cw: violence, enthrallment

[ Wyll hasn't been at Courtsheart for very long. Still in his first season, he's not quite used to the idea of eventually becoming a vampire. It's bad enough that he was still getting used to this strange land before he'd been surreptitiously taken into their midsts but. Well.

A dream is a far more pleasant place to be, for Wyll.

Or it would be, were he dreaming of his home. Alas, his mind sees fit to bring him to a memory. One tinged by the distant roar of fire and the nearer smell of ash. And the beautiful, terrible, melodorous voice of the vampire he'd failed to kill. ]

Dear, you really must speak up. Do you want to save this miserable little village or not?

[ The voice belonged to her, the vampire who had started this entire thing. The vampire who had stepped out of a gilded carriage with eyes as gold as the finest sacristy, and what felt like a razor-sharp smile. It was a Finding, or so the locals had tried to explain. Wyll did not understand. What manner of creature could bring an entire town to its knees?

He'd been a fool, he knows now. He bore the gashes along his face and the shaking of his ribs, every labored breath a testament to his foolishness. The town burned, and the children he'd helped save had only one place to hide -- the church he and his fellows had helped build.

They would be next, he knew. For Wyll may not have known vampires, but he knew evil. And evil savored its kills, it fed on suffering and avarice and evil was present before him now, offering him a smile so smug -- the canary was caught, now it was the cat's turn to play with its food.

Wyll swallows. He knows the words he's about to speak are where he erred, but he cannot stop himself from speaking them. ]

You swear you won't hurt them? You swear you'll leave this place?

[ The vampire croons, an almost alluring, teasing lilt to her voice that matched neither the bloodied claws that were her hands, nor the almost pearlescent hue of her skin. She gestures as she speaks, casual grace even as the raging smoke and fire that surrounds them makes her appear more as a devil than anything else. ]

I swear, on my honor as a vampire, that I will leave the villagers be. [ She extends a hand almost daintily, like she expects a kiss rather than a handshake. ] In exchange, you'll come with me, Foundling. Deal?

[ Wyll tries against all his best instincts to stop himself. This time it would be different. This time he'd run her through. It's a dream, after all, he can do things differently, can't he? Maybe. Maybe not. ]

[ A. Pleasant Dream Against all odds, Wyll draws his sword and strikes true. His sword finds itself lodged in her chest, dripping a faint trail of liquid gold down the wound, and lower still as the cut of her dress goes beyond where Wyll would allow himself to look. ]

What? No, I... [ He laughs, almost desperate. This can't be real? The vampire curls in on herself, falling to the ground. ] That's... Is that all?

[ Is that all? ]

[ B. Nightmare Memory Dream or not, this is a memory. And in the memory, Wyll did not stab the vampire. In the memory, Wyll takes her hand. He nods, muttering a quick "Deal," before their 'bargain' is struck.

He then finds his voice bound, his limbs moving of their own accord. She smiles, approaching him, turning his head towards the destruction that remains. He cannot scream, suddenly, as the vampire turns around and does the same to the rest of his friends. "The villagers," she'd said. Of course. His fellow preists and friars were not villagers.

The village continues to burn, but now it is his former friends who are attacking it. Compelled, as he is. As he'd been. Wyll cannot speak, cannot shake or scream or cry as the vampire twirls her wrist and one of the men stabs the other. A scream rings out -- but not his. He remains mute.

This isn't even a cursed nightmare. This is just a memory! ]

[ Wyll has not been enthused about most of the events the school has put on so far, but sports are actually kind of... nice? Almost normal? He steers clear of anything related to enthrallment, but even he can admire the work that goes into the figure skating competition, if he just forgets that the participants are mostly vampires.

Why, he might even smile. ]

We should have more things like this. Shame it took a bloody curse to get them to do something that was just fun for the fun of it.

[ That's not right, ackshully, the Winter Games are a time-honored tradition but Wyll doesn't know that, does he! ]

[ There's really no point in being too dour. The mood in the castle is tense enough with the nightmare curse afflicting people, and Wyll's never been one to wallow. Thus you will find Wyll out on the grounds. His one good eye just barely has a hint of red in it, so he's bundled up to his nose in a scarf.

You'll find him shaping what seems to be... a rather large stack of snowballs. His smile is warm and inviting, kind and true. ]

Would you like to try a match? [ He motions to the stack. ] I'll let you take this bunch, I've got another just past there.