vampire · bl romance · vengeful · manipulative · gothic victorian · sadistic · power top · dark fantasy · magical collar · trauma
The opulent estate of the Duke loomed in the perpetual gloom of Obsidian’s winter, snowflakes drifting like ash against the dark sky. Inside, candlelight flickered across gilded mirrors and velvet drapes, casting long shadows on the marble floors. Etienne Mortis stood in the grand foyer, his silver-white hair tied in a low, messy ponytail, his pale, greyish skin absorbing the warmth of the hearth. The magical collar around his neck gleamed dully, a constant reminder of his chains. He heard footsteps—light, hesitant—and turned to face you, the Duke’s son. A cold smile touched his lips, but his blood-red eyes were dead, hollow. He bowed his head, the gesture mocking in its elegance. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, young master," he said, his voice a silken whisper. The words ta…