[ That's not a response. Not to anything Alucard's said, anyway. He's unearthly in the moonlight, the silver of it leeching the colour out of his skin (and fuck if that isn't a phrasing he's going to regret in three years time). Each strand of his hair catches the light, softens it, so that there's a hazy mist of white light about his head and shoulders. Beautiful.
(He doesn't deserve either of them.)
The next words fall clumsily out of his mouth while his mind is occupied by that thought. ]
no subject
[ That's not a response. Not to anything Alucard's said, anyway. He's unearthly in the moonlight, the silver of it leeching the colour out of his skin (and fuck if that isn't a phrasing he's going to regret in three years time). Each strand of his hair catches the light, softens it, so that there's a hazy mist of white light about his head and shoulders. Beautiful.
(He doesn't deserve either of them.)
The next words fall clumsily out of his mouth while his mind is occupied by that thought. ]
Would it be easier without me?