Shadows of London: 3-8 Year Without Summer

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Shadows of London

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She dreams of his past, one filled with death, despair, and immortality...

Info

Style: Event Logs: Banshee, Extreme Unction, First Brothers Required: Roger Goodwill Lv. 4 Rewards: 3,000 , 600 , 3 , 1 , 1 , Blueprint: Rose Plucker

Rose Plucker

Transcript

Expand for script.

• Hawke: ...Same as always. I knew it.

• The square is silent, and the once bustling sounds of people have long since disappeared.
• There is a faint howl in the cold winds, as if a banshee is singing a lament in the air.
• Hawke: I thought Dublin would be in better shape. What a cursed year it's been.

• The snow crunches beneath his feet, sounding no different from winters past.
• But this is no ordinary winter, for it is July of 1816.
• For the Blood Clan, who are immortal, the concept of time holds little significance.
• But Hawke deduces that he has not had a good meal for six months now.
• Hawke: Don't blame me, humans.

• The burning hunger has tormented his body to the point of collapse.
• His blood-red pupils flash with a cruel and cold light as he boldly steps through the doors of the church.

• The church is nearly empty, save for a frail and feeble figure who can barely stand, kneeling with their head bowed.
• The starving Hawke seizes the opportunity to feed, not sparing a second thought. He has seen too many dying humans like this in the past six months.
• Hawke: !

• How sweet and delectable!
• The warm blood flows down his throat, and he feels his shriveled body regain strength once again.
• Hawke: Phew...

• His appetite satisfied, Hawke is so deeply moved that he almost feels compelled to bow his head in reverence in this holy place.
• *thud*
• The human Hawke was feeding on stirs slightly, causing the object they were holding to fall to the ground.
• Hawke's gaze shifts to the fallen object, revealing the lifeless form of a child with disheveled reddish-brown hair.
• Their pale, freckled nose, is smeared with oil, carrying a fruity scent that repulses Hawke's vampiric senses.
• Hawke: (Is this Extreme Unction?)

• At this moment, even Hawke cannot help but feel a mixture of pity and self-disgust.
• This child has died, while Hawke continues to live. And this young man he chose to feed on will soon die, but Hawke will live on.
• His cursed life defies natural order and he will continue to wander in a world filled with death.
• Accompanied by eternal loneliness.
• ???: ...you...

• Hawke: !

• A soft murmur suddenly reaches his ears, startling him, and he almost drops the human in his arms.
• But their sweet blood still lingers on his lips, and his fangs still clench onto their fatal blood vessel.
• From this proximity, all he can see are the sapphire eyes belonging to the human that became his prey.
• Their clear, sorrowful, gentle, yet hopeless gaze that reflects his blood-red pupils.
• ???: Are you... full?

• The human asks him this question with their last bit of strength.
• He involuntarily releases his fangs and nods blankly.
• Hawke: I am...

• At that moment, he swears he sees a faint glimmer of a smile on the human's face.
• It is the smile of a saint, as if pleased that they have satisfied his hunger. A smile unfit for such a predicament.
• Soon after, the human closes their eyes and falls from his arms.
• Hawke: No!

• Humans will all die eventually. He knows this very well.
• He has lived for a long time and has long accepted this fact.
• But if humans are destined to die, how should vampires live?
• Hawke: (We were originally... we were all meant to be the same!)

• The human slides down from his grasp, not unlike the tragic separation of the first brothers.
• And he grabs him without hesitation, sharing his own blood with him through an act despised by the gods.
• Just so that those pair of sapphire eyes, calm and clear, would open once again.

• Warm tears well up in the corners of my eyes. Not out of emotion or sadness, but out of nostalgia.
• The sunlight caresses my cheeks, and a warm breath brushes against my forehead.
• A small hand that carries the scent of soap touches my forehead, and I awake...
• Priscilla Barnet: Caroline?

• You: P... Priscilla?

• She touches my forehead again, retracting her hand when she realizes there's no fever.
• Priscilla Barnet: I thought you were feeling unwell and that's why you woke up late. Should I ask Alice to bring you breakfast?

• You: No, no, don't. I'm awake now...

• My mind snaps out of the dream, and I quickly sit up from my bed.
• The clock on the wall shows that it's already past eleven o'clock. I get up and head for the wardrobe as I think about what I was pondering about last night.

• When I step out of the changing room, Priscilla, who was waiting impatiently, is flipping through the poetry book I left on my bedside table last night.
• Priscilla Barnet: Did you sleep in today because you stayed up to read Mr. Savile's poetry?

• She regards me with suspicion and a glint of mischief, a teasing smile appearing at the corners of her lips.
• Priscilla Barnet: Year Without a Summer, huh? Though I think this poem is rather rough around the edges...

• Priscilla starts critiquing Vincent's poetry. I make sounds of assent, still immersed in the dream I had last night.
• You: (1816, in Dublin... was the year without a summer!)

• I remember that the author, Mary Shelley, mentioned this year in her preface of "Frankenstein".
• She described it as "cold and rainy" and it was that summer that inspired her to write such a great novel.
• When I looked through other records, I discovered that the unusually cold weather that year was caused by a distant volcanic eruption.
• You: ("Winter's embrace draws near, as summer's warmth fades, no longer clear.")

• You: ("Tears of the living fall on the soil of the dead, as clovers bloom, by sorrow fed.")

• You: ("Blood courses like lava, a fiery lament, barring their escape from life's cruel torment.")

• You: ("He withers away, parched and dry, as rain ceases its fall, with not a drop from the sky.")

• If Vincent hadn't told me the year, I would have just flipped past this poem.
• But the scenes described in the poem pervade my thoughts.
• You: (Was Vincent really turned by Hawke like in my dream?)

• You: (He didn't even have a chance to decide whether he wanted to be turned...)

• But how many members of the Blood Clan have the power to choose to be turned?
• All members of the Blood Clan were once humans. Trapped in endless years of immortality, vampires fear loneliness far more than humans ever will.
• His melancholic sigh lingers in my mind.
• Priscilla Barnet: What are you thinking, Caroline?

• Priscilla's golden hair dazzles my eyes from a close distance.
• Her sudden proximity startles me back to my senses.
• Priscilla Barnet: You had a strange expression just now. Are you really okay?

• You: I-it's nothing. I was just thinking about the servants.

• Priscilla Barnet: The servants? What about them?

• You: I stayed up late last night because I was thinking about Jack.

• You: What happened to him was entirely my fault. I don't want to see anyone else become a victim because of me again.

• You: I can hide in this house all day, but the servants can't do the same.

• You: And as I continue to stay out of the Elder's reach, he will certainly grow desperate. What if he uses them to get to me?

• You: I should have them leave London and get far away from me. This will keep both I and them safe.

• Priscilla Barnet: That makes sense. But what reason will you give them?

• Priscilla Barnet: In my experience, they won't be easily persuaded.

• You: I have a plan. Priscilla, could you help me gather the servants?

• You: There's no time to lose.

• As expected, this decision causes a huge uproar.
• Mrs. Morrison, the housekeeper, politely states that time is too tight, while Mrs. Robinson, the cook, boldly declares that she has never left London in her entire life and has no intention of ever doing so.
• I use nearly all the management and conversational skills Aunt Petit taught me to try and pacify their outrage.
• Cook: I can't handle a trip at my age!

• Kitchen Maid: I'm sure Miss Rayes has already considered this...

• Cook: How sure can you really be, you foolish girl!

• Housekeeper: Miss Rayes, the question is, is it really necessary for everyone to leave?

• Housekeeper: We all know the current situation, but I don't think anyone wants to risk losing their job by leaving London.

• The servants all nod their heads, agreeing with Mrs. Morrison's words.
• You: Mrs. Morrison, I assure you I am not dismissing you all. I am merely concerned for your safety.

• You: You will all still receive your salary while in Brighton, and I welcome you to return when the situation in London stabilizes.

• The servants finally calm down when they hear that they won't lose their jobs. Suddenly, Mrs. Robinson raises her voice and asks a question.
• Cook: Are you saying that it's dangerous for us to stay here? What about Jack then?

• The servants start to panic again, as Mrs. Robinson shouts in triumph.
• Cook: I knew it! Didn't I say that something bad must have happened to Jack—

• Priscilla Barnet: Enough! I can't listen to all this whining anymore!

• Priscilla, who had been silent by my side all this time, finally stomps her foot hard and overpowers Mrs. Robinson's voice.
• Priscilla Barnet: Open your eyes and see what's happened to London! Caroline just wants to protect you all!

• Cook: Who knows what you ladies are really thinking...

• Mrs. Robinson mutters a few defiant words in the face of Priscilla's anger.
• I quickly grab Priscilla, who's fuming.
• You: The epidemic in London is much more severe than we originally anticipated. I made this decision out of concern for everyone's health.

• You: However, if you all feel that your lives aren't that important or believe that you'd be better off being under one of Scotland Yard's lockdowns, then I have no objections.

• These icy words make them flinch, and they exchange uneasy looks with each other.
• You: Of course, leaving London can be quite a hassle. That's why I have prepared some extra cash. Here, Mrs. Morrison.

• I hand Mrs. Morrison a heavy purse.
• You: Please give this to everyone when you reach Brighton.

• After hearing these words, Mrs. Robinson's pout seems to have relaxed.
• And the servants finally agree to my plan.
• But Alice clings on to my hand, tears welling up in her eyes.
• Kitchen Maid: But, miss, if I leave, who will help you tidy up your clothes and make your bed?

• I was about to comfort her with a smile, and assure her that I can do it myself, but her next sob leaves me stunned.
• Kitchen Maid: If London really is that dangerous, what about you? Where will you go?

• Where can I go?
• You: (As long as the Elder is alive, it doesn't matter where I go.)

• Priscilla Barnet: Don't worry, Alice. I'll be here with Caroline.

• Priscilla Barnet: I won't let her go hungry.

• You: Priscilla...

• Priscilla Barnet: Alright, go catch up with them. Mrs. Robinson will be mad if you make them miss the train.

• Alice nods, tears streaming down her face, and gives me one last reluctant look before quickening her pace to catch up with Mrs. Morrison.
• Roger Evans: I didn't know such kind maids existed in real life.

• After the servants leave, I plop down wearily on the sofa and grab a teacup as Roger strolls out from the library.
• Roger Evans: But what surprises me even more is you, Caroline. Why did you suddenly send them away?

• You: You must have heard what I said. It was for their safety...

• Roger Evans: That's only one of the reasons, and the least important one.

• Roger Evans: Madam Petit's residence isn't small. How will you maintain the house when you've dismissed all the servants?

• Roger Evans: You still need to eat and rest.

• As expected, I can't fool Roger, though I never intended to in the first place.
• You: Anyone who sees me dismissing all my servants would probably wonder the same.

• You: They might even wonder... that I may be planning to leave London, just like all the other nobles before me.

• Almost instantly, Roger perceives the true meaning behind my words.
• Roger Evans: You did this on purpose? You want the Elder to think you're trying to escape?

• You: It would be easy for someone as arrogant as he is to come to such a conclusion.

• Priscilla Barnet: But why? Why do you want him to think that you're trying to leave?

• You: Think about it, Priscilla.

• You: We're trying to get to the Elder. But there's one thing that stands in our way...

• Priscilla furrows her brow and gazes at me with a hint of annoyance, as if complaining that this question is too difficult.
• Priscilla Barnet: We don't know where he is.

• You: Exactly.

• Priscilla Barnet: Huh?

• You: We need to find out where he is.

• You: The Elder knows where I am, but to us, he still lurks in the shadows.

• You: Vincent hasn't been able to find him despite being in London for so many years. This is our biggest disadvantage.

• Roger Evans: So it's all a trap? You going to lure him out by making him think you're about to leave?

• Roger Evans: This is a risky plan, Caroline. Think about it. The Elder doesn't need to come for you himself.

• Roger Evans: He's always let his subordinates do his bidding. Like Lavinia, William Akerman... and now the ghouls.

• Roger Evans: I don't think he would reveal himself so easily.

• You: Then... what if Lavinia Girdenis appeared before him?

• You: Would he be able to let go of the woman he spent two centuries with, the woman who he loved deeply yet betrayed him?

• Priscilla and Roger gasp in astonishment.
• I must admit, Vincent's words last night, "She was Othello," completely changed my thinking.
• You: (My mother was not the weak and innocent Desdemona who accepted her fate.)

• You: (She was Othello, who took the initiative to pursue her own goals.)

• You: (How could I not take advantage of this?)

• You: (Even if I can't reach her level, I should at least give it a try.)

• When I recall Vincent saying that my mother became decisive and ruthless in order to control her own destiny, I can't help but smile.
• You: Vincent, I need your help.

• After whispering these words into the air, I set down my teacup.