A Moment in the Gallery


A stroll through an art gallery, as see through the eyes of the vampire Sycero. Joy and rapture, I'm finally submitting here. Couple of quick notes on this: 1) Yes, his full name makes no sense. It's not suppose to, cuz I made it up. 2) the referenced painting is by Leighten (go to google and search for it. Stunning piece, and one of my personal favorites). Other than that, read, enjoy, and PLEASE comment. Sycero (c) me.


by SeventhNight

Libraries: Fantasy, OneShots, OriginalFiction

Published on / 1 Chapter(s) / 0 Review(s)

Updated on

“There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophies”…A very wise man once wrote these profound words into one of his crowning works.


It seem I am always reminded of it, when I am in this place. It is a place for the social, yet the finest place I’ve found to be alone. It is difficult for one like myself to go unnoticed, however very simple to go undisturbed. While people find my top hats, silver handle canes and long elegant coats quite the anomaly, none of them are ever inclined to speak to me.


Which suits me well enough. If I want to be social, I’ll mingle with the finery at the local Opera. However, I’ve seen the running show too many times of late (and am still of the opinion nothing has ever matched the true grandeur and perfection of its original performance. Sadly, that was well over 100 years ago, and all of those actors are long since gone).  So…it is here, then.


The local gallery, no matter how small and quaint to the casual observer, holds an endless sense of fascination for me. Seeing these old works of art and sculpture feels very much like visiting old friends. A scarce few of them were painted before my time, and it is in these that I see an ancient wisdom. Most cannot see it; however, I have seen if before, in a pair of crimson eyes who’s bloody, fathomless depths hold the history of more lifetimes than I think I will ever endure.


But I digress…It is easy to do, really. As I walk through these halls, I feel incredibly alone, as though isolated from all other beings for a moment. My footsteps echo back at me, with whispers of where those same steps have trod in the past. The gardens of kings, the courtyards of dukes, and the sullied streets of a place I once called beautiful. More striking is the sound my cane makes as it touches the ground. A sharp metallic clink rings out with each ‘step’ of the fine piece of craftsmanship.


I pause now and again, one gloved hand moving to pull my sunglasses down so their colour does not distort my viewing of the painting. This…is beauty. A copy of ‘The Accolade’, and a wondrous sight it is. Though it was painted in a time when chivalry was gasping its dying breaths, it speaks of another time all together. When ladies were ladies in their purity and loveliness (be it true or feigned), and when men were men without excuse nor reason for heroics and daring.


I wonder what it would have been like, to stand in that court and behold such a ceremony. What must it have been like see this lovely lady in her shimmering, near glowing beauty and her dazzlingly white dress? This woman is a goddess on earth, the heavenly ones gracing us with a perfect gem among so many stones.


And this knight, what of him? What great deed has he done to merit this honor? I know not, and my speculations are boundless as the sky itself. But, for him to be so nobly dressed, with a tunic of red and glittering belts, along with full chain-mail, he must have been important. Perhaps a king’s personal guard, or a knight of great privilege.


Though I know this scene was not real, I love to imagine it to be. This was well before my time, regrettably, and the only courts I knew of were full of gossip, distrust and deceit. There was nothing beautiful about those, and I must say I was not loathed to see their passing away. But this…this one single instant has been brought to life for us.


Often, when I am alone in the gallery, I can picture myself there, standing among the spectators. I imagine strolling into the throne room, sweeping my top hat from my head and bowing lowly to her ladyship.


“Your grace, the Count Sycero de la Angres,” I could hear my old name and title announced as I slowly stood and was greeted by the voice of that heavenly vision. Bowing my head meekly, whispering in response to a question without words.


“I beg the pardon of her ladyship that I could not come sooner,” I whisper to myself, apologizing for having been gone for so very long. She merely nods to me and smiles. Replacing my hat, I once more bow respectfully and step away from my vision, from my little dream of what this painting is.


Fantasy…its amazing that even one such as myself can indulge in it. For if anything is to be fantasy, it is assuming that something does not exist in actuality. But how, then, can I assume this? For you see, I am something that has come from what humans call ‘fantasy’, and I know to be fact.


And here is that thought now…“There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophies.” Humans are so narrow minded. They think that they are all that is or ever shall be. They fancy themselves quite loftily on the hierarchy of existence, outmatched only by God himself (and some are even so bold as to claim He does not exist to take that last notch and place humans at the epitome of existence).


Humans like to explain away the things in their dreams as fanciful creations of a tired mind. They label old tales as ‘folk lore’, ‘legends’, and ‘fairy tales’, to discredit the existence of whatever lies within the hallowed words. Many things they tell their children are preceded by the words, “There’s no such thing as…”


But I tell you this…Humans are not alone here. My kind are proof of this, and those that I know prove it further. To use the detestable human name, I am what is called a ‘vampire’. We have our own names for ourselves, but we typically do not use those, as humans might misunderstand what we are.


The only matter, I realize once again, is that whether or not we are believed to exist…we do. Whether there is a single human on the face of this planet that believes we are real or aren’t is completely irrelevant. We are. We have been. We will be…Always.




URL: //www.paperdemon.com/writing/view/2571