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Title: Atonement in Absentia
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Carmilla
Rating: G
Genre: Hurt-Comfort/Angst/Romance
Disclaimer: I do not own Carmilla and am making no profit from this story.
Summary: AU. Carmilla abandons the schloss of her own free will, unable to take Laura's life like she did so many others.
Author's Notes: This was written for HC_Bingo's May Challenge for the prompt 'Atonement'.
The house awoke to the terrible realisation that Carmilla – our dear guest and my beloved friend – had departed during the night. Her door, normally locked, was open and her possessions missing, and no one had seen her leave.
None save I, in a dream that – like others – I have come to realise was not a dream at all. For in this dream I saw Carmilla, wrapped in a grey cloak lined with rich ermine, standing by the foot of my bed with dark tears streaming down her cheeks to fall, staining and spattering, onto her breast. In this dream I watched her weep in silence, unable to reach out and comfort her as I longed to; oddly terrified of the expression on her face and the spreading stains of her tears. Oh! How that following morning I wished I had said something, so that in dreams Carmilla might know that I did not blame her.
Blame her. It is an odd choice of words, but under the circumstances a reasonable one. For while Carmilla stood sobbing, she was also speaking. Repeating “I’m sorry, I’m sorry” as a mantra, barely audible. Her hands, I could see, were clenched into fists, twisting helplessly in the folds of her cloak as if to tear it.
What prompted this plea? Oh Carmilla. Her strange lassitude; her beauty and intelligence and her utter devotion to everything I was – I had thought, then, that she could do no wrong. Carmilla was perfection in my eyes; a strange perfection, but one that I thought I could devote myself in turn to. Have I not claimed to love her from our first meeting? When, after that flare of terror at her familiar face, she did soothe me with words and pledged her eternal friendship, did I not return the sentiment whole-heartedly?
I was distraught at her leaving. Inconsolable, even, and while others set out to seek Carmilla I retired to my chambers. Weakened by my illness, it was all I could do to remove my grief to a private sphere so as not to distract from the ongoing search. By the time the others returned, my tears had turned dry, and I had taken to staring instead at the portrait of Millarca, Countess Karnstein which – in those days – hung on my bedroom wall, searching that painted face for every likeness of my departed friend.
The search party returned alone, disconsolate with loss.
Our lived without Carmilla were as cold and empty as they had been before her arrival; more-so, perhaps, for while my health soon returned to me, I took no pleasure in anything. What pleasure was there to be had? General Spielsdorf – the friend of my father’s whose ward had been my promised companion in the weeks before her death and Carmilla’s arrival – came to our door with stories of vampires and dark deeds on his lips. The look he gave me, when he espied the colour that was returning to my cheeks, is something that remains with me even now: he hated me, for that moment. For living while his child had died at Carmilla’s hands, drained of life and vitality by she who I had adored.
For yes, Carmilla was the vampire he spoke of. She was the Countess whose picture hung upon my wall; her face and features unchanged in over a hundred years.
Her grave – when he took us there – was empty but for a large stain of blood upon the stone. Carmilla truly was gone, but where no one could tell. The General cursed and spat upon the tomb, and together were my father and a local man, he desecrated it for all scholars know that a vampire’s only home is their own grave. Without it, he said, Carmilla would never be able to return to this place. She would be weakened and easily destroyed.
His words sat ill with me. Throughout the rest of the day I was sullen and wary in his presence. Vampire she may be, but Carmilla remained my dearest friend. I dreamed of her again, that night. Of her small hands twisting in her cloak and the dark tears on her face. She did not speak this time; merely stood by my bedside in a silence that was both crushing in its inhumanity and comforting. Her absence was what had made me well again, I knew, for I remembered clearly the sharp pains in my breast and the prick of her fangs – my dislike of the General came not from any belief that he was a liar, but rather because he desired Carmilla’s destruction. He had been, however, the instrument of my understanding, and I must say now that I owe him my thanks. Without his information, I may never have been able to forgive Carmilla for abandoning me.
I spoke of forgiveness only to the darkness of my chamber, when all others were abed. Carmilla, through her portrait or through our mutual dreaming, heard all. I know she did.
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Carmilla
Rating: G
Genre: Hurt-Comfort/Angst/Romance
Disclaimer: I do not own Carmilla and am making no profit from this story.
Summary: AU. Carmilla abandons the schloss of her own free will, unable to take Laura's life like she did so many others.
Author's Notes: This was written for HC_Bingo's May Challenge for the prompt 'Atonement'.
The house awoke to the terrible realisation that Carmilla – our dear guest and my beloved friend – had departed during the night. Her door, normally locked, was open and her possessions missing, and no one had seen her leave.
None save I, in a dream that – like others – I have come to realise was not a dream at all. For in this dream I saw Carmilla, wrapped in a grey cloak lined with rich ermine, standing by the foot of my bed with dark tears streaming down her cheeks to fall, staining and spattering, onto her breast. In this dream I watched her weep in silence, unable to reach out and comfort her as I longed to; oddly terrified of the expression on her face and the spreading stains of her tears. Oh! How that following morning I wished I had said something, so that in dreams Carmilla might know that I did not blame her.
Blame her. It is an odd choice of words, but under the circumstances a reasonable one. For while Carmilla stood sobbing, she was also speaking. Repeating “I’m sorry, I’m sorry” as a mantra, barely audible. Her hands, I could see, were clenched into fists, twisting helplessly in the folds of her cloak as if to tear it.
What prompted this plea? Oh Carmilla. Her strange lassitude; her beauty and intelligence and her utter devotion to everything I was – I had thought, then, that she could do no wrong. Carmilla was perfection in my eyes; a strange perfection, but one that I thought I could devote myself in turn to. Have I not claimed to love her from our first meeting? When, after that flare of terror at her familiar face, she did soothe me with words and pledged her eternal friendship, did I not return the sentiment whole-heartedly?
I was distraught at her leaving. Inconsolable, even, and while others set out to seek Carmilla I retired to my chambers. Weakened by my illness, it was all I could do to remove my grief to a private sphere so as not to distract from the ongoing search. By the time the others returned, my tears had turned dry, and I had taken to staring instead at the portrait of Millarca, Countess Karnstein which – in those days – hung on my bedroom wall, searching that painted face for every likeness of my departed friend.
The search party returned alone, disconsolate with loss.
Our lived without Carmilla were as cold and empty as they had been before her arrival; more-so, perhaps, for while my health soon returned to me, I took no pleasure in anything. What pleasure was there to be had? General Spielsdorf – the friend of my father’s whose ward had been my promised companion in the weeks before her death and Carmilla’s arrival – came to our door with stories of vampires and dark deeds on his lips. The look he gave me, when he espied the colour that was returning to my cheeks, is something that remains with me even now: he hated me, for that moment. For living while his child had died at Carmilla’s hands, drained of life and vitality by she who I had adored.
For yes, Carmilla was the vampire he spoke of. She was the Countess whose picture hung upon my wall; her face and features unchanged in over a hundred years.
Her grave – when he took us there – was empty but for a large stain of blood upon the stone. Carmilla truly was gone, but where no one could tell. The General cursed and spat upon the tomb, and together were my father and a local man, he desecrated it for all scholars know that a vampire’s only home is their own grave. Without it, he said, Carmilla would never be able to return to this place. She would be weakened and easily destroyed.
His words sat ill with me. Throughout the rest of the day I was sullen and wary in his presence. Vampire she may be, but Carmilla remained my dearest friend. I dreamed of her again, that night. Of her small hands twisting in her cloak and the dark tears on her face. She did not speak this time; merely stood by my bedside in a silence that was both crushing in its inhumanity and comforting. Her absence was what had made me well again, I knew, for I remembered clearly the sharp pains in my breast and the prick of her fangs – my dislike of the General came not from any belief that he was a liar, but rather because he desired Carmilla’s destruction. He had been, however, the instrument of my understanding, and I must say now that I owe him my thanks. Without his information, I may never have been able to forgive Carmilla for abandoning me.
I spoke of forgiveness only to the darkness of my chamber, when all others were abed. Carmilla, through her portrait or through our mutual dreaming, heard all. I know she did.
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Date: 2014-05-19 12:23 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2014-05-19 01:38 pm (UTC)From: