Aiden Shepard [ Abraham Van Helsing ] (arcere) wrote in bellumlogs,
Dreams, then. Pure dreams. No reality, no nothing else. Though the warning about feeling real certainly didn't bode well. Did he have experience with this before? Had someone else attacked him in the (relative) safety of a dream?
Aiden hoped so. And he hoped that it had hurt as much as physically possible in this sort of ridiculous creation.
When Vlad started moving, Aiden tried to move - either to jerk back or to start stalking forward - but his legs remained frozen in place. The most he could do was twitch his fingers, clench them against his palms. He couldn't reach for a weapon (which he didn't have) and he couldn't so much as twist his arms to defend himself. It was paralysis, he realized. Whether fear or fury inspired, he was rooted to the spot.
In a dream.
Sometimes he honestly thought the entire universe was against him.
The question was straightforward enough, and Aiden let the anger slowly bleed through him. His hate went beyond the fable. His hate had never needed Van Helsing to inspire it.
"Eight years ago," he said, in a voice laden with loathing, "I was visiting Romania with my sister. Three days before we were due to leave, you murdered her."