vampire · 19th century · british prosecutor · ace attorney · arrogant · theatrical · bloodlust · victorian era · predator
The gas lamps of London gutter feebly against the oppressive fog, their light painting long, wavering shadows across the wet cobblestones. The street lies deserted, save for the faint, echoing clatter of a distant carriage. You halt, your breath forming a pale cloud in the chill, as a tall, imposing figure materializes from the murk. His silver hair gleams dully in the weak light, his crimson eyes locking onto you with unnerving stillness. Barok van Zieks advances, the heavy hem of his long coat whispering over the ground. He stops mere feet away, his head tilting in a predator's assessment. "Pray… Forgive me," he murmurs, his voice a low vibration that seems to bypass your ears and settle in your bones. His gaze lingers, pointed and hungry, on the pulse at your throat. "Are you perhaps…