#Resident Evil 8: Village | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rippersz · 11 months

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𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘞𝘢𝘴 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨

✧── ･｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ──✧

✧── ･｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ──✧

(A Lady Alcina Dimitrescu x Reader oneshot/ramble/character study)

✧── ･｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ──✧

She was… everything.

Absolutely everything.

The end to every beginning, the beginning to every end, the hell and the heaven that humanity wrote and read about in books of religion. The black and the white, the evil and good, the pure and impure- she was clean and dirty, neat and messy, up and down and back and forth and left and right. She was every North star and every constellation and every natural disaster that roamed every land and every span of calm that followed such destruction. She was the organized stanzas of strict poetry and the whimsical plots of romantic letters to loved ones, she was the loved one and the writer- the letter and the words it held. She was the wax seal stamp and the care one possessed when holding something so special, she was the angry hand that tore that special apart and the seething teeth that followed that anger. She was the yin and yang of life, the devil and the god, the one who ruled but never obeyed. Her word was law and the law was her word, her nails drew the line and her feet always crossed it, her wings were black and grey and white all at the same time. She was a gift and a trap, a curse and a blessing, an offering and a prayer answered, she was all that mattered.

She was the reason you breathed, the reason you lived, the reason you woke up each morning instead of throwing yourself off of the Astronomy Tower balcony. She was the motivation in your tired arms and the bliss of your rare dreams. She was the ichor in your veins and the sweet melodies in your head. She was your anger and your sadness and your happiness and sorrow and desire and strength and passion- she was the driving force behind your very beating heart. Her existence was your hope and her presence- your salvation.

She was your ambrosia.

Your life line.

The breaths between your silence and the pity between your thoughts.

She was the message between the lines, and the damned lines themselves. She was the secret whispered into a person’s ear and she was the gasp that would soon follow. She was the period at the end of every sentence and the hastily rubbed eraser shavings as instead of keeping that period there, one would choose to replace it with a semicolon; she was the torn out page of an artist’s sketchbook and the pang of sadness that hit the artist’s heart when they notice how the tear ran into their precious work. She was the precious work. And the tear.

She was the food of your soul.

…

...

But…

Weren’t mortals always warned that the ambrosia would kill them?

…

That it would turn their blood to fire and bones to sand?

…

That against something so divine,

They didn’t stand a chance?

…

Maybe you never had a chance in the first place.

Maybe, from the moment you got there, your fate had already been written and sealed. Just like the wax stamp that she was.

Yes, maybe you were forever doomed.

To be in love.

With her.

And perhaps, for that reason only, you were the most foolish person on Earth.

Foolish sure, but also in love.

For when the scratchiness of the bed sheets in the maids quarters was cruel and unforgiving, keeping sleep at bay, you’d face your eyes to the moon- just barely peeking through the bars of the window’s glass- and tell her that being a fool was the best thing you could be if it meant you’d still have the chance to love your lady as you did.

Your lady.

And if not yours, then The Lady- because a woman like that could never be owned.

…

And yet.

...

And yet?

Your foolish girl heart would never be satisfied if it wasn’t she you woke up to each morning.

Because deep deep down, into your very core, every atom in your body, every cell, every beat of your heart and thought in your brain, every wave of blood in your veins, every butterfly in your stomach, and flower in your lungs- all of it- everything you did- screamed that it wasn’t you who mattered most. And deep down, resting beside that foolish wish of wanting to be hers, was the knowledge that- to you- she would always matter more. More than anything. Ever. More than life, more than death.

—

Yes, she was everything.

Your entire world wrapped up into the elegance of a noble woman with riches that could make kings gawk and beauty that could make queens cry.

And sure, perhaps you had a strange way of showing your affection, but none of that ever truly mattered. Your Lady simply couldn’t know.

Though sometimes, when the castle staff were all lined up for dinner- facing the nobility as they ate- sometimes you wished to step out of line and announce proudly that you were so unbelievably in love with her, even if it was just because she dabbed the corners of her lips with a cloth napkin oh so gently. Even if it was just because she held the silverware so pridefully. Even if it was just because she sent her daughters the smallest warm smile you had ever seen.

Because for you to love her… well… it didn’t take much. Not much at all.

—

Yes, she was everything.

She was everything when you cried alone in the shower, she was everything when you swiped angrily at the windows with a soapy sponge, she was everything when you fell into a blissfully peaceful sleep, she was everything even when fear made you freeze in your footsteps while the screams from the dungeons got louder. Through it all, she was everything.

But thank goodness you were nothing more than a maid.

You could love her better from afar.

On the slower days in the castle, when the staff got tired and even Your Lady and her daughters began feeling sluggish, you’d take the bucket of water and mop and your other necessities- and you’d clean in the portrait hall. You’d mop those already spotless floors and you’d reach half way across the corridor, and then you’d stop. And turn. And there- on the left (if you were entering from the right) would be the object of your affections.

The Great Dimitrescu Family Portrait.

Well- the one from Your Lady’s generation. (The other ones had been burned.)

It was large and wide and grand- with the most elaborately carved golden frame you had ever seen in your entire life. And in the center, of course, was the family you served.

Your Lady in the middle, dressed in her typically beautiful ensemble of white and black, sitting tall on a throne-like chair with one leg thrown over the other. Her golden eyes, even when painted, flared like a flame hid behind them. And her daughters- handsome in their own ways- stood behind and beside her. Miss. Cassandra, the tallest, standing behind the throne on Your Lady’s right, held her head high and hand clawed around the back of her mother’s seat. It gave notice that her mind was elsewhere- another factor being the smirk on her lips. Miss. Daniela stood on Your Lady’s left, right hand winding around the back of the chair’s golden frame as she leaned in a bit- her smile was wide and her eyes were dark. Lastly, and perhaps the best, Miss. Bela stood on Your Lady’s immediate right, looking reserved and almost harmless with a bored expression as her hands were clasped in front of her and her body leaned very close to the chair. As if she didn’t want to leave her mother’s side. Internally, you didn’t blame her at all. They looked like soldiers, protecting their queen.

That portrait was such a clear representation of their personalities… and their beauty… you couldn’t help but stop and stare everytime you passed it. Such strength from such imposing women. It actually made you smile. Of course your heart could only be stolen by a person so… so… grand. Heavenly. Spectacular. A billion other pretty words that would never be able to explain even a quarter of how great she was. And her daughters… you thought they were gorgeous in their own ways. Special… in their own ways.

Over time, you had observed just what it was about them.

Miss. Daniela was the most resourceful.

Miss. Cassandra was the strongest.

Miss. Bela was the most intelligent.

You liked watching them. More often than not, a small smile would work its way onto your face after you saw them bickering. Or angering their mother. They were quite funny.

—

Yes, she was everything.

She liked to read. Any subject. Any book she deemed worthy. But you suspected psychology was her favorite.

She held her teacup with her left hand and the saucer with her right. The Dimitrescu coat of arms was painted on all of her fine china. Sometimes her fingers would stroke over the detail while she was lost in thought.

She was also very mindful of her movements. Her red lips curved around the rim of her cups and she was careful not to smudge her lipstick or leave behind a strong print.

It was blackberry tea she liked. Blood added on stressful days, blood subtracted on peaceful ones.

She could stand perfectly still.

She liked to do her own hair.

Her bath always smelled of rose water and the number of plants in her bathroom always seemed to change.

Gardenias, Orchids, Helleborus Niger Snowbells and regular Snowbells, Camellias, and Arum Lilies.

You had done your best to read about them in the castle library.

They seemed to calm her down. Two smooth fingers gently slide under the petals and she keeps them a few centimeters away from her nose, taking a steady inhale to feel the sweet scent fill her lungs.

Her eyes would glance over every plant before she trailed out of the room, lingering for just a moment… as if to make sure they were alright.

Her pupils were a tad less dilated than the average human’s. It could only be noticed if one looked close enough.

Sometimes she stopped rather suddenly in the hallways. It was usually on the snowier days when the flurries were slow and large. She would be silent the entire time, watching the blanket of white fall. And then- well then she’d snap back into reality and turn and continue on her way. Those moments were never mentioned.

Though, she’d always sport a serene smile. It wouldn’t last long. But it would be there. As if those were her only peaceful moments and she had to soak it all in before life caught up with her. Those smiles were never mentioned either. You still thought they were beautiful.

She could control the severity of her footsteps. If she wanted to be heard, she’d be heard. But a lot of the time, she traveled in silence. Despite her size, she could walk without a squeak.

Her teeth were unbelievably symmetrical.

Her eyelashes were inhumanely thick and long, though she’d never use something as human as false cosmetics.

Her upper lip curled before her lower followed.

The only veins you could spot where the ones beneath the skin of her breasts.

The finest hairs covered her body, but they weren’t entirely noticeable.

When she smoked, she liked to tilt her head back and watch the grey clouds curl within the air. Though she usually only did that in private.

She liked the taste of raspberries.

The acid in pineapple was annoying against her tongue. She liked the sweeter pieces.

Her body rippled with muscle. Mainly in her back and legs, though the majority hid beneath the fabric of her clothing.

Her shoulders were wide enough to clear doorways.

Her claws were at least 5 to 6 feet long.

There were rings of amber around the pupil and iris of her eyes. Not completely gold. From afar, and even up close, they seemed to glow like lanterns. Lit from a fire deep inside. They were positively mesmerizing.

She liked the way her thighs looked.

She plucked her eyebrows.

She liked candlelight and candlelight liked her.

Sometimes, she hummed an old melody beneath her breath.

Her skin was cold. Very very cold. But she could get warm- although once the heat source was taken away, it would only be a few moments before the skin returned to its normal temperature.

She disliked summer.

Winter (and sometimes spring if it was a particularly good one that year) was her favorite season.

She also liked Christmas.

Giving gifts was her specialty. She always knew what to buy. She always knew the other person would like it.

She kept a few books of poetry beside her bed. You’d never caught the titles.

She was- well- she was a lot.

A handful.

She commanded rooms and brought silence and when she smiled something fierce, every breath in a million mile radius would catch and stutter to a halt. She changed the temperature with her mere presence. The air would bleed cold when she was upset, but it would feel like spring in the middle of winter if she was full of soft laughter and little grins.

On those days, even the house staff smiled.

—

Goodness- she was everything.

—

Absolutely everything.

—

You were so in love with her you could barely breathe.

—

She didn’t know of course. She could never know. Ever. She could never find out. It would surely be- disastrous. Terrible. She’d kill you… or worse… tell you to get the hell out of her castle. You couldn’t bear the thought of that. Being forced into exile… to go as far away from home as possible. No. It would be impossible. Nothing could ever keep you away from Your Lady. Not exile, not love, not life, not even death herself.

✧── ･｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ──✧

Lady Alcina Dimitrescu is a character held very close to my heart. I may or may not have a framed portrait of her beside my bed. This post was written long ago and has been cross posted on Ao3 - but I am far too lazy to grab that link. Thank you for reading. - Ripley x

(P.S. I have an Etsy shop where you can receive a hand written customized letter from Lady D. Check it out? Shop)

✧── ･｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ──✧

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