A guilty pleasure of mine but, I love writing reader-inserts. You know a romance story in second person where you use things [e/c] for eye color or [y/n] for their names? It really helps you get into the interactive fiction writing without having to do all the work.
This was/is the first ‘chapter’ of some really cheesy vampire x preacher’s daughter one that I will proudly admit to enjoy writing. It’s fun to make ‘cartoony and what even is subtly’ ‘show don’t tell, what even is that’ ‘just writing to write fancy words’ characters/stories on occasion and these types of things let you do it. After experimentation, it seems the audience who reads these also have a thing for murderous intent and insanely arrogant characters, to which I have tried to cater, so be warned.
Queen of the graces, you will even be so,
When, the last ritual said,
Beneath the grass and the fat flowers you go,
To mould among the dead.
Then, O my beauty, tell the insatiate worm,
Who wastes you with his kiss,
I have kept the godlike essence and the form
Of perishable bliss"
\And you found the most peace amidst the dead./
The flowers are dying.
You tenderly examine their wilting stalks with gentle hands. The petals are no longer vibrant oranges painted against a twilight canvas of fallen leaves - they have decayed into piteous remnants of shriveling browns and muted grey. You knew they had no hope, nothing here ever did, yet their still form manages to arouse your sympathy.
“Shall I just offer you an end now?” You muse to no one but the graves. Your voice is lost in the light rain that spills from overcast skies. Fingers running along their crumbling surface, you lean back against the tombstone that marks your haven of peace.
“Or shall I allow you to suffer through the end of the season, to finally perish after prolonged affliction?”
The quiet crunching off footsteps alerts you of a presence nearby.
A small, ironic smile pangs to your lips as your fingers gingerly fall into your lap. Though you would enjoy nothing more than to become a statue set out in the crisp autumn air, to melt into the soft patter of rain, you know that the sermon should be beginning soon.
The figure comes into view and all dreams are shot to be grounded, the flowers forgotten.
“Ah, [y/n], I knew I would find you out here.” He smiles kindly and offers you a hand. You are impressed how eyes so dark and void can be paired with a smile so dazzling.
Reaching for his outstretched appendage, you allow him to pull you off the ground. But only just for sake of etiquette. His skin always seems so cold to the touch and the feeling only deepens, you note, as he delicately takes your fingers into his.
“I was… paying my respects to the souls buried here. It is unfortunate to live a life not remembered in time.” You offer quietly, trailing off from your blatant lie. But that was you - quiet. So quiet and nice…so quite and nice. You would behave in face. It was so hard to be more, not allowed to be more.
He stops walking and you feel the warmth return to digits as he releases you. “Do you think so?” He asks. His eyes flick to your’s. You feel the chill run down your spine.
You have always been taught to not judge on appearance alone but by action’s against God. However, there is something unsettling, unnerving, in the man before you. His words are always charming, his demeanor so polite and agreeable - really, it is no wonder the town is really quite enraptured -
Oh and how you were taught not to judge.
- but, in his presence, you get a distinct feeling of unrest.
It’s the eyes. He laughs and smiles and talks with words afflicted with honey, always so subtle in nature, but his eyes always seem to swallow the world with apathy. And if not apathy, scrutiny. As if those before him were nothing more than childish toys that he had long grown tired of, or bugs meant to be squashed under heel.
“No.” You say. Your voice comes out short and you pause to catch restrain. “Do you?”
The question is laced with bite before you stop it and you immediately feel your cheeks pinken. “Ah, my apologies-” You begin, and mentally remark how unlike you that was, but freeze when you look back at your companion.
A smile like one you’ve never seen before is alight on his face and it’s enough to render you silent.
This one is even more frightening.
“I surmise that people should be giving little thought to what comes of them after death,” His smile falls into a half-lidded beam. “And focusing on staying alive in a world so rampant of hazard.” He says. A frown surfaces and that familiar look of disdain is aglow once more.
“Or, at the very least, to attempt to become so less miserably dull.”
You regard your fiancé with a still gaze. You never speak your mind, you never do, but the moment is frozen and those eyes, such a vibrant green, are burning holes into your soul. And, his words certainly are not within the realm of normal.
“I believe,” You breathe out and then suck in your breath. “That you are not the person you paint yourself to be.”
You don’t know why you said it. You are so quiet, so sweet, and your unfamiliar future-husband-to-be is not somebody you should antagonize. But you did. Now there is just waiting.
Until, he laughs. The spill of amusement and the coy smile teasing his lips is certainly not what you had envisioned your outburst to elicit.
The laugh only lasts a mere moment before a serious gaze, very reminiscent of a glare, rolls unto his visage. It’s almost comical how stark and sudden the disparity arises.
Leaning down to your ear, his breath tickling the hair of your neck, he whispers. “And I believe,” he draws out each syllable, and each, unlike his fingers, is hot against your skin. “That you are not the person you pretend to be, either.”
Before you can process his words, he is standing once more and carries no recognition for his actions. Re-lacing your hands, that oppressive cold returning in full force, he resumes his pace and offers you that plastered perfect smile.
Only this time you swear it almost reaches his eyes.
This was a reversed ‘Little Mermaid’ (siren reader) with…basically the same character reincarnated lmao.
I’m so sorry in advance for the commas. I like, to, use, them, way, too, much.
And in that moment he knew that beauty had a face.
It was the burning of the lamplight that parted the darkness of the halls, erasing the shadows and scouring at the monsters who took haven in the twilight.
A quiet tap of footfall along stone was the only sound, save for the torrent of relentless gales that gnawed outside the windows, that reverberated in daunting echo and gave way to the slightest inquiry of intrigue that was walled behind each step of the saving illumination’s fore-bearer [who had offered to carry the holy wick by his own hand].
The young man, and young was the very nature of his mien, was tall and lean of frame, casting his own silhouette unto the cold slabs of stone that made up his pathway. The features on his face were nothing short of lovely when in the light; sharp angles and contours that rested into a mold of beauty. But, in the dim-lit glow of a silent night they took on a much more sinister resolve. Instead of the lightning blue of a new spring sky, where growth blooms forth from desolate earth and is painted with verdant buds, the orbs resting in his skull appeared inky and devoid of color. Two pits that drowned out the world and pulled with great magnitude their captor’s into the depth of their perceptions. Charcoal tresses were not brushed into silken strands, molded into a certain boyish air that was a depiction of the essence of youth, but rather hung freely down his face in a feral mess.
The young servant boy, having observed the disquiet of the scene, shivered through a sudden chill and clung to his arms in a misguided act of protection. The prince, in this moment, seemed to manifest as a fiend…something from the machinations of hell. Shaken more-so by this revelation, the boy clung to his arms tighter, a blanket of fictitious security, and, not out of entire conscious deduction, fell into a slower step.
The demon seemed to notice.
“Is something wrong?” The prince spoke softly in a tone of curiosity, of practiced sympathy. At least, that was the intention. The boy could catch the slightest hint of a bemused smile glimmering in the light from the flames.
He swallowed, nervous prey facing down its death. “No, my lord. I was… just lost in thought.”
“Oh? If anything is troubling you, please do seek me out for solace.” A pause, searching the eyes of his companion. After a moment of no reply, the kind turning of a smile proceeded. “Very well, I will not press you.” He beams. “Let’s continue on. I am quite so dreadfully excited to resolve this grandeur mystery.”
The boy felt his shoulders melt, relaxed. Of course his mind was being deceptive, he whispered to his worries. The prince was the personification of gentle and kind, the one befitting fitting of a ruler, and a sleep deprived awareness did not make for the most rational judgement.
His steps once again fell into pace with his young prince’s and all notions of delusion were simply extinguished from his mind.
The pair reached the carved doorway, an imposing portal that was sculpted into scenes of marbled artistic visions, that marked the end of their short journey. The prince paused in deliberation before turning back to his companion and offering the same kind smile as before.
“I must thank you for your assistance and for alerting me of my uncle’s return. You may go, if you wish, I can manage from here.” He lulled for a moment before letting out a soft sigh of indignation. “I would also like to apologize for the circumstances befallen to you. You have had the poor misfortune of being roused from your slumber, in the middle of such a dreadfully cold night, only to escort me on such a mundane dalliance…”
“Oh, i-it was no trouble, my lord. I am awed by your continued humbleness…” The boy flushed as a prickle of heat emerged across his cheeks. Looking at the ground, abashed, he shifted in hesitance deciding if it was truly alright to leave. While mewling over such a proposal, he regarded the prince once more. There he stood, simply allowing a half-lidded beam to grace his visage.
After another lapse of protracted quiet the boy finally managed to swivel around to make off before the moment of silence would extend into discomfort. Before more than a step could be executed, however, Prince Cecil spoke out once more in timed performance.
“A word of advice?” The voice called in query. Not pausing for a heat’s beat, the prince’s form moved to be in front of the boy. Leaning down until he was a mere hair breadth’s distance from the other’s own countenance, breaths almost intermingling if it were not for the fact that the servant had halted his inhalations in shock, he continued.
“A miscalculation is not always negligence.”
A prolonged pause. The boy’s orbs grew wide.
“You simply based your reaction, or rather inaction, on probability…” There it was again, that bemusement tugging his lips into a cruel simper. “You were wrong, of course. Though for that I do not care.”
If if were not for his current position and the beating of his own blood drowning out the sounds, the boy might have admired how intimidating a man could be without offering even the slightest physical peril. But he was not in such a situation, and the feat was lost on him.
“But if there is anything I loathe,” His eyes flashed with unrestrained detestation. They were no longer the mirrors of virtue that had painted the features of the light, but rather they slipped into empty sockets devoid of compassion. “It would be subservient ladled deceit.”
Just as soon as the words had started, his lips stopped in a tight line, hungering and wanting to say more but settling on silence. Instead, a bright burst of laughter opted to bubble out from his throat. “Goodnight.” He offered as that mask of merriment fell upon his manner and he straightened up once more, no acknowledgment from the somber fear that had fallen over the unfortunate servant.
The young boy, his face drained of color, managed to utter an unintelligible syllable, a short courtesy response, before scurrying as fast a pace that did not allude to escape. His legs only trembled when he was far out of sight.
The prince considered the thoughts for a brief second passed before deciding that the coward would probably go on to analyze the night and come to the conclusion that of course, he had merely exaggerated the encounter from his deprivation of sleep. Of course he would, the prince affirmed. Humans were so inevitable, hopeless, like pieces of a machine that never seemed to stop and question why. Always allowing the easiest beliefs, easiest truths, to settle their minds instead of allowing for the slightest prospect of a revision of preconceptions.
Cecil allowed himself to sigh, perhaps out of resignation, before running thin digits through his locks. “…My self-discipline is waning.”
Entering the throne room, there were two things to be noticed.
The first was the amount of life bustling in a congealed group towards the center of the prodigious room. They were very distinct and easily recognizable - his uncle’s obstreperous “crew” of men ranging from boorish and vulgar to austere and conniving. They were branded with the title of being sent after treasures and riches, “prospectors of great wealth” they would proclaim. What the men really were comprised of would be pirates, loutish thieves, and disgusting vagrants that gallivanted around with a convoluted sense of honor.
The second thing to be noticed, or perhaps the most eye-catching disparagement of the scene, was the girl. Girl not really bringing justice to the being that sat chained in the middle of the aforementioned congregation of ruffians. Her face was painted into a picture of abhorrence the prince had never witnessed before - eyebrows draw in grim-set permanence and each target caught in her line of vision seemed to be burned to ashes in her mind. Despite the fury, however, and despite the chains that fastened her hands and feet in shackled restraint, the [e/c] of that stare and the irradiating splendor was otherworldly. Not in appearance, no, thought for that there could be no fault, but in the very emanation that her spirit educed.
In that moment, he felt transfixed. He felt irrational - something that he had promised never to be.
And in that moment he knew, it was a thought descending into more than affirmations, because in that moment he knew that beauty had a face.