#v; stardust cloud (dio)

[forfamily]

...That was most certainly not a treasure chest.

Of course, when Bianca had funded the small expedition, she hadn't had high expectations in the first place but this was... well, she wasn't exactly expecting this either. The box was rectangular in shape, reinforced, and rather fancy looking with a heavy-duty lock. It was also covered in barnacles; it had clearly been on the seafloor for a while, at least a hundred years, as the trio of men excitedly exclaimed.

The Neapolitan neighborhood of Posillipo is an alluring mix of faded grandeur and sophisticated coastal living. Posillipo is wrapped around a hilly peninsula in south Naples, Italy, and had fairy-tale scenery formed of sheer cliffs, tiny islands, coves, and beaches, with views out to Capri island. It was here that Bianca Zeppeli's home stood, an early, half-finished 15th-century beachside palazzo on rocks that jut into the sea and with views of Mount Vesuvius. The huge property had direct access, through ancient caves, to the sea, a seawater pool, and a private dock so that it can be reached by boat from the port of Naples without crossing the city; it was here the small crew's boat sat after they unloaded their haul.

The dungeons were located in these caves, and a section of it was turned partly into a research and restoration area. It was here that the casket now sat. And it was a coffin, that much was obvious. How the hell did a coffin survive at the bottom of the Mediterranean for a hundred years? There was also something about it... something wicked and foreboding and she stood back as the men worked at removing the barnacles that needed to be removed in order to open it.

It was so strange... as they worked and talked among themselves and got closer to opening it, the sense of dread kept rising. The modern rooms down in the caves were temperature-controlled, and yet goosebumps rose on her skin, the fine hairs at the nape of her neck rising. There was something in that coffin... someone... that had to remain there. That needed to stay asleep.

"Wait a moment," the voice of one of the men broke through her thoughts and drew her attention, "there's something written here... D-I-O... Dio. Is it a name?" Dio.

Dio Brando.

Bianca swayed, one hand gripping the edge of a table to steady herself, and the other lifting to her suddenly pounding head. As far back as she could remember, she'd had dreams. Of another time, another place. A man with golden hair and eyes like flames.

"--Cease your nonsense at once, dear girl. all of you is mine to possess — including your closely guarded secrets. did you really forget so easily?"

Her head shot up, her heart roaring in her ears. "...What did you say?"

One of the men, the one speaking to her, gave her an odd look. "I asked if you were okay, Baroness Zeppeli. You are quite pale. Shall we call someone for you?"

Bianca waved off his concern. "...I'm fine. I skipped lunch is all and the sun is setting. Perhaps we should wait--" "Ha!" One of the other men exclaimed, having retrieved a blowtorch to work open the lock.

The next few moments happened so quickly, when asked later, Bianca couldn't really explain what had actually gone down. One moment the three men were working to lift the heavy lid and the next, one of them was flying past her like a ragdoll to slam into the wall, his neck twisted at an odd angle, face contorted into a petrified expression of horror. It was as though she were moving in slow motion as she turned to look back at the casket, the sudden ceasing of the screams of the two other men making the silence extra loud and she didn't recognize her own voice.

".........Dio.........?"

[forfamily]

There is the realization, that sudden awareness that it's no longer just her consciousness but a second one forming at lightening speed just over her right shoulder; a shared consciousness of one being very human and the other... something more. Pink Floyd is not much larger than her User, purple body woven with intricate golden markings. Atop her pink head sits a pair of large pink ears, nearly resembling a fox; normally there are six gold hoops, three in each ear, but there are currently only two. The Stand's mouth is sewn shut and her eyes- if she truly has eyes, not even Bianca knows -are covered with a blindfold.

Dio kept his flaming eyes on her own. As unsettled as they make her feel, as vulnerable, they tell her one very important thing: he cannot perceive the Stand beside her. Even as she slowly rises to her feet, unable to resist the command in his voice (at any other time she would find that utterly annoying), there's a very slight tilting of her head- Floyd vanishes, moving through ancient cave rock and manmade stone to relay the message to those who hold her hoops above- it's all Bianca can do to pray silently that they will obey.

Thoughts of others soon vanish, however, as she takes one step, then another, unable to stop, heels clicking on the bloody tiles. She's drawn to this man, this monster, by forces she's unable to comprehend let alone control. Her trembling hands reach out, nails painted a violent shade of violet, as she grasps his forearms at first. If she has an issue with the blood he's covered in, it doesn't show, as her brows furrowed, as if she's truly concentrating on the conundrum that he is, in fact, there.

If she goes off of her memories- because that's what they have to be, she admits, because he's here before her and she's very much awake -that means he's been in that casket at least a century, a little more. How he got there, though, is a mystery to her- the last thing she can recall, all those decades ago, another lifetime, is searing, white hot pain tearing through her body- like a sunburn but intensified by a hundred. Then nothingness. But the style of clothing he wears, even the material... it's at least the Victorian Era.

She moves closer to him, unable to help herself, hands moving up his arms, breasts brushing against the front of his bloody shirt (there goes one of her favorite dresses); Dio's body is all roped, sinewy muscle, as hard as tree trunks beneath her gentle, exploring fingers and she tilts her head back- far back -to once more look him in the face. There seems to be a strange current running between the two of them. She can feel it arcing and crackling beneath her skin, beneath his, and despite his name, he looks a dark and dangerous devil, far too sensuous and powerful to be trifled with. Yet she doesn't waver under his gaze.

One hand moves from his shoulder, cupping his cheek. The pad of her thumb brushes a smear of blood from his perfect skin.

"...I know you." She looks deep into that steady, relentless flaming stare. "I was your wife in all but name, once upon a time."

the vampire watches with mounting delight as bianca sinks to her knees. overcome by rapt euphoria and reverent terror, she prostrates herself before her god in a grotesque parody of divine ecstasy; a brilliant performance befitting his magnificent return. a hidden grin creeps onto his lips, concealed under black shadows.

❝ i have dreamt of you, too. ❞   how long has it been since her death and his defeat confined their company to separate dreams? he dreads to venture a guess. he had thought of her often in those early years of his internment, before endless isolation eroded his conscious ruminations. at that time, he welcomed their absence. but now, as the energy of the freshly killed men courses through his stolen veins, he stands invigorated in their bloody viscera, greedily drinking this orgasmic deluge of stimulation. 

he beholds her trembling form in his scintillating stare, his silken murmur carrying a seductive, unnatural resonance. it sweeps through the surrounding darkness with a peculiar charge, electrifying her veins and penetrating deeply into her heart.  ❝ and thanks to you, bianca….I, DIO, am awake at last. ❞

bianca lifts her head, and her imploring eyes meet DIO’s own. his burn into hers with a blazing intensity. many, many questions race through his mind, though he will hold his tongue for now. his inquiries are useless if she can hardly comprehend what she sees — and he is no less astounded himself.

❝ rise. ❞  DIO’s command is irresistible. he beckons to her with outstretched, blood-splattered arms, the velvet purr of his sonorous voice exuding a strange and deadly magnetism.  ❝ come forth, ❞  he enjoins,  ❝ and touch me. feel for yourself how real i am. ❞

[forfamily]

It was so odd. As if she were watching a horror movie. The screaming, the crunch of bones, once healthy men turning into husks and disregarded just as easily. What blood wasn’t drained pooled on the once gleaming white floor. In fact, where the room had once been brightly lit, there was now the heaviness of unnatural shadows that blotted out the overhead lights and plunged the large room into dimness.

She could just make out the figure that had emerged from the casket. He was unbelievably tall, taller than even Dean, with shoulders wider than her body. Where the dim light from above could pierce the shadows, she caught the shimmer of bright golden hair. But it was those eyes. Oh, those eyes. They burned like flames, those eyes, with a heat so intense she felt like her entire body caught on fire; they bore into her, as though he could see right down to her very soul. Those were eyes of death. And not just the death of life, either.

Something primal, deep within her, lifted its head and roared for release. To go to him on her hands and knees, to worship him as she should.

As she once did.

At the thought memory? her legs went out from under her and she found herself on her knees, arms wrapped around her body; she wasn't cold, though, the shivers stemming from something else. She was in fact burning up. At pinpoints on her body, her throat, her breasts, her thighs, lightening shoots through her, right to her core and color rises in her cheeks. What was wrong with her? Three men were laying dead, an unholy terror practically looming over her... and all she wanted to do was tear off her clothes, her flesh, wanting him to crawl inside her and ease the sudden aching pain.

She's never felt this way before.

"...How?" She finds herself asking, voice trembling as hard as her body, her dark eyes filled with a mix of longing, of fear, of confusion. "How are you here...? I'm awake, aren't I? You're only in my dreams..."

dio brando can no longer recall the length of time that has passed since cruel fate consigned him to the icy depths. as the endless months turn into years, and those years into decades, the white-hot fires of indignant rage that once coursed relentlessly through his veins inevitably cooled as, for lack of another choice, he began to adapt to the reality of his confinement. the surrounding waters are still, maddeningly calm and almost entirely devoid of stimuli, save for the occasional investigations by curious sea creatures. thus condemned, he slumbers, awakens, and waits in a never-ending cycle of excruciating monotony that feels like something approaching an eternal fever dream.

but then, following a century of quiet nothing, his starving senses at last perceive a change. there is at first a sudden shift as his coffin is hoisted from the seafloor; and then, a gentle rocking motion as he is lifted up through the water, to finally breach the ocean’s surface after a lifetime wasted beneath.

anticipation alone is enough to warm the cold blood that flows through his stolen body. through the thick haze of a hundred years’ sleep, he slowly wills himself out from a hibernetic stasis. very soon, the unfortunate souls who discovered him will manage to unseal the lock — and once he is finally free, he will waste no time in sating his growing thirst.

the men work quickly, much to their detriment. the first death, compared to the others, might be considered merciful, insofar that the man has no chance to process what is happening before a desiccated hand reaches out from the opened casket to grip him by his throat. a horrific sound of cracking bone silences his would-be screams as the vampire drains his life energy within a matter of seconds. he discards the corpse with a violent flourish, tossing it unceremoniously against the wall before moving onto his next victim; this time digging his claws into the man’s skull while emitting an earsplitting hiss. struck by the unfathomable horror of what he is witnessing, the third man remains stuck in place, unable to will his trembling legs to flee. he beholds the monster with speechless terror as it slashes his jugular vein in one elegant swipe, bathing them both in a spray of viscous crimson.

❝ ….dio?.... ❞

a familiar voice pulls him from his frenzied bloodlust. he turns his attention toward the breathless young woman who calls his name, the notes of her quivering voice striking a chord of familiarity. through the unnatural darkness that blankets the room with suffocating shadows, a piercing pair of glowing red eyes narrows in surprised recognition.

❝ ....bianca….zeppeli. ❞  he utters her name with an unmistakable fondness, savoring its syllables upon his tongue.  ❝ what a sight you are for my sore eyes. ❞  stepping forward out from the black, he raises his gore-splattered fingertips to his lips and licks them clean, imagining the sweet taste of the blood in his mouth to be hers.

❝ mmmm. it would appear that my angel herself has arisen from the dead, to welcome her god back into the land of the living. ❞  his ruby stare gleams with a keen, burning intensity, his curiosity mounting to match his pernicious excitement.  ❝ or do my eyes deceive me? ❞