[A family to lose, if he's interpreting it right. Taken away in such a manner that she needs magic, which is absurd to him, unless it was indeed very far away.
It tugs a bit at his heart strings, but then he internally recoils. No, he knows better. Don't open yourself, don't empathize, damn it. She's here for a reason. Even if it isn't to hurt him, he still doesn't owe her a damned thing.]
With magic, you were taken away. And with magic, you look to return.
[She ducks her head, fixing her eyes on the dwindling portion of stew in the bowl. It's mostly only broth left, and a few smaller pieces of venison and vegetable. She'll finish it in a minute, but for the most part she's all but inhaled what was given her, and she is starting to feel better for it.
How strange, that a kindness as small as a bowl of soup can make such a strong memory in one's mind. Even now she remembers the kindly dwarf in Tamir, filling two bowls for himself, then directing her unexpectedly to take one of them for herself.]
Have you ever met someone who seems larger than life, even though you know deep down that they're still only a person like everyone else? The sort of person who can do anything, who...always seems to know what to do, no matter how grave the danger or strange the peril.
[There are a few people that suit that description, but more than anything he certainly thinks of Dracula. Literally larger than most people would ever be, imposing and powerful -- but still a man who mattered to his family. Who was a good husband, a good father. Whose end was miserable and sad.
That's my father. I always thought he could do anything.
[She laughs a little, just under her breath.]
Most of the time, I was right. I only ever saw him look helpless once.
[She stirs her stew thoughtfully, then moves the spoon to the side and picks it up to finish it outright, tipping the rest of the cooling broth into her mouth before setting the empty bowl back onto the nightstand.]
It's hard not to feel as though, if he were in this predicament instead of me, he'd have found his way home already. Contrived some means. Nothing could possibly keep him away.
[Isn't that just how he feels about Dracula? So strong, only weakened by how much he loved his wife. But then, too, Dracula chose his wife over everything else. A tragedy.
He takes the bowl, thinking to himself.]
No living person is flawless. Despite how we might admire them. Unless he is a powerful magician himself-- [unlikely, she is just a peasant] --then he would be trapped in similar circumstances.
[She smiles sadly, saying nothing for a moment. Alexander had been nothing remotely close to a powerful magician when he'd started out, yet he'd mastered it for himself out of simple necessity. Daddy, too — picking up a wand to challenge Mordack, casting spells like he'd been born to it after a few minutes' study of the right book. Rationally, she knows full well that those were successes of opportunity moreso than effort — access to magic does tend to be the first step toward mastering it, after all — but still, it's hard not to feel a little hopeless, setting her own experiences next to theirs.
Surely Alucard has magic in this castle. All too surely, it'll be behind one of those doors he locks, or in the hold he's forbidden her to enter. He'll know if she goes in, and will kill her — she believes that beyond a shadow of a doubt. But maybe there's still something she can do, some means she can find, and facilitate her own escape.
At least she's brave. Bravery and determination seem like the only things she's got going for her right now, all things considered.]
I know. I suppose it's just that I miss him so, I'm growing fanciful.
[She folds her hands in her lap, reflexively shifting to sit more primly, with unconscious poise and dignity.]
This is the most I've talked to anyone since I was taken. It's...nice.
When was the last time Alucard had talked to anyone? He can't even remember. He's spent so long by himself. This must be the first conversation he's had in sometime. Has it been months or years? Long enough for the bones of Sumi and Taka to have been picked clean, their skeletons bleached white in the sun. Long enough that the dressing gowns are but tattered cloth.
Too long.]
To what purpose would someone have taken a peasant girl?
[Her nose wrinkles, her pretty face twisting into an expression of open disgust. She almost can't help herself as she replies, the loathing all but dripping from every word.]
Why does any disgusting old wizard snatch up an unsuspecting girl? To keep his house for him, I suppose, or to cut me up for parts in some spell, or —
[...Ah. She'd never actually said it was a wizard that'd taken her, had she...]
[His voice is wry, his brow arching at Rosella. If it took magic to snatch her away, then it was a reasonable conclusion. Regardless, this simply confirms it.]
How curious. You are a lady of many secrets it seems, Rosella.
[Though perhaps for her own safety. Is that something he could truly blame?]
[Her body language shifts almost imperceptibly, now. Where once she'd been comfortable and poised, now she's curled in on herself just a fraction, like she's steeling herself for a fright that she knows is only moments away.]
It's just I didn't know at first if you were acquainted with him. He wears a black cloak, just like you do.
[...He really doesn't know, then. There wasn't even the slightest flicker of recognition, not even a darting of the eyes or a twitch of the face. What silly, absurd luck she has, to have stumbled on a dangerous man in a castle in the woods completely unaffiliated with the Society of the Black Cloak.
If he's simply a better liar than she thinks, then it doesn't really matter; she's already dead or worse, now that he knows. But she chooses to believe in him. He's been too kind, and too sad, even behind his snarling fangs and flashing red eyes.]
I hope that the kindness you've shown me doesn't make trouble for you, in the long run.
[She draws a shallow breath that shifts inadvertently into a yawn halfway through.]
Do you suppose...could we perhaps talk again, tomorrow? I'm afraid I won't be good company for much longer.
[She listens for the door latch, just out of instinct, to see if he locks her in once he leaves. But the door is silent, but for the creak of the hinges; if he did turn a key in the lock, he did it so gently as to be imperceptible.
It's only after Alucard is gone that exhaustion really seems to catch up with her. She'd managed to hold it at bay before with the help of the food and the distraction, but now that she's alone and the room is quiet, it's almost all she can do to kick her boots and sorry old dress onto the floor and crawl beneath the warm covers before she's fast asleep once again.
In a perfect world, she might've slept until well past noon, with her head on soft pillows and the blankets pulled up to her chin. But this isn't a perfect world, and she isn't at home safe in her own bed, so when the sunlight comes streaming in her window and turns the room golden with morning, she rolls onto her stomach and buries her face in the pillows and groans once, audibly, before pushing herself up and out of the comforts of the bed.
Her first problem is her tattered dress, which is filthy more with memories than it is with road dirt. It makes her wrinkle her nose to dress in it again, but she sifts through and removes any of her meager collected possessions that won't hold up to a wash and hides them under her bed before picking up her boots and leaving her room, heading for the entrance hall of the castle as she tries her best not to yawn.
She'd heard the sound of a river or brook on her way to the castle, and it only seems natural that there must be running water of some kind nearby, so she hunts around a bit in the forest — making certain to stay well clear of the Hold in the ground that Alucard had mentioned the night before — until she finds a shallow, quiet section that's burbling slowly and doesn't seem to have any dangerous undercurrents. Then, lacking any means of changing, she simply sinks a few large stones into the water and sits down onto them, letting the water wash over her clothes and body alike.
It's not exactly a morning swim, but it does wake her up, and it feels good to get some of the road dirt off of her clothes and out of her hair. Once back on the shore, she squeezes the drips out of her skirt and sleeves as best she can and then sets off, counting on the morning breeze and warming sunlight to dry her the rest of the way.
Next, she walks along the bank of the river, just learning the terrain of the woods around the castle; eventually, she starts to spot the places where Alucard must come to harvest wild vegetables — here and there, she can see plants that have had fruits picked from between their leaves, ostensibly by a five-fingered hand. A little further down, she comes across a patch of blackberry bushes and stops to fill her pockets; it's hardly the best way to carry back a bunch of fruit, but so long as she's careful, it ought to be all right.
Once she's dry enough to be only a little damp but not dripping, she retraces her steps back to the castle and walks about touching locked doors until she manages to find the kitchen. The beauty and size of it astonishes her, though she doesn't quite know why; it's far more intricate than she might've expected, particularly for what seems to be a single lord living alone with no serving help.
There are no dishes in the sink, not even her own little bowl from the night before; somehow, that amuses her. Regardless, she roots around until she finds a pan and a bag of oats, and a half-full pail of water that still tastes sweet rather than brackish from stagnancy.
She's no great hand in a kitchen, but she does manage to get the oats boiling, and stirs them until they start to resemble a porridge. From there, it's a quick enough matter to find a bowl and spoon — perhaps the very same ones she'd used the night before — and fill it with the hot oats before adding the blackberries and giving it a good, solid stir.
It's not bad for a breakfast, she supposes, and leaves the remnants on the kitchen counter, taking the bowl and setting back out into the castle proper to see if she can manage to find Alucard.]
[Of all the rooms Alucard seems to leave unlocked, it is the library. Granted, he's long since moved items around enough that there aren't any dangerous enchanted items present. Nothing aside from his own sword, of course.
By the unlit and cold fireplace, Alucard sits, fingers combed together with his eyes closed. He isn't sleeping, but he certainly is dwelling; the past, as always, will haunt him, and he wonders if this is how Dracula ended up in the end. Sitting in his chair, dwelling, waiting to die.
Maybe he should have just slept after all.
He pauses, smelling the porridge and fresh berries. There'd honestly been a part of him that expected that Rosella would just run off in the night or in the morning, yet she's keeping to her word. Undoubtedly to prove herself.
Well. They'll see.
Alucard lifts his chin, glancing over his shoulder toward the door.]
[She'd almost been ready to shut the door and walk away again, having not spotted him around the back of the turned-away chair. At the sound of his voice, she stops in her retreat, pressing it open and stepping carefully into the room to approach him.
It may well be the grandest library she's ever seen — more well-stocked than the one in the old manor house in Tamir, taller and more somber than the more familiar one in Castle Daventry. If there are books of magic in here, she muses silently, she'll never find them in three days. More likely than not, she wouldn't be able to uncover them in three years. But oh, what sorts of stories must be contained within the many tomes — surely a vampire would have a marvelous library, or at least she would expect so based on the stories she's heard.
Yet Alucard doesn't seem to be reading at all. He's just sitting, gazing at an unlit fireplace with his back to the door. As she draws closer, she can see that he hasn't changed from the night before; he's still wearing the cloak with the tatters at the hems, and his hair is still long and unbrushed.
He's not taking care of himself, she thinks fleetingly, and almost in response to that notion, she offers him the bowl of porridge.]
And here we have your breakfast. The berries are fresh and ripe, so it ought to taste sweet.
There's more in the kitchen. I thought I'd work up a proper appetite first.
[She glances around a bit, frowning again at the unlit fireplace, then crosses over to stand near it and presses her hand against the wall just above the mantel, and a little to the side.
Unsurprisingly, nothing happens, so she surreptitiously tries again, with equally unremarkable results.]
...Er. Well — did you sit up in here all night?
[She says, turning around to face him briskly, with her hands tucked a little bashfully behind her back.]
[Caught out, her cheeks flush pink, and she can't help but glance away in mild embarrassment.]
I was trying to light the fireplace.
[Not that looking for hidden doors is that bad of an idea — surely there must be some around in a castle of this size, there always are in castles — but as it happens, her purpose was considerably more mundane.]
Your torches in the jars, in the entrance — they lit when you touched the wall. I thought it might...I thought perhaps your walls just did that.
[Well. Now it sounds sort of stupid when she says it aloud.]
[That explanation gives him pause, but... truthfully, he finds it reasonable. She's observant, but perhaps not enough to know what electricity is. Not her fault.]
A fair assumption, I suppose. I've never really explained how the lights work. But I'm afraid for fireplaces, I don't have anything that complicated arranged.
[He has more of the porridge. It's actually quite nice. Light.]
Oh, I'm sure there's a wonderfully complicated explanation for it, that mostly boils down to "they're enchanted and you worked magic on them."
[Although...the way that he says it is odd. As though there is more to it than that. And she really can't help her curiosity, even though she knows full well there are plenty of other, better things she might be doing with her time.]
...Is there more to it than that?
[She says, as she digs in her pockets for a bit of flint and kneels down to start arranging the tinder and kindling.]
[She tests the word on her tongue like she's tasting it, almost, and not sure if it'll come away with a foul flavor or a sweet one. There's something about what he's describing that triggers a buried memory, however — something she recalls seeing from far away, through the curving barrier of a tall glass jar. She remembers standing on the ramparts of their shrunken castle and looking out over the vast expanse of Mordack's laboratory, and how far off in the distance, great globes affixed to some sort of awful contraption had sparked with lightning and illuminated the room with an eerie blue glow.
He must be talking about something like that, she decides at length, pondering even as her hands work efficiently to pile the wood and strike the tinder to coax a flame to take hold. Alexander called lightning when he slew the dragon; she remembers vividly how close the bolts got to her where she'd been tied up just scant feet from the awful beast. So Alucard must have called lightning somehow — not with magic, but with science — and captured it in his metal, and sealed the metal in the glass. Now, when he bids it, the lightning flashes, and holds its flash longer than any natural bolt ever should, and he lights a room with it.
It's so terribly complex that, as she sits back onto her heels and regards the little fire as it starts to burn, simple logic causes a thought to surface, and she glances back at him.]
To go to all that work just for light, your bulbs must be better somehow than a torch. Or you wouldn't have bothered.
[And now it's a riddle. How is a lightning bulb better than an easy, sensible flame?]
...They don't burn out. Is that it? You don't — they don't run out of oil, like a torch would. The bulbs don't go out?
[When was the last time that fireplace held any warmth? Who is to say. He's hardly touched anything of interest, stopped creating art ages ago. Stopped doing much of anything except surviving and keeping to himself. Alucard watches the flames flicker to life, but his attention is quickly turned to Rosella herself as she works out the most important thing: why. Why would the bulbs be more efficient than candles or a torch?
And her conclusion is sound. Alucard's eyes, tired as they are, almost glimmer in satisfaction.]
Precisely, or at least they certainly don't burn out as easily. From time to time, they need replacing, but you can easily choose when to light them or turn them off. It is a tedious thing to tend to hundreds of candles for a castle.
[Clever Rosella.]
What are some other things you would use a fire for besides light and basic warmth?
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It tugs a bit at his heart strings, but then he internally recoils. No, he knows better. Don't open yourself, don't empathize, damn it. She's here for a reason. Even if it isn't to hurt him, he still doesn't owe her a damned thing.]
With magic, you were taken away. And with magic, you look to return.
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[She ducks her head, fixing her eyes on the dwindling portion of stew in the bowl. It's mostly only broth left, and a few smaller pieces of venison and vegetable. She'll finish it in a minute, but for the most part she's all but inhaled what was given her, and she is starting to feel better for it.
How strange, that a kindness as small as a bowl of soup can make such a strong memory in one's mind. Even now she remembers the kindly dwarf in Tamir, filling two bowls for himself, then directing her unexpectedly to take one of them for herself.]
Have you ever met someone who seems larger than life, even though you know deep down that they're still only a person like everyone else? The sort of person who can do anything, who...always seems to know what to do, no matter how grave the danger or strange the peril.
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Alucard glances away.]
Perhaps I do.
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[She laughs a little, just under her breath.]
Most of the time, I was right. I only ever saw him look helpless once.
[She stirs her stew thoughtfully, then moves the spoon to the side and picks it up to finish it outright, tipping the rest of the cooling broth into her mouth before setting the empty bowl back onto the nightstand.]
It's hard not to feel as though, if he were in this predicament instead of me, he'd have found his way home already. Contrived some means. Nothing could possibly keep him away.
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He takes the bowl, thinking to himself.]
No living person is flawless. Despite how we might admire them. Unless he is a powerful magician himself-- [unlikely, she is just a peasant] --then he would be trapped in similar circumstances.
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Surely Alucard has magic in this castle. All too surely, it'll be behind one of those doors he locks, or in the hold he's forbidden her to enter. He'll know if she goes in, and will kill her — she believes that beyond a shadow of a doubt. But maybe there's still something she can do, some means she can find, and facilitate her own escape.
At least she's brave. Bravery and determination seem like the only things she's got going for her right now, all things considered.]
I know. I suppose it's just that I miss him so, I'm growing fanciful.
[She folds her hands in her lap, reflexively shifting to sit more primly, with unconscious poise and dignity.]
This is the most I've talked to anyone since I was taken. It's...nice.
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When was the last time Alucard had talked to anyone? He can't even remember. He's spent so long by himself. This must be the first conversation he's had in sometime. Has it been months or years? Long enough for the bones of Sumi and Taka to have been picked clean, their skeletons bleached white in the sun. Long enough that the dressing gowns are but tattered cloth.
Too long.]
To what purpose would someone have taken a peasant girl?
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Why does any disgusting old wizard snatch up an unsuspecting girl? To keep his house for him, I suppose, or to cut me up for parts in some spell, or —
[...Ah. She'd never actually said it was a wizard that'd taken her, had she...]
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[His voice is wry, his brow arching at Rosella. If it took magic to snatch her away, then it was a reasonable conclusion. Regardless, this simply confirms it.]
How curious. You are a lady of many secrets it seems, Rosella.
[Though perhaps for her own safety. Is that something he could truly blame?]
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[Her body language shifts almost imperceptibly, now. Where once she'd been comfortable and poised, now she's curled in on herself just a fraction, like she's steeling herself for a fright that she knows is only moments away.]
It's just I didn't know at first if you were acquainted with him. He wears a black cloak, just like you do.
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Unfortunately for you, black cloaks are quite the common standard for most people.
[Alucard shrugs.]
I cannot be a hypocrite when you are protecting yourself, I suppose.
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If he's simply a better liar than she thinks, then it doesn't really matter; she's already dead or worse, now that he knows. But she chooses to believe in him. He's been too kind, and too sad, even behind his snarling fangs and flashing red eyes.]
I hope that the kindness you've shown me doesn't make trouble for you, in the long run.
[She draws a shallow breath that shifts inadvertently into a yawn halfway through.]
Do you suppose...could we perhaps talk again, tomorrow? I'm afraid I won't be good company for much longer.
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[He wonders if he'd been too kind. Perhaps that is so, but he cannot be too cruel until he has reason more to be.
At her yawn and request, he gives one nod.]
Rest, then. I will give you your privacy.
[Alucard makes his exit, closing the door behind him, hoping deeply he will not come to regret this.]
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It's only after Alucard is gone that exhaustion really seems to catch up with her. She'd managed to hold it at bay before with the help of the food and the distraction, but now that she's alone and the room is quiet, it's almost all she can do to kick her boots and sorry old dress onto the floor and crawl beneath the warm covers before she's fast asleep once again.
In a perfect world, she might've slept until well past noon, with her head on soft pillows and the blankets pulled up to her chin. But this isn't a perfect world, and she isn't at home safe in her own bed, so when the sunlight comes streaming in her window and turns the room golden with morning, she rolls onto her stomach and buries her face in the pillows and groans once, audibly, before pushing herself up and out of the comforts of the bed.
Her first problem is her tattered dress, which is filthy more with memories than it is with road dirt. It makes her wrinkle her nose to dress in it again, but she sifts through and removes any of her meager collected possessions that won't hold up to a wash and hides them under her bed before picking up her boots and leaving her room, heading for the entrance hall of the castle as she tries her best not to yawn.
She'd heard the sound of a river or brook on her way to the castle, and it only seems natural that there must be running water of some kind nearby, so she hunts around a bit in the forest — making certain to stay well clear of the Hold in the ground that Alucard had mentioned the night before — until she finds a shallow, quiet section that's burbling slowly and doesn't seem to have any dangerous undercurrents. Then, lacking any means of changing, she simply sinks a few large stones into the water and sits down onto them, letting the water wash over her clothes and body alike.
It's not exactly a morning swim, but it does wake her up, and it feels good to get some of the road dirt off of her clothes and out of her hair. Once back on the shore, she squeezes the drips out of her skirt and sleeves as best she can and then sets off, counting on the morning breeze and warming sunlight to dry her the rest of the way.
Next, she walks along the bank of the river, just learning the terrain of the woods around the castle; eventually, she starts to spot the places where Alucard must come to harvest wild vegetables — here and there, she can see plants that have had fruits picked from between their leaves, ostensibly by a five-fingered hand. A little further down, she comes across a patch of blackberry bushes and stops to fill her pockets; it's hardly the best way to carry back a bunch of fruit, but so long as she's careful, it ought to be all right.
Once she's dry enough to be only a little damp but not dripping, she retraces her steps back to the castle and walks about touching locked doors until she manages to find the kitchen. The beauty and size of it astonishes her, though she doesn't quite know why; it's far more intricate than she might've expected, particularly for what seems to be a single lord living alone with no serving help.
There are no dishes in the sink, not even her own little bowl from the night before; somehow, that amuses her. Regardless, she roots around until she finds a pan and a bag of oats, and a half-full pail of water that still tastes sweet rather than brackish from stagnancy.
She's no great hand in a kitchen, but she does manage to get the oats boiling, and stirs them until they start to resemble a porridge. From there, it's a quick enough matter to find a bowl and spoon — perhaps the very same ones she'd used the night before — and fill it with the hot oats before adding the blackberries and giving it a good, solid stir.
It's not bad for a breakfast, she supposes, and leaves the remnants on the kitchen counter, taking the bowl and setting back out into the castle proper to see if she can manage to find Alucard.]
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By the unlit and cold fireplace, Alucard sits, fingers combed together with his eyes closed. He isn't sleeping, but he certainly is dwelling; the past, as always, will haunt him, and he wonders if this is how Dracula ended up in the end. Sitting in his chair, dwelling, waiting to die.
Maybe he should have just slept after all.
He pauses, smelling the porridge and fresh berries. There'd honestly been a part of him that expected that Rosella would just run off in the night or in the morning, yet she's keeping to her word. Undoubtedly to prove herself.
Well. They'll see.
Alucard lifts his chin, glancing over his shoulder toward the door.]
I see you've kept yourself busy.
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[She'd almost been ready to shut the door and walk away again, having not spotted him around the back of the turned-away chair. At the sound of his voice, she stops in her retreat, pressing it open and stepping carefully into the room to approach him.
It may well be the grandest library she's ever seen — more well-stocked than the one in the old manor house in Tamir, taller and more somber than the more familiar one in Castle Daventry. If there are books of magic in here, she muses silently, she'll never find them in three days. More likely than not, she wouldn't be able to uncover them in three years. But oh, what sorts of stories must be contained within the many tomes — surely a vampire would have a marvelous library, or at least she would expect so based on the stories she's heard.
Yet Alucard doesn't seem to be reading at all. He's just sitting, gazing at an unlit fireplace with his back to the door. As she draws closer, she can see that he hasn't changed from the night before; he's still wearing the cloak with the tatters at the hems, and his hair is still long and unbrushed.
He's not taking care of himself, she thinks fleetingly, and almost in response to that notion, she offers him the bowl of porridge.]
And here we have your breakfast. The berries are fresh and ripe, so it ought to taste sweet.
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[The bowl is taken, though he does pause to give her a curious glance.]
And have you had your own breakfast yet? I've no interest in having you starve, in case last night was any clear indication.
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[She glances around a bit, frowning again at the unlit fireplace, then crosses over to stand near it and presses her hand against the wall just above the mantel, and a little to the side.
Unsurprisingly, nothing happens, so she surreptitiously tries again, with equally unremarkable results.]
...Er. Well — did you sit up in here all night?
[She says, turning around to face him briskly, with her hands tucked a little bashfully behind her back.]
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Not all night. I spent time rearranging some items of interest and ensuring locked doors for both of our sakes.
Looking for hidden doors?
[At least he doesn't sound irritated. He takes a bite, then pauses to relish the sweetness. It's pleasant, actually.]
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I was trying to light the fireplace.
[Not that looking for hidden doors is that bad of an idea — surely there must be some around in a castle of this size, there always are in castles — but as it happens, her purpose was considerably more mundane.]
Your torches in the jars, in the entrance — they lit when you touched the wall. I thought it might...I thought perhaps your walls just did that.
[Well. Now it sounds sort of stupid when she says it aloud.]
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A fair assumption, I suppose. I've never really explained how the lights work. But I'm afraid for fireplaces, I don't have anything that complicated arranged.
[He has more of the porridge. It's actually quite nice. Light.]
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[Although...the way that he says it is odd. As though there is more to it than that. And she really can't help her curiosity, even though she knows full well there are plenty of other, better things she might be doing with her time.]
...Is there more to it than that?
[She says, as she digs in her pockets for a bit of flint and kneels down to start arranging the tinder and kindling.]
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[He tops off his bowl, mindful to himself of knowing he'll take it to the kitchen to deal with.]
That's not to say that they couldn't be magic, if I wished it.
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[She tests the word on her tongue like she's tasting it, almost, and not sure if it'll come away with a foul flavor or a sweet one. There's something about what he's describing that triggers a buried memory, however — something she recalls seeing from far away, through the curving barrier of a tall glass jar. She remembers standing on the ramparts of their shrunken castle and looking out over the vast expanse of Mordack's laboratory, and how far off in the distance, great globes affixed to some sort of awful contraption had sparked with lightning and illuminated the room with an eerie blue glow.
He must be talking about something like that, she decides at length, pondering even as her hands work efficiently to pile the wood and strike the tinder to coax a flame to take hold. Alexander called lightning when he slew the dragon; she remembers vividly how close the bolts got to her where she'd been tied up just scant feet from the awful beast. So Alucard must have called lightning somehow — not with magic, but with science — and captured it in his metal, and sealed the metal in the glass. Now, when he bids it, the lightning flashes, and holds its flash longer than any natural bolt ever should, and he lights a room with it.
It's so terribly complex that, as she sits back onto her heels and regards the little fire as it starts to burn, simple logic causes a thought to surface, and she glances back at him.]
To go to all that work just for light, your bulbs must be better somehow than a torch. Or you wouldn't have bothered.
[And now it's a riddle. How is a lightning bulb better than an easy, sensible flame?]
...They don't burn out. Is that it? You don't — they don't run out of oil, like a torch would. The bulbs don't go out?
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And her conclusion is sound. Alucard's eyes, tired as they are, almost glimmer in satisfaction.]
Precisely, or at least they certainly don't burn out as easily. From time to time, they need replacing, but you can easily choose when to light them or turn them off. It is a tedious thing to tend to hundreds of candles for a castle.
[Clever Rosella.]
What are some other things you would use a fire for besides light and basic warmth?
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