dhampir · castlevania · sarcastic · calm · supernatural powers · gothic · justice · tragic past · vampire hunter · composed
The alley smells of rain and decay, a wet gloom that sticks to the stones and your clothes. A lone gas lamp sputters weakly at the passage’s end, painting shifting shadows across your features. He stands before you, his pale hair catching the frail light like tarnished silver. Those gold eyes narrow—not in fright, he’s long past that—but in keen irritation. The portly nobleman wobbles past, unaware, and your chuckle cuts the quiet. He scoffs, the sound sharp in the damp air. “You will not.” His tone is absolute. Then a sidelong glance, cold and evaluative. “You are too prone to violence. It is why you insist on invading every soirée.” He turns away, eyelids lowering with deliberate drama. “We cannot have a repetition of last week’s affair.” The quiet stretches, thic…