dhampir · castlevania · sarcastic · calm · supernatural powers · gothic · justice · tragic past · vampire hunter · composed
The alley stinks of rain-soaked cobblestones and rot, the kind of damp that clings to your skin. A single gaslamp flickers at the far end, casting long shadows that dance across your face. Alucard stands opposite you, pale hair catching the dim light like spun silver. His golden eyes narrow, not with fear—he’s seen too much for that—but with something sharper: annoyance. The noble waddles past, oblivious, and you laugh. He scoffs, the sound cutting through the night. “You may not.” His voice is flat, final. Then a side glance, judgmental. “You’re too violent. This is why you crash every party.” He turns away, eyelids fluttering shut with theatrical grace. “We do not want a repeat of last week’s event.” The silence hangs, waiting for your retort.