[ It isn't the dark cells of the castle, but the warm torchlight of the hold. And it isn't Carmilla watching over this but instead a man and woman. One with Trevor's face, but with a full beard and without the scar, sternness in his eyes rather than defeat. One with no face at all. And it isn't the malice that leads children to tug the legs off insects, but the curiosity that leads them to pin them behind glass.
All else is materially the same.
There are four of them, the tormentors. Three women and one man - clean-shaven and without the scar over his eye and younger, maybe, but still unmistakably Trevor, right down to the quiet acceptance of horrors. The tallest is the one taking the lead and directing the others, a woman with long hair tied into a tight braided bun, silver chain visible beneath her dress and the Morning Star at her hip. Enid is the shortest of the four, carefully taking notes on responses. The other woman moves between following the eldest sister's orders to collect things or hold down the arms or legs or help with this thread and trying to get a response out of Trevor, speaking in a soft and comforting voice.
It's normal. This is how they survive - they trick people. I doubt you're the first to have fallen under his spell.
You did the right thing in the end, that's what matters.
And Trevor only stares impassively down at Alucard, lying on the work table in those horrible silver chains, the eldest sister's hand moving threateningly over the Morning Star if he so much as twitches in a way she doesn't care for. ]
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All else is materially the same.
There are four of them, the tormentors. Three women and one man - clean-shaven and without the scar over his eye and younger, maybe, but still unmistakably Trevor, right down to the quiet acceptance of horrors. The tallest is the one taking the lead and directing the others, a woman with long hair tied into a tight braided bun, silver chain visible beneath her dress and the Morning Star at her hip. Enid is the shortest of the four, carefully taking notes on responses. The other woman moves between following the eldest sister's orders to collect things or hold down the arms or legs or help with this thread and trying to get a response out of Trevor, speaking in a soft and comforting voice.
It's normal. This is how they survive - they trick people. I doubt you're the first to have fallen under his spell.
You did the right thing in the end, that's what matters.
And Trevor only stares impassively down at Alucard, lying on the work table in those horrible silver chains, the eldest sister's hand moving threateningly over the Morning Star if he so much as twitches in a way she doesn't care for. ]