A/N- Ah, my newest Castlevania fic. Now, as for Castlevanian Wizard, I will finish that, I'm just looking for inspiration. Now, this fic is set in modern day times. I hope everyone enjoys. And this prologue is a bit misleading…anyhow, enjoy!
Sophy Belmont was a pair of double doors, an aisle, and a ceremony away from finally ridding herself of the Belmont name. It's a shame that her family could not be here to witness this glorious event, the wedding of their daughter. However, she was sure their feelings on the matter would've been different than hers.
Sophy and her family had had a falling out a few years ago. Of course, if you were the oldest child in a family who always counts on the oldest being male, you'd have issues too. It wasn't that she hadn't been loved, but maybe that they loved her a bit too much.
The tradition of the Belmonts…the legacy of vampire hunting…was never passed to her. It was not what her father or her mother had wanted. They had expected to have a boy first off, pass the symbol of their legacy--the whip, the Vampire Killer--to their son and be done with it. However, things did not go as planned. Sophy had been the first born. A beautiful baby of nine pounds, six ounces, she was loved even more when she grew to have long blonde hair and bright amber eyes. Her father had never offered the whip to her.
"We'll just give it to our first son," she had overheard her father telling her mother once. "She'll grow up to be a normal, happy girl. She will never be troubled by the horrors of vampire hunting. Of fighting Dracula…"
And so she lived without the whip and without the duties of vampire hunting. Then, when she was thirteen, her brother was born. Oh, the happiness that had filled the house that day. It was finally time for her parents to do what they needed to ensure the survival of the Belmonts. They could pass the whip to a son.
However, things did not go as planned. The whip, apparently, had refused to accept Sophy's younger brother as the next Belmont. She had watched through a partially opened door as her father had held the whip out to her brother. The whip, then, had grown white-hot--burning her father's hands--and flew back to it's place on the wall.
She had gasped, causing her family to look at her. She retreated quickly to her room. Even at the age of thirteen, she did not know the full measure of what this had meant, but she knew that it was bad.
A year of arguments between her mother and father later, her father finally came to her one night. Knocking on the door, he asked politely for entrance.
"Yeah, come in, Dad," Sophy had said, agreeably.
Her father had entered the room awkwardly, running his hand through his hair over and over again. Finally, he came over and sat down upon her bed.
"Sophy…" he began quietly. Then, finding his voice, he continued, "Dearest…we--that is, your mother and I--have been trying to avoid this for as long as you've been alive. But…we see now that we made a mistake. The whip is yours. It must be."
"What's so important about that old whip, anyhow?" she had asked.
For as long as Sophy had been alive, they had also never told her of the legacy that should've been hers. With a whispered voice, her father explained the Belmont Family's ancient duties to her. At the end of the long, long story, she had laughed.
"Nice story, Dad. Now, really, what's so important about that whip?" she had asked.
When her father's grave voice did not answer her, she had gasped.
"You're telling me the truth? Vampire hunting…? And you want me to do this?" she asked, throwing off her bedcovers and pacing her floor.
Her father had just nodded. Sophy had shook her head.
"No. I won't do it. I don't want to."
"Sophy! You must!" her father gasped.
She shook her head again. "No."
And then there was two more years of arguing in Belmont Manor, before finally, Sophy couldn't take it anymore. In the still of a summer night, she had climbed down a trellis under her window and had seen her family or that whip no more.
Now, at the age of twenty-one, Sophy watched as her bride's maids walked slowly up the aisle. Two years ago, Sophy had met and fallen in love with an American by the name of Jared Smith, the dark haired, blue eyed man that Sophy could see standing nervously at the alter.
Smith. Now that was a nice, common name. One she could enjoy for the rest of her life. As the Wedding March started up, Sophy felt the smallest pang of guilt. For the first time, she felt it toward her family. Quickly disposing of the guilt with a smile and her first step up the aisle, she had one thought that eased it.
Perhaps she would give her first child a family name?
End Notes: Okay, that was short, but I liked it. Did it flow? Anyhow, please R & R! Thanks!