With her own two hands, Lotte had said, a moment ago. Alastor thought of it, as he looked at her darkened fingers. The soot-blackness of them wrapped around the throats of her oppressors crept into his mind, and he wondered if she'd really have the mettle. Could she, truly, squeeze until there was no squeezing left, until muscle and bone and skin compressed together so tightly that nothing could get through, until she and her victim were one, the impression of their throat imprinted on her fingertips as surely as those fingertips were imprinted on the throat. He pictured them, dark like this, against the pallor he imagined her parents to possess.
"Hm," he trilled, eyes tilted skyward, no longer actually focused on Lotte herself, so much as the image in his mind. She was speaking, he heard her, but he was looking at something that wasn't there.
And then he became too aware of it, and leveled his gaze back on her, over the rim of his monocle.
"Ah," he said, "a dream itself is but a shadow, dearie, there's nothing to it. This was real, better than that." What good were dreams, anyway? They ended quicker than anything, all created and destroyed in an instant. The better thing, by far, was to live a life you chose for yourself, create a paradise you could wake to, not one you need escape to, in sleep. He'd done that. He'd done that he thought, in bitterness, his fists clenching at his sides, his fangs baring.
"Dreams are stuff and nonsense - you know that's true, or you wouldn't say you'd go with me." And she wasn't lying, he didn't think so. For better or worse, he trusted that she'd said she, too, was no liar.
But liar or not, she certainly was curious. Alastor paced around the row of plants, back to Lotte's side. She looked ordinary again, but no less entrancing, with her fingers returned to their usual color. He was almost grateful - if she'd gone on looking too strange, he might have doubted his own senses, believed himself in Hell still. "Nothing you need to worry yourself with," he told her. "Suffice to say you can only kill so many people, unnoticed."
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With her own two hands, Lotte had said, a moment ago. Alastor thought of it, as he looked at her darkened fingers. The soot-blackness of them wrapped around the throats of her oppressors crept into his mind, and he wondered if she'd really have the mettle. Could she, truly, squeeze until there was no squeezing left, until muscle and bone and skin compressed together so tightly that nothing could get through, until she and her victim were one, the impression of their throat imprinted on her fingertips as surely as those fingertips were imprinted on the throat. He pictured them, dark like this, against the pallor he imagined her parents to possess.
"Hm," he trilled, eyes tilted skyward, no longer actually focused on Lotte herself, so much as the image in his mind. She was speaking, he heard her, but he was looking at something that wasn't there.
And then he became too aware of it, and leveled his gaze back on her, over the rim of his monocle.
"Ah," he said, "a dream itself is but a shadow, dearie, there's nothing to it. This was real, better than that." What good were dreams, anyway? They ended quicker than anything, all created and destroyed in an instant. The better thing, by far, was to live a life you chose for yourself, create a paradise you could wake to, not one you need escape to, in sleep. He'd done that. He'd done that he thought, in bitterness, his fists clenching at his sides, his fangs baring.
"Dreams are stuff and nonsense - you know that's true, or you wouldn't say you'd go with me." And she wasn't lying, he didn't think so. For better or worse, he trusted that she'd said she, too, was no liar.
But liar or not, she certainly was curious. Alastor paced around the row of plants, back to Lotte's side. She looked ordinary again, but no less entrancing, with her fingers returned to their usual color. He was almost grateful - if she'd gone on looking too strange, he might have doubted his own senses, believed himself in Hell still. "Nothing you need to worry yourself with," he told her. "Suffice to say you can only kill so many people, unnoticed."