Chapter Text
The grandfathers clock ticks by as Hyunjin sits in his art room. The paint smells thick of chemicals, the canvas a chaos of streaks and spots of uneven layers of red. The usually so glorious artist has no idea what he's created, he rarely does nowadays. He always begins his art with an idea that seems priceless, but it ends up a disgusting mess, something reminiscent of death. Hyunjin stares down at the canvas, a sigh escaping his lips. Perhaps these artworks he's made are exactly what they just reminded him off. Death. Unyielding. Unable to escape. Atleast for humans.
Hyunjins head turns to the black curtain that covers him from the upcoming sunlight. Even though it is just after five o'clock in the morning, he can already the feel the heat of the sun — its harsh warmth that makes his pale skin turn to dust and ash. Right. Death isnt exactly inescapable for vampires either. It's just... harder. Humans die because of almost everything, a vampire dies of sunlight. He knows it. He's seen it with his own eyes. He'll never forget it. A sight imprinted into his memory so vividly it's like he's living it again and again.
Hyunjin stands up, tall and imposing against the easel. He picks the canvas up, not caring about the wet oil paint or the fact that his brush drops carelessly on the cold stone floor, covering it in dark red splotches that match the painting — or the blood of a living being, thick and undeniably delicious. Hyunjin doesnt care anymore, about anything. He has had enough. He doesn't want to mourn anymore. He wants to be with his loved one. With his fierce creation. He places the canvas, setting it infront of the ones he has planned to throw away — the ones he is unable to finish.
He places his hands behind his back as he exits the art room. The halls of the manor are equally as dark as his art room, only that now impeccable pieces of art hang on the walls. Pieces drawn by centuries of Hwangs who pursued art as their source of money, just like Hyunjin. These pieces were depicted as shameful — mostly for being not up to par. Yes, those wonderful framed perfections were diminished as ugly. Sinful. Hyunjin himself has suffered from those comments, said by his own father.
In the corner of his eye, Hyunjin can see that a door to one common room is open. His jaw clenches at the sight of wood shining in the candlelight. He grips the handle tightly, slamming the door closed. That room hasn't been entered in months — no one is allowed to or dares to. Hyunjin would kill them without question. No remorse. Especially if someone dares to touch that fucking piano.
The feeling of grief swells in Hyunjins heart — thicker than before. A clump sitting in his chest that he is unable to get rid of. The silence is suffocating him like he's just out of reach from oxygen while he's drowning. Not a very romantic death and Hyunjin likes to be romantic. Whether it was about his art or just his mindset. Romance kept him alive, but as far as Hyunjin could think, it didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered when his muse was gone.
The vampire walks into the entrance hall of the manor. It is filled with statues — carved, life-size pieces of realistic deities, animals or persons he once knew. Hyunjin stops infront of one statue, the stone mocking him. His fathers face stares down at him, expression stern and violent in its nature. That alone sends a shiver down his spine. The memory of Hyunjins hands red and aching from having his knuckles rapped. That punishment would often be inflicted when Hyunjin didnt excel his fathers prompt to a tee.
His fingers brush against the stone before tipping the statue over with as much force as he can, causing it to break upon impact. A grin slips into the vampires face. The satisfaction of watching his father fall even though he's been dead for years. It is undeniably a better sight than tasting blood. Hyunjin walks over to the next statue, doing the same as before. He pushes the statue, watching it crack into pieces. White dust lingers in the air. That relieving feeling replaces the ache in Hyunjins chest.
By the time Hyunjin is done with destroying all of his family's hard work, only one statue remains intact. The biggest of them all. His favorite. His best work. His masterpiece. Standing tall while holding a flower to his nose. His muse. His face so clear despite being marked into stone. Those narrow eyes and the hair that falls down in strands. Hyunjin steps onto the platform, his fingertips brushing against the dimples that go oh so deep. Suddenly his fangs feel wrong.
They brush sharply against his tongue and even though Hyunjin has always had them and grew up with them, he wishes them to be canines. Simple human canines. Overall, Hyunjin yearns to be human — to die easily and get away from this world. He steps off the platform, turning to look at the grandfathers clock again. The sun should be going up by now. It should wake up gods creations and paint the day brightly in colors such as green and blue. Hyunjin would be in his coffin now, falling into deep sleep. But tonight is different.
The blackout curtains are heavy and far too long. They're dusty from being closed for centuries, sitting on the tracks, connected to the ceiling. Behind them are immaculate floor to ceiling windows. His skin brushes over the fabric, sending shivers down his spine. He'll do it. He'll be with his muse again. In the afterlife. Finally at peace. Both his hands grip the curtain, using all his strength to pull them down.