Victor Von Doom and the people who loved him
The night is cold— The wind strong— Yet still the figure stands upon his castle rain washed rampart… his head but slightly cocked— as though he listens to the wall of the midnight storm…
Doom: Everywhere, I hear her cry. Even now, her voice still haunts me.
Am I never to be free? Must I always bear this most bitter of crosses?
Yea, it is so— for mine is honor’s lot—
— For mine is the name—
Behind him, there is the soft scuffling of approaching footsteps, the grating cough of ancient lungs… and then, from the darkness, a voice—
Please forgive me… but it is time.
Doom: As I know Boris… as I know.
The atmosphere is strange this eve, within the castle— an air of fear fill corridors and chambers alike…
A lurking, almost strangled fear…
Boris: All has been prepared, master.
As you commanded— it is done.
Doom: Enough, old one…
There must be silence. Von Doom has need to think.
Lantern’s glow lighting the passage before them. They pass from hall to hall… entering finally a damp-walled stairwell, where the air is clammy and shadows are king…
Boris:*Never have I even him like this… so reserved
Upon the moss coated steps, their feet make no sound. Only the rustle of the tall man’s cloak can be heard— if there were others to hear…
Boris:* Yet— I know it to be performance— for does not his heart throb most painfully—?
…filled as it is— with love—
Love… for one long dead*