He's months ago, watching a girl turn away from him to flirt with danger. He's scared and functionally alone in the castle.He's staring down Count von Krolock, going at him uselessly with a candlestick. He's too late to save Sarah.
Too late.
Always too late, too weak, too stupid, not strong enough. Alfred the doormat, Alfred who is NICE and will do ANYTHING asked of him, Alfred who never asks for anything for himself as long as everyone else is happy.
On the inside, he's in a hurricane, a song in his ears drowning out all reason. He's here again. It's all repeating. He can't stop it. It's his fate. The Fog must have known.
On the outside, he's somewhere between laughing and crying, biting his lip hard enough that thick, dead, black blood oozes from it. He can't breathe. He doesn't have to but he feels stifled. He doesn't know what's wrong with him, can't recognize the panic attack for what it is as it tears through him.
"I can't - I c-can't-" he looks to the mirror again. He sees Seras, and she's afraid of him. He's ruining everything again but he can't STOP. A step back makes him trip on a wooden chair leg, jagged at the edge. It skids across the ground to where she is trembling.
Alfred looks at it.
And then he looks up at her, bright crimson eyes glassy and wide before his body turns once more to mist, whirling around her.
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timeasmymeasure
CW: dissociation, depersonalization, intrusive thoughts
Date: 2022-06-11 12:27 am (UTC)He's months ago, watching a girl turn away from him to flirt with danger. He's scared and functionally alone in the castle.He's staring down Count von Krolock, going at him uselessly with a candlestick. He's too late to save Sarah.
Too late.
Always too late, too weak, too stupid, not strong enough. Alfred the doormat, Alfred who is NICE and will do ANYTHING asked of him, Alfred who never asks for anything for himself as long as everyone else is happy.
On the inside, he's in a hurricane, a song in his ears drowning out all reason. He's here again. It's all repeating. He can't stop it. It's his fate. The Fog must have known.
On the outside, he's somewhere between laughing and crying, biting his lip hard enough that thick, dead, black blood oozes from it. He can't breathe. He doesn't have to but he feels stifled. He doesn't know what's wrong with him, can't recognize the panic attack for what it is as it tears through him.
"I can't - I c-can't-" he looks to the mirror again. He sees Seras, and she's afraid of him. He's ruining everything again but he can't STOP. A step back makes him trip on a wooden chair leg, jagged at the edge. It skids across the ground to where she is trembling.
Alfred looks at it.
And then he looks up at her, bright crimson eyes glassy and wide before his body turns once more to mist, whirling around her.