[He's grown sick of these nightmares. They aren't a regular occurrence, but the building stress of the elections made them more frequent of late, and he struggles with them silently. At night, it must be easy for his partners and brothers to feel his unease, the times he wakes frequently, the times he gives up and stays awake until dawn...
Tonight is a special night, six months since he met and fell for Mitsuki almost immediately, and he cleared his entire schedule for another night on the town. It went swimmingly, though he's not quite sure about karaoke, really, but as he laid down to sleep, he was so satisfied that he was certain there wouldn't be any sort of ill omens tonight.
He was wrong.
Some time in the single-digit hours of the night, Albert tenses. His arms tighten slightly around Mitsuki's smaller form, and the black nothingness behind his eyelids resolves into...
Flames. Tall flames licking up the sides of a taller building, a grand mansion with fire and smoke pouring out of every window and door. Everyone around has run to safety except the lone figure in a tweed suit and cravat standing in the middle of the building. He's surrounded by two bodies, one smaller, young, one older, and in his hand he holds what looks like a stake or some errant piece of wood.
It's covered in blood, from its jagged tip all the way up to the hand that clutches the wood, that shakes incessantly. But the figure doesn't move from the flames. He simply stands there, shoulders square, back tall, blood creeping up from his hand to his sleeve and higher still until he grips the shaking arm. That seems to stop the blood from its unnatural spreading.
But something steps out of the flame toward him. It resolves into a figure as well, with no distinguishing features, but that seems somehow familiar to the man in the suit. He rushes toward the featureless something and drives the stake into its side, just as it takes the form of a woman in a Victorian evening dress. She slumps, gripping his coat feebly before falling to his feet and being swallowed by the flames.
The stake shifts forms, and so does the man's clothing, a tuxedo now, and the stake becomes a large, fearsome knife. He raises his hand to his mouth, a handkerchief there, as if to stop himself from retching.
The handkerchief turns into a wine glass full of deep red wine, and with a shaking hand, he takes a sip.]
Late August
Tonight is a special night, six months since he met and fell for Mitsuki almost immediately, and he cleared his entire schedule for another night on the town. It went swimmingly, though he's not quite sure about karaoke, really, but as he laid down to sleep, he was so satisfied that he was certain there wouldn't be any sort of ill omens tonight.
He was wrong.
Some time in the single-digit hours of the night, Albert tenses. His arms tighten slightly around Mitsuki's smaller form, and the black nothingness behind his eyelids resolves into...
Flames. Tall flames licking up the sides of a taller building, a grand mansion with fire and smoke pouring out of every window and door. Everyone around has run to safety except the lone figure in a tweed suit and cravat standing in the middle of the building. He's surrounded by two bodies, one smaller, young, one older, and in his hand he holds what looks like a stake or some errant piece of wood.
It's covered in blood, from its jagged tip all the way up to the hand that clutches the wood, that shakes incessantly. But the figure doesn't move from the flames. He simply stands there, shoulders square, back tall, blood creeping up from his hand to his sleeve and higher still until he grips the shaking arm. That seems to stop the blood from its unnatural spreading.
But something steps out of the flame toward him. It resolves into a figure as well, with no distinguishing features, but that seems somehow familiar to the man in the suit. He rushes toward the featureless something and drives the stake into its side, just as it takes the form of a woman in a Victorian evening dress. She slumps, gripping his coat feebly before falling to his feet and being swallowed by the flames.
The stake shifts forms, and so does the man's clothing, a tuxedo now, and the stake becomes a large, fearsome knife. He raises his hand to his mouth, a handkerchief there, as if to stop himself from retching.
The handkerchief turns into a wine glass full of deep red wine, and with a shaking hand, he takes a sip.]