#curse of strahd escher | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dinwarden · 1 month ago

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༺♡༻Velvet touch your mouth on mine༺♡༻

Curse of Strahd fanfiction, specifically a character study/backstory for Escher. ⁺ M/M content, explicit content. Two chapters, work in progress. MDNI, 18+ only. ⁺ TW for gaslighting, manipulation, graphic violence, abduction, stalking. (Updating as I go.) ⁺ Characters: Escher/Strahd Von Zarovich ⁺ 7.8k words. ⁺ Read on AO3

A small folded piece of parchment caught his eye, placed between the neck and the strings, and he was cautious to take it between two fingers and onto his lap. The perfume filled his senses, along with the faintest scent of smoke and wine, and he placed the instrument down to read it. "Your songs bring such light to my lonely castle. A gift for you. Keep playing, pretty. Count Strahd Von Zarovich"

༺♡༻ Chapter One ༺♡༻

With bleeding hands and aching feet, Escher trudged through the snow. He could barely see before him, even with the lantern in his hand and the faint hint of a candle being lit in his family home, the smell of smoke from the furnace filling his senses. Snow collected at his ankles, offering momentary relief from the burning pain, as well as an urge to rush into the warmth of the homestead.

He jostled the handle, and its creaking thrust through him, the headache edging behind his eyes. He pushed open the door, having to shove against piles of discarded letters behind the door, letters from Vallaki and fine handwriting mapping out the debt that the family had been put in. Golden blonde hair was tied low, and his senses were bombarded with the delighted shrieking that welcomed him.

His sister, Elisabeta, ran with such speed to catch hold of his arm on the way into the doorway. Her blonde hair was tied into two long braids, decorated with ribbons. She had only just celebrated her seventh birthday the day prior, and all the excitement was still there, as he noted how she was still wearing her new dress, baby blue and white with frills, which set him and their mother back far too much gold.

Her dress was stained with flour, likely from helping bake pască or some other sweet, and it transferred to Escher nearly instantly, and he only allowed his sister to hang off of his arm, leaving her laughing with delight, pale freckles showing with the cold weather of Krezk.

"Please, Elisabeta, I'm weary," He complained, voice hoarse, and he tried desperately to ignore the sting of the marks from lashings to the back of his legs, "it's late. You should be asleep." He scolded, tired eyes taking over his expression.

She laughed again, and allowed him to place her on the floor, "You weren't back!" She giggled, "I asked Mama if I could wait up for you!"

"Oh? How nice of you." He huffed, setting down his bag and shrugging off the dusty brown overcoat, “It is past midnight. Don’t feel like you must stay awake for my return.”

His sister must have been tired, for as soon as she got the chance, she dropped from her brother's arm and sprinted upstairs, the aged wood creaking all the way, “Goodnight!” she beamed happily from the landing.

Blood trickled down his calf, and he composed himself for a moment before stepping through into the front room. A smouldering fireplace sat in the centre of the far wall, mounted with the small symbol of the Morninglord. Two dusty grey, threadbare armchairs sat before the fire, and in one of them was a frail form of an older woman, blonde hair merging into the ageing grey, a dark shawl thrown over her shoulders as her cold eyes darted to the doorway to scan her son.

“You’re late,” she stated quietly, holding the shawl around her body, “you went to the tavern with your friends?” Faded eyes scanned him, her gaze sharp and nearly angry.

“No,” He shrugged, leaning back against the wall, decaying beyond repair and crumbling, “I had to finish collecting firewood. I didn't get invited to the tavern.”

She lifted her head to look at him and blinked like he had said something stupid. Her gaze flitted down to his calves, which he awkwardly shuffled to hide. Blood collected at the hem of his trousers, and he could still feel the sting, the way the foreman wound his wrist back, clearly aiming to draw blood while the others tried to get on with their work through Escher’s cries.

“What’d you do?” she furrowed her brow and sat back in her chair, shifting closer to the fire as she shivered, the strong winds breaking in through gaps in the window panes.

A huff escaped him, and he shrugged again, “Nothing…” he murmured, before he shook his head, “I caught sight of the castle in the distance, and didn’t stop looking at it. The foreman lost his temper.”

She scanned him for a moment and seemed to bite her tongue before she nodded, “Good. You shouldn’t be looking anywhere near Ravenloft.” she glared at her son, throwing her gaze back to the fire.

Escher shook his head, opening his palms in an exasperated shrug, “I didn’t mean to look. And there is no harm in looking, is there?”

“Not unless you catch the Devil’s eye,” she stated, her voice steely. Only stories, and rumours, had been spoken through each town, of men and women catching Strahd’s fancy and how quickly they were gone from their home, resigned to life with the cruel lord.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes, “Be serious, Mother,” he pleaded, untying his hair, “what about me would catch his eye? I promise I won’t look again.”

She stood up so quickly he nearly recoiled away, and yet in an unusual moment of tenderness, she approached her son and put her calloused hands to his cheeks, rubbing at his temples. A tight smile towards him pulled at her lips, drawing the wrinkle lines into her cheeks.

“My silly boy,” she stated endearingly, tucking hair behind his ear, “off to bed with you, now.”

He leaned into the touch, even if he wished not to. This was too rare, too special to let go now, and he stayed there for a moment before looking down at her, “Did you manage to find someone to fix the violin?” he whispered.

The smile dropped, but promptly reappeared with some reluctance, “No, Escher. No one here can,” she dropped her hands from his face, and started to escort him from the front room, “Perhaps someone in Vallaki can repair it.”

His mother seemed to forget often just how long it took to get from one town to the next. He knew she would not approve of him hitching a ride from a Vistani wagon. Still, beyond waiting desperately for a carriage to pass by, there was little choice unless he wished to be running from wolves and bats for days on end, before finally reaching Vallaki and having to spend two months' worth of wages.

She continued to usher him to the bottom of the stairs until she left him to climb to the next floor and finally up the ladder into the attic, his legs aching all the way. Cobwebs littered the rafters, small spiders crawled along the splintering wood, and Escher let out a quiet sigh.

He pressed himself down into the small bed, blood smearing the off-white sheets. The violin was cracked down its centre and stood watching him and he imagined it would be laughing if it could. Only he could manage to break such a fragile instrument, too heavy-handed and crushing its tiny frame. He shifted his overshirt off, leaving the thin white vest beneath, tore the stained trousers off himself, and allowed blonde hair to tumble from his band.

The violin was one of the few possessions he could call his own, the only thing that made him feel like he was more than some lowly peasant rotting in Krezk, that he was fit and noble enough to wield such a beautiful instrument. Honestly, the violin was cheap, and a gift for Escher’s birthday a year prior, but it lifted a warm, happy feeling when he looked at it, and that was worth it all.

He contemplated staying awake, getting some of his fathers' old woodworking tools and making an attempt to fix the instrument himself. However, his father didn't exactly teach him the craft, and he feared he would make it worse. He laid back in his bed, looking up towards the skylight. He could still hear his sister moving around, down by the ladder. He heard her step up and down from the first step, and he let out a tired sigh.

"What are you doing, Elisabeta?" He asked softly, trying to make sure his voice was not too tense, "Go to bed, child."

She laughed softly down by the ladder, stepped up again and climbed up the ladder, and peered past the top to look at her brother, "The mist is back!" She grinned, climbing up. His sister kept a positive outlook on the horrors outside, only shared by the other children of the village, she had never been hurt in all her years, nor had she been witness to just how horrid the aftermath of such attacks could be; never paying attention to the scratching in the foundation, the shattering of windows or the bodies filling the streets.

As was routine, Escher scooped his sister up, holding her to his chest protectively, and he was quick to blow the dim flame in the oil lantern out before he dropped to the floor with her in the corner of the room.

"Quiet now," He whispered against her hair, watching as the slightest slither of mist crept in through the crack of the skylight, spiralling like cigarette smoke in the cold air, "did you tell Mother?"

She nodded softly, watching the mist quietly, with an almost captivated gaze as it continued to filter into the room, "What if the window breaks, like last time?”

"I’m not sure," He shook his head, holding her closer, hand raising almost to shield her eyes from the window, "it will be okay, I will fix it if it does."

There was silence for but a moment, the thin slivers of mist nearly dissipating into the stale air of the attic, before screams were all he could hear, his sister shrieking as a large creature, sporting leathery, tattered wings, smashed against the glass of the window, and her scream was joined by Escher’s own, though he did not realise he had started at first. The creature slammed itself into the glass and shrieked with a near-frantic ferocity, and continued until the glass splintered, inch by inch before finally shattering.

It did not breach the threshold into the room, leaving the glass to rain down on the siblings. His heart slammed in his chest, an awful nauseous feeling gripping at his stomach as he finally got the momentary courage to lift his eyes and look at the creature. It was too big to be a normal bat, even if it wished to enter the room, it was too large to manoeuvre itself through the skylight, red eyes piercing through him and matching the necklace of droplets of blood decorating its fur.

However, as quickly as the creature arrived, it was gone. something heavy dropped in through the broken window, and Escher heard the flap of leathery wings leave. Elisabeta still cried but slowly threw her gaze to the window, her ragged breathing and grip on her brother’s shoulders weakening as she started to calm.

Escher saw that what had been dropped was a box, wrapped intricately in metres of dark fabric and lace. Carefully, he moved Elisabeta out of his arms, and shifted on his knees, fingers barely touching the beautiful fabric, but as he heard the familiar footsteps of his mother on the landing, he shoved the box beneath his bed, the wood hitting against the wall on the other side, before he looked to his sister, "Say nothing about it, not yet."

. . .

“What happened?” Shouted his mother as she breached the top of the ladder, practically launching herself into the attic, noting the smashed glass. She quickly rushed to Elisabeta, dusting splinters of glass from her hair with her shawl with some panic, “Where is the creature?”

The glass lacing Escher’s hair was bigger and cut into his hand as he tried to brush it out of his loose blonde curls, palm slashed and blood spilling like thin ribbons from the cuts. His mother rushed towards him, quick to wrap her shawl around his hand, her voice gentle as she tried to shush her children.

Escher shook his head slightly, and looked from Elisabeta to his mother, “The creature… it broke the window, but… that is all it did. We are both fine, mama.”

The shawl was tied around his palm, and she leaned in to press a small kiss on his forehead, “Good…” she whispered, holding his hand in her own trembling one. It was one of the few times Escher had seen his mother so shaken, but she soon pulled her hand away,.

The glass was swept up, the window patched up quickly and his sister put back to bed, and Escher was once again left up in the attic, watching as the spiders darted along the rafters. He considered going to bed, making sure he got up early as to not be late and face the foreman’s wrath once more, but the beautiful black lace, silk and velvet called to him, making him kneel down by his bed and pull the large box out.

The lace was so fine, Escher could only imagine how expensive it was, and he slowly began to unwrap it, revelling in the hint of rose perfume that lingered on the object the creature dropped. Finally, he revealed a dark, polished wooden box. With shaking hands, he leaned closer and unclasped the lid. Inside the box was a beautiful violin, carved out of the same dark wood, it shone in the low light of the lantern, and was somewhat heavy as he lifted it out of its box, leaving behind the soft fabric that was left to cushion the instrument, presumably so it would not be damaged when it hit the floor. It came with a carved bow with soft roses and thorns etched into the wood, and when he lifted it to his chin, he couldn't help but smile to himself.

"Your songs bring such light to my lonely castle. A gift for you. Keep playing, pretty.

Count Strahd Von Zarovich."

There was a sense of terror that gripped his chest, and he pressed the note back into the box and seemed to recoil from the instrument, placing it quickly back into its home. It was as if the instrument itself was just as deadly as the halls of Castle Ravenloft itself. He could normally see Ravenloft from his window, so many years of longing for the beauty of the old castle, and now a part of it was within his bedroom, with a personal note from the Devil, Strahd, the insignia on the bottom of the parchment made his heart race and hands sweat. He had never seen the lord in person, and now he was getting gifts. Terror, strangely, mingled into a sense of flattery, but Escher begged for his common sense to take over, closing up the box and pushing it back under his bed.

The mattress was thin, his back pressing straight into the wooden slats beneath him, and he watched the spiders go to their own beds, nestling in the rafters in their webs, and the way the ceiling vaulted into the darkness above him. He pulled the threadbare blanket to his chest, doing nothing for the cold air let in by gaps in plywood, and tried his best to sleep.

Dreams of the large bat took him, the darkness above him swirling into the thick, grey mist. In his dreams, he swore he could still see into his room, as if he was still awake, eyes wide as they stared up into the vaulted ceiling. He swore he could see the outline of a figure, clinging to the rafters, reflected eyes staring down at him.

The next morning took him as it normally did, an early morning start of being taken through the woods outside the abbey, collecting firewood and marching for hours into nightfall. Escher did not have the strength for chopping into the timber, felling the large pine trees into the dead earth, and often had to be paired up with one of the other people to aid him.

That day, it happened to be a young, dark-haired man with a scarred, round face, a deep gash having healed through his lips to the side of his nose. He was strong, chopping through the dead wood with little trouble. For once, Escher did not feel like his partner was begrudgingly helping him just so the foreman would not take out his anger on them.

The young man smiled Escher’s way, pushing his hair out of his eyes and taking another strong swing at the tree, “Your legs… are they okay?” He asked, nodding towards the straight gashes decorating Escher’s calves.

Escher hummed, lifting his leg to look over the marks. They were certainly ugly and angry, the remains of red from where blood had trickled down his legs, “Well… they don’t feel great,” he let out a strained laugh. He forced himself to swing the axe, barely making a dent in the wood beyond from splintering, “It feels worse today. Bathing hurt like Hell.”

“I imagine so,” he frowned, before he cast his gaze to the distant, misty visage of the castle in the distance, “I don’t see what is so wrong about looking at the castle. It’s almost pretty.” He stated in a hushed tone.

He shrugged and nodded, looking between the man and back to the foreman, cigarette tight between his lips as he surveyed his workers, “I do not see why we have to pretend it doesn’t exist. We’re all stuck here, but… I do not know,” he let out a sigh, taking a new swing at the tree, “there are so many stories about it. I just want to know what it is actually like.”

The hours dwindled away, Escher and his partner speaking of Castle Ravenloft in hushed whispers, about the lord who lived there and what he may be like, charming, noble, dangerous? As the others began to leave, the foreman excusing everyone with a stern look to the blonde, Escher found himself staying with the man, the two chatting and laughing into the early hours of the morning. They sat beneath the tree they had barely made a scratch to, his partner producing a bottle of wine from his bag.

“I have not seen you before,” Escher remarked, light eyes scanning the other man, “what is your name?”

He smiled at him, uncorking the bottle and taking a sip, the rich scent hitting him within seconds, “It’s Vasili,” he grinned, offering him the bottle, “I’m from Vallaki. The work has dried up there, and so my father has decided to cart me off each morning to get here.”

He sipped at the bottle, the comforting warmth spreading through him, “Is it true that there are more jobs, and they pay better, in Vallaki?”

“Depends. How much money do you make, chopping up firewood?” Vasili asked, taking the bottle back with a swig, “Please, drink as much as you’d like.”

Escher considered it for a moment, relishing in the wine and the warmth it radiated through him while the snow began to fall, “Each day, I make a copper piece. And.. the firewood is free, but only if we ask the foreman after our day is done.”

“I will not lie, the pay is better, at least somewhat,” Vasili looked somewhat guilty, resting his head back against the tree, “the wage in Vallaki is at least a silver a day. Maybe… you should relocate. Take a job there. There were still some odd jobs left. Mainly that of housekeeping for the Baron.”

Another quick swig was taken by Escher, a smile on his face, “Hah. I’m not exactly one for housekeeping, you understand,” he shrugged again, taking his hair out of the ribbon, “Maybe when I save up more money… I may.”

Vasili nodded slowly, taking a last drink, before handing the bottle back, “Have the rest. I will need to take a ride back with the Vistani.”

“Thank you,” Escher hummed softly, settling the bottle beside him, “I was enjoying the talk. I’m sorry you’re being subjected to such a shit town just for some coin.”

He laughed again, looking over him. Dark eyes scanned Escher’s face, and it made his heart race, this handsome stranger stared into his eyes, “It’s fine. We can talk more.”

His tone was as if he had to go, almost disappointed, and yet he lingered there for a moment, the two bathed in the light of the moon. Maybe it was the buzz of the wine or the fact that this was one of the few souls in Krezk who was not as cold as the weather, but Escher shifted, starting to lean closer. He was not an idiot. He was not going to kiss this man, instead, he moved closer and waited to see if he would respond or recoil.

Vasili stared back for a moment, eyes almost black in the low light. His lips were cold, and gentle as the two kissed. It was sweet and slow, Escher tracing a hand through his black hair, pecking another kiss to his cold lips before he finally pulled back.

Vasili smiled, kissing slightly at his lips again before he shifted away and sighed. “I really must be off. I’m sorry, Escher.”

“It’s okay,” he said, though could not hide his frown, “I ought to go home too. My mother will be waiting for me.”

The two shared another quick kiss, before Vasili rushed off down the road, coat hanging off his shoulders as his form disappeared into the woods, the mist surrounding him until Escher could no longer see his form.

Escher drank the rest of the wine on the way home, notes of cherry hitting his tongue with great appreciation, and soon he was back at his home, shoving the door open as carefully as he could.

“You’re drunk?”

His mother, arms crossed with a disgruntled look on her face, stood in the doorway of the front room, eyes trailing the empty wine bottle.

He shifted for a moment, before he shook his head, “No, mama, promise,” he offered a small smile, “I… shared it, with a friend. It’s just made me tired, is all.”

“Well… good,” she observed, taking the bottle from him and leaving it on the kitchen counter, leaving it for the morning, “I’m glad you are making friends.”

He slipped his coat off, throwing it over the rack with a lazy gesture, tiredness rushing over him moment by moment, “I may… go to Vallaki, tomorrow night, mama,” he spoke, words careful as he considered them, “there are good jobs in Vallaki, and I would at least like to see what is being offered.”

She nodded, though her gaze flitted to that of caution, “I see… Well, that is okay,” she stated. Escher was not going to double-check how happy she was with that concept, “maybe you can take your violin to be repaired, too?”

He departed upstairs with a gentle kiss to his mother’s cheek, in which she instantly recoiled at the alcohol on his breath, and climbed sluggishly up into the attic. He paid extra careful attention to the new webs created in the light of the lantern, smiling to himself as the spider rested in the centre, spinning new threads in its home.

Sleep took him rather quickly, only just managing to blow out the flame. Dreams seemed to be more regular for him in those days, and once again, he was met by the familiar scenario. Laying on his back, eyes fluttering open to the vaulted ceiling. The thing clinging to the rafters was still there, though was a much clearer visage of a person, nails scratching at the beams above Escher, those same eyes reflecting back at the blonde man, dark hair tumbling down. He wanted to scream, and yet his jaw, his mouth, and his lips would not cooperate, and instead, he simply stared up at the dreaded creature.

He was so sure he could hear soft whispers from above before sleep seemed to pull him back from the edge of the nightmare, and instead, any dreams he did have seemed to be of Vasili, his cold lips on his and the way they embraced for that brief moment.

༺♡༻ Chapter Two ༺♡༻

The smell of tobacco and spiced wine wafted over his senses, thick woven material of oranges and purples cushioned his rocky journey through the forest. Most people did not trust the Vistani, but transport was few and far between unless you wished to be chased by rabid wolves and bats through the pitch-black woods, finger-like branches grasping at hair and clothing.

Escher did not mind the Vistani however, mainly because they did not spend much near Krezk, and when he did see them, they were passing through. Vasili seemed to have a friendly relationship with them, able to flag down a passing vardo, smiling and laughing with them. The language he spoke to them in wasn’t common, and the older woman, skin tanned and scarred, laughed with him and offered Escher a bottle of spiced cider for the long journey.

"You seem to know them well." Escher started, holding the cider between his ankles, shifting into the soft pillows and blankets, trying to grasp some warmth from the cold, snowy town they rolled over.

Vasili gave a nod, shifting his blanket over his shoulders, sitting across from Escher, "Yes. I've traded with them before, travelled with them sometimes."

The journey was quiet, the lingering thoughts of the small kiss as well as the gift from Ravenloft dropped into his window. Every so often, Vistani men and women would get into the vardo, only to depart later on the road.

They laughed and joked with Vasili, conversations that Escher could not understand, though they made sure to speak in common when speaking directly to the elf.

"It's cold here, yeah?" One of the men stated, holding his leaf green coat closer around his shoulders. He looked to Escher with a look of playful exasperation, "How do you handle Krezk? I dare not linger there too long, lest I awaken buried in the snow."

Escher laughed, "I think we are used to it," he shrugged before he offered the man the spiced cider, which he took with a swift movement, "Plus… this whole land is cold. It just so happens that Krezk has snow."

"Ravenloft is not much better," He replied, dark hair tied up in a tight bun, dark eyes trailing Escher’s movement, "It's as if you could push your hand into the open flames of the fireplace, that it would not burn you."

Anxiety swarmed in the elf's chest, the mere mention of Ravenloft forced something below his skin to crawl, "You've been to the Castle?"

He took a sip of the cider, only nodding in response before he returned to speaking with Vasili, the conversation quickly warping into laughter and smiles that Escher felt he was trapped out of. His mind lingered on the quiet thought that the Devil was all around him.

The conversation dwindled and Escher was handed the bottle. The worrisome ache in his chest only grew, and it burned up his throat like acid, words tumbling from his lips before he could even consider them.

“A couple of nights ago,” He started, watching as the eyes of those in the vardo turned on him, “the hordes of creatures from the castle… one of them dropped something through my window.”

“Oh?” one of the Vistana tilted their head to the side, “What was it?”

“A violin,” Escher shrugged, “wrapped up in fabric, and pretty…” He explained. The creatures that plagued the land in the dead of night did not seem to know how to do anything but claw their way into people’s homes, mindlessly tearing whatever or whoever they found apart. How did some bat know to drop something into his window?

“Lovely gift,” One of the Vistana stated, taking a sip from the cider before speaking once more, “I would not worry too much.”

—

Vallaki’s tavern was certainly warmer than anywhere else Escher could be dragged to, and it was a welcome change from Krezk. Rain drizzled down the dusty windows, and Escher was escorted back to his room by Vasili, who insisted on carrying his bags for him.

Jobs were as hard to come by in the city as it was in Krezk, and the two men found themselves rejected over and over, doors slammed in their faces as there seemed to be no need for fishing or logging, driving the two back to their rooms with an air of frustration.

“We’ll try again come morning,” Vasili murmured, placing Escher bag and violin case down by the door, “I’m sorry, usually there is more work here.”

Escher felt himself tap the case as it was placed down, pressing it under the bed, “It was worth asking. Maybe I’ll ask at the Burgomasters manor.”

“He burns through staff like he burns through his gold,” Vasili cracked a smile, lighting thin, melted candles, “If all else fails, play your violin in the square.”

The light was dwindling outside, the mists clawing at the edge of the treeline where all was dark. Ravenloft was just a faint blot on the horizon, and the creatures would soon come. Escher imagined the flickering candles in the castles’ windows, something beyond the stained glass compelling him to do as Vasili suggested.

“I’ll leave you to rest,” Vasili spoke finally, tearing open the silence like wrapping parchment, “do sleep well.”

It was a quick kiss they shared, akin to the pecks a pair of longtime lovers preparing for bed, and Escher could barely think of what to say before Vasili was gone. It was not as if Escher had never experienced such affection before, but he had met no one like Vasili. A tipsy kiss in the dead of night, followed by days of keeping him at arm's length, tiptoeing around the most basic of conversations to a sudden kiss.

Something chill brushed his cheek in the night.

The springs in the mattress were loose, the blankets itched and the wind rattled the window frame. Escher had managed to stay asleep through discomfort, until something cold blessed his face.

Used to leaky roofs from the heavy rainfall of the valley, Escher closed his eyes tight, but he did not feel the sensation leave. Someone stood before him, backlit by the moonlight that seeped through the sheer curtains, hand outstretched and recoiling. Escher’s eyes barely had time to adjust to the dark, frozen on his back as his mind unfortunately picked up the figure.

Light reflected off the figures’ eyes, more predator than man, like the wild wolves that stalked the forests outside of Kresk, blood pooling from their mouths as they bared their teeth. Such nightmares would be gone after Escher closed his eyes, but when his lashes fluttered open for light eyes to meet the ceiling, those glassy eyes looked at him still. There was something ancient in the smile it flashed him, the glint of teeth, and finally, it spoke.

“Such beauty,” The voice spoke, and it made Escher’s skin prickle with a sudden chill, infiltrating the thin warmth of the blankets, “wasted on this squalor.”

Escher opened his mouth to speak, but he could not force the words to tumble from his lips, nor did he know what to say. Those piercing eyes made a pit in his stomach, tightening his chest. Escher figured he must have looked a fool, staring up at the standing figure, mouth agape with terror and awe. His eyes grew used to the dark, and he saw more of the figure; long hair, broad shoulders, and dull skin which reflected the slivers of moonlight that hit it.

“You need not speak,” the thing said, moving in the dark. Pale fingers with nails like a beast's claws reached towards the unmoving Escher, an envelope between two fingers, “Grace the castle with your presence soon, and bring the violin with you, yes?”

“I… what?” Escher finally asked, his voice barely carrying in the darkness of the room. When the creature did not respond, Escher quickly moved to sit up. Within the smallest blink, the presence of the room was gone. The Dread Lord had visited Escher, and all he could do was stare in stupified silence while he spoke, his hair a mess of tired tangles and frizz.

Vasili welcomed him into his room, half asleep himself and it was clear he had not heard exactly what Escher had said, the panicked whispers he spoke into the silent tavern. Quietly, Vasili pulled Escher into his arms, pulling him back into the bed, the scent of roses, of sage and bergamot filled his senses.

“Did you just hear me?” Escher asked, exasperated as Vasili readied himself to go to sleep once more, “Vasili, you are not listening– someone was in the room with me, and spoke to me.” he huffed, softly nudging the young man in the side.

Vasili only let out a hum, pulling him closer, “Sleep, darling,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep, “you dream.”

Escher frowned, watching in the darkness as Vasili’s lashes fluttered closed once more, “I was awake, Vasili,” he shook his head, “it was him, he spoke to me.”

A hint of an amused smile flashed over his face, and Vasilli allowed Escher to pull back from the cuddle, “Stay here tonight, I will keep you safe,” he said, eyes closed peacefully, “if the dread lord comes again, I will protect you.”

“Shush,” Escher tried not to laugh, “you are going to get yourself killed, maybe both of us.”

However, the mere notion of having to return to his room made his chest ache, and eventually, he returned to Vasili, breathing in the scent of bergamot while strong arms wrapped around him. Sleep kissed Escher soft and slow, taking him until morning broke, and he awoke to find himself still wrapped up in Vasili’s hold.

___

Blonde lashes fluttered open into the dark morning to find Vasili awake, dark eyes darting to meet Escher’s own. A handsome smile, Escher thought, pretty eyes locked on him. Vasili squeezed his shoulder. “You can sleep here tonight,” Vasili murmured, “no more worrying.”

Vasili’s kisses were sweet, and tender, and Escher could not help but lean into them. Cold lips pressed to his temple, and he smiled to himself, a small moment of warmth before they had to get up. The anxiety welled, and all caution was waning as Escher’s mind begged to find the truth; Vasili altered his demeanour when talking to Escher as often as the wind changed, sometimes cold and distant, occasionally sweet and desperate to be near him.

“I have it on good authority that the Devil cannot come here, something about the church. Hallowed ground, maybe?” Vasili began again after a stretch of silence, “I’m sure you dreamed it.”

“I did not,” Frowning, Escher sat up, “he told me to come to the castle.”

For all of Vasili’s looks, he did not listen very well, quick to dismiss Escher’s words with that quick smile of his, “He cannot come here, darling,” he repeated, “do you wish to go to the castle?”

Escher stared at him for a moment, their eyes meeting as Vasili shrugged, awaiting the answer. Escher had tried to simply rid his mind of the castle, he knew the Devil engaged in trickery to seduce people to the castle. Maybe he did wish to go if only to meet the only person who seemed to appreciate his music.

“I… of course I don’t want to go!” Escher scoffed, feeling Vasili’s hand on his back.

“Then do not go, darling,” he shrugged again, “what would he want with you anyhow? It isn’t like you are anyone special.”

Escher struggled to see if that was supposed to comfort him or not, or if it was simply a veiled backhanded compliment. It made his chest feel tight, a sting of rejection perhaps, or just the notion that out of the entirety of Barovia, Escher would never be anything but a young man barely making ends meet by chopping down Krezk trees, who would eventually die to the wolves, the mists, gods, even the cold. There was no way out, no escape from Barovia and no escape from the dreary people who filled the land.

“Come now, I did not mean it in such a way,” Vasili instantly placated, noting the drop in Escher’s expression, “darling, the Devil does not target just anyone.”

___

Finding work proved as difficult in the large city as in his hometown. The burgomaster was no more interested in having a new staff member than he was in having a new person wandering the town. Fishermen did not need a new worker, the Vistani on the edge of the city had no jobs in need of completing and the townspeople had no interest in the sound of the violin.

Two copper, and three silver. He made more each day at home, chopping down trees and collecting firewood. Calloused hands, aching back.

“I know not what to do.” Escher murmured, pale hands rubbing his temples while he looked up at Vasili. Night had fallen again, and he had little to show for it, meagre coins and dirty looks from the townsfolk.

“They did not like your songs?” Vasili asked, a couple of copper in his palm, “they are foolish, yes?”

Escher exhaled a soft breath, his foot nudging the violin case down by his heels. Still wrapped in expensive satins and lace, the note penned by the devil tucked between the silk. Escher had found himself reading and rereading the few words, the elaborate script, the crest dripped with red wax.

Some nights, he clutched the envelope to his chest, the rose perfume clinging to the note filling his senses. He wondered briefly if the dread lord had picked the scent specifically for him, if he knew that Escher loved the scent of roses when they could grow in the dead lands, or if that sickly perfume belonged to the count himself.

“Maybe I will return to Krezk.” Escher murmured quietly, tapping the heel against the case again.

Vasili was quiet for a moment, dark eyes drifting to the floorboards beneath their feet, “I am sorry that you found nothing here for you,” he offered, “I can take you back home. I will see if the Vistani are travelling that way.”

Vasili was quiet through the darkness of night, the fire of the oil lantern flickering in the dim light. For the few nights prior, Escher had no visions, no visitors in the night, and Escher had found himself growing closer. Vasili pressed small touches to his waist, the small kisses they shared before sleep took them.

Now, the kisses were more akin to the tipsy kiss the two shared back in Krezk, Vasili biting down on Escher’s bottom lip before soothing the sting with a swipe of his tongue. Cold hands held Escher’s hips, and Escher found himself smiling into the kiss, heavy breathing mingling and hands grasping for purchase.

“Escher–” Vasili murmured into the kiss.

Escher could barely hear him over the sound of his heartbeat racing in his ears. Breathless, desperate for Vasili’s hands on him, for the way he gripped his thighs. When he started to unbutton the collar of Vasili’s linen shirt, he felt those cold hands lead his hands away, and his brain finally tore back to the present.

“I– oh–” Escher gasped out into the kiss.

“Escher.” Vasili repeated quietly, dark eyes reflected in the dim light.

The tension that moved feverishly around them dimmed just as the light, and Escher dropped his hands from his shoulders. “Apologies,” Escher said quietly, “I just thought–”

Vasili shook his head, “There is no need for apologies,” he quickly replied, “perhaps– another time, yes? Not tonight. Not yet, hm?”

An optimistic statement, when it would possibly be the last time they saw each other, Escher thought, but he settled for those soft kisses. However, he found himself teased, Vasili pressing his lips against his neck, whispering about how he wished to fuck Escher into the mattress.

“You’re confusing me.” Escher laughed amidst the kissing.

“Sweet thing,” Vasili responded, “I would love nothing more. But, not tonight.”

___

The air near the lake was cold, biting chill into their flesh. With no Vistani caravan for them to hitch a journey on and with the rain pounding onto the dead land, near tearing their flesh, Vasili borrowed one of the docile horses from the Vistana, promising to return it within the week. The horse was dark, almost black as midnight, nudging its face against Escher whenever it got a chance.

Escher could barely see before him, clutching Vasili’s overcoat as the horse galloped on. The heavy rain felt like it burned his flesh, and no amount of hiding his face in the rough fabric shielded him, the mists thick before their eyes. Escher had anticipated difficulty navigating the terrain on horseback, stumbling movements to guide the horse down another path, but Vasili seemed to know just where to go, focus wrinkling his features, the rain and mist barely hindering him.

“Perhaps we should turn back.” Escher tried, but his suggestion drowned out in his ears, the slamming of his pulse, the sound of the rain. If Vasili heard, he did not respond.

Hours passed, and the rain did not let up. Soaked to the bone, Escher tried many times to suggest they stop, but the man seemed intent on getting through the mist, ignoring Escher’s feeble words. Then, the horse came to a sudden halt.

Sharp branches of the trees twisted overhead, the forest swallowing all light, and Escher could barely pinpoint where exactly they were, he could see nothing past the forest. Turning his head, he spotted Vasili pacing before tugging on the reins as gently as he could, trying to encourage the horse. However, it planted its hooves, reeling back.

Escher frowned, tossing a glass over his shoulder in the direction of the path, where the horse did not wish to go, “Maybe it saw something,” he mused, “there are wolves in the forests. Do you know where we are?”

“We won’t reach Krezk like this,” Vasili flushed red, either frustration or embarrassment, “we are on the right track, but… the woods. No, I don’t know.”

Torch in hand, Escher took a few steps down the path, the dark barely parting under the light, flames flickering, oil burning in his nostrils. Down the path, he could still see Vasili trying to compromise with the horse, seeming to get nowhere. It took only a moment of Escher looking away for all to go awry.

There was a man in the woods. Escher would not have spotted the figure standing far off if not for the slightest snap of a twig, the reflection of his eyes glinting in the dark. When Escher turned, Vasili was no longer there, only the grazing horse. Panic tore through Escher, who knew what lived in the forests? Hunters? The man wore furs from what he could see, but when he glanced back, he could not see the figure. On top of all that, breaths leaving raggedly from his throat, the horse was still stubborn, refusing even to turn.

Whoever it was moved silently, and when Escher felt a hand touch his shoulder, it took all he had not to swing the dying torch into the side of his face. A tall man, his shoulders broad beneath finery and furs, dark hair slick with rain, parted to make space for elven ears. It was distinctly not the thing that had been in Escher’s room in the night, this man’s skin was a muted brown, and his dark eyes darted over Escher’s face as if evaluating art.

“Holy fuck,” Escher gasped out the last of his breath, crouching down beside the horse, “are you going to kill me?”

The tall elf was silent, and for a moment Escher thought he was considering it, before he stated, “No.”

“No?” Escher parroted. The scimitars at the elf’s sides were heavy, of steel or silver. He wondered how much force the elf would have to exert to force the blade through his throat, easily carving through flesh and bone.

“No,” the man repeated slowly, “come. You are already late.”

Stumbling to stand, Escher watched the man draw close, taking hold of the reins where the horse started to move, walking on in the direction they were going in. “Late for what?”

The horse had been so scared before, but now it sat patiently for the man to get into the saddle as if it had been expecting him to come. His lips straightened for a moment, jaw tense, before he spoke, “It is customary, that when one is invited somewhere, to accept or decline, yes?”

The elf did not even look Escher’s way, eyes downcast as if he did not wish to look at him. A sinking feeling grew in Escher’s stomach, and suddenly he understood that this man surely came from the castle, “Yes,” he nodded, feeling awfully stupid, “I did not know how to decline.”

“So you are declining?” Dark eyes darted down at Escher. There was something about him that made his skin crawl, a cold chill rushing over him.

“No, I just had no way to decline, or to accept,” He nodded quick, and when he was prompted, he took the elf’s hand to sit upon the back of the dark horse, “so… you know him? The Devil?”

He simply nodded, guiding the horse to trot through the silent forest, all sound leaving, only interrupted when the man spoke once more, “I believe the Master will enjoy that you call him such a thing,” he mused, “indeed. Rahadin.”

“Escher,” he replied, though the face he saw Rahadin make only made him realise that the man likely already knew, “but… my friend, he disappeared.”

Rahadin was silent for another long stretch, before he murmured into the air, “Did he?” he asked, but Escher felt more like a child being pacified than anything else, “you shall find him soon, I should think.”

Tall spires rose against the sky as the forest broke for mountain terrain, thunder shaking the very earth, lightning casting a brief glow across the sky beyond Ravenloft. Escher had never seen the castle up close, and he almost wished he could run, as if Rahadin would not find him, as if the Devil would not find him.

Ravenloft’s jaws were open for something new, something fun.

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