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The halls of the School for Little Vampires were unusually lively that evening. The grand Count Nosferatu, an ancient and powerful vampire of legendary status, had graced the school with his presence, along with his son Max.
Count Alarich von Horrificus had little patience for the bustling excitement that came with entertaining Nosferatu. He preferred order, discipline, and most of all—SILENCE.
The very presence of the ancient vampire disrupted all three.
After ensuring that the students were properly settled in their classroom for the night, Alarich retreated to his office. He sighed as he closed the door, relishing the familiar solitude of his study. His office was a perfect reflection of his character: meticulously organized, with shelves lined with ancient tomes and scrolls, and a large desk adorned with neatly stacked documents. The air carried the scent of aged parchment and candle wax.
For a brief moment, he allowed himself to relax.
That peace was, quite unfortunately, short-lived.
Without warning, the door creaked open, and in strolled Nosferatu himself, his long cloak billowing slightly as he moved with an air of casual curiosity.
"Ah, Count Alarich!" Nosferatu's deep, theatrical voice rang out as he stepped inside, completely ignoring the unspoken rule that one does not enter Alarich's office without invitation.
Alarich’s eye twitched as he turned toward his unexpected visitor.
"Nosferatu... ", he greeted, his voice cold but respectful. "To what do I owe this sudden intrusion?"
Nosferatu waved a dismissive hand, as though formality was beneath him.
"Oh, come now! Is that any way to greet an honored guest? Especially the one that carries such important family history? " He grinned, fangs glinting in the dim candlelight.
"I was merely exploring and happend to stumble upon your door. Naturally, curiosity got the better of me."
Alarich sighed through his nose, trying to keep his cool. "I would suggest you contain your curiosity, Nosferatu. My office is not a tourist attraction."
Nosferatu chuckled as he idly glanced around the room, his gaze landing on something unexpected.
There, on Alarich's desk, stood two picture frames.
Nosferatu raised a curious eyebrow. "Now this is interesting!", he mused, strolling toward the desk.
Alarich immediately stiffened. "Does he ALWAYS has to stick his rabbit-like fangs where they DON'T BELONG?", thought Alarich.
"Nosferatu. " he warned, but the older vampire ignored him, already picking up one of the frames.
Nosferatu examined the first frame with mild amusement. It contained an old painting, a formal portrait of a small boy with wild raven hair and big, playful eyes. He sat in a grand chair, his little hands resting in his lap, but there was an undeniable liveliness in his expression. The child looked like he had been forced to sit still for the painting, struggling not to break into laughter.
Alarich, now standing stiffly beside the chair, looked just as serious as ever, his cold expression betraying nothing.
Nosferatu smirked. "Ahh, so this must be young Oskar, yes?" He glanced at Alarich with knowing amusement. "What a mischievous little face! He looks like he was on the verge of running away the moment the artist looked away."
Alarich remained silent, his posture rigid as Nosferatu continued his observations.
"Such an interesting contrast between you two isn't it? " Nosferatu mused. "You-stern, composed, dignified. And then there’s the boy, practically radiating defiance and energy. I bet he was quite the handful. He doesn't seem to be too different now I have to admit. "
Alarich said nothing, but his fingers twitched slightly at his side.
Nosferatu then picked up the second frame. This one held a much simpler, less formal portrait—a captured moment rather than a posed scene. It was made without any real preparation before hand, flawlessly capturing a real life priceless moment.
It was a candid picture of Oskar at around five years old, curled up in a large, Count's high-backed armchair, fast asleep. His hair was slightly disheveled, and he was tucked under a heavy cloak—Alarich’s cloak to be specific.
Nosferatu’s eyes gleamed with amusement as he took in the sight.
"And this," he declared dramatically, "is truly fascinating."
Alarich clenched his jaw. Still keeping his composure. Honestly he just wanted to get him out himself.
Nosferatu turned to him with a teasing smirk. "So the great Count Alarich, known for his cold heart and discipline, lets a tiny child sleep under his very own cloak? How terribly soft you have become."
Alarich narrowed his eyes. "That is a private matter."
"Oh, of course, of course! Silly me! " Nosferatu said in mocking seriousness. "It’s only the proof of a doting uncle. Right my dear Count Alarich? "
Alarich exhaled sharply, his patience wearing thin. "Nosferatu. If you'd be kind and please get-"
But the ancient vampire was having far too much fun. He placed the frame back on the desk, then crossed his arms, watching Alarich like a predator who had just cornered his prey.
"You care for him," Nosferatu continued, cutting mid sentence. His voice quieter but no less amused than before. "That much is obvious just by looking at the mere frame of this painting. It shows signs of being held frequently and polished to keep it neat. He is not just as an heir of the family. Not just a duty. You love that boy."
Alarich said nothing. He couldn’t.
Because Nosferatu, for all his dramatic antics, was right at the end of the night.
The silence that followed was heavy. Nosferatu sto od silent, waiting to see if Alarich would deny it. But of course, he wouldn't. Not because he didn't want to, but because it would be a lie. He knew it too well. Count's father and mother were like that as well. Loving their precious family more than anything in their immortal life, but never or rearly showing it. Admittedly, his older brother, Oskar's father, was an exeption.
After a long pause, Alarich finally spoke, his voice low and measured. "My duty is to my family. That is all. Nothing more, nothing less. "
Nosferatu’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. "Ah, but is it?" He tapped a clawed finger against the desk. "Tell me, Alarich, does duty alone explain why you would allow a child to sleep in your expensive chair? Wrapped in your cloak that you keep out of everyone's reach? One that is kept as one of the family's treasures passed down from generation to generation. "
Alarich’s fingers tightened into a fist at his side, but he remained silent non the less.
Nosferatu chuckled. "You needn’t answer. Your silence is telling me everything I need to know."
Alarich exhaled, slowly reigning in his irritation. He knew Nosferatu well enough to understand that any attempt to argue would only encourage him further.
Nosferatu turned back to the portraits one last time. His smirk softened into something more contemplative. "It is no weakness to care, Alarich," he said, his voice less teasing now. "You may act as though duty is all that binds you to that boy, but the truth is, you love him as a father would love his son."
Alarich’s throat tightened at the words. He looked away, refusing to let any emotion show.
Nosferatu sighed, though there was still a trace of amusement in his voice. "I will not push you further, my dear Count. I merely wanted to see if you’d admit it to yourself."
Alarich finally met his gaze, his eyes cold and unyielding. "Are you quite finished? I still have a lot of work on my plate tonight. "
Nosferatu chuckled. "Oh, for now. But don’t worry—I’ll keep your little secret." He winked playfully. "I wouldn’t want to damage your dignified reputation, after all."
Alarich exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. "Out. Your son most certanly awaits you. "
Nosferatu gave an exaggerated bow. "As you wish, Count Alarich." He strolled toward the door but paused just before exiting.
"One last thing Alarich. " Nosferatu said, looking back one last time. "That boy Oskar. He’s lucky to have you, whether you admit it or not."
And with that, he disappeared down the hall, his cloak trailing behind him.
Alarich remained in his office, staring at the closed door for a while.
He finally let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. Slowly, he turned his gaze back to the portraits. His fingers brushed against the edge of the frame holding the picture of Oskar curled up in his chair.
Nosferatu was right. He did love the boy. More than he was willing to admit. Perhaps even to himself.
But such affections were best left unspoken. With one last glance at the picture, Alarich straightened his posture and returned back to his desk to work.
After all, he had a reputation to uphold. But deep down, he knew the truth.
And that was enough for now.