Work Text:
Is this right?
The wailing rises, echoing through the halls. The familiar chorus of Mensis floods throughout the building, scholars crying and moaning and wailing with their hands thrown up in reverence.
Headmaster Micolash is here. Standing above them, watching, waiting. The moon rises, red and fiery and swollen, as he swallows the third umbilical cord.
What is to become of them on this night? Bazyli wails with them, cage rattling with the volume of his cries.
His peers sit around him, some chained and caged and gagged to prevent their protests.
He trusts his Headmaster. He knows what’s right.
The Nightmare awaits, enlightening and holy. It contains the knowledge which they have sought after for so long. Why do they protest?
Is this right? The chains rattle, the wails rise, and the Headmaster spins and dances on his podium. He calls to the cosmos, summons forth the eldritch entities with twisted words.
Mergo, oh sweet infantile Mergo. Can you hear the call of Mensis? Is it you who will finally grant the eyes which they have chased, relentless and fiercely determined?
Another wail joins the chorus. The newborn cries out as the blood moon surges, bathing Yharnam in crimson.