The next thing Alfred knows, he's standing beside the casket, looking around bewildered into the darkness. Everything is fuzzy and cast in dark, velvety shades of blue...looking down at his own hands, he realizes he can't feel them.
He's dead. He's really dead.
A figure leans against the wall facing him - glittering blue eyes set in a lovely face, blonde hair tumbling in short, lush locks around a delicate jawline. They hold out their hand, invitingly, voice like the purr of a panther about to descend upon prey.
"Come, Mister Schreiber. Come dance with me."
Entranced, the young man begins to walk forward towards the stranger in the dark suit, passing pairs of pale-haired, winged beings as if he is a one-man procession. Come to think of it, this person sort of looks like....
Herbert. Alfred remembers now, through the fog.
He can hear the vampire behind him, begging, pleading in the casket. Pleading with him. Turning back, he walks back closer, looking down over...himself. Himself and the one clinging desperately to his body. Listening to him. Watching him.
The figure against the wall scoffs impatiently, the Angels stepping aside as they approach the boy.
"It's your time, Alfred. You need to come with me."
But Alfred can't look away from Herbert.
---
The blood dribbles uselessly down Alfred's lips, his head lolling about.
no subject
He's dead. He's really dead.
A figure leans against the wall facing him - glittering blue eyes set in a lovely face, blonde hair tumbling in short, lush locks around a delicate jawline. They hold out their hand, invitingly, voice like the purr of a panther about to descend upon prey.
"Come, Mister Schreiber. Come dance with me."
Entranced, the young man begins to walk forward towards the stranger in the dark suit, passing pairs of pale-haired, winged beings as if he is a one-man procession. Come to think of it, this person sort of looks like....
Herbert. Alfred remembers now, through the fog.
He can hear the vampire behind him, begging, pleading in the casket. Pleading with him. Turning back, he walks back closer, looking down over...himself. Himself and the one clinging desperately to his body. Listening to him. Watching him.
The figure against the wall scoffs impatiently, the Angels stepping aside as they approach the boy.
"It's your time, Alfred. You need to come with me."
But Alfred can't look away from Herbert.
---
The blood dribbles uselessly down Alfred's lips, his head lolling about.