APH Scarlet Magic 17

The air in the house wasn't settling right despite the fact that several hours had passed since Francis and his fancy, frilly clothes had vanished out the door. Arthur said nothing and merely retired to his study for the remainer of the afternoon. The wizard had locked the door with his magic leaving Alfred lost and alone to try and comprehend the whirlwind that was Arthur's life. Alfred had only been living with Arthur for a few days time and already he felt as if his mind had been carried away on a current with all the secrets and skeletons that had crawled up from the shadows and exposed themselves to the light. How could so many things be involved in a single person's life?
Just what on earth had Alfred gotten himself into?
First there was Alfred, the other Alfred. So far to the current Alfred's knowledge the past Alfred had perished in the fiery wrath of his magic's clutches. The reason as to why the magic broke remained a mystery. All the current Alfred knew was that the past Alfred's death had been one of the darkest chapters in Arthur's life; that was if the wizard's journals had proven anything. As to how Alfred and Arthur's relationship came to be that was also a mystery. Alfred- the current one- recalled Arthur mentioning that they were brothers, but from Francis' point of view it was Arthur who had taken in the other Alfred from only god knew where.
Next there was Arthur's deceased master, Lawrence, and his childhood rival, Francis. As far as Alfred could tell, Arthur adored his master and to him the late master was the father he never appeared to have. Francis, unable to ever build a similar relationship with their master, ran off and came to be where he was today serving at the Royal Court. Lawrence was a sickly man and died shortly after the past Alfred did leaving Arthur all alone in this isolated cabin with no one, but an old dog to keep him company and keep the shadows at bay.
And lastly there was that peculiar bit of information that Francis had revealed during earlier's argument. He had mentioned something about there being a mark on Arthur's body that gave birth to Lawrence's favoritism towards the younger blonde. Alfred had never once heard Arthur mentions a mark other than those he himself was getting from the ceremonies. Then again Arthur had and still was keeping several things from Alfred and why should this secret be a surprise to Alfred?
Although Alfred had only known Arthur for less than a week he felt… how would one put this…? He felt as if he had been around a lot longer than that. It felt as if his brief stay at the Kirkland cottage was more like a few months rather than a few days. Over the short time he had known him, Alfred felt as though he had come to a rather decent understanding of how Arthur worked, what things set him off, and what quirks lingered in his personality.
Arthur Kirkland, twenty three year old wizard. He lives alone in an isolated cottage in the middle of the eastern woods. His hair is blonde like melted gold. His eyes are green like winding rose vines. His skin is pale like moon shine. He is stubborn and hot headed with a wall built around him hundreds of feet high. Despite the many short comings of this breed called Arthur Kirkland there is one quality that redeemed them all even if it was buried deep within himself.
Arthur Kirkland was secretly kind.
The sort of caring he showed towards the townspeople the day Alfred first met him was subtle, but undoubtedly still there hidden under the smoldering emerald shade of his eyes. The fierce loyalty and sense of just that lingered in those gems when he defended an innocent boy from the discrimination of others. The sympathy and willingness to understand was shining in those depths as well when he agreed to teach Alfred magic. Despite his best attempts to hide it under thick, furrowed brows and deeply lined scowls it was still obvious to Alfred that Arthur truly was a good person.
Tired of waiting outside on the sofa, watching the gentle rise and fall of Reginald's flank as he basked in front of the warm hearth in a sleepy state, Alfred hauled himself up and made his way down the hallway towards Arthur's study. The young vampire hesitated a moment, taking the time to push his rounded glasses up his nose. He wasn't entirely sure if bothering Arthur during his sulking time would be a good idea, but… it seemed like it was all he could do. It was either that or continuing to wait on the sofa and counting how many times the sleeping Reginald took a breath.  
Swallowing rather thickly Alfred reached up and rapped his knuckles against the thick oak surface of the door and waited for some sort of response. At first there was none. There was only silence and the distant crackle of kindling in the fire. Alfred tried once more and it was a few slow moving moments before something happened. A little wind brushed by his ear, carrying on it the low sound of words in the strange language Arthur often spoke. There was a click and the door creaked open a few inches allowing Alfred to slip his fingers in the space between so that he could slink into the dark vortex that led to the study.
He walked for a while, closing his eyes against what he knew would be imminent, but when he opened them once more he was surprised to find the study was dark save for the one wall lit by the behemoth of a fireplace. The air in the study was foggy and ominous while pungent unpleasant smell filled Alfred's sensitive nose. Alfred grimaced and wrinkled his nose against the spicy scent wondering what in hell's name could give it off. Something squished under the sole of his shoe and upon further inspection found the object was a clove cigarette that had been smoked nearly to the nub and then abandoned on the floor to be forgotten. Alfred picked it up and rolled its paper and herb filled material between his calloused fingers. He looked forward and found another on the elaborate carpet that covered the floor. He found another and another and another until he came across something different. A bottle.
An empty bottle just sat there lost, lonely, and forgotten now that the delicious nectar contained within it had been drained away. Alfred recognized the sweet yet sour scent of fermented grapes and fruit otherwise known as wine. This had to be a twenty five ounce bottle and every last drop of alcohol had been completely drained as if it was liquid gold itself. All that was left was this tinted bottle that had no real purpose anymore. Alfred pressed his lips together and absentmindedly kicked the bottle with the toe of his boot.
Alfred looked up once more, following the littered line of used clove cigarettes to where he saw a familiar crop of blonde hair and a figure lying against the floor. There was no need to panic since Alfred could still sense that Arthur was living, but living or not did not mean that he was in a well state of mind. He was lying there on the carpet, limbs splayed out around him, while his drunken green gaze stared up at the large painting of Lawrence watching the library with his soft, frozen smile. His cheeks were flushed with the delicious high of alcohol while a fresh cigarette burned away betwixt his index and middle finger. As he gazed up at Lawrence with his glazed green eyes he muttered a song to himself in a slurred and quiet voice, "… Dos' the place we al'ys dreamed of ex'st som' where in this vast w'rld…? Is it som' where we can run to… an' escape beyon' the win'…?"
There was something haunting yet alluring in the way his lips curved and shaped around his slurred, drunken words as his eyes smoldered softly in the dim light of the fire at the painting of his smiling master. Something about the air in the room just didn't settle right and Alfred just couldn't grasp the understanding of what was the cause. Pressing his lips together and sighing softly though his nose he bent down and picked up the empty wine bottle and set it on the desk; careful to avoid the once organized papers and books that had been thrown astray from their rightful places. "So…" He breathed out softly. "Francis got to you that badly, huh…?"
Arthur said nothing, but only continued to mutter the words to that song as if it was all his intoxicated mind could manage. Knowing he couldn't get though to Arthur at this current moment, Alfred bent down once more and began to pluck the used cigarette butts from the carpet; tossing their spicy scented selves in the trash bin. To the best of his ability, Alfred tried to organize the papers even if there was no guarantee that drunken Arthur wouldn't throw them aside again.
As Alfred did his best to clean Arthur continued to lie in his place, singing his song, and smoking his cigarette. "Arthur…" Alfred called. Arthur didn't respond, but continued to sing. "Arthur." He said a bit more sternly, but Arthur only, once again, continued to sing. Alfred was getting annoyed, "Arthur, come on." And he was only met with the same response. The young vampire ran a frustrated hand through his dark blonde hair. What was he to do? The sun would soon set and before they knew it the moon would be up to its highest point in the sky. When that happened the next ceremony was supposed to take place, but how could it be preformed if Arthur was drunk off his ass? He was the idiot who always rambled on and on about how important these ceremonies were, how dangerous they were, and how important it was that they be preformed all in a row. Alfred quite frankly did not want an unbalance in magic slowly eating away at his insides or so Arthur had described it as.
"Arthur, come on already." He snapped a little more fiercely. "Look at yourself; this is ridiculous. I don't know what your problem with Francis and your master and stuff is, but would it kill you to wallow in your misery when my life isn't at stake?"
Slurred singing and the dull roar of the fire was all he heard.
"What is wrong with you!?" Alfred shouted, angry with the fact Arthur couldn't be decent enough to give him a single answer. Drunk or not he still understood English. "Is this how you handle your feelings?! Just drown them all out with all the alcohol you can get your hands on? What kind of person does-!" And he was suddenly silenced.   
"It burns…" Was what Arthur said in a parched, terribly haunting tone; enough so to make Alfred's blood freeze in his veins.
"Wha…?" He replied softly in confusion.
"You have no idea what it's like, do you?" The wizard asked, smoldering eyes still on the painting as if he had been fixated.
Alfred was confused. "… Know what what's like…?" He asked cautiously.
Arthur replied nearly immediately, "To have them shouting at you… screaming at you…. To have their long dark hands reaching for you… tempting you…. Their voices so soft and serene… but their eyes burning into you like you are only worthless prey…"
And this only confused Alfred more. The being in which Arthur was talking about, Alfred had absolutely no idea who or what exactly they were, but there was just something in Arthur's voice that echoed. Something about it that made the words linger in his mind and burrow deep down in his very core making him feel sick to his stomach.
"… It burns you know…" He said softly, uttering each syllable quietly as if someone was listening to their conversation. "Right here." He said, splaying one pale elegant hand against the right side of his stomach. "Master always told me it meant I was destined to do great things… but how could something so painful be so great…?" He asked even though Alfred was sure he wasn't truly looking for an answer.
Alfred took in breath to speak, but suddenly something moving in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Something dark and thin just barely traced the outer edges of his vision and the moment he turned his head it was gone with a trace. His blue eyes darted back and forth and lingered on the space where he thought he saw the movement. Something about the air in the library just didn't settle quite right. He still didn't understand what the cause was.
"…They're here too… you know…" Arthur's voice sounded dry as his vocal chords rasped against his throat. "They linger here… the hide here…. The shadows from the shelves conceal their forms quite nicely…" As Arthur spoke Alfred felt his heart beat slowly increasing. His eyes darted back and forth warily while the tan skin stretched over his palms sweat.  
"They are quite shy and only like to speak to me…. They say they like me and that I am their only friend in this world…. Still, they often coil their blackened bodies around my middle. I think they're quite fond of this though I despise it greatly…." He spoke, thin fingers mindlessly circling around his side where his fingers hand been previously splayed.
More shadows crept and slunk around the corners of his vision. Alfred let out a soft whimper, his hands trembling where he had fisted them at his sides. His breath was shaky and short and his heart rate only climbed further and further until the poor organ was slamming itself against his rib cage. "… Creatures of the night they are…. You should have a lot in common…." The smile on Arthur's face was pure menace and that was when Alfred realized it wasn't even Arthur anymore. At first it had been, but now he was… well Alfred didn't know what…. It was something dark and sinister and just oozed with malice and hate…. It terrified him… absolutely terrified him.
Suddenly something pressed again his chest with so much force that Alfred flew back and into the wall parallel to his back making a few paintings crash to the ground and the elegant paneled walls to crack with his weight. All the air was knocked from him and when he collapsed onto the floor he writhed and he squirmed, gasping for breath and groaning at the soreness settling into his spine.
Once he was able to gasp out a few lung-fulls of air, the terrified Alfred gazed around with wide, wild eyes in search of what exactly it was that had dealt such an intense blow. "… Oh dear… it seems as though they're jealous… that's too bad I suppose…. After all I am their friend after all…."
Then there was something around his neck, something cold and heavy and dark. He couldn't tell exactly what it was due to the fact whatever it was, was currently coiling it's long snake like body around Alfred's throat and constricting like there was no tomorrow. Alfred struggled and thrashed; scratching at the creature around his neck and even bashing his back against the wall in attempts to remove it.
This was bad, he couldn't breathe and what was worse more darkness was creeping on the edges of his vision. More shadows were closing in with their beady red eyes all aglow in the dying light of the once roaring fire. There was suddenly another blackened creature around his legs, another at his waist, and one around his chest all squeezing and tugging at him as though they intended to wring the life from his body. Fear seized the young vampire and dread formed like a heavy mass in the back of his mind screaming 'this is it, Alfred, you're going to die here!'. He tried to fight the unknown attackers but with nearly all his limbs now bound and the air being slowly choked away from him there wasn't much he could besides hope that their either ended quickly or that there would be some kind of miracle.
He never would have guessed it would be the second of the two.
"Crucio maradextrous!" Were the words shouted in a strange yet familiar accented voice and suddenly the room burst into a blinding whiteness.