[The city is not a safe place for Speakers, and that's why it's good that her family has left for the west. They made it out before it became too dangerous to stay, and that's a good thing. That's important. They're on their way to safety, carrying with them the story of Alucard's mother; it's one that will survive to see the next generation now, and the next after that, and the world will know her name. The world will remember, because the Speakers will never forget.
But she stayed behind, and by all rights she is still a Speaker, and the city isn't safe for people like her. From listening to Alucard, it's not particularly safe for anyone at the moment, given everything. So when he suggests that they move from the familiar surroundings of the townhouse to his father's castle, she knows it's not just because he's eager for a change of scenery. There's a safety component to the request, and that's why she doesn't refuse.
But whatever it was she was expecting, it wasn't...this. The castle is vast and ancient, with a feeling of some sort of malice built right in to its walls. Its spires look like they're dripping ichor; its structure is bizarre and in some places even defiant of the laws of gravity, or so it seems. The interior is lush and ornate, but in its way that just makes her even more unsettled; Speakers aren't often invited into lavish, magnificent settings, after all.
He shows her to a room, which is where she sets her things and changes into her filmy, transparent-sleeved nightgown, but sleep doesn't come easily. Or at all, even. The ceiling above her feels oppressive, somehow, and the shadows shifting on the walls capture too much of her attention to allow her to relax and fall asleep. It's not that the bed isn't soft enough, or warm enough, or comforting enough. It's just that it's strange and different and so —
...big.
It's so big, and it makes her feel small, and feeling small makes her ache. It's not the good kind of small, the way she feels when she looks up at the night sky from the rooftop of a steamboat and sees nothing but the universe spread out above her. It's small in the way that leaves her aching with loneliness, missing the bustle of her family around the warm glow of their campfire.
It's no surprise, then, that she eventually gets up and starts walking, looking for — something. Anything. Alucard, perhaps, but maybe even just a small note of comfort she can derive before going back to try to sleep again.]
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But she stayed behind, and by all rights she is still a Speaker, and the city isn't safe for people like her. From listening to Alucard, it's not particularly safe for anyone at the moment, given everything. So when he suggests that they move from the familiar surroundings of the townhouse to his father's castle, she knows it's not just because he's eager for a change of scenery. There's a safety component to the request, and that's why she doesn't refuse.
But whatever it was she was expecting, it wasn't...this. The castle is vast and ancient, with a feeling of some sort of malice built right in to its walls. Its spires look like they're dripping ichor; its structure is bizarre and in some places even defiant of the laws of gravity, or so it seems. The interior is lush and ornate, but in its way that just makes her even more unsettled; Speakers aren't often invited into lavish, magnificent settings, after all.
He shows her to a room, which is where she sets her things and changes into her filmy, transparent-sleeved nightgown, but sleep doesn't come easily. Or at all, even. The ceiling above her feels oppressive, somehow, and the shadows shifting on the walls capture too much of her attention to allow her to relax and fall asleep. It's not that the bed isn't soft enough, or warm enough, or comforting enough. It's just that it's strange and different and so —
...big.
It's so big, and it makes her feel small, and feeling small makes her ache. It's not the good kind of small, the way she feels when she looks up at the night sky from the rooftop of a steamboat and sees nothing but the universe spread out above her. It's small in the way that leaves her aching with loneliness, missing the bustle of her family around the warm glow of their campfire.
It's no surprise, then, that she eventually gets up and starts walking, looking for — something. Anything. Alucard, perhaps, but maybe even just a small note of comfort she can derive before going back to try to sleep again.]