Belmont Twins (OC x Alucard)

22

Trevor went in first, giving Elizabeth time to rub her shoulder and shuffle her shirt back into place. He went back to his history lesson before Sypha could ask, "As I said, it was Leon Belmont who arrived here first. He built this house and dug the foundations beneath it,".

The group stepped into the enormous room, Elizabeth knew her brother was looking for a reaction of some kind; a gasp in awe, a cry of excitement or just anything for him to feel good about. However, the reaction was anticlimactic. The room was still dark and dingy and they only had the limited light of the torches.

Sypha saw his face drop and looked around for something. Elizabeth watched the girl, confused as to what she was planning. With a swift flick of her wrist and a few hushed words, flames shot out from her fingertips. Elizabeth took a jump to the side as one skimmed past her. The orbs travelled far ahead of them and planted themselves in lanterns that hung high in the ceiling beams. How were they supposed to be lit?

This display got the reaction Trevor wanted, the group letting out gasps in awe of the hold. Sypha patted his back and made her way down to the ground floor. High stacks of books lined the walls from floor to ceiling, each one carefully placed by category and name. Elizabeth's eyes danced between the stacks as she made her way down one side. The shelves bore scratches and nicks in the wood. She followed the trail with a sly smile. Alucard followed her, leaving Trevor to mutter to himself about how 'whips were cool too'. Elizabeth stopped at each individual crossroad of shelves, her hands scanning the wood. Alucard watched curiously, keeping a short distance so he didn't break her concentration.

The woman double checked a marking before running down an aisle. He heard a small squeak of joy from within. When he caught up to her, she turned to him with a wide smile.

"Come here" she said softly, waving him over with frantic hand signals.

He obeyed and approached. She reached under the shelves, fumbling around in the dust - and probably rat shit - before latching onto something. Her eyes went wide like a cat who had caught a bird. She yanked out a musty book from underneath. Alucard grimaced at her trophy.

The book was small, leather bound with a cord binding it together from the outside. She acted as though it were the holy grail of books. It certainly smells like a relic, he thought. She used the lightest touch to unbind the cord and peel the cover open.

The page was covered in nonsensical scribblings that he couldn't make out. Years of mold and dirt had faded the ink and marred the pages. He looked at her with soft sadness, worried that she might be upset by the condition of the journal. He was confused to see her smile getting wider. He raised an eyebrow at her.

She looked up and let out a little chuckle. She pulled him by his sleeve into a darker corner of the shelves. He couldn't help but feel nervous.

Once they were in the further section of the bookshelf, she finally released her harsh grip on his sleeve and held the book in front of his eyes. He was still confused. He squinted at the page and went to utter something to her when the writing began glowing. His brow knotted and he blinked hard. The letters were indeed glowing. He could see the words forming in the darkness.

It wasn't scribbles, it was beautiful cursive writing that flicked and flowed with one fluid line of ink.

"How is this possible?" he asked, taking the journal delicately from her hands. His fingertips brushed her for a moment, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Do I know something that the great sleeping soldier does not?" She mocked, massaging her hands. Alucard remained silent, glaring at her over the edge of the pages.

"How familiar are you with grave moss?" she asked.

"I know it only grows on the sites of tragic deaths..."

"Wrong!" she interrupted.

"I'm almost certain it does.." he argued.

"It does but it is not the ONLY place it grows. The moss you are thinking of is used more commonly to summon wraiths and spirits but the other kind of grave moss grows in places of love".

"Places of love?" He wasn't impressed with the answer.

"Well some books say it's where the loved ones of the dead weep tears of joy over the grave" she mimed with her arms, "others say that it only grows on graves of those who lived a happy life".

"So it's rare then?" He asked with a small smile.

"Exceedingly in the current climate," she laughed jokingly, "but you can grind it down and mix it with water to create an ink. It's hard to mix as you can make it too watery or make a paste. It's a good way to hide secrets though" she looked back up at him from the pages of the book.

He turned a few pages, running his fingertips along the vellum, "So who's secrets am I reading?"

She pointed to the right hand corner where the date and a name was inscribed.

"Ma-ria?" He asked, sounding it out slowly to make sure he was pronouncing it correctly.

"Maria Renard," she nodded.