Alone and Distant

Chpt. 1

Alone was the man who lived in the manor deep within the outskirts of London. It had been a decade since said manor had faced any maintenance which caused the paths and iron gate bearing the family insignia to become overgrown with ivy and rusted and weathered to the point of being irreversible. Nature had once again consumed what was rightfully Hers and left alone the man of the ripe age of 34 to his own devices. It was his own personal choice to fire the maids and others who served the manor using the family's wealth which he had since inherited, but he much preferred it this way. They were not his family, no... He doesn't have any. To the man who cared after the niece he didn't know he had, and to the man who brought forward the true nature of his brother... He's on the fence of whether or not he should despise them or thank them.
 
The truth hurts.

Now with the dust of the past all settled, he had thrown away the idea of revealing the weight of the van Zieks name. Consumed by guilt for not being able to stop the madness of his brother, the hours he spent hating an entire nation for a misunderstanding... It left him feeling like a fool, but such is the way of human nature. Everyone will hurt, everyone will grow to like and dislike certain foods, some may learn to forgive and forget and others will die without knowing true happiness. This was nothing he shouldn't have expected. Barok very well figured that he would be one of these people and he had accepted this. It was the middle of the winter during the evening. The attorney had long since returned to his homeland, he had spent the Wednesday after the trial with his niece and trying to understand just who she had become. Perhaps it was for the best that the detective had raised her. She had grown up into such a vibrant, intelligent young lady and had she grown up with the name of the Professor, her whole life would have been sabotaged. There will be a day when she will find out the truth, but for now it was best to watch the childlike innocence linger and wander for the remainder of her youth.

Those days he spent at the detective's flat had long passed. Despite the attempts to try and make a connection with the only blood he had left and the constant reassurance that both of them, the detective and his adoptive daughter would be there to welcome him, the best he could bring himself to do was treat them both with kindness he had to search deep down into his heart to find. He cares for Iris and he wishes no ill will to the detective or the little girl, but at the end of the day, he is alone. As far as he is aware, this is his fate. To try to make an appearance in Iris Watson's life, to pursue the truth and bring criminals to justice... and that is all. He is cursed with a disease most foul that stole away his humanity and here he must wait until time ends as we know it and the sun burns out. This is what one would describe as vampirism.

The manor was more or less kept at a temperature just above freezing as Barok relied more on the fireplaces and blankets to keep warm than he did the internal furnace. The lights and various chandeliers were dull and almost never on unless Barok required them for writing and doing his prosecutorial duties, which more or less took place in the office at the very end of the hall on the first floor. The windows that rose from the floor to the ceiling were rarely opened, and the velvet drapes were collecting dust that he hadn't bothered to clean. Though the floor reflected many of the objects that stood atop it, he paid little attention to the beauty of the home he lived in. It was once his brother's where they had stood and laughed, brought home freshly baked goods from the inner city shops, and existed together... as a family. At the current point in time, Barok hadn't bothered to dress in the tailcoat and vest as one may normally see him wearing. He skipped out on fancying up his upper half, leaving himself in the frilly shirt with the chest opened up which definitely defeated the purpose of attempting to stay warm in the absolutely frigid air of the manor. Not even the sound of a gramophone playing orchestra was heard... it was just silent.

Despite what one may think, Benjamin's words rang true. He was quiet, timid... Gentle, even. Though he wouldn't admit it, this was just life for him. He had no reason to be spiteful at his own home. There was no shouting, no booming voice, no pointing and yelling, "Objection!" ...Just him with the skeletons in the closet and his copious amounts of wine. He had let go of emotion, of allowing himself to feel love, comprehend kindness, and grew skeptical of any kind gesture shown towards him. Currently, he was sitting on the living room sofa, just past the entrance of the manor as the fireplace crackled before him. His posture was ruined as he was slumped into the cushions, his neck extended back as he gently swirled his wrist around to keep the wine from settling. His breathing was soft and his thoughts were empty. There was nothing to do but exist. Every so often he would run his tongue over one of his fangs, taste the lasting flavour of the wine that stained his mouth, and sigh inaudibly. Such was the way of life for Barok van Zieks, Grim Reaper of the Old Bailey. Wood chips scattered at his feet, carving knife on the low coffee table before him... He had already done his work for today of carving out a miniature scale model of his latest work in progress... The Old Bailey herself.