5| The Red Between The Books



The lord of the manor cannot be a vampire. No matter what the other ghouls and nasty things say, he simply cannot be. 


Once he had taught himself to read, Risotto read as much on the subject of vampires and their mannerisms as he could; though it didn't much help that the orphanage didn't have many books on the fiends. 


From his own observations, he believed vampires to be more like an animal than a man. That isn't to be taken as a turn of phrase, but more to do with how they work. Vampires to him aren't human in anything more than their appearance.


One thing that should be noted is that they do not speak. In fact, they are in his experience to be totally silent, having no need for air and no room in their throats for a windpipe, instead clogged by a thick coiled tongue that would lurch out when it's found a fresh victim. 


They are able to make themselves understood, however, with absolute clarity, though the manner through which they do so has never been clear to him. As far as he knows from his many years in the field, it may very well be a sort of telepathy, or mind control. Hypnosis was common, too.


Another thing that's striking about vampires is that they walk in patterns; Set routes programed into their heads. There was one case, he remembered, where the furniture and wallpaper had clearly not been changed in many decades, and a thick layer of dust covered everything. 


Even the floor was pale with dust, except for a stark line where the vampire moved, the train of its dress dragging behind it. It was always the same route, even if there were different paths. 


So the lord of the manor, (Y/n), cannot be a vampire. He was very elegant, and though he could not tell, Risotto knew he spoke with his mouth, for he felt his breath waft against his face whenever he spoke; (Y/n) would also move fluidly, weaving between objects when necessary, and according to Formaggio during their brief eating, had a habit of being very picky about things being clean.


(Y/n) called the vampires that Risotto told him about 'savages'. During their walk to wherever the man was taking him, Risotto made the mistake of commenting about how human he seemed, thus leading to a conversation he didn't think he'd ever live to have.


"You deal with bottom feeders, the weaker ones." He could hear his deep voice hiss in the dark. "I'm different from those rats. Don't compare me to them again."


Risotto didn't speak again after that.


The walk to his unknown destination was long, almost as if time has stopped and he was stuck in a loop. He swore they turned the same corners in the dark ten, maybe eleven times before they came to a stop.


(Y/n), though Risotto couldn't tell in the pitch dark, seemed to nod to themselves. "This should be good."


"What's going on?"


"...Would you care to play me a game of hide and seek? I'm very good at it. I'm sure you are, too. I've heard what you do in your spare time, little hunter."


"If this is all some sort of revenge plot for me seeking and exterminating vampires, then please get it over with and just kill me already."


"Really, I care not about the vermin you've slayed this place and that, because they didn't deserve to be on this earth if they managed to die by your hands. I'd never hold it against you to get rid of those that must go, because that's how things are. Nobody wants a bug in their garden."


It was then that Risotto picked up on a strange shifting he heard, a subtle knocking and plinking that had hid beneath (Y/n)s voice moments before, only discovered when he finally shut up. No sooner had he heard the strange noise, did candles light up poised on the side of each alternating bookshelf, illuminating rows of books in every literature in one vast gust.


Bookshelves rolled into the distance, some small, other tall, who all seemed to have a shared subtle rocking, like dominos waiting to fall. From what he could tell, he was dead in the center of the study, marked by a massive chandelier that curved against the ceiling like the walls to a hanging bird cage.


"Come and find me."


Through all his awe and confusion, Risotto didn't notice that (Y/n) had already sped off, and went into hiding. He couldn't have gotten too far, as he swore his voice had been close by, though again... Maybe it was telepathy.


So the chase began, and though it was invigorating at first, dreadful and horrible, there was a sudden interest in the game that sparked after a few minutes of searching. He heard the smile in (Y/n)s voice as he taunted him from far off, and it put him in a bit of a playful mood as well, his strides stretching longer, and his eyes more adept to movement in the glowing hue of the candles.


A figure would whip past a space between shelves, and Risotto would skid to a halt to go back and look, before following after it. He'd spot (Y/n) on the second floor of the study, then chase him up the stairs, before watching in vain as he danced back to the first floor, jumping between the teetering shelves.


It dragged on for an hour, the wild goose-chase, though it only managed to feel like half of that-- maybe a quarter. At some point, however he had no recollection of how it happened, Risotto managed to corner (Y/n) between two shelves.


Imagine playing a game of tag with a sibling, or a friend, and you both get to a point where the chase is split by a table, with you on one side, and your companion on the other. You move to the left, they move to the right, keeping distance. You move right, they to the left. That was the sort of situation Risotto was stuck in.


He tried to sneak to the left to catch him by surprise, though picked up the sound of feet shuffling against the carpeted floor. Then, he jumped to the right, thinking (Y/n) would be closer on that end, though again he heard him move away.


Stuck between a rock and a hard place, Risotto randomly recalled that the bookshelves are as thin as they are tall, never thick enough to hold more than one row of books on each plank of wood.


So, he thought to himself that he ought to end the game then and there, for a sucking feeling arose in his chest as the strain of all that running had finally caught up to him.


Carefully, cautious as to not make a single sound, he pushed himself to the ends of his toes, and reached to where he assumed (Y/n)s face might be on the other side of the bookshelf. He'd almost fallen forward had he not caught himself, steadying his body against the unreliable shelf before reaching up once more.


A voice whispered in the back of his head to not do it, for it might anger the lord of the manor. But Risotto was never the kind to care about what others felt towards him, especially since he was brought to that place to die.


As if to brush off the lurking thoughts, he snatched the books out from where they stood tightly against each other, a few strays falling out from the force and hitting the ground with a heavy thud.


There he was. Or at least, there his eyes were. 


Eyes like a pair of blood moons stared back into him expectantly, glowing like lanterns, before beginning to crinkle with a strange, unsettling delight.


"Ah, you found me~! I knew you were good at this." (Y/n) praised wistfully, staring at his body, studying him. His gaze, however, seemed distant; As though he was suddenly troubled, brought deep into thought.


Then, as though he was pulled out of his daze abruptly, (Y/n) blinked once or twice, and shook his head; stepping out of sight between the space of books, and having all the candles blown out again.


And it was only when he heard a door off yonder close did Risotto realized he was alone again.

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