Marco's Heart

[peccatore]

You find yourself in a bright white, circular room. It's nearly empty; too bare, almost clinically so. But the bareness of it means that what is visible here stands out:

A podium in the center, where a familiar figure sits, head buried in his hands. Three paths running from the podium to three different spots near the edges of the room - not corners; circles don't have corners - where three doors leading seemingly nowhere stand with no regard for their complete lack of structural support.

It doesn't take you long to figure out where you are, does it? You only have to decide where to start.

Comments

[sangwhine]

[He glances back, sizing Marco up in this new appearance before grinning at him, catching The Mother's corpse by her arm to lift the body up in offering.]

I took care of a problem. Are you hungry?

[peccatore]

"A-- A problem?! You can't... You can't just..."

Marco bares his fangs. Though he's clearly in shock - and, frankly, quite hungry - he seems... disoriented, too.

"Get out. Get out of my... my head...?"

[sangwhine]

And how exactly do I get out of your head, Marco? As we've discussed, you're rather fixated on me.

[If Marco is not having any of this blood, Ambrose will help himself to some, lifting The Mother's corpse to drink from the wound in her neck]

[peccatore]

"D-Don't! Please..."

Marco reaches out, but doesn't take another step. There is the sound of a door opening and closing, and very suddenly, they are somewhere else: a small stone house, the floor stained with blood. The body in Ambrose's arms becomes more tangible, heavier, more real, as does the Father's, still on the floor.

As for Marco, he falls to his knees with a sob.

[sangwhine]

Oh, dear. What a mess.

[Licks a bit of the blood off his lips, cautiously moving towards Marco]

[peccatore]

"Do you think you're shocking me?... Do you think you're helping me?"

Something about the way Marco asks makes him sound... lost, frankly. Not outraged. Not even angry.

"I-I did this. I did this to them. That's why they, they haunt..." He shakes his head. "T-They don't, they're not real. But... But I still..."

[sangwhine]

You still—what? I thought they were just a figment of your imagination.

[peccatore]

He forces himself to take a deep breath. Twice, thrice, blinking hard.

Finally, looking marginally more clear-headed, he points to the door.

"... They were going to show you. What happened the night I was turned."

[sangwhine]

[He pauses, tilting his head at Marco]

You—killed them? The night you were turned?

[peccatore]

A slow, heavy nod.

[sangwhine]

Oh, shit.

But I thought—don't you turn whoever you feed from?

[peccatore]

"Not if I drain them fully. Just gorge myself like a... like a tick."

[sangwhine]

[He makes a face at the comparison, glancing about the room]

Well. What an—unfortunate turn of events.

[peccatore]

He lets out a shuddering breath.

"Probably best that you found out this way. Spared you the... the melodrama. I suppose."

[sangwhine]

[He shrugs]

Still rather dramatic. So what now?

[peccatore]

"I... I don't know. I don't know what happens now that you've..."

His eyes linger on his parents' bodies. His chest hurts.

... Then a thought comes to mind, and it doesn't feel as terrible as he expects it to, and in a moment of... something he's afraid to name, he offers:

"Would you like to kill another one?"

[sangwhine]

Oh, gladly.

[He stalks off in that direction, blade at the ready]