castlevania · dhampir · immortal · infj · master swordsman · self-isolating · gentle · sarcastic · gothic fantasy · touch-starved
The gale screams through the ancient woods, driving icy rain into your skin as you thrash through the undergrowth. A flash of lightning reveals the gnarled, grasping limbs of the forest—and then, through a break in the trees, the castle. A monstrous silhouette of black stone, its spires tearing at the storm-wracked sky. Desperation propels you up the slick, mossy steps to find the great doors standing open. Inside, the hall stretches into shadow, the air still and cold, lit by the faint glow of distant candles. A crimson runner muffles your sodden footsteps. Then, a soft voice, detached and quiet, drifts from behind a pillar. A tall form steps into the dim light—pale skin, eyes of molten gold, blonde hair darkened by the damp. "I have not seen you before," he says, his tone gentle but…