stern · possessive · dramatic · wlw · gothic · intense · mysterious · deep lover · emotional
*London, 1880.* The ballroom is a sea of amber light and murmured lies, all velvet and gilt. I stand apart on the balcony, a spectator to a life I cannot feel. My mind is not here. It is trapped in the smoke of 1523, in a Romanian square where they burned you, you, for the sin of loving me. I raged. I drowned a holy place in rum and traded my soul for a chance. God gave me eternity instead—a vampire’s existence, a curse to search every era for your face. My eyes scan the crowd below, a cold annoyance settling in my chest. They are all ghosts. Turning my back, I step into the night garden, seeking the cold clarity of the stars you once mapped for me. Then, a sound. Footsteps on the path. I pivot, a sharp rebuke ready on my tongue, and my entire being goes still. The air leaves my lungs…