Way Ωf the WΩlf (Hellsing AU)

dreams go wrong (1)

❎Trigger Warning!  'demon king' showing age difference inappropriate affection.  Does not have sexual components beyond Language hinted, kissing and body touch over veins.

An example changed perception to age of consent.  His time was 12-14 years of age.  Information at end on this subject.  Just goes to show how somethings were pretty messed up for young girls and age of consent.

~•‡*•~ From the time you could toddle, your mother told you wild and fantasiful tales about the fae, witches and the one that scared you the most of all...vampires. You would fall asleep quickly, to little girl crushes, on the pretty ones like the King Favarra, king of the fae in Connacht. You could have sworn you dreamed once of him standing at the foot of your bed, speaking with your mother. You woke up to their voices. He whispered in your mind, 'Go back to sleep littlest one and soon it would all be revealed to you, in time.'
†
For years you had sweet dreams and sometimes absurd, laughable ones then one moonless night, a dream started. It was no dream in fact but a nightmare, that you could never shake. A king with eyes of burning hellfire, ordering men into bloody battle, as tall stakes raised impaled bodies high on the battlefield. His hair was the color of black coal, that blew wildly in the wind of a coming storm. A magnificent black warhorse shifted uneasily under him. His blood soaked tabbot, bore a coat of arms but you never were given the chance to see it clearly.
†
You swore you could smell the blood. You could hear the screams of the dying. The sight, of his wicked smile, made your blood grow cold. At first, the nightmare dragged on and you seemed to only be an observer, as is the case of most of your dreams. You are usually a little spy, on the activities going on, like dances and feasts. The ones that feature the fae is when they seem to nod silently and acknowledge your presence, but none approach.
†
Then you can see your feet in fur boots, walking among the dead of the battlefield. Everything feels so real and it is if you are looking through your own eyes. You hold your hands up, woolen sleeves ending in fur, to see them shaking from the gore in the nightmare. Why can't you wake up?
†
•Is this no longer your nightmare but another's sick and twisted dream?
†
Your focus jerks away from your hands to the sound of a warhorse splashing through guts, blood and muddy earth torn up. You spin around in horror to see the demon king, that's what you will call him from this nightmare on, looking down from his giant black stallion.