dear to me!”
Vladislaus did not notice that, during the monologue, he loomed menacingly over the hushed coachman. He was noticeably whiter, but he tried to look as calm as possible. He was no longer as confident as before. Vladislaus again led the mortal into quiet horror, without even setting himself such a goal.
“However, to whom I am going to share my grief?” Vladislaus leveled off and stepped back a little from the frightened coachman. He easily adopted a haughty expression and, running his hand over the gray jabot, continued: “You don’t know my feelings. You will never understand them because you yourself did not create anything great either with your hands or with your mind.”
“That’s true, my lord,” the coachman agreed quite casually, without any indignation. Anyone else would have begun to argue, to deny the words of Vladislaus in every possible way, but not this sim. Apparently, he did not want problems for himself, so he preferred to swallow the insult. How submissive sims were sometimes! Vladislaus might have revealed such a thought, but not when he was trying to maintain his dignity in the presence of a mortal.
Vladislaus turned back to the square. He looked off into the distance, completely ignoring the coachman, as if he were not there. The coachman, in turn, was examining his own legs, not daring to leave. There was a pause between them.
“You are free now,” Vladislaus finally said casually. The coachman bowed politely and hurried away. Turning his back to the customer, he did not even think about holding back a long, relieved breath. Vladislaus heard it well.
The next moment, throwing out the useless, in his opinion, dialogue, Vladislaus closed his eyes, lowered his head and crossed his arms over his stomach. From the outside, he looked like a mourner. It was true; he remembered a completely new town, the life that was in full swing there, the inhabitants. Emotions were superfluous. Only a cold mind would help to understand what happened. Vladislaus would go around Forgotten Hollow in search of an answer to an important question, look into all the cracks, explore every inch of the ground, but only after the coachman had left.
He heard the coachman's light footsteps, the creaking of the coachbox as he sat on it. Vladislaus was still waiting for the steady clatter of hooves, announcing the carriage was leaving. Instead, the coachman seemed to think for an eternity until he finally decided what to do next. Vladislaus heard a jump from the box and the quiet neighing of horses. Apparently, the coachman came up to check on the animals. Since then, there had been absolute silence. Even the crickets did not sing the night song, the wolves did not play their favorite eerie notes, and the bats did not cut the air with the thin squeaks. In a perfect silence, Vladislaus's ears caught the ragged breathing and the wildly beating heart in the coachman's chest. Several times he took deep breaths in order to turn to Vladislaus, but each time he fell silent, not starting to speak. Perhaps he doubted, or carefully considered his future words.
“I’ve already paid for the trip at the very beginning. What more do you need from me?” Vladislaus glanced at the coachman with displeasure. The protracted sojourn was beginning to annoy him.
“You know…” the coachman stopped. He looked around fearfully, sharpening his attention on the ruins of houses. From the one who minutes earlier could have set a worthy example for the servants of the rich, there was nothing left. Vladislaus, although he was losing patience, understood he needed to control himself until the end. The coachman did not test his fate; after soothingly stroking the bay mare's neck, he continued. “... my horses are very tired. I don't think they'll be able to make it back without rest. Let me stay with you.”
It was right to say that Vladislaus was stunned. This request plunged him into a deep shock. Where was it seen the servants, the lower caste of the lower race, so directly addressed with obscenities to the count, the ruler of vampires?
“Unheard of insolence!” Vladislaus exclaimed thunderously. “I refuse your request.”
“All the nobility are the same,” if not for the magnificent hearing, Vladislaus would not have heard what the coachman turned away from him mumbled under his breath. Another bold statement hit Vladislaus' pride and patience.
“You insulted me, mister.” Vladislaus touched the frill on his chest with his pale bony fingers again. He knew there were demons playing in his eyes.
“Really?” turning to Vladislaus, the coachman tilted his head to his right shoulder. He twisted his mouth into a wicked grin. He found a crack in the shield of arrogance and tried to squeeze through in order to increase the flaw and finally see the real soul of Vladislaus. “You all say so. In fact, cruelty, vanity, and greed are your most common traits, aren't they?”
“The feeble-minded aristocracy is such. I ask you not to equate them with me,” with each thoughtlessly thrown phrase of the coachman, Vladislaus became more and more angry.
“So what’s your difference?” The coachman crossed his arms over his chest with the air of a winner. Based on his mood, he expected that the question would greatly confuse Vladislaus. However, the reaction turned out to be different; with a guttural growl, Vladislaus said through his teeth:
“This does not concern your mind, mister. Seems to me, you've been here longer than allowed. Please leave Forgotten Hollow.”
“No-no,” the coachman grinned more than before, “I will stay here anyway. I advise you to give me a place to sleep, so you really prove that you are not like the rest of the nobility.”
“Please don't tell me what to do,” Vladislaus raised his voice. The tone, that was too high for a domineering aristocrat, reverberated through the dead air in a fraction of a second. Vladislaus rised his upper lip where the long fangs were in his dark form. The coachman continued to grin, though his eyes widened in fright. “Once again, I ask you to leave Forgotten Hollow on your own. Otherwise, I will gladly help you.”
“You won't do it. Why would you waste your precious energy to get me out of here? Better save your untrained pens for counting the money earned by the blood of others, and writing meaningless letters to snobs like you.”
The last small drop quickly fell off the edge of the self-control’s bowl. Vladislaus reached the horses in one elusive moment. Feeling his presence so close, the animals lifted their heads in turn with flattened ears, snoring softly. Their nostrils flared uneasily to unthinkable proportions, and their eyes opened wide enough to show the whites. Vladislaus unceremoniously grabbed one of the mares by the bit. She panicked and with a much louder snore began to break out of the count's tenacious fingers. The neighboring horse behaved in exactly the same way; the fear of the stranger was transferred to her.
“Get your hands off them!” The coachman exclaimed indignantly in an attempt to push Vladislaus away. The rough touch of the palms served as a kind of sign to the count that the barrier of external politeness was completely destroyed. The coachman attacked first.
Vladislaus released the mare and swung widely. Letting out a terrible, unnatural hiss, he slashed the coachman on the cheek with his sharp claws with all his considerable force. The coachman fell to the ground with a short, sonorous groan, unable to stay on his feet due to the power of the blow. The horses, in uncontrollable panic, neighed at the top of their lungs and reared up, swinging their front legs. The coachman unconsciously pressed his stained hand to his wounded cheek. However, the barrier from the hand did not stop Vladisalus's nose from catching the steely scent of blood. A real vampiric bliss that turned the head of a predator. The thirst that had been held for many days made itself felt. Two distraught horses receded into the unnecessary noise. Now there was only the victim lying under Vladislaus’ feet and his seductive smell. Vladislaus fell to his knees next to the coachman. The wounded victim, seeing the embittered predator so close, began to fussily crawl away. No matter how hard the coachman tried, he could not get more than a couple of feet away. The uncoordinated actions played a bad joke on him.
“My apologies, my lord,” he whined in a trembling voice, “it’s my fault, I understand, I’ll leave right away, don’t do anything to me, I beg you...”
Vladislaus was deaf to repentance and pleas. He easily grabbed the coachman's jaw and lifted his head, thus opening a convenient view of the neck. An alluring warmth emanated from it. Hearing sharpened to the limit, he heard a rapid arterial pulse. Vladislaus leaned over and passionately grabbed the neck with his teeth. Without fangs, biting through the skin was quite problematic, but still possible. Clenching his jaws tighter, Vladislaus began to wait for his share of blood. It happened in one moment. The coachman failed to react in time, but as soon as he realized what was happening, he screamed devilishly. He kicked like an unbridled stallion, blindly shoved Vladislaus, trying, if not to escape, then at least to alleviate the suffering. Vladislaus only closed the screaming mouth with his palm and, embracing the victim's shoulder, pressed the mortal body to himself, without breaking his death grip. The resistance occurred when a vampire forgot about the hypnosis.
Finally, Vladislaus felt blood rush into his mouth. Jaw cramped sweetly. The coachman went limp under his arms, quietly accepting an unenviable fate. He quietly closed his eyes, tilting his head back even more. It seemed the coachman was waiting for the hour when Grim Reaper would come and put an end to the suffering. The miracle did not happen; Vladislaus still clenched his teeth very close to the artery. Small drops of blood, which he did not have time to suck, flowed down from the wound, repeating the outline of the neck. Vladislaus quickly licked it off, leaving nothing but a wet patch after the tongue. With each beat of the victim's heart, the wound bled more and more. When the steel-flavored liquid finally flowed freely, Vladislaus drowned in his own feelings. Blood became the center of the universe. Pleasure hit sharply in the head, responding with a pleasant shiver throughout the body. He let out a long breath and clutched the neck even tighter. Vladislaus, the great representative of the superior race, did not even think to fight with instincts.
In addition to pleasure, drinking slowly brought satiety. The more the vampire's stomach filled with blood, the weaker the reaction of the starving soul and body. Having taken the last sip, Vladislaus opened his jaw. He raised his head. The white-faced coachman in Vladislaus's arms was breathing heavily. His eyes, wide open, as if inanimate, stared upwards to the top of the trees. One of the few signs of life in the coachman's body was a bleeding wound. Vladislaus carefully placed him on the ground. He was weak-willed, like a piece of rag, and when he touched a hard surface, he did not move at all. Vladislaus slowly rose to his feet, not taking his indifferent gaze from the coachman. The still uncoagulated blood repeated the previously done path. They are so pathetic when they lose their self-confidence, Vladislaus thought contemptuously, wiping the blood from his lips with the back of his hand. He returned to the present, since he gained the ability to think sensibly.
Vladislaus finally paid attention to what was happening around him. The horses and carriage disappeared like they were swept away with a broom. Ruined Forgotten Hollow was not a figment of a weary imagination, unfortunately. Vladislaus remembered he wanted to go around the town, but the coachman prevented him. Before starting, Vladislaus hid his face in the crook of his elbow and lightly, like an autumn leaf, made a turn around its axis in the air. A completely different vampire touched the ground. In his dark form, he became himself again. Vladislaus raised his hands with frightening claws to eye level, and then looked at the sky. Translucent clouds parted for the first time in a long time, presenting the world with a new moon. A surge of supernatural power helped him feel like a ruler before whom the whole universe fell to its knees. Vladislaus turned his face into the moonlight, spreading his arms. He took a few deep breaths, clenching and unclenching his fists. The power of the night spread evenly over every part of the vampiric body. Now Vladislaus was ready. He turned around, and in the next split second he was no longer in the same place. The fact that someone was standing here recalled a dark gray stripe only, which disappeared after a couple of moments.
Firstly, Vladislaus went where his eyes could not reach, to the farthest end of the row of houses, to a place that the inhabitants called among themselves Fledermaus Bend. The damage caused to dwellings was of the same type. The houses were either burned down, or destroyed by an unknown force to the very foundation, or both at the same time. Fledermaus Bend was burned down almost completely. The walls were covered with soot; blackened beams reminded there had once been a roof here. One careless movement, and everything that was from the once noble home would fall apart completely.
Vladislaus approached the ruins cautiously. Here, next to a cave full of bats, lived baroness Elle DeVampiro. Although she was a pure-blooded noblewoman, she had no possessions. Elle looked for herself a small but tastefully furnished house, and she got it almost for nothing. Interestingly, she did not actually live there. Elle spent a lot of time in the cave in the form of a bat. Locals calmly accepted the newcomer into their ranks. Sometimes, in order to address her, one had to enter the heart of the abode of bats. Vladislaus also remembered how his offspring flirted with Elle, attracting her attention as best he could. He began to turn into a bat much more often, imitating the love interest. He did not care that his skin was black and hers white. Vampires had other priorities, which made life much easier.
That was what Vladislaus thought about as he approached Elle's house closer. He extended his hand towards the wall. The forefinger leaned against the blackened stones. Each of them was called upon to keep the secrets of thousands of years, to see the death and rebirth of the world without uttering a single word. Both a gift and a curse. If the stones had had a voice, Vladislaus would no doubt have questioned them about the misfortune that had befallen Forgotten Hollow. Sighing silently, he ran his hand along the wall. There was something symbolic in this gesture. Soot, that was the present, was deliberately erased in order to turn the gaze to what is hidden behind it, or to the past. The old days always seemed better to Vladislaus. Then the vampires were more respectful of themselves, and sims were less militant; the flowers smelled more fragrant, and it was easier to breathe. Years would pass, and the time that the count hated would become beloved. However, the day when Forgotten Hollow was destroyed, he would never love. There was an emptiness in his soul, as if a dear person had been lost forever. Suppressed rage, despair and bitterness turned into an awareness of helplessness. Previously, relatives helped to take care of the town. Previously, the settlers themselves, attracted by beautiful stories, came here. Previously, there was life here. It used… It used to be better, Vladislaus summed up sadly, examining the relatively clean stones on the wall.
Thoughts did not prevent his gaze from catching on three jagged lines. Vladislaus looked at them. He knew the appearance of every house in the town, their every feature or flaw, but he did not remember anything like that on Fledermaus Bend. The lines broke off on both sides; their continuations were hidden behind soot. Vladislaus quickly erased the black layer along the strange flaw. The ends of the lines were a couple of inches higher and lower. Now Vladislaus realized they were scratches. He slowly ran his finger over them. Not very deep, they were not left by any sort of weapon, but they could have been left by some supernatural being. Vladislaus immediately remembered the vampires, but they had to be forgotten. The scratches were quite large in width, and no child of the night could boast large claws. Only one creature could be proud of such dimensions...
This is impossible! Vladislaus thought anxiously. He could not believe it, so once again he turned on the idea of checking everything, now in order to convince himself. With new energy emerging from nowhere, the count, like a hunting dog, began to explore the area around the ruins of Fledermaus Bend. He examined the remains of the house quickly but carefully. Two more similar scratches were found on the same walls, one of which, based on the size, belonged to a vampire's hand. Perhaps there was a fight because no one in their right mind would spoil their own home. Vladislaus pursed his lips and continued to search for evidence of his theory in the same area. However, he did not find anything else. I suppose other ruins will tell me more, with this thought, Vladislaus went to Widowshild Townhome.
This dwelling differed from the rest in that a huge tree with plasma fruits rested on its ruins. It bloomed profusely almost all year round, and at one time saved almost all of Forgotten Hollow from thirst. So, the nanny fell, and with it the town. Truly symbolic, Vladislaus thought bitterly as he approached the thick trunk. He leaned over and began to carefully examine the black bark with dull purple lines that wound around the tree, like long female curls wrapped around the body, looking for scratches or any other oddities. To his great regret, he did not find anything, but, carried away by the game of a detective, he did not notice how he entered on something soft. Vladislaus looked down and saw that the overripe plasma fruit had stained his entire boot.
“Damn it,” Vladislaus snarled angrily. He glanced around briefly, looking for something to wipe away the unattractive stain. He quickly spotted something resembling a small rag, lying a little further away from him.
Vladislaus, almost without changing his position, easily reached for a piece of cloth, bent down strongly, slightly bending his knees, and furiously wiped the pulp of the fruit from his shoes. When he almost finished the cleaning, he suddenly realized that he had just ruined a potential piece of evidence. Vladislaus stopped himself, and stared at the piece of cloth in his hands. The rag was of some disgusting color even without absorbed juice, without elegant patterns and, to the touch, was made of cheap material. Vladislaus was sure no self-respecting vampire would wear such bad taste without a really good reason. Then, in order to find out more, he brought it closer to his nose and breathed in deeply. The pungent scent of the plasma fruit overwhelmed all other scents. Vladislaus silently scolded himself for his indiscretion, and then sniffed the rag again. The second attempt was a little more successful; in addition to the stench of rotten fruit, he smelled dampness. The vampiric sense of smell is weaker than a dog's, but much stronger than a human's. Now it turned out to be not so useful, since the evidence was corrupted.
Vladislaus, abruptly and with much disappointment, threw the rag aside. The piece of cloth fell heavily on the dark withered grass, and he went to investigate the site further. Each house could tell something, you just need to be able to search and listen — this is how Vladislaus encouraged himself while climbing over the rubble of the wall. The inner voice, which the count obeyed, suggested the evidence was located just inside the destroyed dwelling. Giant spreading branches of a tree hampered the investigation; Vladislaus often had to make his way through them, and they constantly strove to hit or scratch his face. He also was forced to look under his feet, so as not, once again enter onto the plasma fruit. At the moment, vampiric abilities would not help Vladislaus in any way, and he did not like it. For a brief moment, he felt like a mortal sim with no amazing talents. This comparison nearly unsettled him. Forcing himself to forget the careless association, Vladislaus took a deep breath, thereby calming down, and then, with huge zeal, again went to look for evidence. It seemed like he was doing it now just to prove to himself that he was far better than any of the best sim.
Unfortunately, the mobilization of enegry could not make new and no less strange flaws out of thin air. Then, realizing there was nothing in the walls, Vladislaus, trying to keep the remnants of a positive attitude, climbed out of the ruins and began meticulously examining the outer perimeter. He considered any suspicious thing as evidence, but finding it was nothing more than garbage, slowly lost heart. It was painful for Vladislaus to admit he had not found anything useful behind the walls either. The inner voice shamelessly lied. Though he might confuse it with a whisper of hope, or worse, with wishful thinking.
Be that as it may, the failure in the search in this area greatly knocked out Vladislaus's self-confidence. He could not endure his own defeats, especially now, because the opportunity to open the veil of secrecy that covered the town depended on his actions. The nasty comparison with the sim again persistently climbed into Vladislaus's head. But now he did not particularly resist it, because he understood this was very similar to the truth. Probably, Vladislaus was lucky only at the beginning, and then there would be nothing. Usually in such cases, he put pressure on his own pride, calling himself a worthless vampire, unworthy of the title of count and other words offensive to him, and this helped not to lose heart. Now it did not help. Despite the presence of several unverified houses, the main square and a colossal natural area, he thought all his efforts in trying to find out everything that had happened was in vain. A small victory was encouraging, but even a small failure could negate all morale.
Vladislaus, visibly drooping, returned to the rag, to an object that could help soothe mental pain, if not for a stupid reckless decision. Once again, scolding himself for what he had done, he picked up a piece of cloth. Somewhere in the depths of his soul, he naively cherished the hope that the rag still held secrets that at first went unnoticed. Paradoxically, the silent wish came true. Very close to the place where he had just picked up a piece of cloth, Vladislaus noticed small dark circular spots. They were exactly in a row with a gap of several feet. Vladislaus, being interested, slowly followed in the traces. The rag nevertheless helped; if it did not tell about the tragedy on its own, then it pointed to another piece of evidence. The stains, which turned out to be blood, were heading towards the square in an unbreakable chain. They ended right in front of a steel fence bent almost in half. Vladislaus caught himself thinking he could not be surprised at anything. He stepped over the railing quite calmly, only holding the hem of his coat so as not to catch on the sharp edges.
The dense, colorless ferns seemed to be the only thing that had not been touched by devastation. However, they were covered in a dark, dried substance of unknown origin. Unwilling to touch them with his hands, Vladislaus moved the large leaves with the tip of his boot. The fern was caught on the way to the monument, and the count considered it unforgivable to bypass the plant. Despite the disappointment in the search, he still did not give up the childish desire to find something else. There was nothing under the first fern, then Vladislaus moved on to try his luck with the next plant, which was very close by. The luck finally had mercy on him; an unusual white object laid under a raised leaf. It was small and elongated, somewhat reminiscent of a fang. Vladislaus picked up a tooth with the rag, which he still clutched in his hand. The first impression was confirmed; it was a fang, and rather big. It was covered with dust and pieces of dirt, and a frightening crack was visible at its root. Vladislaus wrapped it in an equally dirty piece of cloth. It seemed to him that this evidence in itself is useless, but in alliance with another thing it could convey something interesting.
Behind the fence, directly on the square itself, lay downed statues of winged lamas, symbolizing death. On the ground, they did not look so intimidating, especially the one with a broken wing. Vladislaus sadly remarked these llamas would never again make vampires admire or make a sim's knees tremble. He liked the statues very much. He remembered personally ordering them from the craftsman, paying for his work and carefully transporting the finished pieces, and ended up seeing them brutally mocked. Following the already knurled scheme, Vladislaus cast a meticulous glance at the lamas from his height. He was helped by the moonlight, which then looked out, then hid back into the clouds.
The attention of Vladislaus did not linger on the statues for a long time; he was attracted by the glare on the water that surrounded the monument. He would not have bothered about it and continued searching if it was not for its strange color. It did not reflect the sky, except perhaps forever capturing the sunset in itself. Forgetting about the statues, Vladislaus hurriedly approached the idle fountain. Looked there, and would have been horrified if he had not been a vampire who had seen the delights of the world. The water was almost completely dyed scarlet. Only one substance could give it that color; blood. Vladislaus was afraid to ask himself who it belonged to. Therefore, in order to distract, Vladislaus examined the well-visible bottom of the fountain. Almost immediately, he discovered another object, similar in silhouette to another fang. Without even a hint of disgust, Vladislaus thrust his hand into the bloody water as calmly as if he did it every day.
Almost at the same second, he pulled out his wet forearm with a clenched fist. There he held the same fang that laid at the bottom. Because of the moisture, the snow-white tooth sparkled in the light, and it had no flaws. It seemed to be perfect. The exact opposite of the thing Vladislaus found earlier. He unrolled the rag that already contained the fang and placed the one he had just found next to it. The new evidence was noticeably smaller than the old one. Obviously, they belonged to two completely different beings. Vladislaus sighed deeply. The situation was definitely not in his favor, but the assumption, supported by some kind of evidence, bloomed magnificently, like a cherry in the spring.
Vladislaus looked up worriedly at the decapitated monument, then looked down at the lifeless wasteland, the ruins that painfully reminded him of lost happiness. Perhaps the evidence already in existence was sufficient to suggest who destroyed Forgotten Hollow. However, Vladislaus needed to know clearly, and not be at a loss, especially since he had a much more exciting question. Why was this done? And he would not rest until he sheds light on pitch darkness, where even a vampire cannot navigate.
Vladislaus's gaze settled on the manor, which was called Wolfsbane. He stopped paying special attention to the demolished and burned houses, he was attracted by something else. Huge dark spots on the remains of the walls, clearly visible even from afar, suggested some thoughts. Vladislaus ran up to the manor with supernatural speed, and the picture that fully opened before him awakened old memories of large-scale medieval battles. This place really looked like a battlefield. Here and there, puddles of someone's blood spread out, not inferior in size to the stains on the wall. The smell had faded long ago, but Vladislaus was forced to think about such an association by a scarlet hue, which he encountered too often during today's searches. Whatever happens here, the losses from what happened in this town were not inferior in scale to the post-war devastation.
The incredibly sharp and nauseating stench did not allow Vladislaus to plunge into another thought. It only became tangible when he approached the back of the manor. Vladislaus was very irritated by this most unpleasant smell, because only a decaying corpse stank like that. With some difficulty, suppressing the treacherously rising bile in his throat, he allowed his scent to guide him. He walked out of the living area to a bunch of fir trees that barely resembled a forest. The closer Vladislaus approached them, the stronger the stench became. He wanted to turn around and go in a completely opposite direction, forget about this smell, but he could not just leave everything. Especially when it became possible to find the most indisputable evidence. And it was discovered relatively soon, to the great happiness of Vladislaus.
Still far away, under the second tree, he noticed the outlines of a lying sim. Momentary relief was immediately replaced by a strong inner excitement. Vladislaus forced himself to walk calmly, not to break into a run. Hundreds of different thoughts considered it their duty to knock loudly in Vladislaus's head, like drummers at a parade. He could not stop at a specific one because they all talked about things, each of which was true in its own way. Finally, everything fell into place when Vladislaus, with lips twisted in disgust, reached his destination. Seeing who the corpse turned out to be, he felt how his heart, pounding at an unusually rapid rhythm, rolled down his stomach like a stone.
The decomposing body was a werewolf in bestial form. The guess that Vladislaus stubbornly pushed away from himself since the beginning of the investigation was confirmed. The disgusting fact thrown into his face was incredibly disappointing, and infuriating. Self-control failed, carefully held feelings were released from the shackles. Vladislaus abruptly twirled on his heels and left, not honoring the lifeless body of the werewolf with a last glance. His legs seemed to be heavy, he could not run, although he really wanted to. Vladislaus did not believe all this was reality. It brutally mocked him again, this time setting the werewolves on the town.
Oh, those vile creatures! Vladislaus despised them more than the sims. Werewolves had nothing to do with the wolf, the noblest animal, although they called it their ancestor. Having no elementary concepts of hygiene, politeness, one fine day they jumped out of the forest into the world, declared vampires enemies and began to do anarchy around themselves. Werewolves hated the children of the night with all their bestial essences due to the usual fear of them. Vampires often endured all sorts of humiliation, insults, and sometimes attacks on their part. Only a powerful child of the night could prevent such a thing, which with its very appearance forced a whole flock of werewolves to cowardly flee. Vladislaus was one of those vampires. And the werewolves, waiting for him to leave to see off his relatives, run into the town, bringing destruction with them.
The grandfather, Vladislaus II, did the right thing when he tried to dissuade his grandson from going with them because he needed more to Forgotten Hollow. However, Vladislaus IV did not heed the advice and went with his relatives to the port, to put them on a ship to Europe. Just before leaving, he laid his hand on his weakly beating heart and swore to his great-grandfather, grandfather and father he would protect Forgotten Hollow at all costs. This town is their common cause, something that rallied the family even more. Each of them made a small but important contribution to its development. They were proud of their creation, especially Vladislaus IV, because it was he, the youngest, who was entrusted with leading the new haven of vampires. And he did not live up to the expectations of those close to him. What fury they would come to, how many curses would fly from their lips when they found out what had become of the town! In response to the tirade that broke out in his head on behalf of his relatives, Vladislaus picked up excuses, one worse than the other. The disappointing thought of the possible reaction of the family, like a hated blinding sun, burned his soul.
He stopped abruptly, raising his head to the sky. Perhaps the spirit of that late werewolf entered his body, as he suddenly wanted to howl plaintively at the moon, like a wounded wolf. Vladislaus took in more air into his chest, opened his mouth, and could not make a sound. The scream stuck somewhere deep inside. Vladislaus had forgotten how to express true emotions. He had been around sims for too long. The feelings that did not come out were stuck in a big lump in him, which oppressed him more and more. He lowered his head, hugged himself with his arms, as a sim does when they freeze, and with small steps wandered along the road known only to him. Vladislaus just walked, but where, he did not know. He just wanted to hide for a while from the problem that gripped him tightly, preferably somewhere where no one had ever lived. He would hide, perhaps shout, then calm down, and then it would be clear what to do next. In all his long life, Vladislaus never felt as vulnerable as he did now.
“Dad?” someone's faint voice rang out through the fog of gloomy thoughts. Vladislaus turned to the source of the strange sound and saw the coachman lying on the ground. He completely forgot about his existence. He was as pale as a dead man, and his eyes, as before, were lifelessly fixed on one point. The blood at the site of the bite has already coagulated.
“Dad, I feel terrible.”
“I’m not your father,” Vladislaus, having forgotten the previous route, stood at the sim. Hearing the answer, the coachman tried to lift his head to see the interlocutor, but immediately stopped doing it with a low groan. Apparently, any movement brought him the strongest discomfort.
“Dad, help me,” delirious. Vladislaus has seen something similar before. Due to suppressed thirst, the vampire could drink more blood from a sim than usual, which then greatly affected the health of the victim.
“I myself would not refuse help,” Vladislaus sat down opposite the coachman. On his temples, Vladislaus noticed drops of sweat reflected the silver light of the moon. “You are calling for your father, but I came instead. Your problem was solved easily, unlike mine. Today, I would rather lie without blood, like you, than be tormented by pangs of conscience and grief. My loss is like the loss of a parent's precious child, a farmer's crop, a king's army. I was left with nothing when my relatives were gone. They were right; without them, I’m nothing. And I, a stupid son, resisted, repeated otherwise, backing it up with flimsy evidence. Even we, children of the night, cannot turn back time. I’ll have to step over my own pride and report the misfortune to my relatives, but I cannot find the right words. I'm even scared to imagine their faces when they read my letter,” Vladislaus poured out to a sore sim, who still would not answer him. The count did not want to speak, but the words came out of his mouth as if they were on their own. “I need to think it over, understand what happened, who is to blame: werewolves, damned dog children, or me, the one who left Forgotten Hollow to its fate.”
Vladislaus spoke, but it was impossible to tell from the coachman whether he was listening or not, whether he understood what was being said to him. The same indifferent look of gray eyes, which seemed to be looking through him, did not tune in to the conversation. However, Vladislaus did not care. He found someone who agreed to listen to him, let it be an ordinary sim; let his thoughts were not fully weighted and, perhaps, confused, but his soul became a little easier. When the flow of uncontrollable speech ended, Vladislaus looked at the exhausted coachman. He could get up and leave him to suffer, to await the arrival of death, which would not be. Or help by moving him to a warmer and safer place. Thoughts with the speed of a stormy river flowed in the count's head until he found the best solution, in his opinion.
“You know, I can help you,” Vladislaus crawled closer. He carefully placed the coachman's head in his lap, meeting his gaze again. There was now a silent question in his eyes, a languid interest in what was happening, although he still did not fully understand anything. “Any big problem is made up of a dozen small troubles, and until you solve them all, it will not get easier. I know how to make it, so you feel better in an instant,” Vladislaus gave his voice soft, even gentle notes. He cautiously wrapped one arm around the coachman's chin, placing his palm on his cheek, and the other did the same, only through the top of his head. He continued to look the coachman in the eyes, at the same time trying not to betray his true intentions. His voice was soothing, and his eyes seemed to be kind. “You won’t feel anything, just a long-awaited calmness.”
The muscles of his hands tensed, Vladislaus prepared to hear a nauseating sound that reminded him so much of the crunch of a broken twig. Something suddenly gleamed in the coachman's dull eyes. He spoke silently:
“Water.”
This simple request forced Vladislaus to stop. He dropped the act, before he even started it, to think again. Vladislaus did not recognize himself; on any other day, he would not even pay attention to the coachman at all, let alone stop cruel mercy upon hearing a single word from a sim. Water, it seemed to sound so ordinary, but it showed Vladislaus all the coachman’s trust in him, despite what had happened earlier, the desire to live, to hold on to the mortal world. He was not really waiting for death, he was not waiting for the ancient vampire that took on the hard work of the Reaper. Cheeks burning under the cold palms did not want their warmth to fade forever. The coachman, with a heartwarming word on his lips, slowly touched Vladislaus's hands with his fingers. They were icy. Vladislaus suddenly thought he would be happy if blood flowed in these fingers again, so that they would always be warm. You’ve gone soft, Vladislaus IV Straud. A sharp reproach to himself helped him come to his senses. First, what the silly religion of the sims called a sin almost happened, then sentimental thoughts set in, and then, finally, a new, most sensible solution knocked on the head. Perhaps something beneficial to Vladislaus will come out of this later.
Vladislaus bared his wrist and, no longer talking about anything, stuck his fang into a cluster of veins. The blood immediately flowed down, as if it had only been waiting for this hour.
“Here it is, your water,” he brought his bleeding wrist to the coachman’s lips. He obediently clung to Vladislaus's hand. He sucked, tightly clinging to the Vladislaus's forearm, did not even grimace and did not notice the catch. “With it, I will give you new opportunities, which are not available to ordinary Sims. Rejoice in rebirth!”
The coachman did not seem to be listening to him. He drank until Vladislaus took the hand out. Still thirsty, the coachman got up for more, but he quickly had to lie back on the Vladislaus's knees. His chest rose intermittently, and his eyes clouded again. Weakness insensibly reminded of itself. The remnants of vampiric blood stood out in bright spots on pale, almost green lips.
“Dad,” once again, the coachman exhaled quietly, giving Vladislaus an obscure but devoted look.
Pretending to be unaffected by the word, Vladislaus carefully laid the coachman's head back on the ground, then, moving closer to the body, slowly slipped his hands under his shoulders and knees and just as slowly lifted him up. The coachman did not resist at all, on the contrary, buried his nose in Vladislaus's chest. Ignoring this gesture, he thought intensely about a possible nice place.
He quickly remembered this, only his heart skipped a beat at the thought of the Straud mansion. Vladislaus carefully avoided it during the investigation, and it would not be false to say he simply did not want to know about the damage caused to his fortress by werewolves. Forgotten for a couple of moments, feelings returned as soon as Vladislaus looked at Forgotten Hollow. He would have to go through hopelessness again, and all for the sake of some unremarkable sim.
No, now he is my offspring, Vladislaus corrected himself, courageously walking through the ruined town to the mansion. In order not to think about the ruins surrounding him, Vladislaus glanced at the coachman. He swayed weakly in time with his steps. Vladislaus became a second father for him, so he had every right to ask him to call him dad; he really liked such a gentle treatment. But he quickly discarded this worthless idea. The offspring must respect and fear their master, and not treat him as a good-natured relative.
You’ve gone soft, Vladislaus IV Straud.